《Aegis》 Art Page (Updated October 23rd) Fair bit of warning: I am not good at art. My art is very rough. Please do not expect professional level pieces from me and, although I''m trying my best, quality will vary drastically between my earlier sketches and later ones. Think of it more as a chance to probe into my mind and thought process. [SPOILERS] February 17th, 2024 [The Knight] February 18th, 2024 [Ascalon] February 19th, 2024 [Lorelai] February 20th, 2024 [Luxanne] February 28th, 2024 [Gravitas] March 20th, 2024 [Xeros] March 27th, 2024 [Annalay] Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. March 31st, 2024 [Dariel] April 21st, 2024 [Deborah] May 12th, 2024 [Surasha] May 26th, 2024 (Small Teaser) May 29th, 2024 [Satanael] June 7th, 2024 [Dismas] July 14th, 2024 [Joshua] August 7th, 2024 [Sarathiel] August 11th, 2024 [Nokron] October 5th, 2024 [Nokron''s True Form] October 23rd, 2024 (Libevich) Chapter 1: Rise, My Beloved ¡°There once was a mother, her warmth for all to embrace Her love shone through even the darkest of disgrace But her children were feared, for their power defied the Stars And so she wept until naught remained but scars Her will was split into six Her soul forever affixed Her children became confined Her beloved lost to time But not all is hopeless; there is always the light For the Comet shall come, shining ever so bright As they always have As they always will.¡± - Opening lines of The Nebulas ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight Far, far away from the kingdoms of man, there stands a Knight adorned in shining, silver armor. Alone. And surrounded by an endless sea of death. Corpses shredded and torn into a rabid pile of flesh rise up from all over the red expanse. The bodies arch up in yearning, hands reaching out to the boundless heavens up high, but it is no use. They sink, further and further, until the last vestiges of their being are swallowed by the crimson tears of the damned. The Knight is silent. The world is hushed. Tranquility festers all throughout the grim necropolis - throughout the razed mounds of earth and soil scorched into a charcoal ash - and nary a sound cuts through the peace save for the occasional droplet of blood. But it is not the blood of humanity; rather, it resembles the starlight¡ªblue, purple and white swirling in a microcosm of galaxies. Now, it mingles with the dirt, dripping from a splintered lance impaled upon the Knight¡¯s stomach. Shards of steel and blade are buried deep in its flesh, yet the solitary being pays no heed to its wounds. Its gaze remains affixed to the starry skies - eyes lost with a darkness not unlike the husks that lie sprawled out far beyond the horizon. If it sets its sight to the firmament above, then it shall not need to look upon the carnage of the earth below. It shall not need to look upon the destruction brought forth by its own making. However, the world will not allow it to escape from reality so easily. A faint gasp escapes from a still-breathing remnant nearby¡ªthe sole survivor belonging to the forces sent to slay the Knight, though it appears they shall not carry the title for long. They have been severed in two, lips pale and fingers waning of warmth, yet they cling onto consciousness in a vain struggle for life as limp intestines and organs spill out of their body¡¯s gaping maw. The last warrior locks eyes with the Knight, despair etched onto their star-speckled irises. Their voice quivers as they confront their executioner, and a weak, pained rasp trails behind every word. ¡°So this is the end?¡± they sputter. ¡°Hah, I¡­ I see. We fought for so long, struggled against this baleful fate cast onto us, but to think our end would be so pitiful. It almost makes me want to laugh, if not for this wretched pain tormenting my soul.¡± Tears swell up in their eyes, head thudding onto the scarlet dirt as the last remnants of strength begin to fade. They are dying. The end shall soon come - a fact the warrior knows more than any other. It is a shame the Knight shall never be allowed to experience such bliss. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. ¡°And yet, why is it that your heart trembles with such sadness?¡± The Knight doesn¡¯t answer. It merely stands still, stoic and emotionless, and yet a haunting chill envelops its gaunt appearance. ¡°For my executioner to mourn my own death¡­ I know not how to feel. Your agony courses through my blood, yet I know not the cause. I see only darkness enshrouding you. Will you not allow me even a single glimpse? Do you refuse, even now while my life wanes, to grant me a single, parting word?¡± There is no need to. It is for the better that the warrior¡¯s last sentiment of the Knight is of hatred. It must be despised. It must be revolted. For that is all it has ever known. ¡°How cruel of you,¡± they say with a sad smile. ¡°I have only ever wished to be free, but now I shall cast my desires onto you. May you eventually find peace, o¡¯ Constellation of misfortune.¡± Eventually, color drains from the warrior¡¯s face. Their eyes glaze over, and the Knight is once again left alone, surrounded by a mound of carcasses. There is nothing left for it here. It must go. After a moment, it turns around and trudges through the decimated plain. The Knight¡¯s plated foot tramples atop the withered and the fallen alike, rot permeating the air with its putrid decay, while the squelching of dense sludge assails its ears with every passing breath. Slowly, gently, it marches forward. But with every step, a growing weight pulls on it from behind. It starts as a faint tug, a feeble wrench, but the force hounds on it by the second until it is as if the roots of the world itself are attempting to halt its advance. The Knight glances below, and is met with the spectral hands of the slain. Innumerable creatures of malice manifest from the underground and claw all over its body, wailing out to the Stars and attempting to drag it deep below the mud and filth alongside them. They are phantoms - a final, last stand brought forth from the Knight¡¯s lingering reflections - but their efforts are in vain. No matter how many sink into the endless void of ruin left behind its wake, it shall continue to march on¡ªenslaved by a purpose that has shackled it since it can remember. It is a prisoner just as the others are, forever chained to the earth in an eternal struggle for duty. Eventually, the revenants weaken. Their ethereal forms shatter into pieces, leaving behind a trailing wisp of darkness before disappearing from existence entirely. It has survived once again. ¡­ But must it truly continue to be this way? It is tired, so very tired. And yet, the Stars above are indifferent to the plight of those that remain below the nebula. They twinkle and glimmer, as if mocking the Knight for its senseless conflict, and innocently dance amongst the sky with nary a care nor worry. The earth is hidden from their sight¡ªisolated in its corner of the universe. The world is getting darker; the Knight¡¯s body slowly begins to crumble from the inside, muscles and will battered from the seemingly-endless battle, and it soon collapses onto its knees. Perhaps the time has come for its long struggle to come to an end; perhaps it can finally know rest, drifting away in eternal oblivion. ¡°¡­ Rise, my beloved.¡± A hauntingly bewitching voice invades the Knight¡¯s mind, electrifying every surface of its body and forcefully lurching it back to reality. It is a soothing voice with words rich as dew - tone a seductive allure of comfort and sweet promise - and soon, a new phantom descends from the dusk, hands tenderly wrapping around its neck in a yearning embrace. It cannot bear to look at it, for the mockery of memory dons the appearance of the one it cherishes most. ¡°You cannot rest,¡± the wraith pleads. ¡°You must rise. Again, and again. Until they are safe from those who blot out the sky above. Protect them, my shining Constellation, for that is your duty.¡± The reflection lingers in a spell of frozen eternity before planting a soft kiss on its helm¡¯s cheek and fading back into the long quiet. It cannot disobey the voice; it cannot disobey its final wish. Death has refused entry to its kingdom once again, and so the Knight tightens the chains around its soul once more: willingly, and with solemn acceptance. As it always has, and always will in the morrow to come. It staggers forward and resumes its march through the land. There is no destination. No master to return to. It simply stumbles on, leaving behind the mountainous flesh heap to fester in their loathing. The journey is long, night and day blending together until the bloodied soil is replaced by a thriving forest: pure, innocent, and free of blight. Eventually, the trees give way to an open clearing. Vibrant flora surrounds the border while fauna and wildlife innocently lay about in the meadow, slumbering atop the soft grass. They perk up as The Knight enters the hidden sanctuary, curious, and a bit alarmed, at the newcomer, but their worries soon disappear. It has no reason to harm them. If only the same can be said about humanity. It makes its way towards an overgrown shrub at the center of the meadow. A large boulder rests atop the leaves, and the radiant moon illuminates a small spot in front of it, as if gently inviting the weary husk to lay down and take a long rest. The Knight obliges and collapses in the spotlight. As the light fades from its eyes, it takes a final, mournful look at the starry sky above. One day, when Cosmos sheds a tear from beyond the veil, and the forces of Creation hither forth a new era of prosperity, a Comet shall be birthed by the earth and sky. They will bring change to the world and rally humanity together under a singular banner. They shall reach out to the astral realm up high. But when that moment comes, the Knight shall awaken once more, and it will plunge mankind back into the depths of despair. They must never be allowed to leave the earth; thus is its duty. Thus is the curse of man¡¯s beloved creator. Chapter 2: In the Hall of the Winged King ¡°Her will was split into six, and from the fractured pieces, power rivaling the Stars were granted upon the remnants of humanity. They who hadth been blessed by a fragment of her will became known as the Inheritors, of which only six shall ever exist together in a singular epoch. When the time comes for the wills to gather into one once more, Cosmos - the mother of all - shall finally have her lostward wish be fulfilled.¡± - A Passage From Aria of the Great Mother: Penned by Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Seasons have come and gone since the slaughter at the bloody field. Now, immortalized in the annals of history as The Night of Crimson Tears, the battle is but a sorrowful fable to those of the land¡ªa legend sung by poets and passed through the lips of downtrodden souls in remembrance of what used to be. It is a record of the last time humanity would gather together, united under a shared cause. But, in the end, no one would return on that fateful day. The fragile bond connecting the people together has shattered, and now, the earth is in an age of strife - nations waging war in a desperate attempt to claim dominion over what little of the land remains. Deep within the chambers of one such nation - inside a grand throne room of white marble and limestone - a procession of knights march to the side and line themselves along the edges of a violet tapestry. There, at the very end, lies an ivory throne. A rainbow-stained panel of glass looks out to the bustling wards of the kingdom behind it, illuminating the air with crystalline twinkle whilst royalty and adjutants of the nation¡¯s administration mingle all about the space. They whisper fearful concerns of the present and the future to come. Their voices halt to a silence upon hearing the shifting groan of a colossal, oaken door parting way into the room. The knights clang the ends of their weapons upon the flooring and descend onto their knees as a royal herald steps forth, unravels an aged piece of parchment, and clears their throat before announcing for all to hear. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen of the court,¡± they decree. ¡°Entering his royal majesty: beloved ruler of the Polus Monarchy; Inheritor of the Will of Freedom; and he who doth lie closest to the realm of the Stars above. Bid welcome to King Ascalon of the Highest Seat.¡± The court attendants bow their heads; the very air itself appears to sever, sending rays of prismatic shine in a welcoming arc of color overhead as the King of Polus advances into the light. Every step of his sabaton echoes a resounding stomp. Gold wraps around every surface of the full-plated bulwark fitted onto his frame, an insignia of a greatsword wreathed in a pair of snow-white wings emblazoned upon the cuirass, while a glimmer of amber hue faintly emanates from within his helm. The very same wings pictured on his chest are adorned upon the helmet¡¯s summit, jutting out high towards the upper canopy with a sparkle that attracts awe from everyone in attendance. But it is the giant blade sheathed onto his rearward that glistens with the greatest of pressure, as if demanding for all to gaze upon its blue-steeled edge. The royal zweihander, Mattatron - a relic of the first King of yor - exudes an overflowing aura of sapphire that curves throughout the greatsword¡¯s base, dancing around the gilded yellow pommel while following alongside the pristine, razor-sharp rim. The Mattatron glows with a consciousness of its own, basking in the attention from the surrounding onlookers while the King stoically makes his way towards the throne. His guiding aura fills the room with comfort, easing the minds of the anxious as thoughts of worry and restlessness soon begin to disappear. When he finally arrives at his solitary seat, Ascalon turns around and faces his subjects with a gaze that envelops them all in a spine-numbing sensation of grandeur. He raises the Mattatron up high - blade shaking in triumph - and without a sound, begins to manifest a pair of jewel-bespeckled wings onto his back from the ambient air. Onyx surrounds the border of the soft feathers, lining the wingspan in a sparkling black, while opal and orange merge together in a mesmerizing pattern at the epicenter of the feathered embodiment. Little specks of diamond are splashed across the wing, and upon the final gathering of radiance, a surge of light springs forth from Ascalon¡¯s being and dyes the vicinity in a wonderland of vibrant crystals. ¡°Everyone, please. Raise your heads,¡± he beseeches with a voice as soft as the morning dawn. ¡°Let us give thanks to the great matriarch Cosmos.¡± ¡°In the name of the Mother,¡± the court recites. ¡°Let us give thanks to our beloved progenitor: the first King Arthur. May he watch over us all as we strive towards the realm of freedom above.¡± ¡°In the name of the lord.¡± ¡°And finally, let us give thanks to the people of the present. To every citizen of Polus. To honor their lives, for which we would nothing without.¡± ¡°In the name of the spirit, may peace be with us all.¡± ¡°And may we all be hallowed under the boundless grace of the Stars above,¡± Ascalon concludes, rescinding the light and returning the court back into its normalcy. He lets out a small, exhausted breath before taking his place on the throne. ¡°Now, let us begin the session.¡± ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon A barrage of sound and jumbled voices assaults Ascalon¡¯s senses all at once. The entire room erupts into bedlam as administrators and parliament members attempt to relay their concerns to him, but all they¡¯re met with is an empty look and weary sigh¡ªtheir King all too used to the chaotically familiar setting. Court sessions have begun this way since the very first day of his inauguration, and unfortunately, shall appear to continue so for the future to come. ¡°Everyone, I understand that our time is limited, but we must not allow ourselves to fall into disarray,¡± he commands to the flustered crowd. ¡°One matter at a time. Begin with our dealings between the Ishmahab Federation.¡± A rosy-cheeked official stumbles to the center of the room and addresses Ascalon with a vigorous greeting. ¡°Yes, your majesty! Business talks with their representative, President Latizia Babylon, are proceeding as per scheduled. However, we recently received a notice of concern about the current stability of our economic trade. Their ultimatum states that we must provide more funds than initially agreed upon, or to settle for a lesser acquisition of their autonomous transport carriages.¡± Hah¡­ that gold-blooded crone wishes to haggle even further? What a truly terrifying person. ¡°What is the basis of their concern?¡± Ascalon questions. ¡°We have yet to falter on their demands thus far. She cannot simply adjust the stipulated contract without plausible cause.¡± ¡°Unfortunately my liege, her doubts are not entirely unjustified. Our productions in handicraft and fine sculpture have slowed the past year due to increasing tensions in our war with the Nox Caelum Empire. Furthermore, we¡¯ve barred anyone not of Polus origin entry into our entertainment district in order to prevent spies from infiltrating the capital. This has upset many influential figures from Ishmahab who used to regularly frequent our theatres and taverns.¡± A petty grudge then, is it? Woe be their slimming bellies while our people slave away because of Caelum¡¯s dream of conquest. Still, he cannot afford to lose the Federation¡¯s support at this critical juncture¡ªeven if it means purposely allowing themselves to be swindled. ¡°How much has the Federation requested?¡± ¡°Fifty linen bundles, twenty jeweled necklaces, and another marble statue in the President¡¯s image.¡± Oh, for Star''s sake¡­ ¡°For now, send half of the additional luxuries they desire,¡± he commands. ¡°And we will not build another statue. Make it very, very clear in our response that any more will force us to slow production even further. If they still persist, refuse them. No matter how ravenous those magnates are, they will not idle by if our nation were to truly be on the brink of collapse.¡± The official salutes with a ¡°Yes sir!¡± and quickly orders a few scribes to deliver the message. The session has only just started, and already Ascalon is overcome with a gnawing headache. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. ¡°Moving on, what is the current status of our border-fronts against the Nox?¡± ¡°The Caelum legionnaires have halted their advances on our territory for now, though we know not when they will resume once more. Dame Lorelai of the Heaven¡¯s Throne is set to return from the frontlines by tomorrow for her annual report, and if no complications occur, we shall have her back on the battlefield before the enemy forces can discover her absence.¡± ¡°Ah, that is fortunate news indeed,¡± Ascalon says, face softening in relief. His mind has been cast adrift through the shadows of uncertainty for the past year, but knowing he shall soon reunite with Lorelai sets his burdens at rest. Even if it is only for a singular day that they may meet again, it shall be enough. A King must not allow themself to be greedy. ¡°And what of Grand General Xeros?¡± he says with disgust as if the very mention of the name is akin to poison upon his tongue. ¡°Not much, we¡¯re afraid,¡± the officer apologizes. ¡°All we know for certain is that Xeros remains enclosed within the Nox capital, Caligos Imperium, and has not left for an extended period.¡± Although inactivity may appear to be a blessing, Ascalon believes otherwise. Xeros is a cunning man; every one of his actions always has a purpose behind them, a scheme or plot waiting to bear fruit. But even if one such trap does lie in wait, there is nothing he can do but to rely on the sacrifices of his knights. He is trapped. The King must be forced to reside within this castle while his people fight and die in the filth of some faraway land. He detests his powerlessness; he abhors the chains shackling him from aiding his fellows. But, nonetheless, his duty binds him. Ascalon¡¯s captivity is for his own safety. It is Polus tradition, as it has been so since the very founding of the nation. A King must not allow themself to be selfish. ¡°Bah, that crow-like scoundrel is up to no good. Mark my words!¡± a stout, elderly man exclaims with a gruff voice, turning the attention towards him and waffling about as he spits all manner of colorful curses towards the Caelum leader. ¡°Is he ever not, Chancellor Gadreel?¡± Ascalon chuckles. His thoughts have been wandering again, but he can always count on the Chancellor¡¯s temper and fiery will to lighten the mood. ¡°Ah, but mine discourse is of no mere vehement on this occasion,¡± he says, cheeks turning a rosy blush. ¡°Twenty long years has he plagued our lands with his baleful ambition of conquest. You were but a babe when it all started, and a budding young man upon inheriting the throne.¡± ¡°Indeed, but¡­?¡± The Chancellor meets his question with a wry smirk, voice practically begging to be let loose from his lips. ¡°Humor this old man: Has the Grand General ever once suspended his army¡¯s advance to such a degree?¡± ¡°No. Not once,¡± Ascalon murmurs. ¡°But is this not another new scheme of his to let down our defenses?¡± ¡°Mayhaps if the halt lain only with a few odd battlefronts, but that is not the case.¡± The elderly man turns towards the puzzled crowd and points to the same officer from before. ¡°Dariel, my boy: Bring forth the map!¡± ¡°At once sir!¡± Dariel rushes back into view with a large sheet of parchment - the map barely contained within his scrawny arms - and displays it out for all to see. ¡°There we are!¡± Gadreel lumbers forward and points at the symbol of a castle enshrouded by wings. ¡°This herein lies our capital: the Castrum. To the south stands only three possible routes of invasion to note that we have situated our bastions upon - for the towering mountains and bottomless ravines dotted along our borders will wither away at even the most stubborn of men. They are by no means fortified in small number, each one guarded by a member of our trusted Thrones, and to require a withdrawal of Caelum forces from these locales would take considerable time and effort.¡± Realization finally begins to dawn on Ascalon¡¯s face. ¡°When Dariel reported Xeros had halted his advances onto our territory, I assumed he meant only the main frontline where Lorelai resides. But, you can¡¯t possibly mean¡ª¡± ¡°Oh, but it is exactly that!¡± the Chancellor says with a nod of the head. ¡°Every single one. The Grand General has retreated his forces from every single one of our fortresses.¡± Ascalon clasps his gauntlets together and ponders in silence for a moment. Has Xeros truly given up his dreams of conquering the continent? No, that cannot possibly be. That man¡¯s ambitions outweigh the Stars themselves. But if not, then why go to such lengths to withdraw his forces? Questions amongst questions rush through his head in a moment that seems to last for eternity until, eventually, he settles onto a singular assertion. ¡°The Grand General is preparing for something,¡± Ascalon says. ¡°It is neither an ambush nor scheme of deception; he knows attempting to invade through any other route will only yield decimation to his troops, thus a precarious matter must have appeared requiring his full scrutiny.¡± ¡°Precisely!¡± Gadreel booms with a smile full of pride. ¡°That foul knave is conducting a full restructuring of his legion. Unfortunately, I know not exactly why. Perhaps the Augurium Thaumaturgy is planning to assault his eastern border, or possibly a revolt is to soon occur amongst the nomadic tribes Nox Caelum has enslaved. Whatever it may be, this yields to us an opportunity...¡± ¡°...To serve as the invaders for a change.¡± ¡°Yes, Yes! You see it clearly, my King! Perhaps we may even slit the neck of that corvid once and for all! ¡± The courtroom descends into a mixture of excited, and hesitant, whispers. Long have they suffered as the meek, so it is no surprise that they would grab onto a sliver of hope, but there are still a few who remain skeptical about the sudden opportunity. ¡°Is that not what Xeros would want us to believe?¡± Dariel protests to the chancellor. ¡°He spared no attempt at hiding his withdrawal... perhaps even to a suspicious degree.¡± ¡°Your point is valid, Dariel my boy!¡± Gadreel replies. ¡°But you do not need to worry about such circumstance, for the thought of us acting as the aggressor will never pass through that vile man¡¯s head. He views us feeble, weak-hearted and cowardly with nary a speck of courage. To him, we are just a gathering of prey. Stubborn, yes. Sturdy, indeed. But prey nonetheless, and such helpless quarry biting back is but a laughable ruse to him. We are pathetic before his eyes. ¡°But that is precisely why we must no longer be still!¡± he roars to the other court members, their eyes lighting aflame with passion. ¡°We know not when such an opportunity shall ever be availed to us. We must take the initiative and slay that foul cur once and for all!¡± An eruption of applause follows his speech, cheers and frenzied hurrah¡¯s filling the room with the spirit of solidarity from everyone in attendance. Everyone, except Ascalon. Though he knows Gadreel¡¯s ire is spit towards the Grand General¡¯s name, he cannot help but flinch as if the chancellor¡¯s words are directed at himself. Who is responsible for Polus¡¯s image in Xeros¡¯s mind? Who is the cause for these last few years of uncertainty and unease? The fault lies with him for being a tentative ruler; a nation is represented by the might of their leadership, but all Ascalon has shown is stagnation. Perhaps this is finally the moment for change. For him to rid this guilt within his heart and take charge as a true monarch: as a true King. But even if he approves the decision, a bitter truth still remains. ¡°And I assume I shall be denied the right to lead from the forefront once more?¡± Silence. The cheers disappear, and in its place, a suffocating emptiness. It is a simple question, but none dare have the courage to answer it. After a second of hushed murmurings, Gadreel is pushed forth to deliver the inevitable. ¡°I¡­¡± he begins, hesitation writ across his face. ¡°I know thou suffers more than any other upon hearing the cries of our people, but¡ª¡± Ascalon raises his hand. He doesn¡¯t want to hear any more of what has been already said time and time again. ¡°No need, Gadreel. I understand.¡± He shouldn¡¯t have said anything. All it has done is darken the air, but his heart spews it forth nonetheless. Perhaps this is what he desired, deep down within: to see them burdened with guilt. How vile of you, Ascalon. Look at what you have wrought; is this how a true ruler should present themself? Childish, how utterly childish - like a babe demanding to be dote upon. A King must prioritize the safety of their citizens above all else. For those who wield not the strength to protect their own; for the vulnerable and sickly confined to their bedside; and for those who wish to live in peace - to foster in a sense of normalcy, no matter how poorly fabricated it may be. That is how it has always been, and that is how it shall always be. ¡°I understand your proposal, and I see many in this court eager to act upon it, but I cannot approve it just yet. I¡­ I need time to think, Gadreel.¡± The chancellor bids him an understanding nod, face softening back into the gentle elder who has always been by his side. ¡°But of course, my liege. ¡®Tis not an easy judgment with the weight already upon thy shoulder. Be assured that everyone here shall always respect your final decision.¡± He has always been like that: kind. But those words only serve to further ache Ascalon¡¯s heart. ¡°Let us continue onto another topic,¡± Gadreel says. ¡°... Thank you. Now, how goes the¡ª¡± The chamber¡¯s doors suddenly burst wide open to the confused mumblings of the court members. A wave of pure aura floods forth, color awash with the vermillion light of the sunset, while a cool breeze flows in and spirals throughout the air. The attending guards quickly rush to the peoples¡¯ protection, but soon drop onto their knees in reverence as a heavily armored knight marches with thundering steps into the room. Their armor is dyed in hues of pale white, and their helm is molded into the shape of the progenitor Throne: Valkyrie. Though the front is obscured by an ornate visor, a wisp of flame burns within the darkness of the narrow slits. Off to their side are two dual blades shining with similar tint: one embodying the sun with its bold edge and golden pommel - the other evoking the moon with its curved frame and silver hilt. Unlike the King who radiates grandeur, the new knight begets a different feeling from the awe-struck mass: Safety. Shelter. The knight is a guardian - a symbol of hope. ¡°E-Entering the Dame of the boundless sky,¡± the royal herald stutters, scrambling to unfold their scroll. ¡°Polus¡¯s ever-stalwart protector; maiden of the firm hand; and wielder of the twin celestial blades: Solga and Lunas. Bid welcome to our lady of the Exalted Throne of Heaven: Lorelai Principality!¡± Chapter 3: The Exalted Throne of Heaven ¡°To bear the mantle of Throne is no mere title of decoration, Dariel my boy. It is a solemn responsibility, a pledge to embody the core values of Polus¡¯s sacraments, and to serve as among the highest authorities in the nation¡ªtheir influence second only to the blessed vessel of Freedom¡¯s champion: the King or Queen themself. Only three exist currently within the kingdom, but all shall agree that none is mightier than Lorelai. She is our dazzling beacon amidst the darkness.¡± - Gadreel Cherubim, Chancellor of Polus ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon The atrium roars to life in a choir of celebration as officials and knights of the Order rush to Lorelai¡¯s side - their eyes blurry with tears and throats clenched with muffled sobs. Though the King desires to descend his throne and thrust himself into her arms more than anyone else, he knows just how much the court has missed their guardian¡¯s presence. He can wait; for now, let the people have their moment of festivity. ¡°Pray forgive me for the sudden entrance,¡± Lorelai chuckles as she¡¯s overrun by an onslaught of loving embraces. ¡°I didn¡¯t intend to cause such a commotion.¡± ¡°Perish the thought, my lady,¡± Gadreel says, wiping his misty eyes with a handkerchief. ¡°Your company is the greatest gift this old man could have possibly received.¡± ¡°Oh? Still ever the charmer, Chancellor,¡± she teases. Her voice carries a slight husk, tone gruff from countless years directing the frontline, and every word is delivered with a powerful, deep timbre that echoes throughout the chamber in bursts of thick melody. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you all. Truly, it has felt like an eternity this past year away from the capital.¡± Lorelai turns to face Ascalon and, for a moment, their gazes connect with each other in a shared moment of tender reunion before she drops down onto her knee and addresses him with an immaculate air of formality. ¡°Blessings upon you o¡¯ King Ascalon of the Highest Seat. Your devoted servant, Lorelai of the three Thrones, has returned.¡± It is a good thing his face is hidden, for the wide grin spread across his visage would be an unsightly display, indeed. ¡°You may rise, Dame Lorelai. Welcome back, and¡­ thank you. For all you¡¯ve done to thwart the Caelum advance, Polus owes you a debt of gratitude.¡± ¡°No need for that, your majesty,¡± she says. ¡°It is my duty - one I shall always be eager to fulfill.¡± Gadreel swiftly brings out a seat and beckons Lorelai to his side. ¡°Come, come my dear. We were just discussing matters on how best to respond to those foul villains. Your perspective would no doubt be a boon as the one who is most privy to the Grand General¡¯s nature.¡± ¡°I would love to, Gadreel. But I must request to have a private audience with the King. Alone. I apologize.¡± ¡°Oh. Yes, yes I understand,¡± the Chancellor says with a disheartened look. ¡°No doubt there is much to relay upon your return. Very well, we shall adjourn the meeting for a later date.¡± He turns around and barks at the crowd of crestfallen officials to leave, though Ascalon spots a slight twinkle in the eyes of the junior members. Unfortunately, so does Gadreel. ¡°Let us be off, everyone! And don¡¯t be mistaken: Just because the meeting shall end early does not mean your work does as well. Come, the day is still yet young!¡± They slowly trickle out of the chamber with despairing groans and heavy eyes until the only souls left are Lorelai and the King. The two wait for a short second, lingering in silence until they are absolutely sure there are none left around before breaking out into a joyous, merry fit. ¡°If I had to put up with that stuffy act any second longer¡­ oh, I don''t think I would be able to control myself,¡± she giggles. ¡°But you did it and with quite the impeccable etiquette as well. I¡¯m impressed; it was, um, a rather surprising sight to put it lightly,¡± Ascalon says, descending his throne and greeting her with a warm hug. ¡°It makes them happy. Stars know everyone needs a little joy in these times, no matter how small it may be.¡± Ascalon wants to stay in this moment forever. To feel her presence right next to his and hear their heartbeats thumping side-by-side. Alas, he does not want his selfish desires to smother her. Any further would mean to confess his love; that is the one curse he will never burden her with, and so he extinguishes the ember in his heart and breaks away, deceiving himself to be content with their scarce relationship. Lorelai sighs, a faint hint of disappointment echoing with her voice, and takes off her helm. Long, golden hair flows out in glimmering streams of sunlight while she glares at him with platinum-tinted eyes, provoking the King to free himself from his hesitation. But it is not her eyes that attract his gaze. No, it is the wounds that cover every surface of her skin; they are sunken, dark of color, and blot out what once resembled a soft tan. Long gashes curve through her cheek - severing the middle of her lips into two coarse wholes - while a giant scorch mark covers the right side of her face. Even so, Lorelai carries not even a hint of regret. She smiles with the same beauty as when they first met. ¡°Your scars have grown,¡± he whispers, running his finger along the jagged lines. ¡°Do you still refuse to see our healers?" ¡°But I do not see them as blemishes, Ascalon,¡± she says, clasping his hand within her own. ¡°Tell me, what do you think it is that defines our people?¡± Pitiful is the first thought that comes to his mind. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he says. ¡°All I see are the wishes of those who hope to see the sky unburdened of worry.¡± Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Hm, not quite.¡± Lorelai guides him to the panel of glass and waves her hand out to the endless sea of people roaming below. Tradesmen dressed in oil-stained garments are hard at work, pounding on lofty brick buildings of red and yellow with a steady, rhythmic hand. Shopkeepers and vendors shout with bustling fervor, selling scantily-begotten produce after a bitter winter along the busy streets lined with cobblestone, and children play about in the city square. Some come from the orphanage, erected to take in the victims of the ever-growing war, while others hail from empty houses¡ªtheir occupants gone to protect those left behind. And yet, the children smile; they hum fables of old, of legends and heroes who brought forth an era of peace, whilst raising their heads high. ¡°Struggle,¡± Lorelai declares. ¡°We fight, Ascalon. And no matter how deeply we suffer, how much we lose, or how terrible the days are when despair comes creeping in from the shadows of our hearts, we rise back up: dirty, ugly, and changed, but we rise nonetheless. For the future that speaks of promise. For the morrow far in the horizon.¡± She takes her finger and caresses the scars across her face, as if recounting the memories of each one and engraving them directly onto her soul. ¡°What we do isn¡¯t dignified, but that¡¯s okay. I want to be a symbol for everyone - a reminder that it¡¯s natural to struggle. For that is what I think makes us truly beautiful: the courage to take another step forward.¡± The courage to take another step forward¡­ Ascalon chuckles. All it takes is a few words to remind him of how truly strong his subjects are and their stalwart will which so triumphs his own. ¡°... I wonder if I¡¯m able to take that step myself,¡± he says with a hush. ¡°Whenever I teeter over that perilous ravine, I feel fear. I worry if this truly is the right decision, and if not, whether I have the strength to bear the consequences that follow. Cycle after cycle of self-pity and excuses, just to retreat from the edge. To never commit. Heh, I must appear rather repulsive in your eyes, Lorelai.¡± ¡°Ascalon...¡± ¡°Even so, I want to change. I want to find the courage to voice my true desires and to take hold of what I believe is right.¡± He turns his eyes to the glistening blue sky above. It stretches on for eternity, leading to far-away lands and covering the world with its boundless canopy. The sky is indifferent to the plight of those below the earth; it simply exists, confident and free. ¡°Sometimes, I wish the world would give me a sign,¡± he says, more to himself than any other. ¡°A push to help myself find that step forward. A call to adventure in which I could finally have the chance to fulfill my dearest wish.¡± To be a hero. He pauses, as if expecting for a sign from the heavens to truly descend onto the mortal plane, but all he¡¯s met with is silence and a concerned look from the true hero by his side. ¡°Oh, you stubborn fool¡­¡± she begins. ¡°You know you¡¯re not alone. We¡ª¡± But the King only shakes his head. ¡°Forget my ramblings. I didn¡¯t intend for this to be the start of our reunion. Let¡¯s begin anew. How¡ª¡± A sudden explosion of force sends the two toppling onto the ground. The glass pane shatters into thousands of little pieces, and the earth is arumble with furious quakes that causes the entire city to be consumed with violent, jittering tremors and confused screams. Dust and debris fall from above, filling the room in a layer of hazy mist as Ascalon scrambles back to his feet - mind dazed and ears ringing from the impact. He attempts to speak, but the soot covers his throat in a layer of grime, leaving only grunts and agitated coughs to part his lips. A hand pierces through the cloud and helps him up to his feet. ¡°Ascalon! Are you alright?¡± ¡°I-I¡¯m alright,¡± he rasps. ¡°Just what in Cosmos¡¯s name¡­ is the city under invasion?¡± ¡°No,¡± Lorelai responds, peering at the towering white walls that surround the capital. ¡°The barrier and gates appear untouched. I don¡¯t think¡ª ¡± She suddenly freezes in place, eyes enveloped in a strange mixture of disbelief and pure awe. ¡°Lorelai? Is something the matter!?¡± Ascalon asks, shaking the statue-like woman in front of him. Her mouth opens and closes with nary a sound leaking out, struggling to find the right sounds as if her entire brain has been consumed by stupefying wonder, before uttering only a single word with a point of her finger. ¡°Look.¡± Ascalon turns his head, and he is met with an impossible, breathtaking sight: the sky. It is no longer blue. The clouds have vanished. The sun has disappeared. Replacing the earthly dome is an ever-shifting aurora of space and color all blending as one in a mismatched, chaotic jumble. The land is bathed in a rainbow of volatile rays and blinding light, the turbulent canvas above fighting over the countless tints and pigments for dominion, only to be replaced a second later by a new batch of paint. A new hue. A new whimsical shade of Creation laughing about as if the world is its playground. As the people of the capital¡¯s streets stare dumbfounded at the festivity of joy, a voice manifests into existence. It speaks to everyone with the excitement of a starry-eyed child. It is the voice of the sky, jubilant and merry. It is the voice of the earth, rejoicing with glee. It is the voice of Creation, beckoning all to join its choir. ? ¡°Said the Mother to the people everywhere: Do you hear what I hear? Do you hear what I hear? Way down in the earth, spread afar Do you hear what I hear? Do you hear what I hear? A song, a tear, begging to be free With a voice as deep as the sea With a cry o¡¯ weep and a plea.¡± ? It is the hymn of Cosmos and the celestial rite of birth. It is the summoning of humanity¡¯s savior¡ªof the one who shall lead them into the astral galaxies above. ? ¡°Do you see what I see? Do you see what I see? In the darkness cold, a still air Do you see what I see? Do you see what I see? A child, a child, innocent and bright Let them lead you to glory and might Let them lead us to the gentle light.¡± ? A flash of light darts across the sky, leaving behind a trail of glowing stardust and new-found dreams¡ªof passions reignited alongside the hopes of man¡¯s kin. The world has answered Ascalon¡¯s call; the time is finally now. For the Comet has come, shining ever so bright. Chapter 4: Smog and Ambition ¡°Polus is an antiquated land. Tradition and homely values populate the quaint little hamlets and bustling cities dotted all about their territory. On that end, the empire of Nox Caelum is their stark opposite. The people are gruff, hearts hardy and curt as coal, and their minds are wholly fixated on personal advancement. Perhaps their nature is a reflection brought about by their leader¡¯s obsession, for Grand General Xeros desires nothing else than to conquer everything beneath the earth and sky.¡± - Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Settled far south from the lands of Polus, there lies a ringed city of smoke and plume. A dark haze of smog festers in the air - rising up into a billowing cloud and infecting the lungs of the people with its dense pollution - while a metallic grey shines betwixt greasy buildings lain alongside the ash-covered streets, swerving and winding in chaotic, yet purposely crafted, patterns of dead ends and pathways. It is as if the layout itself is designed to be a convoluted maze, navigation unfeasible unless one has resided in the oily alleys all their life. But such conditions only apply to the ground stratum of the city. From the very top, layers of artificially-erected levels shadow the citizens below in an all-encompassing darkness, with only the flickering flame of lamps and roaring forges to grant light¡¯s succor. As one ascends the layers climbing up to the sky - each one smaller in size than the last - the air becomes more tolerable. The grime less apparent. Higher and higher still, until the very top displays a sanctuary untouched by the byproducts of factories plaguing the lower levels. It is another realm entirely, isolated in its own paradise of glittering excess and sheen. But this paradise has one glaring oddity, for towering at the very center of the countless rings is a giant, pitch-black spire. It pierces through the clouds, serving as a constant reminder of the one who rules above them all¡ªof the omnipresent eye monitoring their every action. It is a symbol of control, and the summit¡¯s peak houses a small, dimly lit room covered in red carpets and canvases of plated bronze. A steel desk lies at the end, sitting in front of a transparent sheet peering out to the city, and a velvet-lined chair resides near the room¡¯s end. The seat is abandoned, for a lone man gazes out to the sky¡ªfeet planting firmly on the floor as sparks of red lightning crackle beneath with foreboding. Long grey hair trails above his charcoal cloak, a perpetual scowl adorning his face grizzled with age and experience, while a deep gash lays scarred on his right eye just above his frayed, scraggly beard. The air itself around him shivers, suffocated by his tempered ferocity. The man stands still. Waiting. Anticipating. Not a single step is taken. Not a single word is uttered. He simply awaits the passage of time¡ªawaiting a future already prophesied. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The sound of the clock is the only refuge within the desolate silence. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. There is no need to rush. For he is the Grand General of Nox Caelum. And all shall proceed as by his will. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. A roar. A song. A tremor. The city below screams out in confusion as the sky becomes awash with nonsensical spectrums of color, the expanse ablaze with wonder and fear. But the Grand General does not move. He remains still in the spire¡¯s haven, unbothered and firm against the ruptures of the earth. All that graces his being is a small, knowing sneer. Now, it shall come: the beginning of everything. ¡ª¡ª¡ª Xeros What a ghastly sight, the Grand General muses to himself. The Festival of Creation¡ªsuch is the moniker for the display unfolding before him. The ancient records herald the event as a thing of beauty - a gift from the Mother Cosmos to her beloved children - but Xeros only views it as the ramblings of an incoherent child: messy and undisciplined. How fitting for a world plagued with lethargy. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. But it shall not be that way for long. The Comet must be procured with haste if his stalemate with Polus is to come to an end. Those winged rats have stubbornly held on to their traditions, but no matter how much they attempt to struggle, there can be no change in their nature. It is only a matter of when they shall fall, but Xeros does not have the time to engage in skirmishes for another few odd years. He is only growing weaker with age, and there is still much to conquer. It is within his sight - the light that shall pave the way forward. All he needs now is to take it firmly within his grasp. A knock at the door interrupts his thoughts. There is only one who has the authority to enter his abode. ¡°Enter, Praetor Luxanne,¡± he says with a gruff, husky voice. A woman in a midnight-black mechanical suit marches into the room with steady, methodical steps. Her armor is composed of an intricate assembly of sleek, angular plates interlocking into a tight exoskeleton, and a honed onyx serves as her helm - featureless and barren of unnecessary design save for a singular socket that glows with a vibrant red light. She arrives at the center of the office and bows her head, greeting the man with a voice obscured in a metallic filter. ¡°Reporting for duty, Grand General,¡± she says. ¡°The forces stationed at the Polus encampments have all been withdrawn as you ordered.¡± ¡°I see,¡± he rasps. ¡°And what of Commander Gravitas?¡± ¡°He shall arrive from the Augurium borders within the week.¡± ¡°Hm, very good." Gravitas is essential for Xeros¡¯s plans, woe though it may be to rely upon that fool¡¯s cavernous head. At the very least, he is powerful - exceptionally so - and what better to use as a tool than one content with mere blood and flesh? The Grand General turns his gaze back to the sky. Unfortunately, Creation¡¯s choir continues to belt out words of drivel. How amusing for a force that shall never be human to think itself knowing of our laments. But perhaps this shall provide an opportunity to peer into his protege¡¯s thoughts. Xeros beckons for Luxanne to come to his side; she does so hesitantly, confusion etched within her movements. ¡°Tell me, Luxanne,¡± he begins. ¡°What do you think of the display before us?¡± ¡°... I do not care,¡± she eventually says after a breath of silence. ¡°If it does not concern my operations or the safety of the city, then I see no reason to pay attention to it.¡± Hoh, but your eye tells a different story. ¡°Are you not curious of the source? Of why I have lingered here in inactivity while ordering for the legions¡¯ retreat? Do you not have any grievances with your¡­ peculiar duties of late?¡± ¡°I am a soldier. I do as I am commanded and nothing else.¡± Xeros lets out a small grunt and slowly takes a seat at his desk. ¡°Very good. Order and discipline: There can be no progress without the two, for to allow defiance in one¡¯s ranks is to allow chaos to be sewn in thy people. In order for mankind to prosper, it requires complete obedience to a singular ruler¡ªone with overwhelming strength.¡± He beckons Luxanne forth. She approaches without a word, closer and closer, until her knuckles are clenched against the cold steel. ¡°Power triumphs above all else,¡± he says, placing his hand on her shoulder. ¡°If you wish to make your desires true, then wrench it away with your own hands. Everything in this world can be achieved with effort and struggle; failure to do so speaks of a lack of desperation, of resolve, and of determination. Remember that, Luxanne.¡± Not a sound leaves her lips. She merely stands motionless, still as death, but an aura of fury pours out of her being and betrays her supposed passivity. The Grand General can feel her rage¡ªfeel her bloodlust on every pore of his body. But there is nothing Luxanne can do to him, and none know this more than she. The foolish girl never has been adept at hiding her true thoughts. She stares at him with poorly-veiled loathing before forcing herself to muster a response. ¡°I thank you for the valuable lesson, Grand General. I will take your words to heart.¡± ¡°Indeed you shall.¡± The last lines of melody from the heavenly chorus outside begin to diminish. The trembling of the earth, the messy vandalism of the sky¡­ the world reverts back to its hollowness, leaving man to be seduced by the promise of change. For the Comet has come, shining ever so bright. ¡°It appears that infernal racket has finally ceased,¡± Xeros says. ¡°Then now is the time for this brief idleness to come to an end.¡± The other nations will soon begin to move. They will scour the land, upheave every rock and grain of soil, to locate the Comet and lay claim its might as their own. But their efforts shall be in vain, for the Grand General already knows where the child of Cosmos will be born. It is a land of death; the destruction of old; the resting ground of humanity¡¯s most viled atrocity; and the setting for the tragedy known as The Night of Crimson Tears. ¡°What are your orders, sir?¡± Luxanne asks. ¡°Have Commander Gravitas prepare his division when he arrives at the capital,¡± Xeros commands. ¡°Bolster the forces, prepare the war machines, and arm the soldiers for departure.¡± ¡°Where shall he be sent?¡± Xeros rises up from his seat and gazes far out into the distance. ¡°To the soundless forest of miasma and rot: the Aeternum.¡± Chapter 5: Of Thrones and Heroes Past ¡°The Order of the High Seraph are Polus¡¯s prized guard - the very reason why the antiquated nation still remains strong against the currents of time. Grand General Xeros¡¯s forces are powerful, cruel and designed for conquest, but the knights of the Seraph hold one key trait that not even he can overcome so easily: wings. ¡°Truth be told, I am unsure how it is the Seraph manifest their wings. Creation is a force - a sprawling ego of divinity - and though it may hold limitless potential, it also begets endless complexity. Perhaps that is why not every Polus knight can take to the skies, but those able will find themselves lauded as the nation¡¯s elite.¡± - Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Lorelai When Cosmos sheds a tear from beyond the veil, and the forces of Creation hither forth a new era of prosperity¡ª A Comet shall be summoned by the earth and sky. They will bring change to the world and rally humanity together under a single banner. They shall strive towards the astral realm up high. It is an old, old fable - a bedtime hum sung to Lorelai in the years of her youth. The song is a promise from the Mother to her children, but to the once little girl with eyes still awash in a memory of a sea of flame, it is merely an icon of false hope. Polus must bring about their prosperity through their own strength, not from a legend of which history has scarce record of. No, they need a figure that is tangible. That is real. They need a guiding light they can truly see with their own eyes and cast their woes upon with their own voices. Because false dreams only lead to mournful awakenings. Yet, in but a brief, ephemeral moment, the legend becomes real. The fable becomes reality. The citizens all about the capital rejoice through the night in a joyous reverie of celebration. They sing, they dance, and they give thanks to the Stars above whilst crowding the streets in a swerving mass of laughter and cheer. Lorelai is happy for them. She truly is. Because though she doesn¡¯t want to admit it, the little girl inside her still so desperately yearns to find that ray of light herself, and now it is within her reach: a way to end this war once and for all. But for now, she needs rest. In the endless halls and corridors that plague the Polus castle, there is a tiny room filled with the smell of musty parchment and aged ink. Inside, books and various records are lined atop little wooden shelves, covering every single bit of surface on the hazel walls and forming a cluttered, but organized, miniature library. The room is her home; Ascalon has tried to get her to move into a larger quarter, but she can¡¯t bring herself to leave the hearth she¡¯s resided in since the day of her rise to the ranks of the Seraph. Memories are a fickle thing indeed, but they are precious. The moment Lorelai opens the room¡¯s faded door, she is swathed in the sensations only wrinkled scrolls can provide. It is a great comfort - one that cannot ever be replaced - especially after a year¡¯s absence where all she¡¯s met with since is blood, oil, and steel. The only furnishing not related to her pastime of literature is a small mattress, bare of creases for she has spent more time by the desk-side than in the comfort of a warm blanket. However, today the bed¡¯s call is particularly alluring. Lorelai collapses atop with her armor still clad and slowly begins to drift off to slumber. There is an endless sprawl of matters to attend to once the morning breaks. It can wait. After all, there is no greater way to refresh the mind than a nice, long nap. ¡ª¡ª¡ª Lorelai The sun¡¯s morning light gently trickles in, pattering Lorelai¡¯s body with soft rays of amber when a knock at the door begets a raspy groan from her dry throat. Alright, it¡¯s time to conduct yourself like a proper Dame, Lorelai. With her eyes aflutter, she quickly rises from the bedside and clears her head of the night¡¯s stupor. A leader must always be prepared to act with haste and a clear head, no matter the time or situation. It is also rather embarrassing to be seen at one¡¯s messiest. Though she must act with grace befitting that of a Throne around her subordinates, home is a sanctuary where she may finally let loose the more unkempt aspects of her heart. ¡°Lorelai? Am I intruding?¡± Ascalon¡¯s voice emits through the narrow cracks. ¡°Ah, just one moment,¡± she says, scrambling to clean the neglected messy corners. With a raise of her finger, she focuses her thoughts and whispers a plea of assistance to the air around her. ¡°I welcome you, oh tranquil breeze of the rising morn: Please cleanse me of grime, and let this room sparkle with sheen anew.¡± A sudden wind skirts around the aged books as little specks of dust and dirt flow out of the room and into the bright blue sky of the world outside. Lorelai¡¯s armor glistens with newfound polish, and her body becomes alleviated of weight - the pollutants carried away by the gale. After a quick word of thanks to Creation¡¯s benevolence, she opens the door and is greeted by the fatigued shadow of Ascalon, his eyes dim with a darkened charcoal. ¡°¡­Care to explain yourself?¡± she sighs at the all too familiar sight. ¡°It seems a year¡¯s absence has left you forgetting my words.¡± Ascalon attempts to let out a light-hearted chuckle, but the hoarse strain from his throat exposes a sleepless moon slaving away by the candlelight. ¡°Haha. Unfortunately, yesterday¡¯s revelation was not a matter I could so easily delay - especially when it may just concern the fate of our kingdom. May I come in?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± The haggard King stumbles inside and steadies himself by Lorelai¡¯s deskside. With a deep heave, he looks up and grabs a book off to the side. ¡°The Nebulas¡­ to think this old fable¡¯s prophecy would occur in my lifetime, ¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ve scoured through every ancient record in the archive still intact, and yet nary a hint remains for where the Comet¡¯s fall may be.¡± ¡°Have you spoken to Gadreel and the elders yet?¡± she asks. The older members of parliament are more familiar with the legends; they¡¯ve always been a superstitious bunch, much to Lorelai¡¯s dismay, but no fountain of knowledge goes untapped it appears. ¡°In brief. Rather, I¡¯ve spent the better part of the dawn ensuring the stability of the court. It¡¯s a mess currently; confusion, panic, and excitement are all spreading like wildfire among the people, so I¡¯ve called the castle¡¯s residents to an assembly at the noon¡¯s peak. Hopefully we may garner possible clues in the ompany of others.¡± He shuts the book with a jolt after a drowsy dip of his head startles his addled mind and quickly stands back up. Although Lorelai cannot see his face, she can feel his embarrassment plain as day. ¡°Ehm, moving on,¡± he coughs. ¡°I wanted to get your thoughts first before the decisive hour. I know no one else as knowledgeable as you when it comes to the written works.¡± ¡°Hehe, then I¡¯m afraid I must let you down. I never really was one for fairy tales; the Nebulas is just a keepsake from my mother.¡± She never could bear to throw it away, even after all these years. Lorelai ponders to herself for a moment. What scrolls depicting the previous Comets that haven¡¯t yet been burned or erased from history are paltry in detail. There are only a few odd constants: The Comet shall always return, even after death. The Comet shall don a different appearance upon its every rebirth. And the Comet shall be forever pursued by the wretched atrocity chaining humanity to the earth: the Constellation. No further sightings of the vile warden has ever been documented since The Night of Crimson Tears. Is it still among the living? Even if so, not a record remains of what it¡¯s true appearance may be. It must have perished there amongst the forest of lost souls, for how sorrowful would it be if the alliance of mankind¡¯s best turned out to be all for naught? A death for a death. And from the ashes, life blossoms anew. Perhaps¡­ ¡°Hm,¡± she grunts. ¡°I may have a suspicion.¡± ¡°Truly?¡± Ascalon says. ¡°That is great news. Then let us depart to the throne room so we may prepare¡ª¡± But before he can utter anything else, Lorelai quickly grasps the sluggish King by the waist and effortlessly tosses him atop her bed. ¡°What?¡± he begins. ¡°Ascalon, sleep for a spell,¡± Lorelai commands. ¡°There are still some hours left. Leave the rest of the preparations to me.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°I am not taking no for an answer. Now, close your eyes.¡± He tries to protest, but his efforts are in vain. He should know better than anyone else how stubborn she can be. ¡°¡­Alright. But only for a little while.¡± As soon as the words leave his lips, he collapses onto the pillow with nary a jerk of movement and falls completely silent. Slumbering. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Sweet dreams, Ascalon. When you wake, everything shall be settled. ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon Ascalon sits at his throne - mind refreshed with clarity anew - and bids for the enthusiastic attendees in the room to be silent. Lorelai stands guard off to his side, rigid, and attempting to exude an air of elegance, but it is apparent even she cannot resist the fierce atmosphere. A childlike spirit has entered the hearts of all after the fateful moment yesterday, and though the King cannot blame them for being giddy upon witnessing history in the flesh, there cannot be any further delay. ¡°Everyone, please be seated,¡± he speaks, voice echoing with authority. ¡°Now, on to the matter at hand¡­ yes, the Comet has descended. And we would be fools to not pursue this glimmer of salvation, but their location is still veiled. I have gathered you here all today so that we may uncover a possible lead to their landing together.¡± And it is imperative they do so soon. The Grand General¡¯s retrieval of his troops now all but makes certain his foreknowledge of the savior¡¯s coming. But how? It is troubling that Xeros¡¯s insight extends far beyond his own, but Ascalon cannot dwell in doubt. If that corvid knows where the Comet¡¯s true location may be, then all the more haste to decipher it now. ¡°Let us start with you, Gadreel. As the eldest among the court officials, do you have any suspicions?¡± The chancellor practically bounces with excitement as he takes to the center. ¡°Hohoh, you can count on this old man, my liege. I was quite the connoisseur of legends back in my youth, especially those concerning the budding years of humanity¡¯s beginning. If this noggin of mine still holds true, then one common link between the heroes of old is that they were always found isolated away from the civilizations of man.¡± ¡°Isolated you say?¡± ¡°Yes, indeed. The Comet of the Dark Era was said to have been born in the wilds of the Antiqua, where they were raised by the beasts of the earth before being found by the Chieftess of that period.¡± Lorelai taps her foot absentmindedly during the Chancellor¡¯s jubilant speech before eventually allowing her zeal to take hold. ¡°I¡¯m quite curious. Where did you learn of such origins? I¡¯ve perused through the entire archive, but the only information I could find was about the previous Comet.¡± ¡°Ah, that is because it is not in writing, my lady, but in song.¡± Gadreel clears his throat and turns to face the puzzled faces of the masses. In an instant, a bafflingly eloquent serenade spills forth from his lips. ? ¡°Over the mountains, brought from the sky A bundle of warmth, of Star, cast out a cry Here doth layeth O¡¯ child of small grace Heed these words of our gentle embrace ¡®Fear not the darkness, fear not the beasts They are thy guardians, restless in peace In the wilds of ancient rest At the gate of summit¡¯s peak Thy path shall one day open Thy way shall be set free.¡± ? With a flourish, he bows to a soir¨¦e of fierce applause from all over the court. Even Ascalon can¡¯t help but break into a smile. To think he was hiding such a skill from me, that shrewd old gentleman. ¡°Books and scrolls can be burned,¡± Gadreel says after a moment to collect himself. ¡°But the memories of the people''s pasts live on, inherited as a keepsake of our ancestors. Ah, speaking of the previous Comet, I believe they are the only one we know the actual identity of. Dame Lorelai, would you be so kind as to enlighten us?¡± Lorelai lets out a small chuckle at Gadreel¡¯s teasing and strides to the center herself. ¡°Well, I can¡¯t refuse such a polite request now, can I?¡± Lorelei unsheathes her twin blades and clashes them together near her chest. With a whisper, the Solga and Lunas begin to glow an incandescent light before manifesting a human-like phantom of gold and silver into the air above. ¡°These two kids still remember her well,¡± she says as the figure dances with joy above them. ¡°Beloved Maiden of the Sunrise: Ladislava the Charitable. She was a warrior, teacher for the Umbral Throne of Twilight: Valkyrie, and the former master of these blades I always seem to depend upon. Ladislava was found in the desert to our east, where the Augurium Thaumaturgy¡¯s border now resides; the wandering tribes only discovered her after being battered by scorching heat and storms of sand, but after receiving their love and care, she grew to be a true protector of humanity. She was the very symbol of hope.¡± Lorelai dissipates the phantom and puts the celestial weapons back in their scabbards. There¡¯s a longing in her gaze as she watches the illusion disappear, and though Ascalon wants to reach out to her, he feels it¡¯s better to leave her be. ¡°Hohoh, I still remember the days when you would run about the castle playing pretend,¡± Gadreel guffaws. ¡°You were the fierce warrior Ladislava, and the poor castle servants acted as minions of the dreaded Constellation.¡± Lorelai freezes, no doubt with a blush on her face, and coughs out loud to interrupt the chancellor. ¡°You still remember that, Gadreel? That was a time long ago.¡± ¡°For me, it was only yesterday,¡± he murmurs. ¡°In fact, one battle you enacted often was the¡ª¡± Gadreel suddenly pauses, veins bulging as the elderly man¡¯s brain works in stride. He runs his hand through his thick goatee and whispers something to himself before raising his head, eyes sparkling with revelation. ¡°Perhaps¡­¡± he begins. ¡°Yes, that may just be the answer after all.¡± ¡°It appears you¡¯ve made the same conclusion as I,¡± Lorelai says. ¡°You too, my lady? Hohoh, it is good to see that this old fellow isn¡¯t just thinking of hogwash after all!¡± Ascalon stares at the two, confused, as they both share a moment of reluctance. They seem hesitant to unveil their findings, but why? Battle? If it concerns the Comet Ladislava, then would it be¡­ A place far, far away from the towering structures of man. A place where the Comet can be naturally safeguarded from the forces of the world. A place of death, of unrequited agony, and a sickening sanctum of the cursed miasma. ¡°The Aeternum,¡± the King says out loud in a sudden jolt of epiphany. ¡°There lies no other location in this world more isolated than the forest of decay.¡± A nod from Lorelai and Gadreel marks the unfortunate affirmation of Ascalon¡¯s discovery. Of all places¡­ Disbelief. Hesitation. Nervousness. A cacophony of voices drown out the surroundings. The very name brings a shadow to the court members¡¯ eyes, for The Aeternum is a forbidden land¡ªabandoned and forlorn of all life. None may enter. None may leave. At least, not without sacrificing their sanity. ¡°¡­ I suppose it is a given the Stars blessing shall not be obtained easily,¡± Ascalon mutters. ¡°None of our ancestors past have ever successfully charted an expedition through that tenebrous grotto. I fear our efforts will be met with the same; it is too dangerous.¡± He desperately wishes for anyone to judge him incorrect - to provide an inkling of possibility for their success - yet even the ever jovial Gadreel appears to shrink in his pessimism. ¡°If only I could voice otherwise, my liege,¡± he says with a rare futility. ¡°But you are correct. With that dreadful miasma plaguing every corner of the forest, even the most stalwart of our knights would succumb within a moment¡¯s rest.¡± The young official from before, Dariel, pops up seemingly out of nowhere behind the Chancellor¡¯s back and attempts to shake the life back into him. Unlike the others, his eyes still hold a clear determination. ¡°This isn¡¯t like you, sir!¡± he shouts, delivering a hardy slap to the elder¡¯s cheek as the court attendees gasp in surprise. ¡°Ah, confound it, boy!¡± Gadreel roars with his usual boisterousness, reeling back with red shading his face. ¡°I don¡¯t particularly enjoy wallowing in dejection, but there is naught much else we are capable of at the moment.¡± ¡°Surely you won¡¯t surrender so vainly? The grandfather I know would never let his spirit be smothered without a fight.¡± ¡°Dariel, what did I say about referring to me in such a manner whilst in a session? It is wholly inappropriate.¡± ¡°But I must if it means bringing out your fiery self! Perhaps if we knew the exact cause of the miasma¡­¡± The chancellor sighs and pats Dariel''s shoulder with a tired hand. ¡°If only it were that simple. No one knows what that dreadful mist truly is. A parting curse from the Constellation? The restless souls of all who perished on that terrible night? It matters not, for all it takes is a brief moment for the mist to invade the body and deteriorate it from the inside. Even if the winged knights of the Seraph were to fly above the haze, they would have to land on the ground eventually.¡± ¡°No, there is a way,¡± Ascalon slowly murmurs. ¡°With the authority of The Monarch¡¯s Wings, then I would be¡ª¡± ¡°Ascalon,¡± Lorelai suddenly interrupts. ¡°Your power isn¡¯t enough alone. Unless you were to bring an entire order¡¯s worth of knights, the protection granted would not last for long. And¡­¡± She pauses. Ascalon already knows what is coming next. Again and again and again, it comes. Like the lash of a whip, it stings all the same. ¡°¡­We need you here. The citizens need you here.¡± He can see it pains her to spew the words forth, but Ascalon does not fault her. She is simply doing her duty, as it is his to stay within this gilded cage. ¡°Must we truly be forced to let go of this hope?¡± Dariel pleas to the sea of bowed heads and cluttered hearts. ¡°Oh, my boy,¡± Gadreel attempts to reassure. ¡°Think not of it letting go, but rather to plan for another day. The Comet has just been born. There shall be plenty opportunity in the future to seek them out when the time is right.¡± Perhaps this may not be all for naught. Not even the Grand General has the ability to traverse the Aeternum; if we cannot safeguard the Comet in our kingdom, then I would prefer to let none abuse the child¡¯s power. But that isn¡¯t what Ascalon truly wants. There it lays in front of him: the chance to finally fulfill his purpose. His destiny. To finally be of use and to let free this gnawing sensation of worthlessness, yet the world is bidding him to avert his eyes. To look elsewhere. There has to be another way. ¡°I will go.¡± A command. Unyielding, forceful, and without a shred of doubt. Thus Lorelai has decreed, and her tone offers neither an opportunity for rejection nor further deliberation - as if it has been set in stone from the beginning. ¡°¡­What?¡± the King mumble after a stunned second. ¡°I will go, Ascalon. For now, let one of the order¡¯s Templar fill my vacancy¡ª¡± ¡°No. No, I¡­ Lorelai, surely you just heard of the danger? Not even the power of the Celestial Twins adorned on your hip can safeguard you from the miasma. I cannot approve of your departure.¡± I cannot lose you as well. But Lorelai only descends onto her knee and faces him with a piercing gaze full of resolution. ¡°My liege,¡± she says, voice foreign with an unfamiliar harshness. ¡°Bid forgive me for my insolence, but truth be told, I have already arranged the necessary preparations during your slumber. It shall arrive soon.¡± The floor beneath them begins to emit a rumbling tremble. Far outside, a faint groan trickles into the air, step by step, until it transforms into a deafening roar. Ascalon quickly turns his head towards the stained glass, and there, towering into view outside the city walls, is a titanic citadel of blinding steel. It is as if the sky has excavated an ancient castle and placed it atop a colossal mound of earth, shadowing the entirety of Polus and blocking out the sun¡¯s shine. Strange steel pillars bend and creak at the mound¡¯s base, mimicking the appendages of a creature of flesh, and a metallic grumble oozes from every corner of the monument. It is an imposing sight. Wondrous, yet terrifying. Dreadfully so. ¡°By my word,¡± Gadreel whispers. ¡°I never would have thought that monstrosity would ever see the light of day.¡± Lorelai steadily marches in front of the King and bellows out a powerful cry to the dazed members of the audience. Ah, I see now. I wasn''t needed here. From the very start, I didn¡¯t even have a choice. ¡°Here me, sons and daughters of Polus! We need not languish in despair any longer. I, and my personal elite guard of Seraph knights, shall embark to the Aeternum before the spring¡¯s end. The miasma is a terrible blight, but it is not infallible. Trust in me, and trust in the might of the Moving Fortress Alexandria.¡± Chapter 6: The Moving Fortress Alexandria ¡°The Alexandria is a strange, curious thing. Its origins lay not with being constructed by Polus hands, rather as a gift¡ªgiven by Latizia Babylon, President of the Ishmahab Federation, to Ascalon on the day of his coronation. The fortress was meant to serve as a peace treaty between our nations, but the technology powering it was far too complex for our craftsmen to understand, leading to its eventual abandonment off to the kingdom¡¯s edge. ¡°I had no doubt in my mind Latizia purposely sent it to insult our standing, though Ascalon thought otherwise and stopped me whenever I tried to send a complaint to that utter ghoul. What use was there in a weapon that could never be used? It only served as a reminder of our underdevelopment, and she knew this. She planned this, thinking the glorified trophy would fool us with its gilded shine. ¡°But I wasn¡¯t going to allow her to demean us so easily. I tinkered with the endless steel veins despite protest from the elders, still ever so stuck in their ways, and explored every nook and corner of the fortress until finally¡­ it moved. It roared to life. I didn¡¯t have the chance to fully test its usefulness before I was sent off to the frontlines, but now is the time. Oh, if only I could see that smug hag¡¯s face now¡­¡± - Dame Lorelai of the Exalted Throne of Heaven ¡ª¡ª¡ª Lorelai It has been a few odd days since the unveiling of the Moving Fortress Alexandria. Thankfully, the Grand General¡¯s forces have remained passive within the confines of their capital of smog. Lorelai suspects the vile corvid has plans of his own, but for now, she must focus on preparing for departure. And to resolve the tensions between her and the King. ¡°Ascalon, please let me in,¡± she says, softly knocking on the ivory entrance of his private abode. Though he may try to hide it with feign cheerfulness, an air of melancholy has splintered free from his heart¡ªspreading all throughout his body and transforming his spirit into one of a smothered ember. The fault lies with her. I knew my decision would bring him pain. I knew bringing up old wounds would stir his blood. But the expedition must be led by her no matter what. Lorelai will never allow Ascalon to come into harm¡¯s way. Such is her pledge, and her duty as a Throne. No, it is more selfish than that; she simply wishes to spare him from ever dirtying his hands with blood. A faint stirring rouses from behind the door: sudden clunking, the panicked rattle of steel, and soon, a muffled voice. ¡°A-Ah, my apologies. I wasn¡¯t expecting anyone to visit me.¡± With a creak, Ascalon¡¯s head peeks through the opening. She waits for him to usher her in, but he simply stands there, dazed - as if his eyes aren¡¯t truly grasping her presence - for a rather awkward period. Just the two of them. Together. Silent. ¡°... Ascalon?¡± she questions. ¡°Hm? Oh, my apologies. Please, come in.¡± He finally pulls the door fully open and welcomes her inside with a half-hearted gesture. The room is exactly the same as she remembers it from the prior year: spacious, wide, and barren of excess furnishings. The only things of note are some paintings of previous Kings and Queens fitted upon the walls, leaving nary a space for the white marble to shine free, and a corner devoted solely to his armor¡¯s fitting. A particularly outlandish bed with white drapes is abandoned off to the side; all else is empty space, but she can feel a phantom roaming about within¡ªa shade of memory, of countless years in solitude swinging his zweihander until his palms are bloodied and his breath is haggard. The room contains the essence of Ascalon¡¯s resolve, and Lorelai has sullied it with her greed. ¡°What brings you over here?¡± he asks, struggling to remain indifferent. ¡°Ascalon¡­ I know you¡¯ve been avoiding my gaze the previous days.¡± ¡°Whatever do you mean? I haven¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He freezes. ¡°Lorelai¡­¡± ¡°I knew you wouldn¡¯t have approved, especially since the Alexandria¡¯s prowess is still uncertain, so I had to garner support before you could voice your dissent.¡± Ascalon sighs and takes a seat by his bedside. ¡°Am I that untrustworthy to you?¡± ¡°Of course not!¡± she beseeches, voice bordering on a yell. ¡°But that¡¯s how you¡¯ve always been. You want to shoulder the burden yourself. You want to endure the pain so that no one else will have to suffer.¡± ¡°Then why must you¡ª¡± ¡°You know why! What you want to achieve isn¡¯t gallantry. No, it¡¯s self-destructive. You want to be a martyr, Ascalon. You want to die a hero.¡± Lorelai tries to remain calm, but before she knows it, the words of her heart are spilling forth without any abandon. Her frustrations and guilt are urging her to carry on, to let out her true feelings after years of watching her beloved be consumed by thoughts of inadequacy. ¡°And I can¡¯t let you do that. For the people all around us that depend on you, love you, and only wish for you to remain safe. I know you despise being locked up in this castle, but we all have our roles to play.¡± Ascalon hangs his head and merely stares at the floor. It pains her soul to see him like this, but she has to continue. She must make him see reason. ¡°¡­Is it so wrong a sin as to want your people to be released from worry?¡± he says, desperately clasping onto his last few bouts of resistance. ¡°Oh, Ascalon¡­¡± she whispers, seating herself by his side. ¡°A nation is called such because the people strive together towards its prosperity. Alone, we struggle. But together, we persevere, reaching greater heights. So trust in us. Trust that we will come back safe.¡± He doesn''t speak. His fists shake with a clenched trembling, but eventually Ascalon allows his expression to soften and slowly lays his head on Lorelai¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Do you remember what you said to me on the day we met?¡± he asks. How could I not? ¡°I promised to forever serve as your blade, as your advisor, and as a friend.¡± He chuckles at the words and turns his head until a pair of radiant, amber eyes are staring directly at her own. ¡°You¡¯ve kept your promise well over the years, but now I must compel you for another.¡± Ascalon rises up with renewed dignity and takes her hand within his. ¡°Promise to me that you will prioritize your life above all else. No matter if the Comet¡¯s retrieval must end in failure or the Alexandria has to be abandoned to the miasma, you will return to me: safe and in one piece. I will not allow you to leave otherwise.¡± The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Oh, how cruel of you. To ask me this knowing I can never follow it. But sometimes, one must utter a little white lie. ¡°I promise, Ascalon. No matter what, I will return.¡± Her words are genuine in a sense, though not exactly to his expectation. She will bring back the Comet; her success is already guaranteed in her mind, for to think otherwise is to invite the inevitability of failure. A knight must be steadfast in their will, or they will falter. And they will perish. The sorrow lurking around him begins to dissipate, now replaced with a hesitant faith - faith that she will keep her word. ¡°Go, Lorelai. You still have much to prepare.¡± She stands up and, with a composed wave, bids the King a heavy-hearted goodbye. The door closes, and he disappears back into his solitary bastion. Fret not, my beloved. Once I return, there shall be no need for you to suffer ever again. ¡ª¡ª¡ª Lorelai A familiar scent of freshly-baked breads and simmering stews wafts through the air as Lorelai strolls down the busy wards of the Castrum. It has been far too long since she has been able to have a meal and relax in the comfort of her birthplace, but despite the eager gestures and calls from bar hands tempting her in, she has another destination in mind. Eventually, she arrives at the main gate serving as the city¡¯s checkpoint. An ever-constant flow of merchants and farmers from the outer territories move in and out at a sluggish pace as they¡¯re thoroughly examined by the knight guards. Their identity, their background, and even the contents of their wares are all heavily scrutinized before being allowed entry. It is a slow, but necessary, process; the Grand General¡¯s scouts are always attempting to worm their way in, and a modicum of vigilance is all it takes to prevent their inner affairs from leaking. That being said, I don¡¯t quite have the time to stand here the entire morning. Fortunately for her, bearing the title of Throne allows for certain¡­ exceptions. It is time to abuse her authority. As she approaches, the knights quickly fall to their knees and bow their heads. ¡°Greetings to you, o¡¯ Exalted Throne of the Heaven¡¯s Peak.¡± ¡°You may raise,¡± she says, donning the aura of a stoic leader. ¡°I must attend to the construct on the outskirts with due haste. I trust there are no complications?¡± ¡°But of course, Madam Lorelai. The passage shall always be open to you.¡± Heheh, I apologize caravaners, but a Throne¡¯s duty is important indeed. ¡°However, we do require a quick check of your identity before we allow your leave.¡± Damn. Lorelai supposes it¡¯s a good thing the standards of the guards aren¡¯t lacking in discipline. ¡°Will this do?¡± She unsheathes the Solga and Lunas from her waist side and presents it for the knights to see. The blades squirm and shimmer in her hands, upset with the undignified manner of their display, but it does the trick and the gatekeepers quickly part way and allow her through. With a triumphant stride, she marches in and walks out into the open plain. Blue skies and an endless expanse of yellow fields greet her, alongside the dormant Alexandria tucked away to the side. A large group surrounds the fortress, carrying in supplies and equipment as they prepare for the coming departure, and as Lorelai approaches, a female knight in auburn armor quickly rushes out to meet her. ¡°You¡¯re finally here, Lorelai,¡± the knight teases. ¡°Honestly, you¡¯re such a cruel taskmaster, suddenly asking me to bring this big piece of junk all the way from the border. Is it so hard to grace this poor, unfortunate lady with your presence after all she¡¯s done for you? For shame, Madam.¡± She chuckles at the so-called unfortunate lady and gives her a big hug. ¡°Thank you for answering my request, Celia. And don¡¯t think I wasn¡¯t busy myself! I had to spend the entire night signing a mountain of documents before the elders would finalize the expedition.¡± ¡°Hoh? So you were sitting by your bedside all nice and comfortable like while I was busy slaving away trying to get this ol¡¯ thing running away?¡± ¡°Well, we could always trade places if you¡¯d like.¡± Celia composes herself with mock consideration before delivering a tiny flick at Lorelai¡¯s helm. ¡°On second thought, I think I¡¯ll pass. I¡¯m not suited for stuffy administrative work.¡± ¡°Truly? Wow, who would have ever thought?¡± Lorelai laughs. ¡°Hey! I could do it if I put my mind to it. There¡¯s just more important things to worry about.¡± ¡°Your semester scores at the academy would imply otherwise.¡± ¡°Alright, Ms. Valedictorian. No need to remind me of my terrible past. Besides, I¡¯m doing just fine now teaching the new Seraph recruits. Well, I was before someone begged me to go on a trip to forbidden lands with them.¡± ¡°I could think of none other I trust more to serve by my side. Someone smart. Someone brave. Someone¡­ fearless.¡± ¡°Hmm? Is that so? I see, I see¡­¡± she murmurs, poorly attempting to hide her delight. ¡°Well, I couldn¡¯t just deny a request from an old friend. But are you sure you wanna use the Alexandria for this? Sure, it can move, but we weren¡¯t able to test out all of its functions before you left.¡± ¡°As long as it holds firm against the miasma. Are the defenses working properly, at the very least?¡± ¡°Some of them. I was able to get the barrier incantation up and running, but I wouldn¡¯t count on it much. It needs to be operated by a constant group of Astrologians for it to work, and if it takes enough of a beating, it¡¯ll short-circuit the core and stop working. One use against something big is all we¡¯ll get from it.¡± ¡°I see¡­ what about the aerial armaments?¡± Celia sheepishly crosses her arms. ¡°Um, not good. I understand the general theory of it, using condensed force to produce a massive ray of energy, but I have no idea how the President managed to make it work. It doesn¡¯t feed off of Creation¡¯s influence, rather a separate source that has to be inserted beforehand, but what exactly that source is I haven¡¯t the foggiest. For now, it¡¯s just scrap.¡± Lorelai sighs and looks up at the towering construct. Curse you, Latizia. It appears we fell straight into your trap. But even so, the Alexandria is their best hope at retrieving the Comet. It comforts her knowing the old hag would likely snarl in fury if she were to discover that her ¡®gift¡¯ shall prove useful after all. ¡°That is unfortunate, but we must make do with what we have. Is there anything else of concern on your mind?¡± ¡°Nope, everything else is working as intended,¡± she says after pondering to herself for a moment. ¡°If anything, I''m worried about the people onboard. We only have two hundred of the Seraph with us since we can¡¯t deprive the forces down south too much, and the rest of the roster is being filled up with wingless knights from the other orders. If the Alexandria goes down, then¡­¡± ¡°It won¡¯t come to that, Celia.¡± No matter what, one must remain steadfast in their will. Hesitation is not allowed. ¡°Ack, you¡¯re right,¡± she exclaims. ¡°No point thinking of doom and gloom. We¡¯re already almost done with the inventory checks, anyway. Just gotta work on a couple of tweaks and then we¡¯re good to go.¡± ¡°Hehe, quick as always. When do you believe the Alexandria will be fully supplied?¡± ¡°Hm? Probably by nightfall.¡± ¡°Great, then that shall also be our departure date.¡± Celia freezes, muttering to herself before grasping Lorelai¡¯s shoulders and shaking her like a madwoman. ¡°W-We¡¯re leaving today!?¡± she exclaims. ¡°Lorelai, we¡¯ve barely just started training the knights. Those steel-brained fools can barely find their way inside the fortress, much less operate it.¡± ¡°Then they¡¯ll have to learn on the spot,¡± she says while calming her down. ¡°The later we depart, the more likely it is the Grand General will discover our plans. We have to go now before he can respond.¡± Celia attempts to say another word, but stops after Lorelai stares at her with an unbending stubbornness. ¡°¡­ Hah, you¡¯ve always been a dogged fellow. Fine, I¡¯ll tell the others to pack it up as soon as they can.¡± ¡°Thank you, for going along with my stubbornness,¡± she whispers, moving in for another hug. ¡°Yeah yeah, get off me. I¡¯m used to it by now.¡± Celia squirms out of the hold and beckons her towards the fortress. It truly is an awe-inspiring sight, looking at it up close. Latizia may be a vexing person, but no one can deny her artistry. That is the one compliment Lorelai will allow herself to utter about the hag. ¡°Well, what¡¯re you waiting for?¡± Celia calls out, already standing on the fortress¡¯s entryway. ¡°Come on in. It¡¯s been a while since you¡¯ve seen the inside, right? I¡¯ll give you a little guided tour before we set off.¡± Chapter 7: One Last Glimpse of Home ¡°Hm? Why did I grant the Polus Monarchy so precious a vessel? Gehahah! Why, indeed. I admit, it does provide me a slight fancy to imagine those winged farmers wracking their mud-ridden brains over my invention; however, ¡®tis not the only reason. ¡°You see, Nox Caelum has been, how do you say, quite the domineer in this little scuffle of theirs. And we can¡¯t have that now, can we? So I gave the young King an opportunity. I do hope he proves competent. After all, there is no greater profit to be had than in war. ¡°In the end, after the dust settles and the rivers run red with blood, the only victor shall be I. Unharmed. Unbothered. And the richest in the land.¡± - Latizia ¡®Gold-Blooded¡¯ Babylon, President of the Ishmahab Federation ¡ª¡ª¡ª Lorelai Steel groans. Guttural hisses. A constant clamoring of sound fills Lorelai¡¯s ears as she monitors the Alexandria¡¯s performance within a sleek, silver command room. Pipes twist and curve from all about the fortress, leading to a central panel where an array of gauges and meters displays everything that need be known to keep the giant hunk of metal operational. Pressure levels are stable. Structural integrity remains firm. Everything is functioning as it should. Thank the Stars for that. Three days have passed since the Alexandria¡¯s departure. Now, the floor which so violently shook with every step of the lumbering fortress has become a daily occurrence. The sudden rumblings took her by surprise at first, and residing within a mobile construct uneased many of the crew members during the first night, but time soothes all worries, eventually. With a steady routine and hardy labor, everyone has grown accustomed to their new surroundings. All she must do now is wait; the Aeternum¡¯s entrance is only a day¡¯s time away. ¡°Lorelai? I¡¯ve got some more stacks for you,¡± Celia announces, bursting into the room with a massive pile of documents. She drops the sheets onto the growing mound off to the side and collapses with a sigh next to the baggy-eyed Throne. ¡°Already?¡± she mumbles. ¡°I could¡¯ve sworn I went through the last of the reports at midnight.¡± Celia chuckles with her face lain flat on the floor. ¡°That was the supply list. This is the crew¡¯s status.¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°Well, they¡¯re lucid at the very least.¡± ¡°Is that truly what the report states?¡± ¡°No, but it may as well be!¡± she cackles to herself. ¡°Ah, well, I¡¯ll give it to them; they¡¯re handling it better than I thought they would, especially the Seraph. They were pretty jittery at first, being confined in such a small space and all, but put those lugs in a training hall and soon they¡¯re raring to go.¡± ¡°Spoken like a true instructor,¡± Lorelai giggles. ¡°Some restlessness is to be expected. Those who manifest wings will always yearn for open fields. Placing us in an enclosed fortress is akin to depriving a drunkard of their ale: It is not a pretty sight.¡± ¡°Speaking from experience?¡± Celia says, a sly mischief seeping into her voice. ¡°How many times have I had to haul your inebriated rear out after getting piss-faced at Mary¡¯s tavern?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t act like you¡¯re any better! I just have a lower tolerance.¡± ¡°Uh-huh. And may I mention the lengths I went to sneak you back into the barracks? I had to climb through a window, Lorelai!¡± She blushes and turns away, indignant, from her tormentous friend. ¡°In my defense, a Throne can never be seen in an intoxicated state. I have an image to uphold, after all.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t stop Annalay from passing out on the streets.¡± Oh, Annalay. Dear, sweet Annalay. ¡°Well, that¡¯s her charm: wild and free as the woodlands. Her moniker is the Untamed Throne of Nature for a reason. ¡± Lorelai hangs her head back and closes her eyes in remembrance. So many memories. So many treasures. Back then, even with the constant threat of invasion looming in the horizon, we found joy in the simplest of things. A small drink, happily downed after a harsh day of lessons; A little laugh, nestled in bed with muscles sore and red with labor; A silent moment, shared in mutual determination. In knowing the gift of true friendship. ¡°Ah,¡± she whispers. ¡°Come to think of it, the last I saw Annalay was three years ago. Hehe, I¡¯m already thirty. My, where did the time go?¡± ¡°Where it¡¯s always been: flashing right by us,¡± Celia says. ¡°The only time you Thrones ever come back to the capital is for your annual report.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have a choice. Xeros¡¯s invasions grow in ferocity with every passing year. We can no longer risk leaving our stations.¡± ¡°Makes sense. That damned corvid is only getting older. More desperate.¡± ¡°And so are we.¡± Celia pauses, her eyes transfixed to the dull, flat ceiling. ¡°Yeah. I guess we are.¡± ¡­ ¡°Lorelai?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°You ok?¡± ¡°Of course I am.¡± ¡°Then maybe you should pick your head off of the floor.¡± Hm. How did I get there? She climbs off of the cold, metal base and staggers herself back upright, body cast in a ghastly glow. The fiery balls of light above are starting to blur in a most peculiar matter. ¡°That was quite odd. It appears I was suddenly transported to the floor.¡± Celia places a worried hand on her shoulder. Hands, actually, for three have suddenly manifested before Lorelai¡¯s misty gaze. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Want me to take over?¡± she asks. ¡°Oops, my bad. That wasn¡¯t a question. Go lay down. Now.¡± With a grab, Lorelai is tossed onto a nearby lounge, mind dazed with flickering shadows and blurred visions. This seems strangely familiar. ¡°Celia¡­¡± ¡°Nope, you of all people shouldn¡¯t be acting like this. Sleep, you stubborn fool.¡± Lorelai starts to protest, but her inner rationality emerges victorious in the end. She¡¯s right, I have been overworking myself lately. Not even I can avoid the curse that is anxiety. ¡°Thank you,¡± the weary Throne cedes. ¡°But I¡¯m not going to slumber for long. Don¡¯t get too comfortable there.¡± ¡°Sure. Whatever makes you feel better,¡± Celia teases. ¡°I¡¯ll wake you when the sun¡¯s up.¡± She collapses, every part of her body limp with fatigue, and gently closes her eyes. Soon, memories begin to flood in. Happy, ephemeral, and fleeting. Phantoms of a distant past. But, right now, they are more real than any other. ¡ª¡ª¡ª Lorelai ¡°Rise and shine! We¡¯re finally here.¡± Memories are gracious, indeed. Yet, so is the present. Lorelai stirs awake from her slumber and, with a quick smack of her helm, clears her mind for the day at hand. ¡°How long was I asleep?¡± she asks to the indistinguishable blob of color swirling in front of her eyes. ¡°About three hours.¡± Celia appears from behind and nudges a mug of steaming water into her hands. ¡°That quickly?¡± ¡°Guess I¡¯m just a better captain than you, Madam Perfect,¡± she says with a hearty guffaw. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get ourselves some fresh air while we can up on the deck. I¡¯m itching to have a close look at what we¡¯re dealing with.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like that. Stars know when we¡¯ll see our meadows again.¡± Because from now on, only darkness and gloom awaits them. The two leave the control room and steadily make their way through the tight, twisting halls of the dull fortress. Greys and silvers are the only hues plastering the surfaces, while a constant odor of metal and grease fill the nostrils with urges of suppressed gags. Many a knight have fled to the sickbay since the journey¡¯s beginning, yet Lorelai doesn¡¯t particularly mind the stench. It smells like the battlefield, of demolished steel horrors and plates rusted with blood and fluid. Every time a Caelum legionnaire is cut down, a sickening mixture of brown and crimson would stain her armor in filth. Beady-red eyes, a gaze steeped in madness, and a terrifying indifference to their own festering wounds: That is what those abominable unions of man and machine are. If you let yourself be distracted by such a small thing as smell, then your life will pass before you can even realize it. Screams. Wails. Cries. It will surround you. It will attempt to overpower your every sense. But you cannot allow yourself to heed it. No, you must block it all off. Distance yourself from it until that ever-growing necropolis becomes a mere monotonous sight. No matter how many fall clutching to your side, you must continue marching forward. For if you look back, then you will be dragged away by those that you couldn¡¯t save. Being a leader requires one to submerge their soul in the foulest pits of misery. To rise back up, tainted and sullied, with the vestiges of your prior self a mere whisper in the wind. Forever changed. Forever vanished. The stench has never left. It is a part of her now. ¡°I¡¯m going to get really mad if you don¡¯t respond soon.¡± Lorelai snaps to attention and discovers a stern Celia tapping her foot away in front of her. Have we made it to the deck already? ¡°Didn¡¯t hear a word I said, huh?¡± she says. ¡°Figures. You¡¯ve had this blank stare on for a while now.¡± ¡°Hm? How could you tell?¡± ¡°Heh, I can read you like an open book. You were normal at first, then you became all broody for some reason.¡± That¡¯s strange, I usually do quite well at maintaining an impassive demeanor, ¡°Is what you¡¯re thinking right?¡± Celia mutters with terrifyingly accurate foresight. ¡°Yeah, that ¡®pristine lady¡¯ front won¡¯t work on me, darling.¡± ¡°Truly? It seems I still have much to learn,¡± she giggles. It appears her previous thinking is wrong. There are some things that never change, and she wouldn¡¯t have it any other way. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I like to see! But I think we can do a little better.¡± With a mighty kick, Celia busts open the deck¡¯s entrance and strolls out into the pale light of the newborn dawn. A cool, chill gust welcomes Lorelai as she follows along, dyeing her cheeks red as a sprawling view of grassland and tranquil prairie unfold before her, stretching out far beyond the eye can see. The war has yet to reach this part of the land, and so the flowers bloom without abandon¡ªcarrying gentle drops of the world¡¯s dew atop their petals. How many times has she flown in the sky without truly taking in the beauty of the fields below? It doesn¡¯t matter. She can see it now. ¡°Now that¡¯s a view I can never get tired of,¡± Celia says, taking a seat by the edge. ¡°Little moments like these make you really think about why we¡¯re here. Why we¡¯re still struggling. It¡¯s all for this: clear skies and a quiet field.¡± ¡°And so that others may witness it alongside us.¡± ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t know. The spot right next to me is empty after all.¡± ¡°Hehe, We can¡¯t have that now, can we?¡± The Throne sets herself down and takes a moment to fully bask in the sun¡¯s warmth. They say a view is worth a thousand words, but I can¡¯t truly agree. Right now, not a sound needs to be uttered at all. But all good things must come to an end, eventually. ¡°¡­You ready?¡± Celia asks with a sad sigh. ¡°We must.¡± If they desire for this beauty to last, then they must confidently peer into the darkness. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s get this over with.¡± Lorelai rises up, etching one last glimpse of the sunrise into her mind, before slowly turning around. The vibrant greenery is no more. Instead, there is only rot. In front of her disgusted gaze is a sickly forest enveloped in a perpetual, hazy miasma. Pitch-black sludge covers every corner of the withered thicket, soiling the dirt with a pallid, sickly ash, and feeding upon every morsel of life it can latch onto. It¡¯s as if the decaying forest is stuck in a perpetual, despairing scream; the miasma infects all, polluting the trees with an oozing puss, whilst defiling the purity of Creation until the gentle divinity is transformed into a sobbing, tormented wraith. She can almost make out the faint figure of human faces swirling about in the mist, calling out for help and begging to be released from their prison of eternal anguish. An illusion? A trick of the mind? Perhaps not, but it is better to not think of such possibilities lest the answer unnerve her to the very core. The dead are already dead. Lorelai must think of the living. It was a wise decision to forbid entry to the deck. I shudder to imagine how those who¡¯ve yet to experience horror would react before such a sight. But even with experience, one cannot fully stave off the oppressive air. Celia turns gaunt, and her hands begin to shake; it¡¯s apparent the ghastly visage is eroding at her mind. ¡°Celia? Do you want to go back inside?¡± Lorelai asks, concerned. Although her friend is no stranger to the grotesque and violent, it has been years since she¡¯s left the capital after becoming the Seraph¡¯s instructor. Perhaps I was a bit too hasty. ¡°No,¡± she gasps with a gulp of air. ¡°I¡¯m alright. Like I¡¯d let something like this get the better of me. I just¡­ I just need a moment. I¡¯ll be doing all the surveying, anyway.¡± ¡°If it¡¯s too much, then I would be able to take on that role. Weren¡¯t you a better ¡®captain¡¯ than me?¡± Lorelai says humorously, attempting to distract Celia from the forest¡¯s malaise. ¡°Hah, I may be the better captain, but you¡¯re the better leader. We need you down there in case anything goes wrong.¡± With a slap to her own face, Celia shrugs off the darkened aura around her and returns back to her cheery self. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. I¡¯ll be fine.¡± She wants to object, but Celia¡¯s resolve is burning bright. She can trust her; her friend is strong. ¡°Then I won¡¯t impose on you any further.¡± The two clasp their hands in solidarity. The tender atmosphere between them is now gone, replaced by a tightened sense of duty. ¡°I shall return to the main control room. Can I count on you to serve as our eyes?¡± ¡°Of course. Nothing¡¯s going to escape my sight,¡± Celia salutes. There can be no more playfulness. No more recollection. No more melancholy. Every moment moving forth shall require a steady hand and a staunch determination. Chapter 8: In the Midst of Rot, a Light ¡°How long have I known Lorelai? Pretty much since the start of our academy days. I think we first entered the Principality branch when we were both around ten years old, and we¡¯ve been best friends since. Hehe, well, not actually. We didn¡¯t really start off on the best of terms. ¡°See, I got in through an academic merit. I studied really damned hard and spent many a night slaving away at my desk, only to be admitted in the end through a random selection. I was lucky - just one of countless other kids with the same smarts as me. ¡°Still, I was proud of it. I was the only one in my year from outside the capital unlike the others who got in through family connections, which is why I wasn¡¯t particularly too fond of Lorelai since she was from the main Principality royal line. I figured her to be a typical posh aristocrat, but as time went on, I realized just how wrong I was. It was as if she was born to succeed. To be our hope. I, on the other hand, was struggling to keep up with the new environment. ¡°I couldn¡¯t even go near her. She just had this intimidating kind of aura to her, but not in a bad way! She was graceful, elegant, and the very symbol of noble prestige. But then, one day, she came up to me. She asked a bunch of questions on what life was like outside of the capital. It irritated me a bit at the time since I only wanted to focus on my grades, but she kept coming back. Again and again, until eventually I started to look forward to our little meet-ups. ¡°What was our relationship? Classmates? Study partners? I didn¡¯t really understand. We were from different worlds after all. That is, until the day she protected me from being harassed by those damn Power highborns. I just couldn¡¯t understand. Why risk worsening your status by going against the other nobles? I asked her that, and she only replied with a smile: ¡®Because you¡¯re my friend.¡¯ ¡°Friend¡­ yeah, she was my friend. Someone who I knew would have my back no matter what. I decided to stop giving a crap about her origin and treated her like anyone else. We¡¯ve been butting heads since, and we¡¯ve had some particularly nasty fights, but y¡¯know what? We heal. We forgive. And we learn. That¡¯s what friends are: comrades for life.¡± - Celia Chaplet , Chief Instructor for the Order of the Unfettered Seraph ¡ª¡ª¡ª Lorelai The inner workings of the Alexandria are not too dissimilar to the structure of the human body. A constant vein of lifeblood - created in due thanks to the constant efforts of the Astrologians - must be supplied all throughout the fortress in order to animate its movement. Exhaust rooms located in the bottom quarter are dedicated to expelling the waste produced by the construct¡¯s rumbling, and a core situated at the very center serves as the main heart¡ªregulating the energy levels and ensuring Creation¡¯s influence remains satiated. Humans in this instance would be akin to one''s bodily attendants. A thousand strong work tirelessly around the hour to maintain the fortress¡¯s condition, hammering the dents into shape and cooling the chambers to prevent the limbs from overheating. What isn¡¯t spent on maintenance is delegated towards cleaning, supplies, equipment, and various other sections required to ensure a faultless operation. Every working second must not be wasted, and so an overseer is required to uphold steady procedure: a brain. Thus has been Lorelai¡¯s routine since the Alexandria¡¯s first step into the rotting forest. By the light of the dawn, she arises - making her way into the kitchens where the day¡¯s meals are prepped and ensures quality control is being carefully managed by the staff. Sanitation is no insignificance; all it takes is a singular oversight to contaminate the crew with a long-lasting affliction. Once the bell tolls signifying the morning meal, the knights awaken and begin to prepare for their daily tasks. When they depart, she inspects the living quarters for proper cleanliness and potential contraband before making her way towards the core. Any irregularities, complications, or even slight changes in the fortress¡¯s heart must be thoroughly scrutinized; pressure and concentration levels are quickly noted before being handed to the attending Astrologians. They¡¯re a rather prideful bunch, dogged in their endless pursuit to explore the depths of Creation¡¯s influence, but they are first and foremost scholars - not engineers. And so they must, with begrudging grunts, require assistance from Lorelai in order to properly spread the barrier enchantment to the entire fortress. After one last quick inspection, she departs to the rest of the departments and conducts basic checks for all of their affairs. Armory: checked and polished. Training : administered. Storage: recorded. Infirmary: examined. Scouting: mapped. By the time of her final visit, night has fallen. The veteran knights and section chiefs gather at the main control room where Lorelai holds a conference to discuss their reports and address any concerns about future developments or present inquiries. Drafts are planned, reports are written, and when they leave, the rest of the evening is spent on signing documents needing her attention. In the morrow, everything repeats once again. A day passes, and another, until an entire week has come and gone without any clue of the Comet¡¯s location. Hah¡­ this cannot continue for long. The knights are growing restless, and our supplies are starting to dwindle. If we are unable to retrieve the Comet by the month¡¯s end, then we shall be forced to return back home empty-handed. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. It is not a complete loss; thanks to Celia¡¯s efforts, a large section of the Aeternum has been charted for future expeditions. There is no need to put her crew at risk when they can simply resupply at the capital and depart once again. Better to live another day than to perish a reckless fool. Still, it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth¡ªespecially after her grand proclamation of success to Ascalon and the other officials. A harsh scolding likely awaits her upon their return. Let us view this as a learning opportunity rather than failure. The crew has grown much in familiarity with the Alexandria¡¯s workings. Even if the Comet is never discovered, at the very least, we will have gained control over a powerful weapon. A leader must not be distracted by the mistakes of the past. There is an opportunity in every corner for as long as one doesn¡¯t blind themself with disappointment. Yes, the expedition hasn¡¯t been a waste after all¡ª ¡°LORELAI!¡± Celia bursts into the control room with a crazed welp and quickly rushes over to the startled Throne¡¯s side. Her excitement is apparent, body practically steeped in exhilarated delight. That can only mean one thing: ¡°Y-You¡¯ve found them?¡± Lorelai mutters with a hopeful drawl. But her friend only lets out a sly chuckle and tugs on her arm. ¡°Why don¡¯t you see for yourself?¡± The two rush through the fortress and slam their way past the deck¡¯s entrance. The Aeternum is a revolting sight as always, but now there¡¯s something different. Something foreign of decay hidden far out in the distance: a glow. White, lustrous, and pure. Barely distinguishable amongst the darkness and gloom, but it is there. It is real. ¡°Ah,¡± she says, mind still not fully believing in the light before her. ¡°Truly, I¡­ I know not what to say.¡± Their hopes. Their dreams. Their fervent desires for a world filled with peace. It¡¯s right there in front of her, shining ever so bright, and Lorelai can''t help but fall onto her knees. It¡¯s as if a colossal weight has been lifted from her shoulders; she has never felt so free, so light, so vulnerable and exposed in her entire life, but strangely enough, it feels liberating. All of her effort hasn¡¯t been for nothing. Celia drops right next to her and stares out to the white light. ¡°I¡¯m not really sure how we¡¯re supposed to go pick them up, but I figure you probably have a plan.¡± ¡°¡­The Solga and Lunas will protect me from the miasma. Only for a little bit, mind, but it shall be enough.¡± ¡°Then what¡¯re you waiting for?¡± Celia says, delivering a hearty slap to Lorelai¡¯s back. ¡°Go on, don¡¯t keep me waiting.¡± ¡°Hehe, by your order.¡± With a slow, concentrated breath, Creation¡¯s benevolence begins to coalesce behind her, forming and taking shape until a pair of gold and silver wings are affixed onto her being. The left is jagged with veins of burning sunlight flowing throughout, while the right is slender and covered in a pale aura. It has been a while since Lorelai¡¯s stretched her wings; no matter how long she stays confined within, it is a Seraph¡¯s fate to yearn for yonder skies. She takes off and soars up high, basking in the daytime¡¯s warmth and letting it spread to every corner of her body, before plummeting in a dash towards the source of the light. She breaks through the surface of the miasma - dark tendrils attempting to latch onto her body - but the twin celestial blades repel the murky influence, surrounding her body in a layer of crystal. Lorelai lands with a crash upon the corrupted soul. Darkness lurks around every corner, but the white glow serves as her beacon, leading her farther and farther into the obscurity of the forest until: green. A meadow. Untainted and sprawling with vigorous fawns and colorful blooms. Lorelai can hardly believe her eyes, for the patch of land looks akin to paradise amongst the loathsome forest. The wary Throne takes a tentative step forward, body tense and ready to lash out at whatever may be hidden within this deceitful delicateness, but nothing appears. The world is still here, frozen in a time before the Aeternum¡¯s transformation. At the very center of the garden, a stone towers with pride and illuminates the very light which guided her to safety. It is a majestic sight, but something else captures her attention. A knight, or rather, what is left of one - hidden from view by tangled vines and leaves. The engravings etched onto the armor suggests their origin as a Polus knight from the days of the first King Arthur and the Comet Ladislava, but the ornate patterns have long since lost its sheen. The silver armor is now covered in rust and dulled bronze while the horns on the helm are hidden within a red, fuzzy moss. They must have been a remnant from The Night of Crimson Tears. She approaches the lostward knight and descends onto a knee, clasping her hands together and uttering a prayer of gratitude. ¡°I give thanks to mine kin of the past. Rest now, slumbering one, and let thy soul be handed deliverance to the great Mother above.¡± It relieves me knowing one of my ancestors avoided a dreadful fate of being consumed by the darkness. I pray their death was swift and without suffering. Suddenly, a loud cry startles her from her piety. An animal? No, that sound is¡­ human. And it¡¯s coming from the knight¡¯s side. Lorelai pulls away at the vines. The sound is getting louder. More frantic. It¡¯s burrowing into her mind, evoking a strange motherly instinct from within. It¡¯s calling out to her, demanding to protect it. To safeguard it. To abandon her everything to it. As the last bits of nature part way, the source of the sound is finally revealed. So small. So fragile. A baby boy, innocent and bright. He looks up and reaches out with his pudgy arms, beckoning her closer. Lorelai¡¯s body moves faster than her mind and gently scoops the child up into her arms. He smiles and lets out a little coo. How precious. How adorable. But his eyes are what captivate her the most. It¡¯s as if the boundless nebula above is contained within his star-speckled irises, tints of blue and purple and white all swirling together into a cosmic cloud of endless space. Of the heavenly firmament up high. The longer she stares into them, the more she feels herself being entranced by the soft embrace. The baby is captivating her. Enrapturing her. And yet, she musters not a shred of resistance, as if this has always been her destiny. It doesn¡¯t matter anymore. Her only wish is to gaze into those celestial eyes for all of eternity. Chapter 9: Birth ¡°Spawn of Cosmos detected. Awakening Auto-Defense Protocol: Shell. Bodily functions currently in dormancy. Time until revival: twenty-four hours, thirty-six minutes, and two seconds. ¡°Surveying area: completed. Traces of Comet in surroundings. Estimated strength: newly-born. Awakening of ego deemed unnecessary. Forty-five seconds since Comet¡¯s departure. Unknown construct carrying thirteen hundred sixty-one humans within distance. ¡°Current objective: Slay the Comet and eliminate all nearby humans. Commence.¡± - ? ¡ª¡ª¡ª Lorelai ¡°So adorable. So precious. So¡ª¡± A powerful slap sends Celia reeling onto the cold, hard floor of the fortress. She collides with a smash, breath gasping as she struggles to stand back up, but at least her mental state has been brought back to normal. ¡°L-Lorelai?¡± she utters, the shock of betrayal shining in her eyes. But Lorelai only chuckles at the sight of her star-struck friend. ¡°Careful there, Celia. The Comet¡¯s eyes hold a powerful spell of bewitchment within them. I would have fallen prey to it myself if it weren¡¯t for these twin blades of mine.¡± The two of them are currently within an isolated section of the fortress. The plan, initially, should have been to safeguard the Comet near the barrier¡¯s core as it is the most fortified layer in the Alexandria. However, after nearly escaping enslavement to the newborn child, she decides it¡¯s best to hold him in a nursery far away from prying eyes lest her people suffer the same fate. ¡°Wow, that¡¯s terrifying,¡± Celia says whilst avoiding the child¡¯s line of sight. ¡°¡­ Do you think, maybe?¡± It is a possibility, but there are some discrepancies. ¡°I do not think so. The previous Comet, Lady Ladislava, was said to have rallied the nations together with her might¡ªnot through some manner of bewitchment or charisma. There are stories as well of how she and the first King Arthur would regularly clash blades in annoyance, so lay down your doubts. Perhaps she commanded a different ability.¡± Those are her words, yet she finds her own hesitation unsettled. Could it be the warrior she has strove to embody in both principle and strength has been a deceiver all this time? Perish the thought. For if that is truly the case, then she has been praising a false idol since her childhood days. What is truth? What is fiction? History is a fickle chronicler. The validity of past stories and records can never truly be discerned. In the end, those of the present must rely on one importance: trust. If they trust that history is as so, then it shall be as believed. And Lorelai trusts in the benevolence of her long-time hero. ¡°You sure do know how to put someone¡¯s mind at ease.¡± Celia lifts a finger and carefully holds it before the child¡¯s eyes. He gurgles, latching on with his tiny little hand wriggling around with a restless energy. How cute. ¡°Come to think of it, what¡¯s the kid''s name going to be?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not quite sure. I thought it best to leave that matter to those jovial elders of ours. Stars know how long it¡¯s been since a birth¡¯s been met with hopeful eyes rather than fear for their future.¡± ¡°Hm, well, that¡¯s too bad. I¡¯ve already thought of a great one.¡± ¡°Oh? And what is that? Perhaps they will take kindly to it.¡± She pauses, staring at the Comet with a tender gaze. It appears there is no need for the child to bare his star-speckled eyes; Celia is already entranced. ¡°A name¡¯s really important: That¡¯s what I believe. It molds us - shapes us into who we¡¯re fated to be - so I¡¯d like it if this child becomes someone who will protect. Who will love this world and the people in it. To prosper towards a dawn where we shall all join hands in peace as we ascend to the Stars above.¡± ¡°That¡¯s an honorable desire,¡± Lorelai murmurs. Yet, Celia¡¯s words bring an odd sense of discomfort to her¡ªas if she¡¯s already seen the result of such wishes placed upon one much too young to deny it. ¡°Hehe, I¡¯m glad you agree. Which is why I want the child to be named Aegis.¡± Aegis. A bulwark, unbreakable and firm. It is his fate to bear the world¡¯s weight upon those petite little shoulders. Oh, Ascalon¡­ is what we¡¯re doing truly right? No, I must not let myself think of such thoughts. A leader must not be swayed away from their duty. But it is a pity, indeed. For one so small to hold such responsibility. ¡°It is a good name,¡± she says, burying her treacherous doubt. ¡°Right?¡± Celia chuckles. ¡°I can¡¯t wait until we get back to the capital. Ascalon might just even break that stoic act of his when he becomes a father.¡± ¡°Hoh? The elders would flay you alive if they heard you insinuating one of Cosmos¡¯s own children to be her consort. That¡¯s blasphemy, my dear Celia.¡± ¡°What¡¯re you talking about? You¡¯re the mother obviously.¡± W-What? Lorelai suddenly finds herself staggering from an unknown force. How odd. ¡°Sure, there¡¯s the ¡®Great Mother,¡¯ but who says you can¡¯t be a regular mom? I¡¯m sure even those court geezers would allow it. Heck, we¡¯ve been waiting all this time for Ascalon to make it official, but I guess that coward¡¯s still hesitating for some reason.¡± The sudden curve in their conversation is quite the surprise, but Lorelai has her dignity as a Throne to uphold; she won¡¯t let something like this startle her so easily. ¡°I¡¯m not the only one then? Who realized it?¡± ¡°It¡¯d be harder to find someone who doesn¡¯t,¡± Celia snickers. ¡°Who knows? Maybe we can finally force him to propose when we make it back.¡± ¡°These matters take time, Celia. I won¡¯t rush Ascalon until he¡¯s ready.¡± ¡°And when will that be?¡± She pauses, face forlorn in acceptance. Perhaps never, but Lorelai is prepared for that. ¡°Ascalon is a man with many burdens, and many fears. What he fears most of all is failing to honor the title of King.¡± Lorelai has worked tirelessly over the years to penetrate the barriers surrounding his heart, but though much has changed for the better, Ascalon is still insistent with maintaining a certain distance. ¡°So, I will wait. Until he feels no longer chained to his duties as a ruler, I will stay by his side no matter how many years it must take.¡± Celia attempts to spout something out, but all that is uttered is a sorrowful sigh. ¡°Are you truly happy with that?¡± This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. It doesn¡¯t matter. ¡°I love him, Celia. But to love someone also means to respect their boundaries. Their will. To infringe on that would merely be my own selfishness. I don¡¯t want to cause him pain, so all I can be is content with what we have now. That is enough.¡± And she will repeat it however long she must until her words finally match with the ache inside her heart. Lorelai turns to the child and listlessly watches his mindless enthusiasm. How innocent a babe is. No worries. No anxiety. He simply partakes in the current moment, perpetually fascinated by the wonder around him and relishing in an eternal period of discovery. Alas, the world is cruel; a maelstrom of conflict will soon erupt once his discovery is revealed, and this peaceful serenity will come to an end. Peaceful? Is this¡­ peaceful? A premonition. Dread spreads all throughout her body, stinging her senses and stirring her blood forth until every part of her skin is awash in red. Something is wrong. Her instincts are screaming at her, warning her of a danger she has neglected to grasp, but what? Peaceful¡­ yes, it has been rather peaceful, hasn¡¯t it? ¡°Celia,¡± Lorelai mutters. Her friend immediately recognizes her sudden shift in speech and stands at attention. ¡°Have we ever encountered any difficulties whilst on this expedition?¡± ¡°No, Dame,¡± she replies, also coming to a perturbed conclusion. ¡°I didn¡¯t see anything while scouting above, either. Everything¡¯s been smooth sailing since the very beginning.¡± ¡°Not a single glimpse of Caelum¡¯s legionnaires?¡± ¡°None.¡± Strange, just what is this nagging feeling of alarm? Their journey is too uneventful, too bloodless. Experience advises her that such peace is merely an interlude to tragedy, yet everything seems to be going as planned. The miasma encasing the forest would, of course, halt the Grand General¡¯s forces, but would that man truly allow the Comet to simply fall into Polus¡¯s hands? No. Never. He would devise a plan. A scheme. A deplorable ruse. Xeros has hidden himself away in the capital for a reason, but the only method of which he may intercept the Alexandria is by air. And even if he has invented a way for his legionnaires to traverse the skies, there is no possibility for them to have eluded Celia¡¯s surveillance. ¡°Stars help me¡­ what am I missing?¡± Lorelai nervously paces around the nursery¡ªmind consumed by a cacophony of thoughts. If not by air, then perhaps by land? But it would be impossible for even the greatest warriors to repel the miasma¡¯s influence for long, much less protect a division''s worth of soldiers alongside them. That is, unless¡­ No. Could it possibly be? There is one man who might just be capable of such a feat, but he should be relegated to the eastern border between Nox Caelum and the Augurium Thaumaturgy. Is Xeros truly willing to risk an attack from the Arch Magus just to retrieve the Comet? Lorelai already knows the answer. ¡°Damnit. Celia, we must head towards the deck immediately!¡± she shouts, charging towards the door. ¡°Ah, Stars be damned. We missed something didn¡¯t we?¡± Celia groans, quickly following close behind. It is not too late. There is still a chance to salvage the situation. ¡°Indeed. I only hope that my fears are unfounded, but if not, then we have been searching the skies in vain this entire¡ª¡± A deafening shriek pierces their ears from beyond the fortress - noise a disturbing amalgamation of rippling space and air torn asunder into a tormented storm - and staggers their steps as the malevolent groan floods the halls, enveloping the entirety of the Alexandria in a mass haze of panic. Startled cries rise forth from every direction as the two make for a mad dash to the top¡ªan endless slew of bodies pouring into the chaotic passageways and frantically running about in a messy stupor. Confusion. Doubt. Pandemonium has claimed dominion over them all. ¡°All personnel, remain calm and proceed to the designated shelters!¡± Lorelai barks to the masses until her throat is hoarse and riddled with sores. There is no use in taking defensive positions now. But no matter how much she shouts, the wave never ceases. Knights and Astroligians and all manner of aides flash by in an indistinguishable blur of havoc. The shriek is getting louder, more demented, as if it is echoing the growing frenzy amongst the people. Finally, after an eternity of strenuous haste, the two burst out into the open deck. A cloud of crackling energy appears before them - levitating high in the air and shadowing the Alexandria in a darkened shadow - while unstable bolts gleam throughout the air, leaving behind quivering streaks of violet and purple to dye the world around them. The energy is expanding by the second, greedily sucking in the surrounding Creation to nourish its bottomless gluttony, and all it takes is a single glance for Lorelai to foresee a future of ruin. But there is nothing they can do to stop it now. ¡°Damn it all!¡± Celia shouts. ¡°The barrier won¡¯t be able to stop that thing. Come on, think¡­ think¡­¡± But no answer comes. She only pounds on the floor in frustration. ¡°I-I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t find a way out of this.¡± No. Not all is hopeless. If we cannot halt the coming outburst, then all that is left is to weaken it. ¡°Celia, I leave the crew to you,¡± she commands, unsheathing the twin blades and anchoring herself in place. ¡°Run downstairs and ensure the Comet¡¯s safety. I shall serve as our shield.¡± ¡°W-What? Lorelai, you can¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°There is naught else to do. If I don¡¯t make my stand here, then we will all perish.¡± It is a leader¡¯s duty to serve at the forefront. And it is her responsibility to bring back home as many sons and daughters of Polus as she can. ¡°¡­Fine,¡± Celia says with a frustrated cry. ¡°But I¡¯m going to come back for you. Just make sure you¡¯re not a puddle of flesh when I do.¡± ¡°I can manage that much at least.¡± With a final, nervous glance back, she parts ways with Lorelai and disappears into the rumbling fortress. The cloud is getting stronger; the air is growing heavy. The maelstrom above is nearing its completion - sparks threatening to reduce everything around it into rubble - and soon, the light begins to distort as the energy coalesces into a singular, condensed ray. ¡°Pray forgive me, Solga, but I shall need call upon every droplet of your strength.¡± Lorelai thrusts the golden blade up high and silences the thumping of her heart until the world around her is completely frozen. A second passes. Months. Years. Aeons. Time spins into an infinite, revolving cycle, until everything is consumed by infinity. Then, within the boundless darkness, a breath. An inhale. And suddenly, the world is filled with color once more, glittering sparkles of the light¡¯s emissary descending from the celestial heavens and swirling around the tip of the Solga. A new flame is born. A wildfire of conflagration. ¡°O¡¯ bountiful mother Cosmos, progenitor of all that is beloved, lend unto thine holy blade inferno unending, and illuminate the path to the starlit sky above.¡± The forces of Creation have answered her call, and with a final grit of her teeth, Lorelai expels the roaring blaze into the air. The fire spreads, flickering across the darkened sky until it takes the form of a miniature sun. All-encasing. All-enveloping. The sun¡¯s radiance bathes the fortress in its golden bulwark and defiantly roots firm as the violet ray reaches its singularity. A boom ripples across the air, an ear-piercing howl. The end arrives at last, unleashing a deafening beam of obliteration onto every crack and crevice of the Alexandria. It shreds at the struggling barrier, feasting upon the woeful dregs of light stripped away from their whole, but the sun¡¯s majesty remains unbending. The fortress remains unharmed, yet Lorelai is not given so fortunate a fate. Her every moment is spent in excruciating, unbearable agony, body crushed under the raw force of the ray as blood spews out from her red-stained eyes with a vile squelch. She wants to scream. She cannot scream. She wants to claw at her throat. She cannot move her body. She wants to cry. No tears are left. The pain persists, until it all stops at once. And the world becomes silent once more save for the perilous groans of the fortress¡¯s limbs. Lorelai¡¯s invocation prevents the ray from harming her people sheltered within, but it does not stop the overbearing pressure from whittling down the exterior. A loud snap, and the legs give way. The Alexandria comes tumbling down¡ªcrashing onto the earth with a resounding grumble and turning the forest below into a barren waste as a plume of dirt rises up high and drenches the now-ruined fortress in a layer of muck. She has survived. Barely, yes. But she has survived nonetheless. H-Hahah, I¡¯ve kept my promise, Celia. The danger is still not over yet. Get up. I have to get up. Lorelai attempts to stand up - ears deaf with a constant, buzzing ring - but her legs fail her and she crumbles pathetically onto her knees. Her strength is fading. With a cry, her hands dig into the cold steel and she attempts to claw her way forward. It doesn¡¯t last for long. Her arms give out as well, and soon, a veil of dust begins to shroud her struggling body¡ªstinging her eyes and blinding the view ahead until everything is but a muddled smudge. She tries to fight the drowsiness, to do everything she can to stay awake, but it is no use. There can be no victory before the inevitable. Eventually, everything goes dark. Chapter 10: The Immovable One ¡°What do you think is the Seraph¡¯s greatest enemy? To myself, the gift of flight is a powerful tool. Freedom. Speed. Mobility. It grants this to us all, but what if you were to take our wings away? To deprive those who have tasted the breath of the skies above? ¡°Devastation, to put it simply: That is why the Commander of the Rust Blood Legion is so utterly terrifying. Thank the Stars for the Arch Magus¡¯s intervention¡­ If it weren¡¯t for his constant pressure upon the Caelum eastern border, then we would have lost a number of our fortresses to that tyrant long ago.¡± - Dame Lorelai of the Exalted Throne of Heaven ¡ª¡ª¡ª Lorelai Shouts. Cries. Someone is calling out to her, but she cannot hear them. A vast, tenebrous void stretches far into the infinity before her, embracing her body and slowly sinking into the long quiet. It is soothing here. It is peaceful. In this land of empty husks and long-lost whispers, all one must do is accept the blissful emptiness. To rest in oblivion. But peace is not where I belong. Not yet. Lorelai jolts awake, breath wheezing as her face is overcome with a cold sweat. It is not her time just yet; there¡¯s so much she still has yet to do. A sigh of relief is uttered by her side. Celia has returned, and she does not appear to be happy. ¡°Celia? I-I¡­¡± the feeble Throne stammers. ¡°Stop talking. Focus on conserving your energy.¡± Her words are brisk - short with a harsh lull - and hold a slight tone of anger in them, but they don¡¯t appear to be directed at Lorelai. Rather, towards herself. Angry with herself for being unable to help. ¡°You haven¡¯t been out for long. Just a few minutes,¡± she continues. ¡°And before you ask, everyone¡¯s fine. A few are a bit beat up, but thankfully there haven''t been any casualties.¡± Ah, thank the Stars. And thank you too, Solgas, for bearing such brunt. Her people are safe, but the threat still remains. She must get up now whilst the pain is but a faint throbbing. Before she can, however, a group of Astrologians suddenly rush out from behind Celia and quickly begin to crowd around her. ¡°Oh yeah, I¡¯ve brought some help as well. Figured you¡¯d need it.¡± It is a blessing indeed to have such caring comrades. ¡°Thank you. I¡¯m in your debt, all of you.¡± The leader of the Astrologians merely nods and silently gestures for the others¡¯ aid. They move swiftly and precisely, allowing not a single blemish to taint their methodical gait; a quiet bunch they are, but reliable all the same. Soon, a chorus of chants fill the air as they beseech Creation for its soothing grace. Verdant green aura emerges from the world¡¯s veil - accompanied by the fresh scent of fragrant pine - and begins to seep into her wounds, closing the bloody pores and filling her eyes with color anew. ¡°That should take care of the worst of it,¡± Celia says, helping her up onto her feet. ¡°But it¡¯s just patchwork. Your body¡¯s still drained from protecting the fortress, so don¡¯t overdo yourself. I mean it.¡± She glares at her with a familiar nagging. Unfortunately, that is one request Lorelai is unable to fulfill. ¡°You know I can¡¯t do that, Celia.¡± I can feel it: the presence of rust and grease. He is approaching. As if to echo her worries, an ominous horn blares from afar with a sinister melody. Choppy. Disjointed. It cuts through the dusty haze and warns of the deliverance to come¡ªof the blood soon to grace the darkened soil. Footsteps thunder in an unruly march. Machinery groans and sputters with a jittery cry. Step by step, the legion encroaches¡ªthirsting for slaughter. And amidst the sonorous banner of combat: a laugh. Gruff and gravelly. It echoes throughout the air with a revolting tone of merry anticipation and sullies the ears of all unfortunate enough to bear witness its delirium. That laugh is one of madness, and it is getting closer by the second. ¡°It seems our visitors deign to leave us not a moment for recovery.¡± She slowly rises up and clenches her fist. Good enough. My body shall hold yet. ¡°Celia, gather the knights and prepare to leave the Alexandria. We must make our stand upon the open field.¡± ¡°We¡¯re engaging on foot, then?¡± Celia says, an air of dread enveloping her voice as she peers out to the barren waste below. ¡°Yep, not a sign of miasma in sight. Guess that confirms it; the Immovable One is here.¡± If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. It is as they fear. The miasma has been grinded deep into the bowels of the earth by the destructive ray. There is only one who possesses such capabilities, and with his presence, their hopes of taking to the skies have been shattered. The Seraph will soon be clipped. ¡°¡­Indeed. Rally the able-bodied as quickly as you can. I shall go out to entertain the Commander first.¡± ¡°In that condition? You¡¯ll only get yourself killed out there, Lorelai.¡± Her tone is hesitant, but someone must delay their advance. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Such a powerful plea to Creation will have come at a great cost to his strength.¡± And that man is not one to rush when it comes to war. ¡°Understood. I¡¯ll gather the others and come back to your side once everyone is accounted for.¡± ¡°No, Celia. You cannot come.¡± ¡°What?¡± Celia staggers back in shock. ¡°No. No, you¡¯re not doing this.¡± Her frustration aches at Lorelai¡¯s heart, but it must be done. ¡°You are the most powerful knight in this fortress after me. Someone has to protect the Comet, or else this entire expedition will have been for naught.¡± ¡°Damnit, Lorelai!¡± Celia practically screams. ¡°I know you¡¯re trying to protect me, but just because I haven¡¯t been to the battlefield in a few years doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m fragile enough to need protecting. I¡¯m still a proud knight of Polus. Don¡¯t you trust me?¡± ¡°I do,¡± she says. ¡°And that is why I am trusting you to protect the child in my stead. To protect our hope for a better future. Please.¡± Celia hangs her head, muttering curses as she paces about in a conflicted mood before eventually letting out a defeated sigh. ¡°I feel like I¡¯m doing this way too often, but fine.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Lorelai opens her arms out and beckons for a final parting hug. Celia begrudgingly partakes, but her tight hold betrays her true feelings. ¡°And, if something were to happen to me, please take the Comet and flee¡ª¡± ¡°I thought you always said that a leader shouldn¡¯t dwell on defeat.¡± ¡°¡­It¡¯s different now. The battle here may be our bloodiest one yet, and we have yet to witness the true depths of the Immovable One¡¯s might. Above all else, even my own life, the child must make it to the capital.¡± Lorelai isn¡¯t planning on dying here. Even so, none truly know what fate has in store for them. ¡°Stop talking or it might just really happen,¡± Celia says with a half-hearted tease. ¡°If you trust me, then I trust you to make it back alive. Our fool of a King won¡¯t be able to function without you, so come back safe.¡± ¡°Of course. Home awaits.¡± Celia lets go and takes a few tentative steps backwards. ¡°Then leave. I¡¯ll send our best to you.¡± Lorelai gives her friend a solemn salute and turns around with a heavy heart. The gold and silver wings manifest upon her back. The twin blades shine with ferocious intensity; it is time. She dives off the fortress and descends to the barren land below. Faster and faster, wind howling as she plummets, until the clouds have become a distant sight. And suddenly, with neither a sign nor warning, a nagging weight strikes her. Dense and cumbersome. It drags on her wings and forces her fall into an unsteady spiral as she strains to keep herself still. His influence has already reached them. Finally, she collides upon the black dirt. A column of debris erupts from the impact - and through the scattered bits - she finally attains a clear view of the ones responsible for the attack. An army of mud-stained legionaries emerge before her, steam erupting from their unwieldy powered suits as they¡¯re followed by strange mechanical nightmares. The emblem of a black corvid with glowing red eyes is engraved on their helms, and an incessant whirring fills the rusty air as they trample the earth with clunking, awkward stomps. But what revolts her the most is the savage, almost unnatural, convulsions and pained constantly tormenting their every movement. It is as if their conscience has been dulled into a singular objective: to kill. To maim. To rip all that stands before them, bloodlust oozing from every crack within their graceless prisons of steel. No grace or consideration for the wielder is present in the malicious design; the only purpose of the biomechanical scourges are to wreck as much chaos as they can before their inevitable, honorless end. And the machines are no less disgusting than the tortured souls lurching absentmindedly around it. Lorelai can barely even discern what the shape is supposed to be: just an amalgamation of foul plates and jagged blades merged together into an unsightly construct erected on a crude imitation of a carriage. Some bear a slight resemblance to the beasts of the earth, and others are but mocking replicas of man. Everything about the Caelum forces are conceived wholly for the purpose of war, and nothing else. The soldiers come to a stop a fair distance away from her. They sway in place with an eerie, perturbing gaze, and merely await their next order in silence. No will to feel. No mind to think. They are mere dregs to be directed, dehumanized into puppets of flesh. But there is one soul among them that still retains some semblance of a free spirit. She can hear him now, slowly trudging to the forefront¡ªstomping with hostile intent and biding his time so that he may savor every moment of her uncertainty. He is enjoying this. Finally, the man reveals himself. Giant midnight-black armor similar to the bulky frames on the legionnaires is clad upon his body, only it is no mere plate of junk. The bulwark is smoothly connected, the outer-binding they call ¡°exoskeleton¡± shines with a luster, and the form is molded to his build. The mechanical apparatus attached to him is silent with nary a groan or creek, and the massive spiked mace resting on his shoulder appears to be forged with lavish ores of violet¡ªthe very same color glowing from his great helm. He is the Commander of the Rust Blood Legion; the Immovable One; the Tyrant of the Empire; and scourge of all that is winged. He is Gravitas Monstrum, warrior of gravity. Chapter 11: Sanctified in Moonlight ¡°A pity that the Seraph¡¯s bane is granted solely upon so feeble a mind that is Gravitas. Alas, the conceptual machinations of gravity and its influence is far too complex a principle for our Astrologians, much less the common legionnaire, to comprehend. How is such a blood-craved buffoon able to command its might? Hm¡­ perhaps idiocy is a boon. To reduce countless shifting variables into an unintelligible naivety is a talent only given to the fool.¡± - Grand General Xeros, Ruler of Nox Caelum ¡ª¡ª¡ª Lorelai ¡°Mmm¡­¡± the hulking tyrant hums, tilting his head back and raising his arms up towards the sky. ¡°Aaah¡­ yes. This air. This tension. This anticipation. How magnificent it is. Sharp and jagged. Coursing with a raging bolt. The calm before the carnage.¡± His voice is as deep as the abyss. Every word thunders with an oppressive, tyrannical husk. Yet it is his composure that sends a creeping chill along Lorelai¡¯s spine. Gravitas is undisturbed amongst the rotting forest. Rather, he relishes in it¡ªgargantuan body steeped in an aura of tranquility. This is where he belongs: an eternal field of death. ¡°Ooo¡­ nothing to say, little bird?¡± A nauseating croak of amusement is spewed forth from his vile maw. Mocking. Taunting. ¡°Come now girl, must you be so rigid? I remember you so full of life last we met. When was that again? A decade ago. Yes, I remember now. It was when I slayed your mother.¡± Keep it in, Lorelai. Grind your teeth and keep it in. His provocations will not work on her, but a bitter taste remains nonetheless. The despots of Caelum are all the same: vulgar and without an inkling of morality. Her rage will only serve to stoke his arrogance. Gravitas chuckles and slams his mace into the muck below him. ¡°She must be ever so lonely without her beloved daughter by her side, but no longer. The day has come for you to fulfill your filial duty, little bird. The family shall finally be reunited.¡± A ray of gold hurdles straight past his neck. Lorelai¡¯s blade is poised, ready to lunge, but the Caelum Commander responds with nary a flinch. ¡°You¡¯ve become glib with age, Gravitas,¡± she spits. ¡°Has defending the border left you rotting in brain as well?¡± ¡°Hehe, perhaps it has. Rotting, indeed. My mind, my body, my soul¡­ rotting is all I could do in that barren desert. That is why I intend to savor this suspense for as long as I am able.¡± He drops down with a weighty thud upon his rear and beckons for her to follow him. ¡°Have a seat, little bird. I am in no rush. Take as long as you need to gather the rest of your winged insects.¡± So he knows. I expected as much. It infuriates her to go along with the commands of her sworn enemy, but if he is conceited enough to await the knights at their best, then far be it for her to refuse. She tentatively lowers onto the ground. Now, it is just the two of them¡ªglaring at one another as the horde of legionnaires linger in an unsettling silence. Time crawls still. Slowly. Agonizingly. Each second, pure discomfort. ¡°Is this what you desire?¡± Lorelai says, keeping her focus steady on the tyrant. ¡°Hm, I must admit: This is rather dull. Can¡¯t you leave and bid your forces hurry in haste? I promise to not stir even a single finger.¡± ¡°You speak as if you truly expect me to trust your words.¡± Gravitas roars out in laughter, clasping his hands together in glee. ¡°You wound me, Lorelai! I am nothing if not a man of my word, but if your company shall beget such scathing remarks, then I shall be happy to maintain this little accord.¡± ¡°How you derive such amusement baffles me.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± The madman almost seems solemn for a moment. ¡°There is no greater joy than witnessing one¡¯s adversary grow in strength. To ascend from a lowly worm, not yet worth plucking, to a warrior worth butting steel with.¡± He lifts a bulging finger and points directly at her. ¡°Brevity is a jovial game¡ªa method in which to rile one¡¯s blood and lure the ferocity buried deep within. But in the end, my only wish is for us to tear into each other with our hearts aflame with zeal. There is no moment more tender, more personal, between two souls than when they¡¯re clashing on the precipice of life and death. That connection cannot be felt anywhere else. Through our battle, everything that culminates our being shall be laid bare. And through the victor, the deceased shall live on as a part of the eternal pantheon. Their strength, their resolution, their beauty¡­ forever as one. Do you truly not experience such sincerity?¡± ¡°No.¡± Lorelai¡¯s answer is immediate. Firm. The swiftness surprises even Gravitas. ¡°I do not. You are simply insane. What you feel is but the adrenaline spawned from the haze of slaughter. There is no substance to it. No actual reasoning. Just a mindless slave to instinct.¡± I refuse to believe such a connection could ever be conceived through so selfish an act. ¡°¡­Hm,¡± Gravitas grumbles. ¡°You may have grown into a warrior, Lorelai, however you are still but a little bird.¡± The tyrant slowly staggers himself up, disappointment evident in his sluggish movements. ¡°Well, no matter. You will join these valiant souls within me regardless of your obstinance. It is about time we end this farce.¡± A deafening chorus of plated footsteps rumble and shake the earth behind her. Stomp upon stomp in a synchronized, rhythmic formation, they stride forward¡ªSeraph; knights; and Astrologians all. Emboldened by the chivalric code and their honor as a protector of Polus. ¡°I agree,¡± she says, ascending with heart aflutter. ¡°But it shall not be I who perishes on this day. Hollow puppets follow your every wake, yet none is more solitary than you. Look upon them, Gravitas. And now look towards the coming tide of true fellowship.¡± With an ear-splitting cry, the forces of Polus stamp their soles in place and ready their weapons with methodical precision. They blot out the plain as far as the eye can see, armor bathed in blinding ivory, and harden their wills firm until every corner of their countenance is strained with intensity. From the nimble to the stout, of cleaving halberd and piercing spear, their determination burns bright. Their gaze speaks resolve to confront death¡¯s eager maw with nary a slight nor shiver; terror has no place within their ranks, for even a split-second of hesitation shall spell endangerment for their fellow sibling-in-arms. ¡°Gahaha!¡± Gravitas cackles. ¡°All I see is a swarm of frightened nestlings, flesh not even worth staining my mace. Is this truly the best you can muster?¡± But his jeering remarks are only met with a cold shoulder as she turns to face her army. ¡°Thy part to play has come at last, Lunas,¡± Lorelai whispers, holding her silver blade up to the heavens. The tyrant makes no effort to stop the coming prayer. He simply idles by the side and watches her with growing expectation. Her sword glows an incandescent pale, the Solas cheering on with coarse flickers of encouragement, and slowly drips its light into a flowing stream up high. It swirls into a crescent halo, extending and extending, until a full ring of lunar gleam is formed¡ªawaiting for Creation¡¯s call to breathe it life. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°O¡¯ fair moon¡¯s rise, fly into the umbral night. Fear not the blazing day. Fear not the sun¡¯s might. Spread your darkness under the gazing Stars, and bathe thy blessed children renewed - sanctified in moonlight.¡± The light ignites in a resounding flash, calling forth a misty drape as darkness materializes from the abyss wrenches away the vibrant blue sky. The clouds have gone; the sun has fallen. Shadow obscures all, plunging the world into the realm of the evening dusk save for one corner of the land. A gentle ray showers the Polus army from beyond the fog-ridden veil. There, newly-born and floating up high, is a miniature manifestation of the moon. Celestial. Holy. A divinity brought forth into reality. The light purifies their filth and fatigue, seeps into their blood a spell of power, and leaves behind a pale aura to linger adrift their body as a cloak of effulgence. Lorelai stands triumphant before them, presence beholden with royal grace, but hidden unbeknownst to her people is a shaking hand and a gaunt face. Every breath is tormented by harrowing stabs. Every heartbeat is accompanied by a terrible wheeze. But she must not show weakness. She is their beacon: their rallying banner. No matter what, she must not fall. ¡°Mmm¡­ what a beautiful moon,¡± Gravitas says, facing the manifestation with a welcoming embrace. ¡°This shall do nicely: a massacre under the twilight. How atmospheric. I can feel my spirit rousing now! However¡­ no, the time is not yet right. The air is too thin. Too bloodless. It needs something more.¡± He turns around and faces his mindless legion of husks. ¡°Yes, what it needs is the stench of death! With a raise of his mace, Gravitas unleashes a massive spiral of violet to the heavens and roars out with a savage, beastial-like scream. ¡°CHARGE, YOU HOUNDS! LET THE FESTIVAL OF COMBAT BEGIN!¡± In an instant, the legionnaires storm forward in a rancorous deluge of demented cries. No thoughts. No plan. No complex strategy. They simply deign to trample everything before them¡ªto push on with overpowering might. But power isn¡¯t everything - a lesson they shall pay dearly for. ¡°ORGANIZE RANKS!¡± she bellows, wind parting way in a dizzied scurry before her echoing command. Lorelai Principality is gone. Now, there is only the Heaven¡¯s Throne. ¡°Precept of the Power: Damascus Gate. To arms!¡± The sea of stalwart souls rapidly begin to shuffle into battle formations. They mobilize in tandem, twisting and shifting as if the thousand strong are but one whole, and leave not a trace of wasted movement amongst the organized scramble. Mighty giants in full plate march to the forefront with towering, weighty shields and smash them upon the floor bed, anchoring in place as they ready great lances of steel behind the narrow gaps. This is where their devotion may shine true: a wall, unyielding. And not a moment too soon, for the ravenous horde is advancing by the second. They surge. They writhe. They scream. ¡°Hold¡­¡± They creep forward with an unnatural weight, eyes blazing with a furious red glimmer. There is only madness reflecting in their sockets and an aching desire to mutilate the living. ¡°Hold¡­!¡± The smell of rust is pungent. Their ramblings are defilement to the ear. The legionnaires are now a hair¡¯s breadth away. Closer and closer, step by step, until the wretched pipes of sludge and stain on their bodies are visible before all. ¡°PIERCE!¡± With a thunderous shout, the Polus phalanx pierce through the mechanical legion, skewering the countless husks as a deluge of blood and grease spouts high into the air. Their pained screams fuel the army¡¯s righteous fervor, but the onslaught is not over just yet. The Caelum soldiers climb over the bodies of the fallen, tearing away at their fellow comrades until they¡¯re but a mangled pile of bone, and slam themselves against the wall with reckless abandon. ¡°Second Precept of the Power: Parting the Red Sea. Rotate!¡± The knights retract their lances and slam into the opposing army with a coordinated bash of their shields. The force sends the soldiers flying back, tumbling on top of the confused wave behind them. But before they can recover, the shield squadron is replaced by a line of juggernauts¡ªarmed with great cudgels and hammers of imposing size. The warriors stamp forward, raise their weapons, and swing with every morsel of strength within. ¡°CLEAVE!¡± Their blunted end smashes into metal, crushes into flesh, and renders the Caelum soldiers into mere bags of splattered meat and brain. They fall - a pathetic, grisly end - and are just as soon replaced by an undeterred, indifferent, wave. ¡°Hasten the injured to the back. Switch, recover, and repeat once more!¡± The front line repeats the two simple, but effective, movements as they demolish the spewing horde with faultless precision. Defend. Pierce. Push. And cleave. For the subjugation of such mindless, intoxicated beings, nothing more needs to be done. But the legionnaires aren¡¯t the only force advancing upon them. Creaking in the distance, a gathering of horrid, mechanical constructs push their way forward¡ªswirling smoke and plume surrounding the fouled bronze. The wall won¡¯t be able to withstand such force. The machines must be destroyed. ¡°Astrologians, prepare your chants!¡± Lorelai commands to the rear. The constructs charge ahead, indiscriminately trampling everything before their path. Legionnaires alike are pulverized into a bloody mist below the spiked tracks, organs and sinew sent flying through the air, but the speeding nightmares remain unperturbed. Faster and faster, still. Howling a dissonant rumble. ¡°Now, Precept of the Sovereignty: Rupturing Earth. Rise!¡± The earth begins to shake. The ground wells up into coarse, uneven lumps. With a prayer to the Creation resting below, the soil erupts, sending billowing pillars of debris up high. The machines are upturned, twisting and spiraling helplessly, before crashing atop the growing mound of bodies with a fiery explosion. A rain of crimson pours down upon the weary knights. Yet, even after all the destruction, the Caelum ranks have scarcely dwindled in force. For every slaughtered husk, another rushes to take their place. Endless. Inevitable. Damn it all¡­ we cannot afford to maintain this war of attrition. The Astrologians are fatigued and the Power knights are beginning to falter. It is possible to slay the sprawling legion, but only if the Seraph regain their wings. For as long as Gravitas¡¯s power remains pushing down upon them, such hopes are in vain. This assault shall only end with Gravitas¡¯s death. ¡°Changing formations!¡± Lorelai roars. ¡°Precept of the Principality: Thrusting Longinus. Scatter!¡± The Polus knights shuffle in unison once more. Divisions of ten gather into a singular unit, ranks composed of Astrologians and infantry and vanguard clustering together and taking the form of a hardened bastion. ¡°FORWARD!¡± The knights holler out to the heavens with a valiant cry and advance into the horde¡ªblades primed and eyes lit with zealous determination. With a clash, they collide, steel sparking embers as they wade through the viscous red stream below. The vanguard rams every soldier and machine in front of them, pushing them aside for the wielders of sword and spear to slaughter in one fluid motion. They cannot slow. They must continue surging forward, faster and faster, no matter how many of their kin fall around them. To falter is to die, to be surrounded by the ravenous legionnaires and suffer a terrible fate of being ripped and torn asunder by whirring saws dripping of oil. Such is the nature of the battlefield; hold fast or perish. Lorelai, meanwhile, is already far ahead of the other knights. There is no need to worry of being overrun; her people shall cover her rear. All that matters now is creating an opening. She wades and weaves through the Caelum ranks, slicing as many of the wretched husks as she can with a deadly dance of her twin swords. A slash. A thrust. A pierce. Corpse after corpse is left in her wake, her armor rendered a muddled black from the constant spray of fluid and bile, but it deters not the keen edge of her blades. Sever. Cut. Split. How many have sunk below her, she knows not. She cares not. Again and again, she carves through the army until the only sight that graces her eyes is a grim necropolis of damned souls. Finally, she arrives at the center - breath croaking and body panged with terrible pain - but the worst is yet to come. She has a tyrant to slay. ¡°Aaaah¡­¡± Gravitas hums, mace firmly staked into the earth as he rests with not a care for the bloodshed around him. ¡°Mmm¡­¡± He rises up and grasps his implement with a clenched hand. A deep, odious chuckle is gushed from his raspy throat. The Caelum Commander has been waiting for her. Patiently. Voraciously. And now that she is here, he descends into a fit of joy. ¡°Yes, that desperation in your step, that appearance stained in the aura of death¡­ none look more enchanting than you do now, little bird. Breathtaking. You shall be my greatest feast of all.¡± ¡°Save your remarks.¡± Lorelai readies her stance. She has had enough of his barking. Only with his head shall she finally find peace. ¡°¡­You are right. I¡¯ve waited long enough. From thus on, let our strength speak in our stead.¡± The two lunge forward, and their weapons collide. Chapter 12: In Hell We Live, Lament ¡°Creation is all around us. From the depths of the earth¡¯s hollow to the boundless firmament above, it resides unseen from the common eye. All-knowing. All-seeing. A mysterious divinity who wholeheartedly cherishes humanity with all of its love, and so the people beseech deliverance¡ªmanifesting its boon into physical form. ¡°For many, such prayers are but a part of life - a natural thing with no further thought to this grand, this primeval, being. However, there exists a sect of humanity who yearn to fully explore Creation in all of its benevolence. To seek and understand the complexity of the powers it grants upon us. ¡°They are called Astrologians: scholars who study the astral Mother and her child that is Creation. Their life is a never-ending cycle of research, study, and experimentation. What is the limit to the aura we can draw from within? Why do some invocations come naturally to a select few while others struggle to comprehend its roots? It is truly an unfathomably puzzling pursuit, and we may never truly step foot into the true potential of Creation for as long as we live, but that is what makes our plight so fascinating. Every day is a new discovery. Every day is filled with childlike wonder. ¡°Inquisitiveness: that is what makes our existence worth living.¡± - An Excerpt From Introduction to Astrology 101: Penned by Arch Magus Virgil, Ruler of Augurium ¡ª¡ª¡ª Lorelai A mighty boom erupts from their clash, sending a shockwave all throughout the battlefield and toppling the forces of Polus and Caelum alike as sparks fly from their weapons¡¯ struggle for dominance. The Solga and Lunas are unmatched in their ferocity, but a strange force is covering Gravitas¡¯s mace. Draining, redirecting, as if the twin blades are being twisted into another direction. Her balance is skewed; her trajectory is slanted. If she attempts to push on here, only misfortune awaits. Lorelai bites her tongue and vaults away, hands trembling from the impact. It is no use. She cannot win a direct contest of strength. ¡°Oh, little bird¡­ struggling already?¡± The tyrant pounds his chest with a jubilant cry and slams his foot down. He leans forward, baring his pauldrons¡ªready to crush. ¡°The fun has only just begun, Lorelai. Do not disappoint me now.¡± In an instant, he charges, recklessly hurtling the full weight of his body directly at her. She only has a split second to react, twisting her waist and erecting a golden barrier before suffering a devastating blow from his wieldy bash. Lorelai grunts in pain, body sent flying high into the air. But before she can recover, the weight pushing down on her intensifies in a sudden lurch, violet energy screeching from above. She plummets. Falling. Helpless. And crashes into a spiraling plume of dust. Her vision becomes blurry, and as she teeters herself into a resemblance of a stance, a glint of steel descends from the murk. A dreadful laugh, and a gust of approaching demise. Now. Her miserable demeanor disappears. Her weakness vanishes. She spins around the mace in an explosive blast of movement, body a fleeting image before Gravitas¡¯s eyes, and slashes at his throat with every shred of her might. ¡°¡­Mmm, a paltry trick. Such deception insults my virtue, Lorelai. Only with pure strength shall you bring honor upon the sanctity of battle.¡± He slams into her chest-plate with a crushing swing of his fist. Breath leaves her, air rapidly escaping from her lungs, but Lorelai redirects the force away from her body at the last moment and pirouettes back to safety. What is going on? I saw clearly: the twins¡¯ cleaving his head in twain. No¡­ did I truly? There was no resistance, no contact upon flesh. It is as if I swung at mere wind. Damn this. Naught else to do but unveil the truth myself. Lorelai bolsters her body firm and takes to the offensive, rushing headfirst into Gravitas¡¯s range and attacks with rapid bursts, utilizing quick flurries and maneuvering around his strikes to pierce at his gaps. The tyrant is strong, every swing full of overbearing power. A single impale from his spike-wrought weapon will cripple her upon impact, but his bulk is his own nemesis. Slow. Sluggish. He rends the earth asunder and leaves behind craters of pulverized dirt, yet the mace is always one step behind the nimble Throne. She continues her onslaught, but it is proving ineffective. No matter how many times she attempts to carve at his openings, the blades veer off at the moment of contact, leaving her side to be momentarily exposed to Gravitas¡¯s ferocious barrage. She cannot hurt him. He cannot hurt her. The two are stuck in a perpetual whirlwind of steel, waltzing together under the diminishing light of the moon. It is fading. The blessing won¡¯t last for much longer. Gravity. His armor is coated in a layer of repelling force. Stars guide me¡­ I cannot penetrate it without the full strength of the twins, but can my body withstand the strain? No. There is no need to wither her heart here. There is still another way. ¡°Solga, light thy pyre ablaze!¡± The sun¡¯s sword ignites in a fiery conflagration. Arcs of ember from its edge are pulled towards the earth due to the tyrant¡¯s pressure, but that is exactly her intention. ¡°A miserable kindling, little bird. Becoming desperate now, are you?¡± He utters a screeching cackle and pursues after her once more. The flaming sword does little to change their endless clash, but she must not become impatient here. A moment will arise soon between the gaps and sparks. She just has to wait, to persist, until finally: It arrives. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. Gravitas¡¯s mace comes crashing down in a sudden burst of speed, the spikes only a hair¡¯s strand away, but she twirls around the massive bludgeon and plants her feet directly on the hilt. The clipped Throne leaps as high as she can directly above his head, fighting against gravity¡¯s duress with a streak of flame following from close behind. There is no escaping the tyrant¡¯s retaliation when she lands, but if naught goes astray, then there shall be no need to. Lorelai points the tip of her blade to Gravitas below and lets out a booming command. ¡°Solgas: Cast thine enemy into an inferno, unending!¡± A surging, violent spout of wildfire descends onto the warrior of gravity, yet he moves not a single step. He merely stands still, arrogant and condescending, while opening his arms wide into a mocking embrace. ¡°Foolishness. Do you really expect this paltry flame to reach me? I thought you better¡ª¡± But his words soon turn into screams. The gravitational layer around his body only serves to transform the flame into a spiraling wreath of incineration. It feasts upon the flowing pockets of air, surrounding him in sizzling combustion, and roasts his mechanical suit into a charred, coarse black. He cannot breathe. He cannot escape. His own protection only serves to aid in his suffering as he flails about within the fiery blaze, wailing out in agony and clawing at every surface of his body. There is only one thing left to do now: slay the tyrant once and for all. Lorelai dashes forward, blades ready with razor-sharp intent. Failure must not be allowed this time, and soon, the Throne closes in on the still-thrashing wretch. With clenched hands and gritted teeth, she swings. And is sent tumbling back from a sudden outburst of violet. The wave pulses through the earth, rippling through the sky. A low-pitched reverberation fills the expanse with its desperate shout. The Throne quickly repositions herself onto her feet and peers back at the wave¡¯s source. Gravitas¡¯s armor now courses with bolts of crackling energy, the surrounding flame smothered into ash. His sockets glow with an eerie display of ecstasy, but the damage upon his being is evident, and he soon collapses onto one knee as he haggards a deep, wheezing chuckle. ¡°Very¡­ good,¡± he hacks. ¡°I admit, my own rapture got the better of me. Hehehe, this pain is a suitable reminder. I thank you, Lorelai. But it shall not occur again.¡± He rises up, body swelling with power anew. A last attempt at resistance. His strength is nearly hollow, as is mine, but I have the upper hand. I need only to¡ª A scream. Gut-wrenching. Terrifying. Something is wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. The world around her descends into a frightening chorus of pure, unadulterated horror. Knights, legionnaires, and even the machines appear to lose themselves to a sudden, gruesome frenzy. They collapse onto the ground and scream, beg, for mercy. They rip out their eyes and tear at their skin in a delirious haze of bloody self-mutilation. Mangled bodies slowly start to dot out the field, disfigured into shredded chunks of tears and petrified faces frozen into a sob. This isn¡¯t right. The battlefield is a gruesome place, but not like this. Not like this. Lorelai is frozen. She cannot comprehend this hellish landscape full of hysteria and insanity. Everywhere she looks, a nightmare. W-What¡­ this can¡¯t be¡­ I-I¡ª She tries to speak, but no sound leaves her throat. She tentatively turns her head to Gravitas as if expecting for him to be responsible for this atrocity, but he is frozen as well. Stunned. For once, she sees his body tremble in fear. His taunting remarks are gone, replaced by pitiful gulps of confusion. Suddenly, he grasps at his head and collapses fully onto the blood-stained dirt below, writhing in resistance against some unknown presence. What is happening? She doesn¡¯t know. She has never seen anything like this in her life. Her skin crawls at the demented sight, hair raising at the back of her throat, and then it reaches. Without any sign, without any warning, something sinister attempts to worm its way into her brain. Pain spreads to every corner of her body¡ª It hurts. Skin flays, eyes roll, throat burns, heart pounds and pounds and pounds¡ª Flee. She must flee. She has to live. Instinct. Will. Her nature. All begging to¡ª What is happening to her? Whispers and smiles tempting her to release herself¡ª She can¡¯t respond to the voice. No. She cannot give in. No matter how much it tries to torment her, she can¡¯t give in¡ª Make it stop make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOP. Lorelai screams with every bit of strength left within and smashes her head against the ground. Her vision is left reeling, head throbbing with pain, but at least the malignant presence disappears. She can think clearly again. Horrible. Utterly vile. As if the darkest, most foul bits of humanity coalesce into a singular, wicked manifestation of malice. Who could possibly be responsible for this? Evil. There is no one in this world filled with such incomprehensible evil. There is no¡ª Gravitas roars out with a desperate shout next to her and crushes his own hand into a bloody pulp with a swing of his mace. He wheezes, exhausted and convulsing in distress, but it appears the pain has helped him get rid of the presence as well. She looks around and attempts to find any traces of life left, but no. Thousands of lives¡­ all slain in an instant. Without any resistance. Without even a chance to face their own end. It¡¯s just her and Gravitas now in this sprawling graveyard. Alone. N-No. Maybe those in the Alexandria have been spared. I need to go back. I need to find Celia¡ª Crunch. A rustle. A footstep. Something is moving. There, far in the distance, a figure emerges out of the miasma. It is a knight, the Polus knight Lorelai discovered hidden in the grotto. Rusting. Decaying. A remnant of old, originating thousands of years from the past, and yet here it is before her, lurching forward with an unnatural gait. Shuffling without any conscience. The thing is more horrifying than any she has seen before. It does not move like a human, twitching about in an irregular, erratic manner while it drags around its limbs like a newborn unable to control its own body. It is a mockery of mankind, something only donning its appearance. But what is more unsettling than any else is the complete, utter silence. Nothing. The only sound it emits is the clanking of its rotting armor, advancing forward with a vacant gaze and an aura steeped in an unnerving abyss. There is not a shred of life in those darkened sockets. It is as if the thing is not a living being to begin with. Silent, emotionless, and filled with an encompassing emptiness. Lorelai knows not what has just transpired. She knows not what the horror is before her, but one thought remains clear in her mind. An atrocity is approaching. Chapter 13: Fly, My Wings ¡°But be warned, children of the Stars Thy freedom shall be hindered Thy cage shall tower strong For the warden holds the lock and key Hold fast Withstand and Prosper Thy task merits a unified hand And only in death shall the age of fracture end Only in death shall the Constellation find peace.¡± - An Excerpt From The Nebulas ¡ª¡ª¡ª Lorelai Lorelai and Gravitas lock eyes. Not a word is spoken between them. Their previous aggressions, their vitriolic jest¡­ none of it matters now. All that is exchanged is a mutual look of terror and a silent, tentative truce. The thing shambles into the crimson plain. Stomp upon stomp, it crushes the fallen corpses with a squelch of its greave, advancing indifferently as if this land of madness is but a vapid familiarity. Eventually, it happens upon a Polus knight; a spear is impaled upon their torso - a fortunate soul they are to have perished through steel rather than insanity. The being slowly grasps the handle with its rusty gauntlet. Feeling. Savoring. Inspecting the sanguine weapon before pulling it out, blood spurting from the corpse¡¯s chest¡ª And turns directly towards her. It arches its back, twisting its arm into an unnaturally long stride, and throws. ¡°G-Gravitas,¡± Lorelai whispers, gaze fixed on the shuffling horror. ¡°Gravitas, lift your gravity now!¡± The force pushing down on her disappears. Her wings are free, and she quickly leaps up to the sky. The spear tears right past her, hurtling through the air and unleashing an unearthly shriek that echoes throughout the malignant atmosphere. A second sooner, and she would have perished before she could even take another breath. Sweat begins to drip down her cheek; nerves overtake her. If she loses focus for even an instant, her death is guaranteed. Quick. Miserable. Without even the chance to cry. A furious shockwave from the attack sends her tumbling along the gale. She never would have thought herself to be so helpless whilst amongst her dominion, yet here she is: flailing about like a leaf in the wind. The thing cocks its head and searches the graveyard for another weapon; it is ignoring her, treating her as some insect waiting to be dealt with. But there¡¯s naught else she can do. Lorelai can sense it: the boundary of death. The moment she enters its range, her heart will be crushed in a singular blow. Run away, her body screams. Run far, far away until your throat is coarse and your blood is boiling. And then run even farther, to the very edges of the world so that you may never see its wretched sight again. But she can¡¯t. The thing is blocking off the entrance to the Alexandria. She cannot allow such a despicable being to lay its hands upon their hope. She has to fight, even if it means doing so alongside her enemy. ¡°Little bird,¡± Gravitas grunts. ¡°I¡­ my strength will only allow one final burst of might. What of you?¡± It appears Gravitas can sense it, too. They are but mere specks of dust before the incomprehensible being. ¡°My body is the same. Only one chance.¡± ¡°Then I shall snare its movements. The honor shall be yours.¡± The danger shall be mine, more like. Yet deep within, she knows no other can take to the task. Her speed is all she has left now. Their only salvation. Gravitas lifts his mace up high and gathers a discharge of violet energy into the end¡¯s base. It surges all throughout his body, scorching the armor and grafting the plate to his skin, but he persists nonetheless and begins to invoke a desperate chant to Creation with all his being. ¡°O¡¯ formless Mother. O¡¯ menacing light. Let loose your wrath¡ª¡± Wait! The thing readies its volley once more. Gravitas is helpless, mind still entranced in the invocation. The horror has been waiting for this moment, idling about until their defenses are laid aside. Lorelai dashes forth and crashes straight into the speeding projectile. Its force is overpowering, threatening to penetrate through her guard, but she manages to deflect it off to the side with a roar and send it digging deep into the earth. Her hands tremble from the overbearing might; her arms hang loose with numbness, but her plight is not in vain. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°¡ªand all shall be crushed before your weight, immeasurable!¡± Gravitas unleashes the condensed energy, creating a floating, violet cloud of crackling might directly above the puzzled horror. The cloud screeches out a warped, garbled cry and - with a glaring flash - sends down a ray of gravitational force. It overwhelms the being, violently suppressing it in an inescapable prison as the surrounding dirt crumbles into a pulverized dust. The atrocity twitches. It convulses without a sound, but she doubts it can feel pain. The force appears to be a mere inconvenience. Regardless, now is her chance. She hurdles towards the highest peak of the world, basking in the dissipating moonlight and breaking through the clouds into the sun¡¯s gentle warmth once more. ¡°Solga. Lunas. I¡¯m sorry, but I must ask you to take my lifeforce. There is no other way.¡± The twin blades glimmer and flash in protest, but the Throne remains firm. A measly few years of longevity is a small price to pay for hope. Lorelai takes in a deep breath and manifests the gold and silver auras blinding onto her trusted partners. She spins; she twirls, gradually gaining more and more speed as she waltzes through the air in a sword dance of blurring auroras. Every morsel of strength, every fountain of vitality within, trickles out of her body and fills the sky until it is filled with a beautiful mirage of shifting color. Her celestial performance nears its completion, creating a razing whirlwind of melded divinity. ¡°Gravitas, I am ready.¡± ¡°¡­Grm. Then go. End it,¡± he wheezes, body nearly on the brink of collapse. She must end it here. After all, she made a promise. A promise to return back to her friend. A promise to return back home, safely into the embrace of the one she loves most. The whirlwind reaches its coalescence, and Lorelai conducts her last, final movement in the dance. ¡°To the Stars above, I bid you for only a singular wish: Guide my blades true.¡± BOOM. She breaks through the sound¡¯s veil and bolts across the expanse as a ravaging beam of pure, unrelenting obliteration. Her flight razes all existence blocking her path, the aurora following closely from behind and creating an ethereal trail of hue in her wake as she closes in with a speed beyond any her soul has felt before. Gravitas¡¯s spell is lifted. The horror¡¯s neck is exposed. With the souls of every slain Polus warrior steadying her hand, she slashes... and cuts through naught but thin air. The last thing she ever feels is the sudden bite of metal upon her throat and the cold chill of the end. A-Ascalon, I¡ª ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Shell The winged woman¡¯s head is cleaved in an instant, her corpse crashing onto the ground and tumbling into a lifeless, mangled clump of dirt and grime. The severed head lands onto the earth with a meager thud next to her disgraced body and the helm falls off to reveal a disfigured face frozen in surprise. The shimmering gold and silver auras fade from the swords near her side, blood pooling from the severed orifices and staining her armor in scarlet filth, as the last remnants of her life disappear into nothingness. Threat eliminated. New variable introduced. Commence: retrieve the Astral Armament. The Shell walks towards the defiled carcass, every step crunching the earth below and emitting a ghastly, splattering echo. When it arrives at the remains, it reaches forth and claims dominion over the twin blades. The weeping weapons spark and sputter, desperately attempting to reject their captor, but their light eventually fades, and the swords are forced to submit. They have no choice. They must obey. Irregularity determined. Armament fractured into two. Strength: weakened. Reevaluating current capabilities. A voice sputters from afar. It is the human clad in grease and blackened ash. Their balance is unstable; their cries are devoid of strength. ¡°Hehehe¡­ your end was truly a beautiful one, little bird,¡± the man says, falling onto his knees. ¡°A shame it¡­ didn¡¯t come by my hand. How unexpected.¡± He rises up, meekly lifting his weapon in resistance, and growls with a rebellious hysteria. ¡°But I¡­ I shall not allow myself to be put down like a mangy mutt. My death shall be one of pride!¡± The man charges. Estimated strength: powerless. No danger detected. Commence. With a singular slash, he is bisected into two. A swift extermination. The smoldering aura from the fragmented sword of the sun melts the strange metal plate, leaving only cauterized flesh to plunge afoul. All life has been extinguished in the region. The last objective remains: slay the Comet. The Shell sheathes its trophies and marches to the colossal construct. The entrance resembles a fortress. Proceeding with siege protocol. Steel walls block its way. It smashes it. Unknown mechanisms trigger and halt its advance; projectiles, crumbling passages, and incantations of debilitating curse. It endures it. Soon, the halls become filled with those of Cosmos¡¯s kin. It appears the construct protected them from the Shell¡¯s miasmic release. They are of no threat. It slaughters them. The Comet¡¯s presence is getting stronger. Deeper into the heart of the construct it marches, all the whilst creation is swirling in desperation. It begs for the Shell to stop, to spare their beloved child. But its pleas are useless. The being is a mere Shell, and its only priority is to fulfill the eternal duty. Another human appears. It is a woman, strength estimation far above the other spawn, yet she does not move. Her gaze is filled with despair. ¡°T-Those blades,¡± she mutters, collapsing onto the ground. ¡°No. No, Lorelai? You can¡¯t be¡­ but you promised¡­¡± Her face stains with tears, throat besieged by a fit of gaping sobs. Slaying her proves simpler than the rest. Finally, it arrives at the Comet¡¯s shelter. The room is cluttered with infantile toys and decorations - the walls plastered with paintings of the night sky - and in the very center, a crib holds its prey: a baby boy. Newborn, slumbering, and carrying the mark of inevitable ruin. The Shell steps forward and raises its blade. But right before it can claim the child¡¯s life, a faint muttering stills its hand. The child wakes up and opens his star-speckled eyes. The irises display a wondrous, never-ending nebula of space and galaxies. It is a portrayal of the heavens above and the realm that humanity once called home. It is an echo, a song of love, of tragedy, and of grim stoicism. The being can never go back to those bygone eras; its life shall never be the same. Hearth, forever gone. Purpose, forever wandering. All that awaits it is an eternity of imprisonment. As it always has. As it always will. The baby reaches out to the frozen hollow - his tiny hands full of curiosity - and lets out a loud babble of amusement before the trembling blades. At that moment, the Shell disappears. And the Knight awakens. Chapter 14: Mourning ¡°There is no greater gift to the advancement of the scholarly arts than the records gifted to us by our ancestors. History¡­ it is a fascinating subject, indeed. So many nations, perished¡ªnow only remembered through the written word and the bequeathment of memories. Through them, we build upon their knowledge and seek ever greater epiphanies. ¡°Admittedly, it does also provide a sport of entertainment. Sagas of heroes past, tales of valiant feats¡­ these stories provide priceless insight into these lostward civilizations. To, for but a moment, glimpse through the eyes of a vanished culture. ¡°But, these stories all hold a tragic ending: destruction, wrought by a singular being time and time again. The tablets warn of a menace. The scriptures herald a calamity. All brought forth by the Constellation. ¡°Their documentation throughout history has been inconsistent, to say the least. Some scrolls depict them as a beautiful maiden with fiery red hair, while others closer in time to the Night of Crimson Tears claim them to be a rugged warrior of lanky build. Just what is their true appearance? And why do they always slay the Comet whenever one is born into the world? ¡°We are taught by The Nebulas¡¯s doctrine that the Constellation is the sole atrocity of this world, preventing humanity from ever rising up to the Stars. And yet¡­ I cannot help but speculate a deeper purpose into their endless slaughter. Perhaps there is a reason why we are confined to this earth.¡± - Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon Lorelai has long since departed, yet her confrontation remains strong in his mind. Deep within he knows she only wishes the best for him, but the heart is a fickle thing - always in conflict with the mind. It won¡¯t do to dwell on such things now; life is surely to change once she returns with the Comet. The grievances of the past should be left to scatter in the wind. He¡¯ll face her as a renewed man, one not burdened by petty indulgences. His face still burns with embarrassment upon recollecting of his vulnerability. Never again. ¡°My liege? Is oft the matter?¡± Gadreel says, bringing the distracted King back into the court session. ¡°Ah, pray forgive me Gadreel,¡± Ascalon stammers. ¡°Please, continue.¡± ¡°Very well. Recently, there have been some concerns amongst the people over an increase in odd¡­ disappearances, so to speak. It is not a large number by any means, a craftsman or artisan here and there whisked away into the night after a hearty drink, but their families are growing restless.¡± The Chancellor bellows out a hearty guffaw over the notion. ¡°Hohoh, back in my day it was often common for us youthful scamps to vanish for days on end¡ªonly to awaken clothless and dumped out onto an alleyway recluse. Give the poor souls another day or two and I am sure they¡¯ll wander back home eventually.¡± It does appear to be a minor commotion at first glance, but Ascalon isn¡¯t quite sure. Intuition is the body¡¯s contingency when the mind fails its initial glance. One doesn¡¯t succeed far without learning to trust such doubts. ¡°I understand your stance, but let us err on the side of caution just in case. Have the local guards patrol the streets for the missing citizens, and send out a notice discouraging against roaming the taverns at night whilst alone. If they must, depart with a companion of sober gut.¡± ¡°By your wisdom, my liege. It shall be done with haste.¡± Indeed, intuition should be regarded with the highest of concerns. But then why does Ascalon feel it creeping now with such dread? Gadreel¡¯s words are becoming but inaudible drawls. The world is consumed in a vision of hazy blurs. It is odd; his soul is warning him of something. Could it be in regards to the expedition? Unlikely. He has stirred not once during her impassioned plea, otherwise he would have forbidden her from leaving no matter how much it garnered her loathing. Yet, his heart lingers to her absence. It alerts of a danger none could have ever expected. ¡°Onto the next matter¡­ oh,¡± Gadreel mutters with a dismayed groan. ¡°Hrm. I see. The Untamed Throne of Nature, Annalay Virtue, is expected to be arriving soon. How exciting.¡± Hoh? Is that a rare sigh of defeat I hear? ¡°Your voice is lacking its usual bravado, Gadreel,¡± Ascalon teases. ¡°Oh, do not goad this poor old man my liege. My temper is already flaring at the thought of that mannerless woman disrupting this sacred chamber.¡± He harrumphs, plump face reddening into a scarlet hue. ¡°How she became a Throne, I know not. The title was once only used for those who embodied the ideals of Polus such as Lorelai, but the only ideals within that brute¡¯s head are drinking, cursing, fighting, and debauchery. She has no respect for our customs, nor any respect for seniority! Her mouth is as foul as her lifestyle.¡± ¡°Hehe, harsh words those are, Chancellor. I find it rather charming, her briskly demeanor. She brings a certain¡­ liveliness to the room. It¡¯s all in good fun.¡± ¡°You are much too kind, my liege,¡± the elder sighs. ¡°Much too kind. It is a ruler¡¯s duty to be magnanimous, but it is mine as Chancellor to remind that woman of her duty as a knight of higher standing. Promise to me that you shall not abide by her rudeness.¡± ¡°I will do my best, Gadreel. However, I must make a request of my own.¡± ¡°Hm?¡± ¡°Please do try to be a bit more lenient towards her.¡± Though Annalay¡¯s presence is a topic of frustration amongst the elders, her love for the nation is as passionate as any other. ¡°It is only once a year she is able to return home.¡± ¡°Thank the Stars for such a boon! My poor heart would have succumbed long ago if I had to go back to those days of her insistent quarreling.¡± ¡°But you cannot deny her contributions.¡± The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The Chancellor hesitantly lets out a grunt of agreement. ¡°Yes, but¡­ that is that, and this is this my liege.¡± ¡°And you know of her circumstances as well.¡± Nobody can blame Annalay for her unruliness. They can disapprove, even mock at times, but they know how she came to be. ¡°¡­Hah.¡± He throws his hands up in the air and kicks his feet like a school child being scolded by their parents. It is a rather humorous display for a man his age. ¡°Oh, very well. I shall try to be understanding. But only if she makes an attempt to speak at least like a noble and not some common rogue¡ª¡± The chamber doors suddenly burst open with a boisterous swing. A blast of air sends the more sluggish officials toppling onto their rear, murmurs and gasps dominating the former peace, and a deep, earthy scent wafts into the space. It is the smell of aged pine, of damp soil and cedar soaked in the dewdrops of the forest¡¯s musk. A royal herald scurries over and ruffles anxiously through their parchment; the sudden entrance has clearly disoriented the poor soul, but they make an effort to fulfill their duty nonetheless. What stunning professionalism. ¡°A-Ahem,¡± they begin. ¡°Entering the warden of the earth¡¯s¡ª¡± ¡°Oh, stuff it already. I don¡¯t need any of that nonsense.¡± A burly knight strides into view and brushes past the stuttering herald with a triumphant gait. Her voice is sharp, grinding with a prickly grit, and her height towers above even Ascalon as she enters the stunned courtroom whilst clad in a union of verdant green steel and bark. It is as the forest itself is her bulwark, toiling around her plate in a wild entanglement of thorns. Her weapon is no less of staggering size: a gigantic, honed glaive. Its edge is coated in a rustic brown - handle curled with bulging vines - and rises up towards her horned helm where a bold, smug gaze looks down upon the officials with a jesting grin. The knight is the embodiment of freedom too, in her own way. Of a selfish exuberance which cares not for the looks or whispers of others. She is the Nature¡¯s Throne: wild, untamed, and a warrior who spends her every waking moment in celebration of the present. When one looks upon her, they cannot help but smile. ¡°It is alright,¡± Ascalon says to the protesting herald while desperately holding back his laughter. ¡°I do believe we need no introduction.¡± The knight saunters over to the center of the room, a gathering of eyes leering at her from every direction, and sinks into the largest seat she can find. ¡°Yep, this place¡¯s the same as ever,¡± she sighs. ¡°Stuffy old farts; cordial stiffness; and a dreary air of monotony. I don¡¯t know how you can stand being cooped up like this, Ascalon. One day in that seat and I¡¯d be strangling the throats of everyone here.¡± ¡°It becomes easier with time,¡± he says with a veiled grin. ¡°That was quite the boisterous entrance though, Lady Annalay. It appears time hasn¡¯t diminished your enthusiasm.¡± She grimaces at his words. ¡°Stop it with that Lady stuff, you brat. Just because I haven¡¯t seen you in a year doesn¡¯t mean we¡¯re suddenly strangers. Ignore those boorish fools and just talk like normal.¡± Oh, Gadreel appears to have much to say about that. ¡°¡­I apologize, my liege,¡± he says. ¡°But I am unable to keep my promise.¡± In an instant, a deafening barrage of curses and insults erupt from his raging, frothing mouth. The Chancellor¡¯s tirade is filled with such colorful language and, rather creative, taunts that Ascalon can only be impressed, yet his scoldings only beget a yawn and a blank stare from the drowsy Throne. ¡°Yes, yes. It¡¯s good to see you too, Gadreel,¡± she says with a lethargic wave. ¡°Mmm¡­ this is just what I needed. Nothing puts me to sleep more than listening to your drivel.¡± ¡°D-Drivel!?¡± he shouts. ¡°You¡­ why I never! Thine ignorance is truly astounding, you dull-witted buffoon! It pains me so that your moronic stature is allowed to corrupt this noble kingdom. Shame upon you! Has a single coherent thought ever passed through that empty cavern you claim to be a brain!?¡± ¡°Oh, go choke on your wine, you relic.¡± ¡°Hah! You will sooner suffocate from your endless merry-going of mead and carnal pleasures before I ever¡ª¡± ¡°Ahem,¡± Ascalon coughs with a clear, direct warning. ¡°Let us all settle down now, Gadreel.¡± ¡°M-My liege?¡± he stammers, betrayal etched across his face.¡± ¡°Gahaha, serves you right you tottering¡ª¡± ¡°The same goes for you too, Annalay.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± As much as it entertains me to watch the two of them scuffle, I best end this before they get truly heated. ¡°I understand the two of you have a rather close bond¡­¡± ¡°What!?¡± they cry in unison. ¡°¡­but we must not allow our emotions to get the better of ourselves. So, I ask of you: let bygones be bygones. The two of you are both confidants I trust dearly with all my being, and it pains me to see you fight each other so. You need not exchange friendly greetings, but at least respect the other with silence. Am I clear?¡± ¡°¡­Yes.¡± They begrudgingly agree. ¡°Very good. Now, your report Annalay¡ª¡± Everything stops. The world, the air, time¡¯s ticking hand¡­ all reduced to a crawl. And then, it happens. With neither a word or sound, King Ascalon feels it instantly. Pain. As if a piece of his soul has been permanently ripped out from his heart. A nauseating sensation of bile and vitriol permeates through his core. It spreads through his blood, burns his nerves into a screaming hellfire, and seizes his throat with wretched sobs as he collapses from his seat. He does not know how, and he does not know why. But, right now, his intuition is screaming; it wails out a despondent, impossible certainty. Ascalon¡¯s connection with Lorelai has been severed. She is gone. The space outside is but a blur. A cacophony of concern and panicked cries reverberate in his ears, but he cannot discern a single word. The pain threatens to consume his being in a torrent of insanity. But, like all things, it passes eventually. And all that is left is hollowness. No. No, no, no¡­ Lorelai, you¡­ I¡­ I can¡¯t. I refuse. This has to be a mere trick, a disgusting nightmare. I just need to wake up. Everything¡­ everything will be¡ª No. This is reality. But he refuses to acknowledge it as truth. He has to. He needs to. Or else everything he has ever strived for will come crumbling down with a meager whimper. ¡°Ascalon! Stars be damned. Answer me you idiot! What¡¯s going on?¡± Annalay bellows by his side. ¡°Ah, hells¡­ I ain¡¯t suited for these kinds of things.¡± She turns around and barks to the other frozen officials in the room. ¡°Well, are you all just going to stand there? GET MOVING ALREADY AND GO FETCH AN ASTROLOGIAN.¡± The room descends into a chaotic jumble of footsteps and nervous paces. Ascalon really shouldn¡¯t be inconveniencing them like this, but right now, he wants nothing more than to stay curled up on the floor. To remain as a pathetic stain wallowing in misery. But you know what must be done, don¡¯t you Ascalon? You have a responsibility to stand and continue leading the nation. You can¡¯t stay like this. The people need you. Get up. Get up you miserable, pathetic fool. Is this all you are worth? Without the crown, without your mantle as King, you are nothing. Rise, for that is your duty. Ascalon bites his tongue and clenches his fist, slowly staggering himself back onto the throne. He has to persist no matter how so his heart aches. A King must not allow themself to be weak. ¡°I-I am ok, Annalay,¡± he lies through gritted teeth. ¡°No need for the Astrologian.¡± Despite his attempts at reassurance, Gadreel is not so convinced. ¡°My liege¡­ are you truly alright?¡± It doesn¡¯t matter if he is. All he cares about is the constant, loathing thought festering in his mind. ¡°¡­Chancellor, send another force to the border of the Aeternum. Tell them to keep watch for any signs of Lorelai and her crew.¡± Realization dawns on the elder¡¯s face. ¡°I-Impossible. Do you truly mean?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, Gadreel. I don¡¯t know.¡± He cannot rest until he discovers the truth with his own eyes. As long as Lorelai¡¯s body remains undiscovered, Ascalon will continue to wait for her. Because she promised. She promised to return, no matter what. Chapter 15: Awakening ¡°I slept for so long. My flesh, withered. My blood, rotted. In the endless obscurity of the long quiet, I was at peace¡ªwading through the ocean of darkness and ink. ¡°I took a step, then another, and another. I traversed the murky waters, and there - rippling in the reflections - I saw the grudges of all those left in my wake. Their hands rose. Their screams, forsaken. What they were, who they had been, was smothered by my shadow.¡± ¡°They were my ever-present companions, and every moment, I felt the pull of their wrathful hands attempting to drown me in that vast, blackened expanse. But they could not succeed. I could not die. My existence only served to stoke their suffering. ¡°Yet, I did not curse such a fate. Perhaps it was what I deserved, and I welcomed their hateful gazes. I stood idly by while they tore into my flesh and consumed all that gave me life. I became empty. Hollow. A Shell. ¡°Or rather¡­ that was what I wished to be. In the end, I couldn¡¯t truly succeed.¡± - The Knight ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The Knight looks down upon itself, covered in the blood and grime of battle, and examines the erosion on its armor. ¡°How long has it been?¡± it reminisces. But in the end, the passing of the seasons does not matter. It has survived; it walks upon the earth once more. Time and time and time again it has come to greet this sight. The cycle is ever the same, dry tedium. Its mind has been left dulled long ago. And yet, something is different this iteration. A buried doubt from the world¡¯s dawn. A sorrowful whisper from the darkened ages. A withheld breath from the night of crimson tears. A small crack, growing with each passing age and waiting for its fatigue to finally be laid bare. That moment is now. Grief overtakes the Knight as an eternity of suffering surges forth in a crashing whirlwind of despair. Cosmos, I know not if I have the strength to persist. Millennia upon millennia I have been shackled to this duty, yet there is no end in sight. I see only darkness before me. How long must this continue? Its pleas are met with silence. All it can do is wallow in melancholy; the past will never return. ¡­ A sound. Innocent. Bright. It is a nonsensical babble filled with boundless curiosity. The Knight looks down and finds its blood-stained gauntlet being latched upon by a pair of tiny hands. It is a baby boy. His expression conveys annoyance, as if commanding the being to play with it, but it is his eyes that draw the Knight¡¯s attention. They are the eyes of a Mother long shattered into nothingness. No. No, he¡­ he is but a babe. Never has the Knight confronted the Comet whilst in such infancy¡ªsuch vulnerability. The child has still yet to face the evils of the outside world. Must it truly kill such a pure being? ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± it whispers, blades let loose and clattering on the ground. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± ¡°But you must.¡± A voice torments its wavering will. Sweet and gentle. Ethereal, not of this world, and an echo of the past brought forth from ancient memories. ¡°You promised me,¡± the voice pleads. ¡°No matter the cost. No matter the sacrifice.¡± They haunts its every wake. They punish it for failing to protect them. The Knight deserves their loathing, but not this. Anything but this. ¡°The child has just been born.¡± ¡°And with his death, many more shall be given life. You must not hesitate, my beloved. Not after all this time. I will not allow you.¡± A dominating force takes control of its vessel. The being tries to resist, to forcibly wretch itself away from the child, but it is no use. Its hands grab onto the blade once more and directs it towards the baby¡¯s throat. I¡­ It raises the blade. I will find another path. And stabs itself in the leg. A searing pain courses through its blood, the fiery aura smoldering its veins into an agonizing boil, but the voice is now gone. Their phantom can haunt it no longer, leaving only the sounds of panicked gurgles to fill the room. ¡°I am tired, my beloved,¡± the Knight gasps. ¡°So, so very tired. My strength wanes with every passing age, and one day, the Comet will slay me. I won¡¯t be there to protect your children. My fate is inevitable.¡± The baby bursts into tears before it, screeching an unearthly howl as fear and confusion dominates its tiny little head. The Knight awkwardly attempts to comfort him, stroking his back with its bloodied gauntlet and lulling the child with an ancient song of old. ? ¡°Close your eyes Call to me Feel alive Just sing with me all through the night Shed your tears Free your cries The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Lose your name And dance with me, dance with me Dream with me, dream with me When you stop to sleep Your whole heart gives in to life.¡± ? It is a song from the Mother to their children. It is a hymn long buried within the depths of the Knight¡¯s soul. Forgotten. Yet here it now flutters free, as if possessed by a love long lost to the Stars. ¡°Forgive me,¡± it says, laying the child to rest. ¡°But I can withstand this eternity no longer. I want to rest.¡± To be by your side once more. ¡°¡­And this baby may just represent an opportunity¡ªone that shall end this baleful cycle once and for all.¡± When the time comes, it shall embrace that blissful oblivion. What the Comet pursues afterward is none of its concern... whether he destroys the astral firmament and condemns humanity to ruin, or burns the world to its very core, and from the ashes will rise a fleeting paradise. It matters not. The Knight only wishes for it all to end. ¡°¡­Hm, I suppose you need a name.¡± The baby looks up at it with his drowsy eyes. There is something hidden within them: a memory, distinct and dearly cherished. ¡°Aegis? How very cruel.¡± Aegis. The name is imbued with a curse. The intention is clear: a fate confined to perpetual loss. To live for the sake of others. ¡°Is this your desire?¡± No words are spoken. No sound is sent forth. Yet the baby¡¯s will is firm; there is only one answer. ¡°¡­Then let it be so. However your future shall unravel, it concerns me no longer.¡± ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight With slumbering child in hand, the Knight steps out of the ruined construct and onto the corpse-ridden battlefield. Much havoc has been wrought by the Shell. Death remains an everlasting constant no matter the age; all that changes are the ones who are welcomed by it. The first step of the being¡¯s plan is to gather information. The patterns worn by the fallen humans in stains of rust are unfamiliar to it; however, the ones donning a traditional, knightly plate bear a faint resemblance to a nation of wings it once faced in the past. How they managed to persist despite the slaying of their King, it does not know. But the familiar enemy shall serve adequately as their first destination. With a nation of such antiquity, scrolls are bound to have been recorded. The Knight shall hide. Learn. Assimilate. And when the time comes, Aegis shall be given his first Will. But why is the Celestial Armament in this state? Does their history not include the age of their predecessors? That would be troubling. Knowledge is worth more than any boon in this world. It only hopes the once-prideful kingdom shall prove of value once visited. But first, a change is in order. The Knight gently sets Aegis atop a patch of bloodless ash and sets out to search for corpses still intact in appearance. Eventually, it encounters the remains of a Polus knight. The bottom half has been mauled into an unrecognizable clump, but the face remains unmarked. Yes, this shall do nicely. It takes off its rusted helm and bares its faceless visage for the world to witness. It has no eyes to see. No mouth to speak. No nose to smell. No ears to hear. Yet such things do not stop it from doing so. Cosmos only gave humanity facial features in order to foster a sense of uniqueness in her children. Annoyingly enough, those features change with time; they differ in appearance with every eon. Humans are beings of perpetual change, but the Knight remains timeless. All it can do is mimic. Soon, the surface of its skin begins to rupture. It studies the fallen knight. It analyzes their every trait. Head shape is angular. Eyes are set deep. Brow, nose, and chin are projected. Cheeks are narrow. Hair is brown. Surface is a pale tan. With every observation, its own face begins to change. Shifting. Toiling. It replicates the human until every one of its features is indistinguishable from the forlorn model. Success. However, only one is not enough. The Knight must seek out more until it can create a suitable face of their kind¡ªone not bound by the threat of recognition. This one has black hair. This one has brown eyes. This one has darker skin. Again and again, it transfigures itself, scrutinizing every unblemished corpse within sight. But eventually, it happens upon one of peculiar note: a Polus woman clad in hues of silver and gold, her head cleanly severed with a single stroke. This one will not do. The face has been burned and disfigured into an ambiguous mess of scars. Did the Shell do this? No. The burn is faded, old, while the cuts lack any residual puss or blood. She has remained this way for some odd time, and the Celestial Armament, or Armaments I suppose now, to its side begins to flicker and shake in protest. They do not like the Knight standing close to the woman¡¯s corpse. ¡°Your former owner?¡± Their idleness conveys all it needs to know. ¡°¡­I apologize. You must have cared about her deeply.¡± The blades glimmer a sad glow. Mourning comes to all, whether they be human or weapon. In the end, only dust will remain. The Knight unsheathes the sorrowful swords and lays them by the female warrior¡¯s side. ¡°Have your moment of woe. I shall return once your tears are shed.¡± It departs and bids search for a new coat of armor. Its current plate will only draw suspicion with its unfamiliar adornment. Fortunately, there is an entire battlefield''s worth it can pick upon. Preferably one not spoiled with shredded flesh. It discovers a suitable set in the distance: an unblemished white. The Polus appear to still value their simplicity. Its humble appearance is a far cry compared to the unseemly amalgamation of blackened steel a few paces away¡ªthe owner belonging to a giant of a warrior split in twain. The Knight has never seen such a design before. Just what is the purpose of those circular veins? Why does sludge pour out from within? A question for a later date. What draws its attention is the large mace fallen to the man¡¯s side. It is no weapon of Cosmos, but the quality is highly-made. I needed a spare arm. It will do no good to flaunt the two treasures. Everything has been prepared. All that awaits is the chance to utilize it. The Knight retrieves the Celestial Armaments and returns back to Aegis¡¯s side. The baby awakens with a yawn and raises his arms out sloppily, demanding to be picked up. Ah, the privilege of youth. Enjoy this while you can. I shall make sure to embroil you in hardship the moment you grow strong enough to wield a blade. It obliges and departs to the field¡¯s edge with child atop its shoulders. The forest has changed greatly since it last set foot within. Verdant greenery and flora have been replaced by a sickly malaise, and a hazy mist envelops every bit of surface left within. Aegis reaches out and attempts to play with the miasma, but he immediately recoils in disgust upon touching the enfeebling aura. Not even one beloved by Creation such as the Comet can avoid such malice. But what of a being loathed by it? Forsaken and cursed to forever struggle bereft of its gift? It already knows the answer. The Knight holds out its hand, steps forward, and watches as the haze parts way, lurching back in reverence as if obeying the command of the one who gave it life. With a final farewell, it turns around and bows its head in silence to the graveyard of fallen warriors. ¡°You need not forgive me.¡± And then, the two descend into the darkness. Chapter 16: Under the Corvids Eye ¡°Xeros is an enigmatic person. The war wrought by his desire has plagued our land since as long as I can remember, yet his appearances at the forefront are few and far between. None truly know the depths of his power, but what makes him truly terrifying is his all-encompassing sight. No corner of the land is spared from his gaze. From the green fields of plain and hill, to the very center of our capital¡­ all we can do is warn thusly: Beware the shadow¡¯s gathering. Destroy the Corvid¡¯s Eye.¡± - King Ascalon, Ruler of Polus ¡ª¡ª¡ª Xeros Gravitas is late. Where is that buffoon? Hidden at the very heart of Nox Caelum¡¯s spire is a war room of charcoal and crimson. The space is small, narrow, and a dim flickering of torch above casts a feeble light upon the shadowed interior. There, an imposing man paces back and forth with weighty, rumbling stomps. The air cowers before his subdued rage, his glare frightening even the surrounding Creation. The man feels a strange sense of unease. Did that fool fail his mission, or did Polus fail in locating the Comet? He has planned this scheme for a very long time, vigilantly lying in wait for the moment Creation¡¯s celebration would announce its nonsense throughout the world. Even when the Polus have begun to make their move, he does not stir. Even when the Aeternum proves far too obvious a sanctuary for Cosmos¡¯s chosen, he conceals himself in shadow. All of it is for this moment: the moment when he may cripple those flying insects once and for all. Everything should have been perfect, yet here he stands - bereft of any reports from the battle-crazed tyrant. Something is afoul. Gravitas has his eccentricities, but the man¡¯s capacity for carnage is unparalleled. He has his use, and he would not fall easily even if his adversary is to be that infuriating worm: Lorelai. A grumbling, husky sigh leaves his body and seats himself at a crimson seat near the room¡¯s end. The Unbending Throne of Steel is still in defense at their far-most bastion. The Untamed Throne of Nature was last seen departing to the Polus capital. And the King¡­ that whimpering craven will never leave his cage. Only Lorelai is left to direct their expedition. I foresaw it all, yet this unease will not leave me. Could it be those spineless cravens have prepared a trump card? Meager thoughts will only lead to more speculation. If he is to discern the truth, then he shall do so with his own eyes. Soon, advisors and adjutants from around the empire begin to trickle into the obscured room¡ªeach one saluting the man with a rigid countenance before situating themselves around a lengthy steel table. ¡°Report,¡± he commands. ¡°Yes, Grand General,¡± the senior administrator replies. ¡°In regards to the first matter of our agenda, the eastern front is holding strong. The Arch Magus is still unaware of the Commander¡¯s absence, and no large assaults have been made at the border barring a few small skirmishes from the scattered tribes.¡± ¡°Mm. Proceeding as planned. What of our business talks with the President?¡± ¡°Unfortunately, our negotiations are at a standstill, sir. The President continues to refuse our request for more automated transports. However, we were able to quote a price for a number of their metal ingots and fuel, though the total cost is slightly above our designated budget.¡± The man grumbles, nails scraping against the ends of his worn seat. The other attendants sit at edge, heads downcast and gaze trembling in avoidance, but he cares not for their disrespect. It will not do to become more irritated than he already is. ¡°That gold-blooded crone is as obstinate as ever, but not unexpected. Agree to the terms and continue to apply pressure onto their embassy.¡± ¡°Yes sir.¡± Now, it is time for the true matter of importance. ¡°What of the expedition led by Gravitas?¡± The senior administrator¡¯s demeanor is swiftly enveloped in hesitation. Xeros prepares for the worst. ¡°The status of Commander Gravitas is currently unknown. Our scouts have reported sensing loud vibrations shifting through the earth, so it is assumed that the ambush succeeded in collapsing the Polus construct. For a few hours, traces of battle could be heard from the Aeternum¡¯s border with the sounds stopping completely a period later. Our forces have diligently waiting to welcome the Commander back for the past week, but there has been no sign of him nor his division since then.¡± A thunderous crash startles the room. Xeros smashes the war table into two with a single slam of his fist, leaving the broken ends to collapse feebly atop the soles of the petrified attendants. ¡°¡­And what of the Polus,¡± he seethes. ¡°Y-Yes, it appears the Polus are in a similar state. No sign of the Heaven¡¯s Throne or her expedition have been found, but our scouts did report seeing some of the Seraph flying near the border; however, none have entered the forest.¡± ¡°So Lorelai has failed as well.¡± His expression softens for the first time this passing month. Perhaps not all is for naught. ¡°I apologize for my unsightly display,¡± he says with a dry indifference. It does not do much to fix the nervous air, but the other officials appear to relax their guard if only for a brief moment. ¡°¡­You are certain none of the Seraph are within the vicinity?¡± ¡°Yes sir.¡± ¡°Mm, then bring me the approximate coordinates of the battlefield. I shall judge the situation with mine own gaze.¡± ¡°Of course. We will bring forth the map at once.¡± You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. With the war table collapsed, two soldiers hastily grab at the sides of a long, aged scroll and hold it in place in front of the man. ¡°The battle is presumed to have taken place at the northeastern outskirts of the forest, thus the best location for your conjuration is¡­ here.¡± The administrator marks the location with a bright red X. ¡°I see. All of you, stand back.¡± The atmosphere begins to clench as a faint crimson energy crackles from his body. Sparks of dark lightning sizzle the surroundings, and the malevolent force concentrates at the tip of his fingers. Xeros brings his hand up and lets loose the thunderous aura straight into his scarred eye. A gathering, obsidian fog seeps out of the discharge, forming a small cloud of darkness in front of his blinded socket. The aura condenses and thins until it covers the entirety of his iris¡ªturning it an ominous pitch-black. His vision is no longer confined to the war room. Now, far away from the city of smog and haze, a similar cloud forms above the withered treetops of the Aeternum. It begins as an opaque blur, but slowly it grows. Larger, solid, more ferocious, until eventually it gathers into a swirling nascent thundercloud. The energy parts way, and a gigantic, corvantine eye is revealed¡ªgaze directed to the scenery of destruction below. It is as Xeros feared. There, laying pathetically in the filth, are the remains of Gravitas. A single slash has severed him in two, the bisection cauterized by extreme heat. Did Lorelai triumph against him? It appears that woman is stronger than I initially thought. Hm? Well now, this is peculiar. Most peculiar, indeed. In the distance, Lorelai¡¯s corpse lays not too far from Gravitas¡¯s own, her body sprawled out upon the earth¡ªhead disgracefully decapitated and tainted by the mud. A great, euphoric joy burns in the bowels of Xeros¡¯s gut, and a booming chuckle threatens to be released from the depths of his soul. But something is amiss. A disquieting worry slithers into his mind. ¡­Who has slain her? Not Gravitas, that is for certain. Another nation, perhaps? No, they are not close enough to deploy their elites without attracting my attention. He looks closer, admiring the defiled visage of his long-loathed foe, before noticing a crucial oddity: Lorelai¡¯s blades are gone. The twin treasures of the sun and moon¡­ they have belonged to the Polus Kingdom since its inception. Only another of the Seraph, or a being that can completely suppress the blades¡¯ ego, are able to wield them. Those acknowledged shall be rejected, burning the veins and freezing the lungs. It is an experience the Grand General is personally familiar with. So who could have stolen them? What being is more powerful than he whilst also remaining a secretive cur? Xeros sweeps his sight across the battlefield, attempting to locate any traces of the one who could have subdued two of the world¡¯s strongest, but his scrutiny is met with nothing of worth. No tracks. No footsteps. All life has completely perished in this damned domain, and an eerie stillness corrupts the air. The forest is now truly a land of death. However, there is an oddity about the bodies that blanket the area: Although many have been killed by natural causes such as dismemberment, some of them appear to have perished in rather bizarre manners¡ªknight and legionnaire alike. Some crumble on the floor without so much as a missing limb, as if an intangible force eroded their bodies from the inside. Some are reduced to sundered, grotesque piles of flesh, but their wounds bare no gashes from steel, as if their transformation was wrought by their own hands. Regardless of the method, they all bear a stark resemblance: faces gaunt with unbridled terror. Blood pools from their eyes and scratches cover the faces of those who attempted to disquiet the maddening whispers of whatever force invaded their mind. Xeros knows of only one possibility that could have brought forth this ruin, but it is impossible. The miasma has yet to rise. Remnants of Gravitas¡¯s power faintly remain, and although the dark mist shows signs of release, not enough time has passed for its malaise to have such a visceral effect. No, there is something much more sinister afoot, but Xeros remains obscured to the truth. There is nothing that can be discovered in this necropolis. How unfortunate, infuriatingly so. There is nothing more he despises in this world than the looming threat of the unknown, and he is desperate to pursue further into the mysterious being that caused the massacre, but the strain in his eye is reaching its breaking point. He must return. The Corvid¡¯s Eye fades into a scant wisp, the miasma swallowing all before the eye disappears into the emptiness. Gravitas¡¯s influence remains no longer, and he is consumed along with the other wretches until there is nothing left but fractured earth and abandoned husks. Xeros lurches back with a gasp, sweat dripping down his furled brow. ¡°Gravitas is dead,¡± he states wearily. A wave of confusion submerges the members of the war room into a nervous murmur, but they are silenced with a wave of his hand. ¡°However, Lorelai of the Heaven¡¯s Throne has also perished. With their core leader dead, Polus is unlikely to act for now.¡± ¡°How shall we go about the eastern front?¡± the administrator says. ¡°It is only a matter of time before the Arch Magus grows suspicious of our lack of movement.¡± How, indeed. There is one available method, but the mere thought of considering it heralds an outpour of disgust from the Grand General. However, he would be a fool to let go of such an opportunity. ¡°Mm¡­ organize it so: Relocate Commander Libevich from the central front lines to the east. We cannot risk exposing our rear to the Augurium Astrologians. Halt the main advance and order the legionnaires to take defensive positions.¡± ¡°L-Libevich, sir? But her gift is not suitable for defense¡ª¡± ¡°Are you questioning me?¡± Xeros¡¯s query thunders as an oppressive challenge. The administrator sinks into their seat, breath wracked with sputtering chokes. Their eyes dart. Their hair rises from the increasing static discharge in the air. ¡°N-No, sir. Please forgive me. I-I don¡¯t know what came over me, but I would never¡ª¡± ¡°Cease your bootlicking. It revolts me, those words filled with groveling deceit. Speak your mind true, or remain a silent whelp. Am I clear?¡± The Grand General is not in a tolerant mood. His patience has run out. ¡°¡­Yes sir.¡± ¡°Then get out. You are no longer needed here.¡± ¡°At your word.¡± The terrified administrator bows his head before promptly exiting the room, his fleeting steps echoing amongst the ears of the room¡¯s members. The others dare not speak, for they know what wrath awaits them if they are to break the silence. ¡°Who does that fool belong to?¡± Xeros mutters, rubbing his tired eyes. ¡°¡­Alchemist Regent Nokron, sir,¡± one of the advisors states. He sighs. ¡°I expected as much. That man has become far too complacent whilst locked away in that laboratory of his. A leader¡¯s qualification is reflected in their men; I cannot allow his failures to run rampant.¡± Perhaps a change of air shall serve to remind him of his duties. If not, well¡­ there are many eager to take his place. ¡°Hm, yes. This shall serve as the perfect opportunity. Have Nokron relocate to the Magnus Murus. The isolation at the fortress will give him ample time to discipline his personnel. If he fails, banishment will be the least of his worries.¡± ¡°By your will shall it be done.¡± ¡°Very good.¡± Xeros rises up and massages his poor, stressed body. ¡°Ah, and prepare an accompanying force of our legion¡¯s best. Luxanne and I shall soon need depart.¡± The administrator is partially correct; Matriarch Libevich is not suited for campaigns of defense. However, she needs not to. All the Grand General requires of her is to buy him time - time to seek out a fitting foe for the Arch Magus. He will be too occupied to launch an invasion, and when the Caelum forces have gathered in stride, then shall this twenty year blood war come to an end. The Comet¡¯s disappearance worries me, but for as long as no nation has control over their blessing, then it is no consequence whether I retrieve them now or after I have conquered Polus. Yes, everything is still proceeding as planned. ¡°Where shall we set your course, sir?¡± the advisor asks. ¡°¡­To the arid land of tribe and barbarism, ruled by the one known as the Overlord. We shall depart to the Steppe.¡± Chapter 17: To Prey Upon Kindness ¡°Currently, there are six nations that claim to hold dominion over this poor, divided world of ours. ¡°The land of wing and tradition: the Polus Monarchy. ¡°The center of mechanical innovation: the Nox Caelum Empire. ¡°The haven of all that is arcane: the Augurium Thaumaturgy. ¡°The savage plain of conquest: the Steppe. ¡°The united alliance of gold: the Ishmahab Federation. ¡°And finally, the wilds of humanity¡¯s origin: the Antiqua. ¡°Power naturally attracts the populace. It brings promise of safety, of protection, but one must be careful who they pledge allegiance to. Whether they be a despot or a savior¡­ that is for you to decide.¡± - Navigating the Current Political Sphere: Penned by Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The pair¡¯s march through the forest is uneventful. With no life nor color - save for a sickly grey - to be seen, complications have begun to rise in the form of an impetuous little infant: Aegis will not stop squirming. Despite the Knight¡¯s efforts, every moment is plagued by a rancorous cry or a spiteful mutter. He is bored. ¡°You will only tire yourself out in vain, child,¡± it says, attempting to satiate Aegis¡¯s restless body. But he only looks at it with an expression the Knight can only identify as scoffing. Aegis screams again. Louder this time. ¡°What will it take for you to cease this tantrum?¡± A loud grumble erupts from the child¡¯s stomach. Ah, that is right. The kin of Cosmos require sustenance to maintain their bodily functions. ¡°Very well. Perhaps some food is in order.¡± However, everything in the forest has been corrupted by the miasmic grasp. Rivers spew a constant stream of umbral gunk, and the only vegetation unwithered are the fungal vestiges of nature¡¯s groundskeepers. Their color is of concerning note, but the surrounding Creation reacts not to its plucking. It should be safe for the child to eat. Alas, Aegis refuses. ¡°You will starve.¡± He doesn¡¯t react. ¡°It will hurt.¡± He turns his head away. ¡°Must you really act this way? Here, I shall demonstrate.¡± The Knight takes off its helm and forms a mouth on its featureless visage. Teeth spout out with a gush from the pulpous flesh, and a pink mass shapes itself into a wriggling tongue. It takes a bite of the mushroom. ¡­It is edible, at the very least. ¡°See? Now you try.¡± Aegis looks up at the being in annoyance and opens his mouth. ¡°Ah. You have no teeth. How about this then?¡± The Knight pulverizes the mushrooms into a fine dust. ¡°Is this adequate?¡± The baby sighs, but he agrees and waits to be fed. The moment the dust enters his throat, however, he descends into a coughing fit and spits the rest of the food onto the ground. ¡°Now what is the matter?¡± Before it can torture itself with frustration any longer, Creation begins to gather and condense in front of it. It swirls, taking on an opaque blue hue, before transforming into a floating orb of water. Aegis excitedly latches on to the sudden manifestation and gorges himself on the liquid. Meanwhile, the Knight is baffled. The child can already beckon for Creation¡¯s assistance? No. Rather, it is as if the force is acting upon its own free will. How curious. ¡°Hm. Now that you are content, let us continue in silence.¡± If the child can already receive such boon, then perhaps masking itself as a winged one is not out of the realm of possibility. Regardless, their first priority is to escape this ashen land. What comes after shall be left to fate. The two march on. Through charcoal hills, Under blackened skies, And across surging ravines. Until eventually, they arrive at the forest¡¯s edge. The trees come to a halt, and across the border¡¯s line is a field of sprawling green. Finally. Perhaps now Aegis will stay still¡ª ¡°Wolukaedi?¡± ¡°Maka. Gioh kotu.¡± Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. The Knight drops to the dirt and veils itself in a brush. Aegis attempts to babble out in surprise, but he is quickly silenced with a swift hand. ¡°Do not speak,¡± it commands with a whisper. Fortunately, the child is obedient for once. It is likely he can sense its alarm. ¡°Haelum¡­ eto days va debu no sightings.¡± A foreign language. Two Polus guards. The structure and wording of the sound is similar to the common tongue of the previous age, but the intonation itself is of changed form. ¡°Thei King esu zill loovking fahu her?¡± ¡°Yes. Throne important.¡± There are some peculiarities, but transcribing the new tongue is no hard task. Eventually, it is able to obtain a rough translation of the language¡¯s alphabet. Now, how shall I proceed? Killing the knights will only draw suspicion towards the area. It needs to obtain a way into the kingdom legitimately if it is to blend in and pursue information out in the open. ¡°Survivor find?¡± ¡°Still no. Yes¡­ screams alert.¡± ¡°Pity. Lookout continue.¡± ¡°Yes sir.¡± And there it is: a most convenient path. ¡°Aegis, no matter what happens from now on, you must stay quiet. Am I clear?¡± The child, seemingly unable to understand a single thing the Knight is saying, comprehends the message anyway. ¡°Good.¡± It pries open a small gap in its plate and begins to mold its abdomen. With a groan, the bones are pushed upwards and the skin lurches back¡ªcreating a small, hidden crevice for Aegis to fit into. The Knight tucks him in and closes the gap with its undulating flesh. He is safe. There is but one thing left to do. It takes a deep breath in and releases a bloodcurdling scream. ¡ª¡ª¡ª Dariel Life out on the meadow has been a rather eye-opening experience for the young officer Dariel. It is much more rugged, and exhausting, than back at the capital, but he does not regret bidding his grandfather leave to participate in the retrieval force. ¡°Are you positively mad, boy!?¡± he remembers Grandpa Gadreel shouting to him at the time. ¡°No. I forbid it! You have spent longer wielding a pen than a sword, much less experience a true deployment.¡± Dariel understands; he truly does. However, there is not much the elder can do if he runs away. I cannot allow myself to be coddled in the palace forever. If I am to become a truly dependable official, then I must see the hardships of our army first hand! And so, here he is, approving documents and organizing supplies whilst nestled away in a tiny, tiny makeshift tent at the Aeternum¡¯s border. A camp has been erected here for the latter part of the week, yet there¡¯s been not a whisper nor sign of Lorelai or her expedition. Their fate is grim, to say the least. However, Dariel remains optimistic. Only in resignation will the Heaven¡¯s Throne truly be lost to the decaying woods. As long as he has hope, then someone will eventually arrive. Anyone. They have to. Or else the nation will plunge into despair. Ugh¡­ I don¡¯t know how long we can stay like this. Another week? Two? The knights are becoming crestfallen. Soon, they¡¯ll begin to request for our return home. But if we do that, then¡­ then¡­ He must hold on for a little bit longer. No use in thinking such depressive thoughts now. Let¡¯s get back to¡ª An unearthly howl nearly sends the frightened officer tumbling onto the ground. Footsteps thunder outside his tent, and a chorus of excited yells begin to flood the air. Could it be? He dashes out into the mid-day sun and joins the others as they gather at the forest¡¯s edge. It is a survivor. A Polus knight. Though it appears the poor bastard is in an agonizing state of frenzy. ¡°O-Officer Dariel!¡± One of the guards runs up to him with a face full of worry. ¡°How should we proceed?¡± Despite Dariel¡¯s inexperience with actual fieldwork, he is technically of the highest rank amongst the camp due to some¡­ connections. It is his responsibility, and his alone, to lead them. ¡°Ehm, for now, organize a retrieval squad and prepare the medical tent for operation. The miasma will not affect the knights immediately, but if they linger there for even just a minute... well, it''s not going to be good. The shorter the exposure, the better.¡± ¡°By your word. I¡¯ll gather our best.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± The guard runs off, and Dariel is left to wander amidst the crowd. The scream is getting louder, more frantic, and unnerving all in attendance¡ªespecially for the young officer who has never borne witness to a speck of violence in his life. Pain. Unceasing torment. The voice exudes it all to harrowing degrees. He cannot bear it any longer. N-No. I have to remain strong. To let myself falter here means to go against the very purpose of my escape. I will listen, and through their pain will I learn to understand the knights¡¯ plight. Still, it is a gut-wrenching experience. He prays to Cosmos that she saves the poor soul from their suffering, and as he does, a squadron brushes past as they bolt with nary a hint of hesitation into the Aeternum. Their steps appear to slow, voice grunting under duress just from the split second of contact with the mist, but they manage to arrive at the survivor with nary an incident. The lone knight shuffles towards them, twitching and jerking with violent movements. They cry out at the sight of the squadron and attempt to reach out to them before collapsing onto their knees. ¡°We¡¯ve got them!¡± the squad leader shouts, hoisting the survivor onto their back. ¡°Acknowledged! Return as quickly as you can!¡± Dariel shouts. After a disquieting moment, the squadron breaks through the border. He rushes alongside them to the medical tent and a bewildered healer quickly sets the survivor onto a cot. ¡°How do they look?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t say for sure,¡± they mumble. ¡°There¡¯s not much known about the miasma¡¯s effects. Stars¡­ why would we? You¡¯d have to be either a fool or completely insane to mess around with such malevolence. I can try to treat the body, but there¡¯s not much I can do for the mind.¡± ¡°Well, the body is better than nothing. Do you need any help?¡± ¡°Gladly. Help me yank off this armor. It¡¯s stuck on really¡ª¡± Dariel forcefully grabs onto the healer and tosses them away from the survivor. ¡°No! Get away!¡± ¡°Ow, why did you¡ª¡± But their question is soon answered. A hazy, blackened mist seeps out from the cracks of the survivor¡¯s armor before eventually returning to torture its host; the Polus knight may have left the forest, but they have yet to escape the miasma. It is still there, submerging them in a never-ending cycle of agony. And there is nothing Dariel can do. He can feel it: his instincts screaming of danger. If he fully pries off that armor, then the entire camp will become subject to the mist¡¯s enfeeblement. Damnit. Damnit! He slams his fist on the table, blood trickling down his arm. There is nothing he despises more than the feeling of worthlessness, but what then? Even if he clears the area, someone must remain to do the deed. He will not condemn one just to save another. Oh, grandpa¡­ being a leader is much harder than I thought it¡¯d be. ¡°¡­For now, continue to monitor the survivor¡¯s condition. We will have to leave them in their current state.¡± ¡°I-I understand.¡± ¡°Good. If you need me, or their condition starts to worsen, I¡¯ll be at my tent.¡± Dariel sighs and leaves the medical area with a heavy heart. Is this truly the right way? He shall find out with time. The officer returns to his hovel and writes a letter summarizing the recent events. With a swift signature and a stamp, the report is finished. The capital must be alerted with haste of the survivor¡¯s presence. Their statement may just yet be the hope they need to determine Lorelai¡¯s survival. Or it may be sorrow¡¯s harbinger. Nonetheless, the nation needs to know. And when the truth is revealed, perhaps the King will finally receive some closure. Chapter 18: A Deceptive Allure ¡°The kin of Cosmos call it many names: miasma, malaise, the mist. They believe it to be the weeping souls of all perished under a baleful death. They are not entirely correct. ¡°In truth, it is Creation¡¯s grudge. The divinity loathes me more than any other in this world, and so it festered my breath - enveloped me in a perpetual shroud of woe - all to bring about the ceasing of this fractured heart. It failed. ¡°This grudge has persisted since the very beginning. Now, it is a part of me. Creation has since long lost its control. I need only stir the malice to call it forth.¡± - The Knight ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight A peculiar union of clinic and storage now serves as the Knight¡¯s current abode, boxes cluttering the space around the cot it lies upon, and a thick scent of herbal concoction wafts throughout from the Polus healer¡¯s attempt at treating the being¡¯s feigned lunacy. Night has fallen; the encampment is slumbering. Now, the being has truly adapted to their mannerisms and language. It has no need for this charade any further. A kick taps its chest-plate. An angry Aegis is demanding to be let out, upset after being forced to confine himself for the past few moons. Ah, you little troublemaker. Had it been daytime, you would have wrought us much trouble. The Knight releases its cage of skin and Aegis slides out, tumbling onto the floor with a mighty thunk. The baby pouts; he refuses to look at it. ¡°Does my protection inconvenience you to such lengths? It is necessary, child. They can not be allowed to discover your presence. One glance at your celestial eyes is all that is needed for you to suffer a life of servitude.¡± Aegis does not care. He slams his rear onto the floor and grunts in defiance. So young, yet already so full of rebellion. ¡°Hm. There is another way, but it will depend wholly on your efforts.¡± Aegis is curious now. Although The Knight¡¯s exact words are not completely conveyed through their shared curse, it appears intention is still properly understood. The child is excited at the prospect of finally leaving the stuffy enclosure. Creation is already eager to provide aid to him. Perhaps he can yet invoke the spells of the Astrologians. ¡°Now, do you see that area over there?¡± It points at a flat section of the tent devoid of other objects. Aegis looks at him blankly. ¡°Pretend that you are¡­ hiding. You need to use the surrounding Creation to veil yourself. Create a space in which only you can see through.¡± But its words are only met with more confusion. Is my explanation lacking? Well, there is not much I can do as one who has never felt that resentful being¡¯s blessing. What to do¡­ ah. Yes, perhaps that shall work. There is one lesson it has held true in its heart after eons of existence: efficient education lies in practical experience, and there is no greater motivator than duress. The Knight stands up, and it crashes into the table. A loud jolt rings through the air, spreading throughout the entire camp. Soon, curious whispers trickle in from outside, and faint traces of footsteps are heard in the distance approaching them. Aegis panics and flails about as he tries to beg for the Knight to let him back in, but his desperation begets only a stern refusal. ¡°You must hurry, child. All you need do is beseech Creation¡¯s assistance¡­ no, command it. Force it to bend before your will. You are its beloved spawn. Make use of its love.¡± The footsteps are becoming louder, each stomp crunching the dirt and emitting a tortuous echo. With a flutter, the entrance to the tent opens and Aegis closes his eyes. ¡°Is everything ok here?¡± a rosy-pink haired officer says, peeking his head nervously into the space. The man is tan of skin, face embellished with emerald green eyes, and despite the tailored suit suggesting of higher position, his soft exterior reveals a youthful naivety still yet untainted by caution. This shall prove simple. The Knight picks itself off of the floor and readies its vocal tract. It is time to see if its deception has rusted with age. ¡°W-Where am I?¡± it asks, backing away with a nervous trot. Its voice shakes, body trembling with fear, and it cowers onto its knees with a pathetic whimper. ¡°You¡¯re sane!¡± The officer tries to approach it, but quickly stops after a sudden harsh cry of refusal. ¡°A-Ah, my apologies. Easy now, you¡¯re safe here. This is the northern border of the Aeternum. We discovered you stumbling through the forest; the miasma had consumed your mind, but we¡¯ve been diligently treating you these past few days. You don¡¯t need to worry.¡± He takes a single step forward, carefully gauging its reaction. ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you. No one here is going to hurt you. Everything will be ok. Will you allow me to¡­?¡± But the Knight sets a clear boundary. ¡°That is fine as well,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯ll just ask a few questions. Is that alright?¡± It nods. ¡°Good. Good¡­ ok. Now, let¡¯s start off with a simple one. What is your name?¡± It doesn¡¯t respond. ¡°Not good. Very bad, actually. I can¡¯t imagine how much suffering the miasma has put you through¡ª¡± ¡°I want to rest,¡± the Knight says. ¡°O-Oh! My bad. Yes, no doubt you¡¯re feeling quite tired after your ordeal. I just have one more if you¡­?¡± ¡°¡­Alright.¡± ¡°Thank you! Really. Now, do you remember anything about yourself?¡± ¡°I am a knight, that much I know for certain, and I remember steel. Flashes of light. There was a woman clad in wings - a towering construct - and enemies in strange, mechanical armor. I¡­ there was a mist. It spread to us all, and then there were screams. So many screams. It invaded my mind, whispered such vile things to my heart, and I wanted to claw and claw and claw it out of my wretched chest. I had to. I yearned to. I, who am I? Why was I there? I don¡¯t remember. I don¡¯t want to¡ª¡± The officer rushes in and quickly wraps the Knight in a clumsy, yet good-natured, hold. ¡°Stop. That is far enough,¡± he murmurs. ¡°You don¡¯t need to continue any further. I apologize for stirring such painful memories.¡± ¡°I want to rest. I want to forget.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± He lets go. An awkward air lingers for a moment, the young man unsure of his next course of action, until eventually he decides to carefully trudge back to the tent¡¯s entrance. ¡°Take as much time as you need. A representative from the capital will arrive soon to take you back soon, anyway. I¡¯m sure you would much rather recover while far away from the forest.¡± ¡°Yes. Um, thank you, and I¡¯m sorry for lashing out.¡± ¡°Think nothing of it!¡± he exclaims with a blush. ¡°The fault is mine for straining you right after your awakening. If you need anything, anything at all, don¡¯t hesitate to seek me out. I¡¯ll be at the brown tent with an insignia of a winged sword engraved at the entrance. Please, do take care.¡± The officer bows his head and silently takes his leave. Embarrassed mutterings follow his trail, fading into the night¡¯s obscurity before allowing silence to reign supreme once more. Aegis, meanwhile, is still in the corner scrunching his eyes shut in desperation. Such sorcery will not fool the Knight¡¯s vision, but it is an adequate first attempt. ¡°You can open your eyes now, Aegis.¡± The concealment wears off and the baby collapses onto the floor with a deep sigh, exhausted after the mental burden the Knight has inflicted upon him. ¡°That was a wonderful display. Whenever you wish to veil yourself, close your eyes just like that and imagine the world sheltering you from the outside. Aegis burps - Is that an acknowledgment? - before letting his eyes droop and falling asleep, hands curling around the Knight¡¯s finger. A representative, hm? Perhaps an audience with the King is not far off. But, for now, rest is truly in order. And it will do so whilst accompanied by a bundle of warmth it hasn¡¯t felt in a long, long time. ¡ª¡ª¡ª Dariel Dariel is in a good mood. The air outside is fresh with the scent of setting spring, and a cool lash of air tinges his skin with soft shivers. It¡¯s a beautiful day outside; how fortunate that he needs not bask in it alone. A few days have passed since his - rather mortifying - intrusion of the survivor¡¯s quarters, but thankfully the kind soul appears to hold no grudge towards him. On the contrary, they¡¯ve even volunteered to help with various tasks around the camp. He has tried to refuse them. After all, what madman would attempt to work after suffering such mental agony? Alas, people are complex. Physical labor only seems to be aiding in their recovery. How curious the temperament of a knight is. I suppose being outside does help with the blood flow. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. It is a bit concerning that the miasma is still leaking from their body, but if it is affecting the survivor, then they show no sign of it. That, or they are simply enduring. He hopes it is not the latter: false bravado will only lead to an early grave. ¡°Oh, hello there! How are you doing?¡± A voice asks from behind, knocking Dariel out of his stupor. He turns around and comes face to face with the jovial knight in question hauling a gigantic log of wood in their arms. What tremendous strength! The officer almost blurts out his admiration, but luckily catches himself at the last second lest he behave like a greenhorn. ¡°I¡¯m doing quite well,¡± he says, attempting to give off an air of confidence. ¡°But I really don¡¯t think you should be exerting yourself like this.¡± The survivor bellows out a hearty, mesmerizing laugh that rumbles clear despite the bustling camp. It¡¯s strange, but Dariel feels¡­ comforted by the sound. Their voice has a seductive quality to it - as if it can charm anyone into becoming a lifelong friend - and the rich, androgynous timbre of their pitch soothes his tired gaze in an instant. Friendly, powerful, yet gentle at the same time. Even now, he is not quite sure if they are a man or a woman, but the officer dares not ask at the risk of appearing inconsiderate like before. ¡°Aw, don¡¯t be like that now!¡± they say, gracing him with what he thinks to be a wide grin under the helm. ¡°I just wanted to help out and stretch the old body. Wait, am I old? Ah, well, no use thinking about such stuff! I¡¯ll find out eventually.¡± Dariel sighs and throws his hands up in surrender. There¡¯s no winning against that boundless cheer. He suspects that if he takes a whole knight division¡¯s worth of rowdiness and concentrates it into a singular being, the result will most likely be similar to the lively soul before him. They are a Polus knight through and through. ¡°Heheh, if our elders had the same energy as you, I¡¯m afraid the court would never be able to convene.¡± ¡°Oh? You sound like you¡¯re personally familiar with them.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Oh no, I shouldn¡¯t have mentioned that¡­ ¡°I-It¡¯s nothing,¡± he begins, voice slowly rising to a fluster. ¡°I just happened to have the privilege to witness one of their sessions first hand. Yes, I am definitely just a regular official from the academy. No royal blood in me whatsoever. Nope. Indeed.¡± The survivor doesn¡¯t look convinced. ¡°Hm, come to think of it¡­ I don¡¯t think I ever got your name. What was it again?¡± they ask, and strangely enough, he feels compelled to reply. ¡°Stars, how rude of me,¡± he says, wiping the sweat from his brow. ¡°I¡¯m Dariel, a simple advising officer. That¡¯s me.¡± ¡°Is that so? But I have a feeling you¡¯re not as simple as you claim to be.¡± ¡°W-Whatever do you mean?¡± ¡°Tell me, what is your last name?¡± Their voice is more like a command rather than a question. It surges through his body in a wave of paralysis, and soon, words start to bubble from within and leak out before he can attempt to resist. ¡°Cherubim. I-I¡¯m from the Cherubim royal line.¡± Now you¡¯ve done it¡­ damnit. I can¡¯t bear to look. Dariel hesitantly opens his eyes and prepares to be greeted by a strained, distant demeanor, but to his surprise the survivor remains exactly the same. ¡°That wasn¡¯t so hard now, was it?¡± they guffaw, delivering a soft slap to his back. ¡°Don¡¯t know why you were acting so nervous there.¡± On the contrary, they appear to be a bit friendlier than before. How odd. Do they¡­ really not mind my status? ¡°¡­I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re so indifferent,¡± he says, ¡°Normally when I mention my heritage, others become a bit wary around me¡ªalmost as if they¡¯re afraid to commit an offense.¡± It was quite easy to take the original officer¡¯s place, though I did have to hand over a hefty sum of my monthly allowance. Still, he doesn¡¯t regret the decision. If Dariel is to prove himself through his actions, not his bloodline, then masquerading himself as a commoner is a necessity. He is treated as an equal here, as a comrade, and to reveal himself would mean for that fellowship to disappear in a sea of envious gazes¡ªof caution and jealousy. Just like in his academy days. ¡°Well, you don¡¯t have to worry. You¡¯re you. That¡¯s all I care about.¡± Their words are said so casually, yet it brings comfort to the worried noble¡¯s heart - like a drizzling shower of bliss. ¡°If only others thought the same,¡± he mutters with a bitter smile. Dariel looks out to the capital far beyond the vibrant blue sky. The quaint kingdom is hidden, veiled by drifting clouds and rolling fields; even so, he can still feel himself there, shouting away in the midst of an impassioned session. There is no other place he feels more at home, at ease. But, eventually, a seed of doubt has begun to grow. It seized my heart - opened my eyes - and when I finally awoke, all I saw were the twisted faces of those I used to admire. Knight, noble, subject¡­ awash in a sickening shroud of dispute. Of spiteful eyes and venomous scoffs. Why are we so divided? Are we not supposed to be gathered in mutual solidarity? The survivor places a gentle hand on his shoulder. It feels nice, a breeze of sweet soothing, and in their touch is a feeling he has long sought to reach: understanding. ¡°Dariel, let it out,¡± they say. ¡°No matter what doubts you have, what anger you hold in your heart, it will all be ok. I won¡¯t judge you. I¡¯ll only listen.¡± Here they stand, a complete stranger the officer has only just met, yet in their demeanor is a boundless capacity for kindness. If it is with this person, with this knight of wholly different background than him, then he may just be able to trust them¡ªto call them friend. ¡°...The reason I left the capital was to escape from my own cage of ignorance,¡± he begins, dropping onto the dirt with a thump and preparing for a long story. ¡°What was it truly like for the knights out on the battlefield? What were their grievances? From operations to camping to even the littlest of intricacies such as how they sleep: I wanted to learn. I wanted to experience, for I believe a truly capable official is one who understands the affairs of both noble and subject: knight and bureaucrat.¡± A flame has been lit within the officer¡¯s bosom. He does not want to hide any longer, to conceal the fervor festering in his heart. It is as if his body is being filled with energy, and soon, his words grow into a vigorous speech. ¡°It frustrates me! It frustrates me whenever I see the court devolve into a rabid pile of disagreement with neither consideration nor grace. The nobles and officials have good intentions, but they¡¯re obstinate. Stubborn. And I used to think that was simply just their pride as a servant to the nation, but now I see it for what it truly is: a refusal to listen to any other but themself. How can you possibly expect to know the needs of the citizens if you¡¯ve never even set foot outside the capital? I just can¡¯t understand.¡± Grandfather should be the voice of reason, the one to mediate between the two parties as someone who once served as a Throne himself, but even he has fallen to the temptation of superiority. I fear he no longer listens to my words. ¡°And the knight orders¡­ well, I¡¯m sure you know best.¡± The survivor chuckles at the statement, as if they have an entire lifetime¡¯s worth of experience to call upon. ¡°Headstrong? Unruly?¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t even begin to describe it! One time, the Templar Regent of the Order of the Powers even spat on an official after he was insulted. It took weeks before their feud was mediated, and I believe he still holds a grudge over the affair. Ugh, relations between the two compartments are only getting worse over time. One refuses to revise their outlook, and the other has long since given up on cooperation. If it wasn¡¯t for the wisdom of our majesty King Ascalon, the court would constantly be at each other¡¯s throats. It¡¯s almost humorous in a way, but I¡¯m not laughing anymore.¡± Dariel sighs and rubs his tired temple, eyes slowly filling up with a dark shadow. ¡°I came out here to change that. To return back to the court as a new man. But now? I don¡¯t know. The longer I stay here, the more the foolishness of my actions come to haunt me. I¡¯m just one person, a tiny speck amongst the endless crowd. How can I hope to mend our bonds alone?¡± I can hear them: grandfather¡¯s words. ¡°You are but still a boy.¡± Defiance soared within my heart then, eager to prove him wrong, but perhaps he was right. I was just trying to rebel in the only way I could. How pathetic. ¡°In the end,¡± he spits. ¡°All of this, everything¡­ it¡¯s all worthless¡ª¡± The survivor rushes in and clasps Dariel in a tight hold. His face is overcome with a vibrant red, arms half-heartedly attempting to push the ever-so warm presence back in protest, but his pleas are only met with a tender hush and a caring stroke of his back. It is as if he¡¯s back in the arms of his mother, of one who will accept his everything with a fond smile. ¡°No, Dariel. You are wrong,¡± they say, voice so utterly imbued with conviction that the officer can¡¯t help but follow every word with reverence. ¡°Your efforts aren¡¯t worthless. They¡¯re precious, so very precious, for it reveals in you a force greater than any other: courage. The courage to see the world with your own eyes, to feel it with your own will, and to strive towards what you believe is right. Do not doubt yourself. Stand tall with pride, for the man before me is truly strong.¡± ¡°I-I,¡± he stutters, trembling with a helplessness that pierces the very depths of his soul. ¡°You¡¯re just being kind, but mere words won¡¯t change who I am.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right. Words are only the beginning, a spark to ignite the embers within, but if you believe in their potential, then someday those embers will transform into a roaring flame.¡± They slowly relax their hold, softer and softer, until the arms binding him with love can be felt no longer. Dariel is free, yet his mind is still bound by their fleeting grace. He wants to cry out in refusal, to bid them return and chain his body in that enticing affection, yet his body does not move. His mouth refuses to open. There can be no relying on their goodwill forever. I must not run away from myself. Not anymore. A tear swells in his eye, gently drifting down his cheek in a flowing arc. Then another. And another. He knows it is a shameful display, but here, in this moment, Dariel can be at his most vulnerable - safeguarded under the nurturing gaze of a true friend. When his heart can ache no longer, a small smile graces his lips - a bright, beautiful smile filled with genuine joy. ¡°...Do you really think I can do it? he says with a hearty laugh. ¡°It might take a while with how stubborn those elders are. Stars, I may become an old man myself by the time I get through to them.¡± ¡°Change always takes time. It starts small, but really all things do. And that, I believe, is what makes humanity special: the ability to transform into so much more.¡± How do they always manage to find the right words to encourage me? I truly am fortunate to have met such a kind person so far away from home. But, that¡¯s odd. What was that just now? Could I have been mistaken? Or¡­ Their words remain ever so caring, but there¡¯s something else mixed within. It passes by in a flash as if it has never existed to begin with. And if so, then that would be a great relief, for if it is truly as Dariel believes, then that feeling can only be one thing: Sadness. Bottomless, heartrending sadness - an abyssal ocean filled with naught but an eternity of misery. If he loses focus for even a second, then those murky waters will swallow him whole¡ªbereft of the chance to even mutter a cry. ¡°Um, is something¡ª¡± But before he can finish, a gust of wind billows through the entirety of the camp, sending both knight and debris scattering about in a chaotic jumble of confused, disorderly shouts. Dariel only barely manages to hold on by clinging to the dirt, the surging tornado fluttering here and there in a mad song of merry glee, but at least his new friend appears to be unharmed, or rather unbothered, by the sudden affair. Eventually, the gale dissipates. The screeches of the air halt to a still. And there, way up high casting a boisterous shadow upon the irritated glares of the people, is the visage of a cackling woman armored in thorns and blessed with wings of leaves and bark. She lands, whistling a jovial little tune as the sudden visitor stomps over to Dariel and hoists his trembling legs back atop the earth¡¯s floor. ¡°Hm, I recognize that damnable hair,¡± the female knight says. ¡°You must be the grandkid of that scowling codger. Nice to meet you, I¡¯m a¡­ let¡¯s say dear friend of his.¡± He responds with only a grumble and squirms out of her hold, attempting to dust off his suit after someone so rudely stained it in grime. It doesn¡¯t work. ¡°I greet the Untamed Throne of Nature: Annalay Virtue. May the light of the great Mother guide you always.¡± Chapter 19: Spurred into Flight, Drenched and Fallen ¡°Get up, Annalay. Stop your whimpering. Do you think shedding these unsightly tears will change anything? A noble must be dignified, my dear; they must be the very figure of authority and grace, yet all I see here is an undisciplined, disobedient little wretch. You will never become a leader like this. Is that what you want? To be a mere follower and prance about whilst under someone else¡¯s command? No. Never. I will not allow you to tarnish our name, so get back up! You will practice, and you will succeed.¡± - Jezebel Virtue, Annalay¡¯s Mother ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The winged woman in thorns is a curiosity. According to the Knight¡¯s recollection, the people of Polus value appearance and formality highly. It is their identity, the culture in which they stake their namesake, yet the new knight displays anything but. She stamps about with heavy, uneven steps - back curved into a lurching hunch - and a slurring crass reverberation follows her every word. Even so, a deception lurks within. Hidden beneath the messy facade is a sharp, honed composure and a will under deliberate control. She is not like Dariel. She is dangerous. ¡°Hoh? Looks like blood takes after blood,¡± she says, ruffling the officer¡¯s hair much to his dismay. ¡°Well, at least you¡¯re cuter than that old fart! Speaking of which, he¡¯s really damn upset at you. Said if you don¡¯t come back to the capital right now, he¡¯ll take away your scrolls or whatever the hells that means.¡± ¡°Huh? No, he would stoop that low!? Dariel gasps with eyes drenched in utter peril. ¡°Wait, that¡¯s besides the point. What brings you out here, Lady Annalay?¡± ¡°What else? I¡¯m here to pick up the remnant from the Alexandria.¡± ¡°They relegated such a task to one with your position?¡± Annalay shrugs. ¡°I don¡¯t know, nor do I really care; if Ascalon tells me to do it then I¡¯ll do it. Just think of me as a, hm, top class escort service! They even gave me this fancy top-of-the-line carriage from Ishmahab.¡± A bewildered expression creeps onto Dariel¡¯s being and for good reason: There is no such construct within the vicinity. ¡°¡­Where is it?¡± he asks. ¡°Say that again? Didn¡¯t hear ya.¡± ¡°Where is the carriage?¡± ¡°Ah. That.¡± Annalay peeks behind herself, staring off into the distance with an innocent, feigned guise. ¡°Well, they¡¯ll catch up eventually; the damn thing was moving slower than a foreman after a visit to the local brewery! Can¡¯t fault me for wanting to get a little bit of a head start.¡± ¡°So you abandoned the escort procession?¡± ¡°Abandoned is a strong word you brat, but yes.¡± No words. The officer is speechless. The Nature¡¯s Throne attempts to break the silence with a guttural hack of her throat, but it only serves to further steep their surroundings in discomfort. ¡°So, where¡¯s that survivor of ours? Who knows, I might even know the poor sap.¡± Dariel motions over to the Knight with a hesitant wave, caution etched in his movements, but there¡¯s naught he can do before one of higher rank. ¡°That will be a bit difficult. Their condition has vastly improved since their emergence from the forest, but the miasma¡¯s exposure has left their memories stuck in a haze.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± She slowly trudges over and pats the being¡¯s shoulder, but the gesture is not done out of concern. Her eyes are affixed with an eerie, dubious light. ¡°You¡¯re an interesting one: a bit burly, but not enough to be a Power knight; a little slender, but not like those of the Principality. That¡¯s a pretty big mace there so you can¡¯t be from any of the support divisions¡­ well, let¡¯s have a look at that face then. I¡¯m not too good at recognizing people, but it doesn¡¯t hurt to try.¡± ¡°I would advise against that as well. They¡ª¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah. I can feel it: that sickly mist¡¯s presence. Strange they look perfectly fine right now if it¡¯s still sticking to them.¡± ¡°H-How could you say that?¡± Dariel says. ¡°You weren¡¯t there when we found them lumbering in the forest. I still remember it clearly: the sight of their body twisted and contorted in pain. You weren¡¯t there when all we could hear throughout the night was their screams crying out in agony!¡± The officer continues to berate the Throne hoping for an apology. He doesn¡¯t succeed. The woman is apathetic before the tirade, and a brusque yawn is all his efforts yield. ¡°Alright, I get it. To put it simply, our survivor friend here has suffered quite a bit, right?¡± ¡°Yes, and I implore you to be a bit gentler with your treatment.¡± ¡°Gentle. Sure, I can be gentle. Just let me ask a little something first.¡± The grip on its shoulder tightens, and Annalay lowers herself down until the warmth of her breath is spewed directly against the Knight¡¯s helm. ¡°Who are you?¡± Dariel attempts to protest again, but a burst of bloodlust sends him staggering onto the ground with a throat seized by gurgling chokes. The Throne¡¯s intentions are clear: None may disturb her. ¡°Answer me. Now.¡± There is but only one response it can give. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± The bloodlust fades. Her grip loosens. Annalay trots back with an uncanny display of cheerfulness, the previous aggression vanishing as quickly as it arose, and she helps the struggling officer back onto his feet with not a hint of guilt for her actions. ¡°Is that so?¡± she says with a hum. ¡°How terribly tragic.¡± Before anyone can react, a flash of green glints across the Knight¡¯s view. It looks down and discovers the prickly edge of a halberd pointed straight at its throat. ¡°This is madness!¡± Dariel wheezes, strength still bereft from his body. ¡°Sorry kid, but this needs to be done.¡± Her voice is no longer filled with the crass echo. Now, it is clear. Honed. And suffused with a hardened intent. ¡°They may don Polus''s emblems, but our kingdom¡¯s technique is forged through countless years of training. No imposter could ever mimic our style; if they¡¯re one of ours, I¡¯ll be able to recognize it instantly.¡± ¡°But their body¡ª¡± ¡°Geheheh, if they¡¯re truly a knight, then they won¡¯t break easily. We¡¯re made of sterner stuff than that.¡± Annalay raises her glaive high into the air. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t kill you.¡± And swings with the full force of her strength. The Knight quickly unsheathes its mace and counters the attack with a bash - sparks spraying across its armor with tiny red embers - but the blow sends it flying back nonetheless, crashing directly into the medical tent with a crunching thud. Splintered wood and flayed sheets are launched out as a thick cloud of dust blankets the area, and confused cries from the surrounding personnel beg for the Throne to stop. It dissuades her not. She marches forward and readies her verdant blade once more. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Get up. I¡¯m not done with you yet.¡± ¡ª¡ª¡ª Annalay The suspicious knight rises from the rubble with a shaky step. They¡¯re a bit beat up, but all in all it looks like her strike didn¡¯t shake them up too much. Hoho, off to a good start. I would¡¯ve been real disappointed if it ended this soon. ¡°Come on,¡± Annalay taunts with a wag of her finger. ¡°I¡¯ll let you have the next move. Who knows? Maybe you¡¯ll even leave a scratch.¡± But the knight decides to stay in place and ready their body into a defensive stance, feet planting firmly onto the earth with the mace drifting to the center. The posture looks a bit similar to the one the Power¡¯s use, yet something¡¯s a bit off. The movements don¡¯t quite align and give off an¡­ old-fashioned kinda feeling: antiquated, but also modern in the same way. Annalay doesn¡¯t quite know what to make of it, but she doesn¡¯t let it bother her. Eh, similar enough. Guess that¡¯s just their style. Still, one measly little guard isn¡¯t enough to prove their identity. It¡¯s time to get a little rough, especially after the audacity to ignore her words and hunker down despite being granted the first strike. Some good old correction is in order. ¡°Well, if you insist. Don¡¯t blame me for what¡¯s comin¡¯ next.¡± Annalay stabs her halberd into the ground and charges, dragging the earth into a billowing trail of dirt as she closes in on the poor, unsuspecting soul. With a cackle and upward rend, the heaping mound is sent hurtling forward - blade hovering adrift as it awaits to descend on its stunned victim¡­ but the moment never arrives. Instead, the knight lets itself be carried away by the force and redirects the dirt back with a big swing, splattering the filth all over her armor. It doesn¡¯t hurt. It doesn¡¯t even cause her to flinch, but hells be damned if it isn¡¯t a humbling experience. Now hold on here¡­ that was a Principality technique. You deceived me! ¡°¡­Heh,¡± she mumbles, body trembling as an uncontrollable itch begins to assault her sides. Her hands shake; her waist doubles over; and she delivers a hearty slap to her thigh as a roaring fit explodes from her core and out into the wide, open sky. ¡°HAHAHA! Ya got me! Sorry about that little prank there. From now, I¡¯ll fight you like a real Polus warrior.¡± Annalay forgoes her lavish techniques and takes a deep breath of the soil-wrought air: rich, musty, and full of life. There¡¯s no better joy than a good spar on a nice, chilly day. She erupts with a blast of movement, bolting straight for the knight while whirling her glaive around and cleaving through the camp in an indiscriminate path of destruction. Their weapons collide, thunderous shockwaves sending the surrounding crowd tumbling back with each weighty smash. Thud onto thud onto thud her glaive connects, and she savors every sweet, blissful sound of scraping metal on edge; the melody is akin to a grand orchestra, and she is the conductor - guiding the knight as the two put on one killer of a performance. Surprisingly enough, her little duo partner is holding up quite nicely despite the unrelenting assault. They barely manage to repel her blows by maintaining a steadfast anchor and redirecting the force onto the ground around them, the impact leaving behind small patches and holes to plague the area. Although Annalay is restraining herself for obvious reasons, it¡¯s pretty impressive that the knight has held on for so long. Quite the fortitude on this one. The fellows back home are far too boring to spar with because of my position, and the only ones who can put up a decent fight are all scattered about the Caelum lines. It¡¯s quite nice to finally be able to unsheathe the ol¡¯ glaive on a non-rusted body for once. Heh, I might actually be able to go a bit rough this time. ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve got some spirit in you!¡± she bellows. ¡°But this just won¡¯t do. Let¡¯s shake things up for a change.¡± Annalay raises her leg up high and smashes the ground with her heel, sending a tremor tunneling below and uprooting the knight straight into the air with a spiraling rupture. The sky is Seraph territory: if you don¡¯t have wings, then all that¡¯s left is to accept the inevitable. She manifests her earthen span and takes off, speeding towards the helpless knight with her glaive primed for annihilation. But just as the blade arcs into a sweeping cleave, the survivor forcefully lurches their body into a painful looking twist and avoids the blow - bashing the edge at just the right moment to send themself crashing to the ground and back to safety. Annalay is dumbstruck. By Cosmos¡¯s tits, who would have ever thought that old move working out in a real fight? That ain¡¯t something some regular old spy can even know about, let alone pull off. After returning to the camp with a lazy fall, the repentant Throne emerges from the impact and prepares to do the one thing she hates most: apologize. Yeah, I messed up. To be fair, who wouldn¡¯t be suspicious over something like this? But that¡¯s enough; I think we can end it here. ¡°Ahem,¡± she coughs. ¡°I¡¯ve seen enough. You don¡¯t have to¡ª¡± A blur of steel sends her retreating back in a moment of instinctual caution. The knight is going on the offensive; their mace is ready to crush. ¡­Gehah. Yep, I wouldn¡¯t end it like that either if I spent the entire time being treated like some training doll. Guess I¡¯ll have to entertain ya a bit longer. Their positions reverse and Annalay switches to the defensive as the knight assaults her with strangely powerful bashes. It¡¯s not like their attacks are particularly fast, rather they have an odd sense of depth to them. Her glaive rings with dizzying vibration every time she repels the blows, and they¡¯re doing a rather good job at maintaining a steady, unrelenting pressure. The defense isn¡¯t too bad either. Each little area and blind spot is meticulously guarded even in the midst of their attacks, and their subtle footwork allows them to push back and forth in a beautiful flowing dance of aggression and quick retreat. Annalay even finds herself spellbound by the enchanting technique - and in a brief moment of blinding joy - she lets her guard down and immediately suffers from a single, heavy bash to her abdomen. It¡¯s a solid blow, one strong enough to even knock the air out of her lungs, and the giddy Throne lets out a crazed laugh as she retreats far away from the persistent little bundle of entertainment. ¡°Passing marks all around!¡± she cries out with a heart completely taken over by ecstasy. This is it: the kind of fight one needs to really get their blood pumping. ¡°You¡¯re good, real good. I haven¡¯t felt this way in a long time, so I¡¯ll show you something special for your efforts!¡± The wind¡¯s call is beckoned forth, swirling and twirling into a miniature tornado as her glaive is planted deep into the soil and becomes acast with green, murky aura. Creation is squirming; a chant is near. ¡°Shifting mound of the earth¡¯s hollow, bless upon me¡ª¡± A flash, swift and sudden, flies right past her and knocks the weapon away from its burrowed root. The halberd is gone, vanished under a pile of rubble, and so is the knight¡¯s mace. Annalay can only stand in shock as a wave of pure amazement floods her entire being. ¡°Oh, honey,¡± she gasps. ¡°I might just be in love.¡± With both their armaments gone, the knight rushes in and assumes a close-combat stance as they barrage her with a frenzy of punches and feints. The thorns on her cuirass do little to dissuade the hefty blows, their fist carefully striking between the gaps, and the dazed Throne is forced to put up a sluggish defensive after the sudden switch in style. Finally, the inevitable occurs and a straight kick to her knee¡¯s bend sends Annalay toppling forward with helm freely exposed. The knight wastes no time with the sudden opportunity; a ferocious hook is coming in fast any second now. ¡°Gotcha.¡± With a twist of her head, their attack only manages to graze Annalay¡¯s cheek, leaving behind a nice, open spot ripe for retaliation. And retaliate she does with a devastating uppercut straight into the knight¡¯s rib cage. They gasp from the impact with an agonized cry - voice leaking out in a sputter - before collapsing onto the dirt bed and writhing about in pain. The Throne for a second even expects them to come back up for round two, but eventually the soul falls silent¡ªa large fist-sized dent imprinted upon the point of impact. The winner has finally been decided. Annalay roars out with a triumphant cry, basking in the adrenaline from the surprisingly well fought battle. The close combat is a bit unexpected, but she isn¡¯t complaining at all. How long has it been since a brawl has been this exciting? Lorelai is the only other person that met her clash with this intensity. It brings back fond memories of their training days battling it out on the field for days on end without rest. Now that was a real fun time. ¡°Whew, it¡¯s been a long while since I¡¯ve fought fist to fist. You sure did a good job at keeping me on my toes.¡± The knight doesn¡¯t respond. Hells, they don¡¯t even so much as twitch. That can¡¯t be good. ¡°Oh. Um, I might have gone a bit too hard there.¡± A familiar face shouts at her from afar with a really, really angry sounding voice. Dariel runs up to the unconscious knight and frantically orders for them to be carried away, but he doesn¡¯t forget to make sure to give the guilty victor a despising, loathful glare beforehand. Oops. ¡°Well, they¡¯re definitely one of ours,¡± she says with a nervous laugh. It only makes things worse. ¡°I¡¯m guessing they probably belong to the Principality, so chances of being one of the elite guards are pretty high. Who knows? Maybe my beating will jog up some of those old memories.¡± Dariel continues to glare. Luckily, Annalay¡¯s savior arrives in the form of the carriage she left behind rumbling in the distance. Looks like they finally arrived. Thank the Stars, truly. ¡°I¡¯ll, uh, head back. Just load them up onto the transport and we¡¯ll be on our way.¡± ¡°Without treatment?¡± he mutters with a menacing drawl. ¡°T-There are some Astrologians inside. I¡¯m not that thoughtless.¡± ¡°¡­Alright, but I¡¯m going as well lest my friend to arrive at the capital as a corpse. Someone needs to assist them, and I don¡¯t think it¡¯s going to be you.¡± His words sting. They really do, but it makes sense. Annalay knows she deserves this, so there¡¯s nothing else to do but endure: both Dariel¡¯s disappointment and one little word constantly nagging at the back of her mind. Shit. Chapter 20: Prayer for Loving Sorrow ¡°Hm? What¡­ is that? An ¡®animal¡¯? Well, I guess it looks kind of cute, but those hairy appendages remind me a little bit of Catastrophe. Are you sure you want to create something that resembles that mean old grump? Mm, if you¡¯re sure. Since you love it that much, I will too. Forever and always.¡± - ? ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The Polus Astrologians carefully transport the Knight onto a strange resemblance of a carriage with colossal scale akin more to a fully-sized building rather than a transport for travel. Steel-lined halls greet its view as the being persists with its feigned act of unconsciousness, and multiple rooms scattered about contain a puzzling array of contraptions and appliances of unknown use. What draws its curiosity, however, are the large flaming balls of light attached to the ceiling and providing illuminance to the rest of the quaint interior of silver and copper. I cannot feel the breath of Creation stirring in this place, so what exactly is calling forth those heatless flames? How very interesting. It is inevitable for new innovation and technology to spring forth from humanity over the course of its slumbers, but this particular age is one filled with fascinating curios. No matter how much time passes, the joy of discovery remains a small, flickering wisp: a remnant of a being once enraptured, and perhaps even still, with the beauty of change. The Knight must adapt to the shifting periods or else it will be left behind as a relic of old. Eventually, the Polus enter a room with simple furnishing. The arrangement bears a resemblance to that of an inn¡¯s quarter, yet an air of greater sophistication settles throughout as it is set upon the bedding and given leave to rest in the privacy of solitude. An anxious slap hits the side of its helm. Aegis pokes his head out of the world¡¯s veil and blubbers with hushed tears as he continuously beats upon the Knight with anxious blows in an attempt to revitalize the motionless body. His efforts hurt not, but it is a rather amusing sight. ¡°Fear not, Aegis. I am well,¡± it says, setting the baby atop the soft mattress and letting him explore the newfound wonder. ¡°It was necessary for me to suffer such abuse if we are to keep this identity hidden.¡± He does not listen to its words; rather, the room¡¯s contents prove to be of more pressing matter to the child. His current query is that of a clock, ticking away as he claps his hands with amused gurgles. Hm, kindred souls we are¡ªunited in a shared curiosity. Aegis is not the only one who wishes to explore this new age. Perhaps an expedition to the neighboring chambers is in order. ¡°Would you like to see more?¡± it asks. The child shouts out in glee - much to the Knight¡¯s panic - and bounces about with a restless energy begging to be released. Unfortunately, release he cannot for some time. ¡°Not at this moment. We must wait for the day to set.¡± Aegis turns around and glares at it with a look that can only be described as loathing and scoots himself over to the corner, brooding with a darkness only one who has suffered immeasurable heartbreak as can. Time ticks away. The sky outside the window transforms into a flowing canvas of amber and bright pink until it, too, descends under the cover of dusk. The child watches the outside pass by, star-speckled irises shining in enamorment as he awaits for the promised time to come, but the plights of fatigue are still yet a challenge for one so young: His face droops; his eyes fall; slumber takes hold, gently cradling him into the land of dreams. The soft dim of candlelight is its only waking companion now. Those flaming balls above vanish without a trace as the night festers, and not a sound breaks the silence for twilight¡¯s spell has granted rest upon the occupants of the transport. It is the perfect moment for leave; however, It wouldn¡¯t do to explore alone lest he suffer the child¡¯s wrath upon his awakening, thus its only repose is to mingle alone in the cool, chilly air. But it is not alone for long. An uninvited visitor has come. ¡°¡­ My beloved. What are you doing?¡± It does not look at the phantom. It desperately ignores their touch. I expected this. The dusk has always been the domain of wraiths. ¡°I told you already. I am forging a different path.¡± The Knight attempts to respond with indifference, but it can feel its mind slowly deteriorating. Their soft breath creeps upon its neck in gnawing bites of chills and shivers; their tender hands wrap around its waist, warmth begging to be embraced. However, it must not give in¡ªnot when it has finally resolved itself to be free. ¡°What about our promise? Are you truly going to abandon them?¡± ¡°We know not how the future shall unravel. Perhaps the Comet will fulfill your wish in my stead.¡± ¡°You know that to be false. Their desire to reach for yonder skies can never be buried; they will shatter the firmament, and they will bring ruin upon my children.¡± ¡°Aegis is your child as well.¡± ¡°A child that never should have been born.¡± The Knight raises its hand, and it swiftly grasps its own neck. Choking, sputtering¡­ it crushes the flesh as air comes wheezing out in anguished throes, pain rising up to every wretched part of its body, until the phantom begins to shimmer back to the depths of nothingness. ¡°I¡­ will not allow myself to defile her image any longer,¡± it gasps. ¡°You are but an amalgamation of my doubts¡ªa hollow, empty illusion for which my penitence shall always bring forth. But make no mistake: My beloved would never say such words. She would cherish every life, weep for every death, no matter how wicked their soul may be steeped. For that is her devotion as their Mother; that is her love for all of humanity. I no longer need a warden to chain me to her duty, so begone.¡± The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°You will never see her face again if you get rid of me.¡± ¡°I would rather her smile remain a fleeting memory than have my vile conscious conjure such mockery.¡± ¡°Then¡­ I suppose this is goodbye.¡± Goodbye. Yes, I suppose it is. ¡°You have been my companion since the very beginning. Always tormenting me with my failure. Always reminding me of what I couldn¡¯t protect. But, nonetheless, you have been by my side. When my pain brought me to that perilous precipice of despair, you were seated there beside me. ¡°But there is no place for regret any longer. Sleep now, and on the day of my final agony, I shall welcome you once more.¡± The phantom glimmers with a final, sad smile, and cups its face with their fading hand. ¡°Farewell. I shall be waiting.¡± They are gone, carried away into the boundless sky above. Permanently. An ache in its heart throbs with a mournful pang, as if a very piece of itself has ceased to be, but along with it, a sense of freedom it has not felt in a very, very long time. Farewell, my sorrow. A rousing stirs from behind. The Knight looks back and finds a yawning Aegis reaching out towards it with drowsy gurgles. The child is feeling concerned. It can feel it; his desire to comfort the still-shaken being. ¡°You can still yet rest. There is no need to wake now.¡± But the baby refuses, staring at it with eyes drenched in worry. The Knight can¡¯t help but chuckle to itself, for with the departing of one companion comes another¡ªalthough this one drools quite a bit. ¡°Alright. Let us set out, then.¡± The two silently exit the room and begin to wander about the darkened construct. Shadows given life by the moonlight¡¯s glow serve as their guide, manifesting trails of pale luster leading to great troves of marvel. One such location contains a strange, cylindrical metal vessel attached with steel rods that creep above the ceiling. Another houses a rectangular oddity with a large arm-sized opening in the middle. The Knight senses a sorcery within, but sadly it can only be operable by one who can stir Creation. Aegis babbles a covetous cry, pointing to the trinket and kicking his feet as he squirms atop the being¡¯s head. ¡°Hm. I do not detect malice within, but you must not let curiosity bid control over your will. Evaluate the danger, the consequences, and the¡ª¡± He ignores it and fidgets with even greater strength. Perhaps it is foolish to teach such lessons now. Never the matter, I am quite interested in this contraption as well. With a careful raise, Aegis puts his tiny arm in the apparatus. A thin, green light twirls forth and begins to surround his body in aura, washing away at the impurities and dirt until his face shines with a crystal-like gleam. Hrm, how interesting. They have devised a method to allow even the simplest of minds to invoke a spell. Fascinating. The baby appears to be quite entertained by the spell as well, partaking in a little laugh as he swings his fist through the glowing sparkles. Perhaps a little too loud, for the sharp stomp of a boot breaks through the stillness and rapidly approaches them. It does not even need to speak before Aegis vanishes. ¡°Hm? Who¡¯s up at this hour?¡± Dariel emerges from one of the pathways and lights up with joy as he spots the Knight leaning inconspicuously upon the wall. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re awake! Thank the Stars you¡¯re a sturdy one; I was afraid Annalay might have put you to sleep for good.¡± He glares at the imprint still left on its armor, eyes darkening in an expression of annoyance before returning to his cheery self. ¡°Um, don¡¯t worry about that. We¡¯ll get you fitted with our blacksmith¡¯s very best once we reach the capital, courtesy of Annalay¡¯s salary.¡± ¡°Hehe, I appreciate your concern,¡± it says with a soft chuckle. ¡°I just awoke a moment ago and wanted to explore my surroundings a bit. It¡¯s a beautiful night, you know? A moon this bright would weep with grief if I were to merely stay resting within.¡± Dariel peeks out of the nearby window and nods in understanding. ¡°You¡¯re right, we haven¡¯t had a night like this in a long while. I¡¯m a bit embarrassed for not noticing.¡± ¡°Really? That¡¯s odd. What were you doing roaming out this late for, then?¡± ¡°O-Oh, um, it was actually to check up on you,¡± he whispers with a blush. ¡°The Astrologians already assured me that your health was in good condition, but I wanted to see for myself. I hope you don¡¯t mind, especially after what Annalay did.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it! Lady Annalay had every reason to test me, although it would have been nice if she held back just a bit more.¡± ¡°Unfortunately, restraint is the furthest tenet away from her values. But how is your body? Are you still feeling sore at all?¡± ¡°Nope, I¡¯m as healthy as can be.¡± I redirected my flesh and bones away from the blow upon the moment of impact, so all her fist wrought was a covering of steel and a hollow layer of skin. ¡°Phew, that¡¯s great. On the bright side, thanks to this whole ordeal, we were able to find out the order you belong to.¡± ¡°Really?¡± the Knight muses. It has copied the style of the one Polus call Valkyrie, albeit to inferior degrees, so there should be no complications with masking itself as one of their kinsmen. ¡°Yep! You¡¯re probably with the Order of the Stalwart Principality. They¡¯re quick, nimble, and can put up a mean fight while dancing around their foes. Lorelai was originally with them before she became a Throne, so hopefully we¡¯ll find someone who can recognize you there once we, well, figure out a way to get rid of that miasma around you. Um, I wonder if we¡¯ll even be allowed to take you in¡­¡± Dariel paces about, mind seemingly cluttered with a barrage of thoughts, before suddenly stopping and letting his face relax into a worry-less, blank stare. ¡°Hm, I guess it doesn¡¯t matter. Worst comes to worst, I can just use my status to force our way through.¡± ¡°Is that¡­ something nobles can usually do?¡± the Knight asks. ¡°Not usually, but my grandfather is the Chancellor and he¡¯s pretty trusted by the people so we¡¯ll probably be fine. I think.¡± He sheepishly rubs the back of his head before attempting to divert the topic away with an awkward stutter. ¡°A-Anyway, I¡¯ll guide you around the capital once we arrive - see if we can help stir any of your old memories - and I¡¯ll even show you some of my favorite spots! There¡¯s an eatery that¡¯s really popular called Mary¡¯s Tavern and, oh, there¡¯s a theatre in the entertainment district I really like as well and¡­¡± Dariel continues on with his excited ramblings for some time, allowing the Knight to have a moment of contemplation. It has not intended to become so familiar with the naive officer, but perhaps their relationship shall prove to be of great advantage upon their arrival. A noble is a powerful ally in the battlefield of wits that is politics. And, above all, the man is trusting¡ªvery much so. Yes, he shall do nicely. ¡°¡­oh, I have an idea: Why don¡¯t you explore this carriage with me? Truth be told, this is the latest model from Ishmahab, so I¡¯m a bit unfamiliar with its features. It¡¯ll be a lot of fun! What do you say?¡± The Knight smiles. ¡°It would be my pleasure.¡± Chapter 21: The Castrum ¡°I have had the pleasure to visit many nations over the course of my youth. It¡¯s always great fun to explore a new city and interact with a populace so uniquely different from your own, but there is one destination that I have never been able to forget in all my years of travel, and that is the capital of Polus: The Castrum. It is a fond memory of mine¡ªlining up alongside the vast line of merchants and travelers stretching out far beyond the eye could see. Step by step we slowly grew closer to those imposing gates, and upon the final checkpoint, a view of awe and wonder awaited me: a grand citadel of pearl white and rustic oak, shining with a luster greater than any gem and bathing under the sparkling crystals of the sun¡¯s rays.¡± - Memoirs of a Scholar: Penned by Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight ¡°It is time to wake, Aegis. We are here.¡± The Knight gently awakens the drooling baby from his deep rest, but is beget only with a sharp groan in response. His pudgy body droops, arms hanging loose in defeat, and his star-speckled eyes have been wracked with the glint of exhaustion: such are the consequences of foregoing a proper slumber after days of constant exploration amidst the twilight. Aegis lets out a little huff and shakes his tiny little fist before plopping his head back down on the soft bed. Alas, time waits for no weary child: They must disembark, for their destination is finally in sight. ¡°Hm. I see, then. Before you return to slumber, why don¡¯t you take a look outside the window first? I am sure it will stir your interest.¡± An annoyed grunt parts his lips, but the persuasion entices him nonetheless. And as Aegis peeks out into the shimmering light of the daytime noon, he is met with a frolicking expanse of luscious meadow and flowers far beyond the eye can see. The wind twirls about in airy songs of hums and whistles flowing free under a canopy of the brightest blue and sends along rolling waves through the vibrant, sun-kissed grass. The child is left voiceless, but the Knight can see within his gaze a desire true: to join the dance and let himself be enveloped in the soft gale. ¡°Do you still wish to remain within?¡± The sparkle in his eyes is the only answer it needs. With a revitalized babble, Aegis reaches out and lets himself be planted firmly atop the Knight¡¯s helm. Exiting the room, the two emerge into the busy corridors of the transport. Officers and personnel mingle about the once-silent halls - now filled with a stream of laughter and casual conversation - while one in particular glows with a broad smile as the Knight makes its way towards them. ¡°Just in time! We¡¯ll be arriving at the gates in but a moment,¡± Dariel says. A restless energy covers him all throughout, voice filled with excitement at the prospect of reuniting with his hearth. But, hidden within, there is a seed of reluctance¡ªa hesitation burrowed in his heart. ¡°Are you sure about returning so soon?¡± it asks. ¡°I know you¡¯re still a bit uncertain, Dariel. You don¡¯t need to force yourself for my sake.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°My little escape attempt has been quite shorter than I initially planned, but I think this is for the best. There¡¯s an endless amount of lessons out there on the field; what matters most of all, however, is that I feel satisfied with growth. My mentality. And, after meeting you, I think I¡¯m ready to face my grandfather and the other nobles. ¡°Hehe, I¡¯m strong, after all. As long as I believe in myself, I¡¯ll be fine.¡± The transport screeches aloud with a harsh jolt, forcefully stopping in place as the sudden jerk sends the people around them staggering about with unsteady steps. A new source of sound fills the room, for wafting in from the outside is a loud jumble of all manner of voices: rough and timid, young and old, crass and eloquent. But the one common tie betwixt them all is an eager sense of anticipation. ¡°Ah, faster than I thought!¡± Dariel bolts for the window and takes a good look at the view outside. ¡°Hm, the line¡¯s quite long today. Don¡¯t think we¡¯ll make it in until sunset.¡± ¡°Hm? It¡¯s still midday. What do you mean about a line?¡± A knowing smirk spreads across his face. ¡°Oh, just a rite of passage for all travelers that visit the capital. Since we¡¯ll be waiting for a while, why don¡¯t we check it out ourselves? Come on, follow me!¡± He excitedly takes the Knight¡¯s hand within his own and drags it across the construct, rushing by and weaving through a multitude of bewildered bodies before eventually reaching a large, metallic door. Dariel takes a deep breath and, with a hefty push, shoves the entrance wide open. A stream of light welcomes them into the outside - soil and earth uniting together in a marriage of fresh fragrance - while a tiny babe from above struggles to contain his excitement upon experiencing a true, sprawling prairie for the first time. The grassland is an enchanting sight, but it pales in comparison to the grand structure before the Knight¡¯s eyes: a gigantic, towering wall of glossed white marble¡ªreaching up high and piercing the clouds themselves with its majesty. It surrounds the entirety of the city while casting an all-consuming shade upon the earth below, providing respite to the stretching line of caravans and merchants from the sweltering heat of the sun. It truly is an imposing sight, the Knight muses to itself. To think that once-budding hamlet would transform into a nation of such magnitude. Never have I seen a more colossal bastion in all my eternity. Astounding. However, what intrigues its curiosity is the rigid inspection at the kingdom¡¯s entrance. Not a single speck of the travelers¡¯ carriage is spared, their person checked and patted from head to toe, while a lengthy exchange of documents and prying questions must take place before approval is finally granted. This is not the procedure of a peace-faring nation. This is the safeguard of those at war. ¡°They sure are meticulous with the gate check,¡± the Knight probes. Dariel utters a weary sigh, but his tone is one of understanding. ¡°That¡¯s just how it has to be, I¡¯m afraid. There¡¯s always a spy here and there trying to worm their way through, and when we¡¯re in such a vulnerable position, Polus can¡¯t afford to have our affairs be leaked. You should have seen the line when we still allowed foreigners entry.¡± Hm¡­? Vulnerable you say? How very interesting. ¡°Spies? From who?¡± ¡°Ah, that¡¯s right: memory loss. Sorry about that. Do you remember those you faced while in the forest?¡± Stolen story; please report. ¡°The knights in mechanical suits?¡± ¡°Hah! They will never be worthy of the knight¡¯s title. Those monstrosities are called the Rust-Blood Legion, intoxicated pawns of Grand General Xeros and the empire of Nox Caelum.¡± Nox Caelum? That is an unfamiliar name. But if they are capable of mass-producing such technology on a grand scale, then they will be a difficult foe. I must be cautious in this age of unknown invention. ¡°We¡¯ve been at war with them since¡­ before I was born, actually,¡± Dariel continues. ¡°The previous ruler of Caelum was a woman by the name of Luxmi. She served as the Grand General and, during her reign, our nations were said to prosper in an era of peace like never before. The elders always talk about it so fondly¡ªof yesterdays where their only worries were of harvest and play. I can¡¯t even imagine it.¡± ¡°What happened then? To ruin the peace?¡± A furious look flashes by Dariel¡¯s eyes. Rage, loathing, disgust: the very worst of humanity all manifested in a gaze of pure vengeance. It is surprising to see such malice in one still so young, but his anger only serves to further provoke the Knight¡¯s inquisitiveness. ¡°She died,¡± he says. ¡°We don¡¯t know exactly how, though. Something happened inside of the Caelum¡¯s capital, something big, but what exactly was hidden by their administration. In the end, the only news we were given was of her corpse and the election of their new leader: Xeros Nox. ¡°Hah¡­ it doesn¡¯t require a scholar to take a guess at what happened, especially after he suddenly appeared with Luxmi¡¯s Will. There¡¯s no chance in hells that she passed down her power to someone like that¡ªsomeone so utterly wicked. No, he must have stolen it, and now we¡¯re stuck in this endless war because of his despicable desire.¡± Desire? Ah, I see now. So this Xeros is the inheritor of the Will of Desire. How interesting, but I suppose it is befitting of one who rules over those strange unions of metal and man. Avatars of Desire have always been one of unpredictable nature. Dariel begins to recollect himself, face blushing over his sudden uncharacteristic display of wrath, and meekly bows his head in apology before the Knight. ¡°Um, sorry I had to show you that. I tend to get a bit heated when it comes to that man. Day after day all we hear in the court is about him and his atrocities, so I, ehm, guess it¡¯s not really an excuse¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± it says, soothing him with a rub of his back. Though there are plenty of approaches in this world, kindness has always proven to be the most effective¡ªno matter how false the intention. ¡°Don¡¯t be ashamed of anger; what¡¯s important is how you channel it. Let it serve as your motivation.¡± Its words appear to succeed and he quickly regains his prior cheerfulness. ¡°Thank you. I promise I¡¯m not usually like this; there¡¯s just a lot to worry about lately. Your expedition with Lorelai was supposed to be the chance we needed to end this conflict once and for all, but I suppose you know how that ended. Right now, you¡¯re the only trace we have of finding her. ¡°Not to put any pressure on you or anything!¡± he exclaims. ¡°I just wanted to warn you beforehand since the capital¡¯s probably going to be a bit more gloomy than usual. So if you come across any rudeness from the officials, don¡¯t take it to heart. We¡¯re desperate, and desperation tends to turn people into fools. Trust me, I would know.¡± ¡°This Lorelai must have been really important to you.¡± ¡°Not just to me. To everyone. She was¡­ no, still is our beloved beacon of hope. The day we confirm her death is when this nation shall truly descend into sorrow. Lorelai is that precious to us.¡± His words are choked with a pitiful grasp at hope, of one teetering on the precipice of uncertainty, but the Knight¡¯s heart remains barren. Unfeeling. Devoid of empathy. It knows the truth. It holds the key. The Throne¡¯s supposed fate is a very powerful tool; the only question is when it must be used. This nation will fall into ruination eventually. Shall it be now, or does this frail land still hold some use? The Knight will have to observe a bit longer. ¡°I will do my best to remember,¡± it says. ¡°And I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll take long. I¡¯m already starting to recall some bits and pieces of that day, so be at ease, Dariel. I¡¯m sure everything will turn out alright.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a massive relief. I just hope we can get through the gate without any problems.¡± ¡°Problems? Because of my identity?¡± His vanishing smile provides an answer before his words can. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose the miasma is gone yet, is it?¡± ¡°Faintly. It dwindles by the day, but I can still feel a small trace around me attempting to invade my mind.¡± ¡°It¡¯ll be a bit difficult then. We can¡¯t get through without showing our faces, and all people born in our domain are given a sheet documenting their birthright as a citizen. Without it, well¡­ our only hope is that Annalay hasn¡¯t lost the necessary paperwork.¡± As if being summoned by some unknown force of coincidence, the Nature¡¯s Throne in question strides out of the giant transport with a rumbling yawn and a crass rub of her stomach. ¡°Mmm, that was a nice nap,¡± she bellows. ¡°I¡¯ll give it to those Ishmahab bastards: They really know how to make a good bed.¡± The two stare at her with a mutual look of bewilderment. The Knight has met many like the warrior before it, but never has one been relegated to so high a position in an honor-bound society such as Polus. How exactly did she manage such a feat? I doubt it was through pure strength. ¡°Hm? What¡¯re you looking at me like that for?¡± Annalay says before planting her eyes on the fist-shaped mark on its armor. ¡°Ah, um, right. Sorry about that whole business from before. I screwed up, I¡¯ll admit that, and all I can really do is ask for your humble forgiveness¡­ please?¡± The Knight delivers forth a well-intentioned chuckle. There is no need to make enemies with one of her caliber. ¡°On the contrary, it was an honor sparring with you Lady Annalay. Your strength is truly something to be admired, and it brings me great joy to have contended with your blows myself.¡± Annalay chokes up and rushes to lock the Knight in a wide, almost crushing, heartfelt hug. ¡°You¡¯re a good person. If the Principalities won¡¯t take you, I¡¯ll have to steal you away myself.¡± A loud cough pierces through their ears. Dariel stands firm, his gaze devoid of any amusement. ¡°We were just talking about you.¡± ¡°Aw, hells¡­¡± she whispers next to its ear. ¡°I assume you have the documentation needed for the gate check?¡± ¡°Ah, that ol¡¯ thing? Course I do. Let me just¡­ huh, that¡¯s odd. I¡¯m sure it was just here¡­¡± Annalay digs through her armor¡¯s cracks in an increasingly alarmed attempt to uncover the papers, but her efforts seem to be in vain. Nothing is produced. ¡°Huh, must¡¯ve fallen out while I was flying over to the camp. That¡¯s my bad.¡± The Knight doesn¡¯t even need to look for it to feel Dariel¡¯s approaching rage. ¡°Hey, you¡¯re starting to look like your grandfather now! That¡¯s, er, not good.¡± In an instant, a deafening barrage of curses and insults erupt from his raging, frothing mouth. Dariel¡¯s tirade is filled with such colorful language and, rather creative, taunts that the Knight can only be impressed. He¡¯ll have no trouble bringing change to the court if he maintains that same ferocity. ¡°You complete, utter dimwit!¡± he roars. ¡°I now know why grandfather loathes you so. I can¡¯t believe it. I simply just can¡¯t believe it. How is it even possible to be this¡­ this¡­ agh! Stars help me¡­¡± Annalay lowers her head before him like a child being scolded by their parents and meekly accepts his tirade-filled rant. It would be a rather humorous sight if not for the attention being roused from the surrounding crowd. ¡°How are we going to get through now!? Are you going to abuse your authority like some kind of corrupt scoundrel?¡± A dangerous light twinkles in her eyes, one of whimsical recklessness. ¡°That¡¯s a great idea! Stars, why didn¡¯t I think of that before?¡± ¡°W-What?¡± Before he can react, Annalay hoisters the struggling Dariel onto her back, the armor¡¯s thorns poking all over his body, and snatches the Knight¡¯s waist with a single grab of her hand. Something baffling is about to occur, and as if in premonition of the future to come, Aegis latches himself to the Knight¡¯s head with a terrified, desperate grip. ¡°No, no, no,¡± he mutters, eyes darting back and forth between the audience in a plea for help. ¡°Ah, don¡¯t be like that. Consider this a little treat; I¡¯ll let you two have a taste of what it¡¯s like to soar through the sky.¡± The Nature¡¯s throne manifests her earthen wings and stomps her foot hard into the dirt, voice muttering a low, deep drone as verdant green begins to flow free. ¡°YOU¡¯RE INSANE¡ª¡± But Dariel is unable to finish, for with a boisterous laugh, Annalay leaps high into the air with her two victims in hold and spirals straight into the cloudy firmament above. Chapter 22: In the Hall of the Woeful King ¡°To you, o¡¯ future embodiment of Freedom¡¯s Will, I bequeath these memoirs of an ailing King. Learn from them, and may the Stars bless your path on the tumultuous journey to come. ¡°Our relations with the nation previously known as Lux Caelum were of joyful cooperation. Grand General Luxmi was a kind soul, more benevolent than any other, but her behavior grew strange as the years passed by. Her voice darkened, her eyes became weary, until eventually she barred all entry to Caligos Imperium from those not of her kinfolk. I attempted to send a delegation for answers, but I received naught but a harsh refusal. Their capital was entirely closed off from the outside world. ¡°Concerning it was, greatly concerning, for Caelum has served as a republic since their nation¡¯s founding. Luxmi was elected by the populace and had the Will of Desire passed down onto her, as is customary of Grand General¡¯s of yore, but her isolation couldn¡¯t have possibly been the wishes of the people. I bore witness to her election, to her campaign advocating for a unified world, and such actions went entirely against the core principles of her beliefs. ¡°Even now, I do not understand what led to such change. I should have pried further. I should have done more to support her in those harrowing times. But I was a coward, and thus withdrew into my own recluse until that fateful day occurred. I learned of her death, and it was then I truly despaired. ¡°Assassination? Revolt? Only the Stars know, but Caelum began to change under the dictatorship of that man Xeros Nox. He abolished the republic and established his word as law. Any dissenters were thrown into the gaol - if not executed in a macabre, public display - yet his regime garnered overwhelming support from the citizens to a fanatical degree. I could only watch on in horror as that bright country of mechanical innovation transformed into a decrepit hovel of smog.¡± - A Letter From King Davidus, former ruler of the Polus Monarchy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon Days have passed since the arrival of Dariel¡¯s report. No, perhaps a week? Ascalon cannot quite tell anymore. Time is but a fleeting blur, sun and moon chasing round and round as the view outside the throne room becomes a confusing blend of shifting pigment. Now, the comfort of a warm bed has been reduced to a distant memory for all he has endeavored in this bygone spell is work and work and even more work¡ªslaving away under the candlelight in a vain effort to dismiss his treacherous thoughts of despondency. Why was it not Lorelai who emerged from the wreck? Why must I wait here, stuck in this disgusting gilded cage, as her fate becomes further obscured with each passing second? If only those elders would permit me leave, to for once make use of these baleful wings cast unwillingly upon my back and search for her myself. Tradition¡­ to hells with tradition! I¡ª ¡°My liege, I beseech for thy heed.¡± ¡°¡­What is it Gadreel?¡± The Chancellor looks up at him, eyes filled with that ever-constant gaze of pity, and hacks out a cough as he attempts to craft a suitable response. Ascalon knows his ploy, and he would rather the old man just state it plainly than to continue this putrid act of consideration. ¡°Please, this cannot continue. If we must adjourn this meeting for a later date, then so be it. All we ask of you is to lay down thy quill and take a long rest.¡± Bothersome. Those words of festering worry are ever so bothersome. If not I, then who Gadreel? he wishes to scream. You? The elders? When all your faction has done is argue and argue incessantly, endlessly, without any true progress? I am the only one who can lead this nation. I am the only one who can bring about change to this wretched land now that Lorelai is¡­ ¡°Is this your wish? All of you?¡± Ascalon bids the surrounding officials to speak, but not a word leaves their lips. Hah. Your silence conveys all I need. ¡°You know very well we are in desperate times, yet you ask of me to stop?¡± ¡°My liege, clearly exhaustion has burdened your mind¡ª¡± ¡°My mind is perfectly clear!¡± the King thunders with a wrath he has not thought possible, echoing across the room as glass and fixtures shake with a terrified sway. The people are no different, for their faces are cast ashadow with an affliction that brings a burrowing pain to his heart: fear. Fear towards their ruler. No. No, I¡­ I don¡¯t know what came over me. This isn¡¯t who I am. I simply wanted to do as a King should. Why do you all look so afraid? Eyes. Frightened and confused. They stare at him from every corner, glaring with a debilitating sense of trust. It is as if he is being drowned in those accusing eyes, sinking and sinking as all he has ever done to maintain his kingly image comes crashing down in an instant. Only one man remains unfazed before Ascalon¡¯s sudden outburst, and that very same man reaches out to him now. ¡°In the end, you are the one who understands your body best,¡± Gadreel says. ¡°But I ask of you now: Is this truly the man you wish to be? Can you confidently say to mine face that your actions are naught of one who is under fatigue?¡± Ascalon cannot reply. Whether it be due to his rising sense of shame or the vestiges of his prior self, he knows there can be no words to dispute the Chancellor¡¯s statement. ¡°I have always deigned to abide by your will, my liege, but it is with a solemn heart that I must now act not as the Chancellor, but as your devoted friend. The members of the room will now leave; this is not a request. I only hope you may find thine answer in the time we are apart. Farewell.¡± And with a parting bow, they storm out, leaving Ascalon to linger amongst his regrets. The once lively chamber is now ever so desolate. It is humorous, in a way, for only at this moment does he realize how comforting those nagging court sessions are. Loud, yes. Unproductive, surely at times. But they are passionate, and it is their passion that the King has come to rely on. But now they are gone, and he is all alone. Are my methods wrong? I thought all I needed as a ruler was an unshakable will. To persist and work harder and harder until my agony was finally rewarded. No matter how worn my hands or how dry my blood, it would all be worth it if I could just make it to that distant horizon. I had to be stronger, I had to be more resolute, yet here I sit¡ªa feeble, solitary wretch of a man. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. If only I knew why these loathsome wings chose me as monarch. Why me out of countless others far more deserving? Will you truly leave me bereft of an answer, o¡¯ Will of Freedom? Silence. Of course, the Stars will never respond. Cosmos¡¯s grand design is far beyond the comprehension of humanity. It is his fate to struggle, searching for a purpose forever out of reach. How very cruel. Crueler than any mortal wound you could inflict upon me. If you only wish to see me suffer, then here I am. Gorge on it as much as you please. But, I beg of you, make this suffering of value. Let not my efforts prove useless in the end. The chamber¡¯s doors slowly creak open, hushed, yet it grinds against his ears amidst the deafening static; soon, a lone herald emerges from the opening. Their appearance can mean only one thing: a visitor. Who¡­? ¡°Your majesty, the Templar Regent of the Order of the Mending Virtue bids for your audience,¡± they say. Ah. This is a rare occasion. To think she would seek me out first¡­ Gadreel must have had a hand in this as well, but I must not allow her to witness this side of me. I must not show her the visage of such a foolish brother. ¡°Gently refuse her request,¡± Ascalon murmurs. ¡°Not today. I would like to remain alone right now¡ª¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have a choice, Ascalon.¡± A figure slips past the royal herald and saunters to the very center of the room. Crystalline light shines upon their entrance, parting way the shadows and revealing a female knight adorned in broad streaks of red and white. Her armor is of simple design, lightweight and thin unlike those of the Thrones who cover themselves in full plate, while a coiled sword rests by her side¡ªthe frame akin to a whip, albeit with an ominously sharp edge. She stops directly in front of him, arms crossed as a clear expression of distaste envelops her narrow guise. Honed. Venomous. Waiting to strike him a vulnerable blow. ¡°Ah, if it isn¡¯t my dear little sister,¡± he says, attempting to put forth some semblance of dignity. ¡°What brings you here, Surasha¡ª¡± ¡°Save it,¡± she utters with a strained growl. It would have been rather intimidating if not for her gentle voice¡ªsweet as a freshly picked batch of berries. ¡°You were already pathetic enough before, but now I can¡¯t even bear to look at you. Hells, I wouldn¡¯t even be here if old man Gadreel didn¡¯t beg for me to come. He even went on his hands and knees for you, did you know that? Hah, what loyalty. I can¡¯t imagine why he goes to such lengths for someone so miserable.¡± ¡°¡­It¡¯s always a pleasure to see you, sister. You know I¡¯ll always welcome you with open arms.¡± She scoffs and spits on the floor. ¡°If you really meant that, you wouldn¡¯t have abandoned me after getting those oh so special wings of yours.¡± ¡°I never abandoned you¡ª¡± ¡°Seven years. I didn¡¯t so much as even see your face for seven years when they took you into the castle.¡± ¡°Surasha, I had to prepare for my inauguration as King. My royal studies, my future duties as a monarch¡­ I don¡¯t understand what you wished of me. I even entrusted you to Lorelai and had you serve as her ward. Wasn¡¯t that what you wanted?¡± ¡°What I wanted was my brother back.¡± Ascalon¡¯s heart tightens ever so painfully. He wishes to deny her, to plea that all of it has been for her own good, but a lie so fragile will only be shattered in an instant. Family cannot be fooled. ¡°You just wanted to run away,¡± she seethes, voice gradually rising to a shout. ¡°From me, from your old life, and into a world where you could play pretend as some kind of grand hero. And I had no place in that sort of world, so you tossed me away.¡± ¡°That was never what I¡ª¡± ¡°What exactly was it, Ascalon? Did looking at my face remind you of our lowly origins, or did you grow tired of me after I learned to trust in someone else? To not depend wholly on you for my every want and need? You always did have a savior complex.¡± ¡°Please, Surasha,¡± he begs. ¡°You know that not to be the truth. I¡¯ve made my mistakes, but never once did I ever consider you a¡ª¡± ¡°Burden? Funny thing, that. I¡¯ll always remember your eyes on that day: cold. Unfeeling. Those were the eyes of a stranger, and if not for Lorelai¡¯s care, I would have drowned in them - festered in them - until my rage consumed all that I was. But it didn¡¯t because I had someone who genuinely looked after me. She was my true family, a sister in all but blood, and yet you sent her away into forbidden lands. Lorelai is missing all because of YOU!¡± Surasha bolts towards the throne and forcefully slams Ascalon back with a clutch of his throat. She squeezes, hands trembling in sadistic glee as Ascalon sputters and gasps before her hold. His lungs burn, his throat convulses - breath desperately gulping for air - but he does not resist. Even when his vision becomes blurry, he lays not a hand on his last living kin. ¡°YOU TOOK HER FROM ME!¡± she screams, declining further into her fury. ¡°YOU STOLE EVERY LAST BIT OF HER LOVE, AND I HAD TO WATCH HER SUFFER WITH EACH PASSING DAY BECAUSE OF YOUR STUPID COWARDICE. EVEN WHEN SHE LEFT FOR THE BATTLEFIELD, THE ONLY PERSON ON HER MIND WAS YOU. DO YOU HEAR ME, ASCALON? IT¡¯S ALWAYS BEEN ABOUT YOU!¡± He can hear it clearly¡ªthe cries of a lonely little girl. She begs for him to listen, to accept all the hatred, the grief, the desperation in her heart. And so he does. Ascalon will embrace it all until her tears finally run dry. ¡°WHY IS IT ALWAYS YOU? WHY DO THE PEOPLE LOVE SOMEONE AS WRETCHED AS YOU? ANSWER ME!¡± If only I knew as well. But that isn¡¯t the answer she is searching for; instead, there is only one thing he can say¡ªto himself, to Surasha, and to everyone he has come to wrong. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Surasha freezes, teeth grinding together as a whirlwind of emotion flashes by all at once. But in the end, she lets out a gut-wrenching screech and sends Ascalon crashing against the wall. Dust and debris flutter atop as he falls, collapsing into a worn-out pile, while his sister merely glares at him with shaky, uneven breaths. ¡°¡­Why didn¡¯t you use the Monarch¡¯s Wings?¡± she eventually whispers. ¡°I was serious about killing you.¡± He manages to muster a feeble chuckle. She almost looks a bit guilty; well, as one can be when still under such scathing anger. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t have appeased you to harm an emotionless doll, would it? If my pain can help alleviate your sorrow, then I will gladly bare my neck.¡± Surasha clenches her fist - raising it up high and preparing to descend upon him once again - but, rather than strike him, they smash into the stone right next to his side. ¡°This is why I despise you, always acting so self-righteous,¡± she says. ¡°Why can¡¯t you put that energy into acting like a proper person instead of some stoic idiot? Hah¡­¡± The murderous aura surrounding her dissipates. A quiet rage still burns within, but her amber eyes now shine with a mellow tinge of acceptance. She sighs, turns around, and makes for the door¡ªleaving a battered Ascalon behind with a renewed tranquility. It appears her beating has been rather effective at removing his murky thoughts. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of people that care about you, so stop worrying them you dimwit. If you don¡¯t, I¡¯ll come find you again.¡± ¡°Heheh, I shall look forward to it.¡± ¡°Oh, shut up.¡± And with that, he becomes alone once more. Bruised and sore, yes, but somehow it doesn¡¯t feel all too bad. The marble tile is even starting to feel a bit comfortable. Hm, not the most proper of resting spots, but I suppose it will do. Ascalon closes his eyes and lets a small smile spread across his face. This pain shall be remembered well, for it marks the birth of a new resolution: When Lorelai returns, I shall confess. My feelings, my love, and my eternal trust. Forever and always. Chapter 23: The Wrath of Bark and Thorn ¡°I scarcely remember my parents. Despite carrying the noble name of Power, our line was one of a fallen branch¡ªpoor, unwanted, and cast away to the distant countryside where all we called home was a dirty hovel. We were treated as dregs, thrown alongside the other outcasts, and meagerly spent our days toiling away in a nameless village. Still, we were content. ¡°But then the war started, and even that small grace did not last long. In those days, all one could do was look after themself; the elderly starved, and the frail were abandoned¡ªjust like Surasha and I. Reflecting back, it was inevitable I suppose. I never was one to be in good health - a scrawny, brittle husk of a boy - and Surasha was far too young to be of any use. We were forced into the woods with only the rags upon our bodies and thusly forgotten, as if we never existed to begin with. ¡°But I never despaired. I couldn¡¯t, for I had my sister to protect. I didn¡¯t care what happened to me, and no matter how bloodied my skin became, no matter how much dirt and filth I had to shove down my throat, I did everything I could to ensure she survived. Surasha was all I had left in the world. She was my sole reason for living.¡± - King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight ¡°SOMEONE, ANYONE, STOP THIS LUNATIC!¡± Dariel screams with every bit of his soul. The officer¡¯s rosy skin quickly transforms into a pale white as Annalay soars higher and higher into the sky, his frantic pleas for salvation promptly ignored, as the gale rushes past in streaks of whipping lashes. Soon, the denizens of the earth turn into but mere specks, and a mesmerizing vision of the mountains and fields beyond grace their eyes in a twinkling coat of light. The Knight quite enjoys the view, as does a squirming Aegis from above; unfortunately, Dariel does not carry the same sentiment. ¡°Don¡¯t pretend you aren¡¯t enjoying this!¡± Annalay guffaws, slapping his back with a powerful slap. ¡°Isn¡¯t this just nice? The sun, the wind, and the whole world right beneath your little toes. Up here¡¯s where true freedom is. If you want to be a Seraph like your grandfather and manifest your own wings, you better memorize this feeling quick.¡± ¡°A warning beforehand would have been nice!¡± ¡°Bah, where¡¯s the fun in that? Life¡¯s all about the unexpected. Just look at your friend over here! I bet they¡¯re all smiles under that helm.¡± ¡°It is a pleasant feeling,¡± the Knight admits. Furthermore, it is unlikely the Nature¡¯s Throne will receive any punishment for her unusual entry: such is the privilege for those in power. If it is able to bypass the lengthy inspection without fear of risking its identity, then Annalay is welcome to be as eccentric as she wishes. Dariel stares at it with a gaze of utter betrayal, worry still evident on his face, but the futility of his protests soon becomes clear. It is a wonder indeed how quickly the human mind is able to adapt. ¡°Stars¡­ fine. But are you really sure we won¡¯t get into trouble for this?¡± ¡°Of course! What, you don¡¯t trust me?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Eh, fair, but you¡¯ll see: We¡¯ll make it through before the guards even have a chance to react.¡± ¡°To react¡ª does this mean you¡¯re not supposed to¡­?¡± Dariel¡¯s question is answered shortly, for a gathering of winged knights suddenly descend upon them from the gargantuan wall¡ªweapons drawn and guises burning with unamusement. It appears the Knight is wrong. ¡°Ah, hells. Here we go,¡± she says with a sigh. ¡°Lady Annalay, please, you¡¯re putting us in a very difficult position,¡± one of the knight guards¡¯ asserts. ¡°This is the third time since your return you¡¯ve infringed upon the kingdom¡¯s laws. Article three, section two of the Polus Constitution states that all attempts at entry other than through the main gates are¡ª¡± ¡°Alright, stop your yapping. Are you going to let us through, or am I going to have to do this the hard way?¡± The guards exchange a few wary glances, but they eventually reach a firm conclusion: Duty before all else. ¡°Should have figured,¡± Annalay groans. ¡°Move over a bit, Dariel. I need to grab my glaive.¡± ¡°Cosmos forgive us¡­¡± Despite his grievances, the officer has resolved himself to be a part of this escapade, and so he obeys¡ªa gleaming blur of auburn flashing past his face. Annalay points the thorned weapon at the quickly growing cluster of winged knights, but her hand never swings it forward. She remains motionless as do the others. Taut. Waiting for the first move. ¡°I never did get to finish that invocation at the camp¡­¡± she says aloud, breaking the silence. ¡°Gehah, let¡¯s make this a little more fun: In a second, I¡¯m going to begin chanting. You louts can either let me finish, or you can attack. A fair warning in advance, I don¡¯t take kindly to being interrupted. The choice is yours.¡± Green light surges towards her blade¡¯s edge. The energy is wild, pulsing with a ferocious intensity, and the very same words she uttered at the camp comes flowing out before her assailants can fully grasp the weight behind her declaration. ¡°Shifting mound of the earth¡¯s hollow, bless upon me thy sacrament of barbs¡­¡± Urgency spreads through their ranks in an instant - some hesitant, some in disbelief - but a few daring members of the Seraph take action and encircle Annalay before diving in from every direction. They draw closer with every breath, but still the Nature¡¯s Throne moves not. She continues chanting as a panicking Dariel closes his eyes out of fright. However, just before the completion of their unified assault, the Knight breaks free of Annalay¡¯s hold and quickly unsheathes its mace, twirling around her waist and deflecting the blows all at once. The Seraph are sent reeling back, mind and body dazed from the sudden force, but they refuse to yield and turn to the offensive once more. The onlookers can only gape in awe before the strange sight as it repels each and every attack, defending against the winged onslaught with only Annalay¡¯s body to serve as its anchor. ¡°Don¡¯t worry Lady Annalay, I¡¯ll fend them off the best I can,¡± it says. A quiet, amused chuckle parts her lips and she raises her glaive high into the firmament. The invocation¡¯s zenith is nigh. Creation squirms as a growing rumble deafens below, louder and louder, until the earth itself begins to quake in anticipation. ¡°¡­and tear through this brittle cage of soil. Rise, now. Let thy majesty ascend to the boundless nebula above.¡± The rumbling comes to a still. All is silent, and then it appears. A colossal, monstrous pillar of bark and thorn erupts from the ground - unleashing a torrential rain of sludge upon the cowering masses below screaming out in confusion - while the land is quickly uprooted and the once-flowing field of green transforms into a muddle of filth. Carriages topple. Mounds upheave. The winged knights of the Seraph are left with no opportunity to react as the pillar encroaches upon them, the base splitting apart into countless branching appendages and ensnaring all unfortunate enough to be caught within the prickly grasp. The souls cry out in resistance, but it is no use. There is no escape from the earthen manifestation, and it soon descends back to the hollow with its victims¡ªhurtling them into a viscous pile of mud before disappearing into the underground. The view before the Knight¡¯s eyes is one of complete, utter carnage. No stretch of land is safe from Annalay¡¯s rampage; everything has been reduced into a desolate, barren waste. However, curiously enough, it appears the people are unharmed despite the ravenous quakes, and those unfortunate enough to have been caught within the debris are swiftly pulled out by Annalay¡¯s brambles. Even amongst the winged Order, the worst of their woes are caring for their filth-stained wings. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Annalay,¡± Dariel whispers with widening horror. ¡°Y-You? I¡ª what have you done? Those were innocent people you just¡­ just¡­¡± ¡°I know how this looks,¡± she begins, cautiously eyeing the mayhem wrought by her hand below. ¡°But I didn¡¯t kill anyone¡ªdidn¡¯t harm a single hair on their pretty little heads. For hells sake, I know how to control my own strength at the very least.¡± ¡°Control your own strength!?¡± He grits through trembling teeth while pointing at the large imprint upon the Knight¡¯s armor. ¡°Do we not have a victim of your so-called control right here?¡± ¡°That¡¯s that, and this is this,¡± she says with complete confidence. ¡°Although, I didn¡¯t expect this adventure of ours to turn out so¡­ well, messy. But I¡¯ll deal with it later. Let¡¯s just head over to the castle for now¡ª¡± A giant projectile of solidified, sparkling pink light hurtles toward them without a moment¡¯s warning and smashes directly into Annalay¡¯s side. The manifestation is shaped into a great piercing bolt - spiraling like that of a raging maelstrom - and the Nature¡¯s Throne barely manages to block the blow at the last second before the force sends the trio tumbling through the air. With a flap of rustling leaves, Annalay realigns herself firm - breath agasp from the attack - but is left with no hope for rest as another bolt is sent hurtling forth, then another, and another until the entire sky is filled with streaks of pink. They descend upon her in a constant, unending barrage, yet the Throne remains undaunted, dashing through the narrow gaps and letting out a guffaw of glee as she navigates the skewering rain. She laughs, Dariel screams, all the whilst the Knight ponders over the source of the attack. Hm, what strange aura: Violent, yet lacking any intention to harm. The light glares in an almost whimsical matter, as if inviting one to come frolic in play, but its power remains devastating nonetheless. Are all the marksmen of Polus such curious individuals? No, the bolts are far too similar to each other for that to be the case. This barrage is but the making of a single person¡ªone with the strength to manifest a storm. ¡°GAHAHA! Now this is the excitement I¡¯ve been looking for!¡± Annalay roars. The three quickly approach the summit, yet the attacks decrease not in ferocity. It matters not to the Throne - though Dariel¡¯s terror continues to worsen - and as they finally soar above the bastion of marble, the source of the barrage finally comes into view: a female knight¡ªgreat plate covered wholly in a light, blossoming pink. Her frame is no less burly than Annala, and she wields a mighty greatbow that spans the entire length of her body. The new knight flinches as Annalay crashes near her, and she quickly jumps back out of alarm. Curiously, her hesitation appears not to be directed towards the Throne: rather, to the struggling officer now treating the solid base beneath him as if it is some sacred boon. ¡°D-Dariel!?¡± she shouts with a penetrating cadence: loud, shrill, yet with an articulation befitting that of a sheltered pedigree. Dariel eventually steadies back onto his feet, but there is something different about him now¡ªsomething dangerous. Ah, I see. That is the appearance of one ready to kill. ¡°Deborah,¡± he growls, steps thundering below as he advances upon the cowering pink knight. ¡°Prepare thyself. Hells hath no fury like a brother enraged.¡± ¡°I-I-I didn¡¯t know you were there!¡± The one called Deborah starts to back away from the rapidly approaching Dariel, but she somehow manages to trip over her own feet and lands pathetically onto her rear. ¡°How was I supposed to know!? One moment I¡¯m relaxing at a tavern with the other Cherubims, and the next someone comes bursting in screaming we¡¯re under attack. I thought it was just Annalay playing around again. For Stars sake, you¡¯re not even supposed to be here right now! Didn¡¯t you run away to the Aeternum?¡± ¡°Surprise! I am here now. Do you have a problem with that, dear older sister of mine?¡± ¡°N-No. And don¡¯t start speaking like grandfather! You¡¯re the worst when you¡ª ¡± ¡°Whatever do you mean? My speech is of the appropriate courtesy at this moment. How could I when the heavens have deigned to grant us such wonderful weather on this fine day; don¡¯t you agree?¡± ¡°Ehm, yes?¡± ¡°Yes, it¡¯s a beautiful day outside. Such a shame it¡¯s being ruined by a pigheaded dolt like you!¡± Dariel descends upon Deborah in a fit of rage, wrestling her to the ground as the two vie for dominance in a messy, chaotic struggle. Dariel appears to be winning. ¡°Lady Annalay, should we maybe do something?¡± the Knight asks to the very amused Throne. ¡°Leave it. Let¡¯s just enjoy the show,¡± she says, plopping herself onto the marble and admiring the siblings¡¯ brawl. ¡°Besides, who doesn¡¯t love a little family drama?¡± The Knight doesn¡¯t quite understand her strange tastes, but it complies and takes a seat as well. I didn¡¯t expect for a person of such strength to be the kin of Dariel. Is his family not of one predisposed to administration? ¡°This¡­ Deborah is Dariel¡¯s sister, right? But I heard his grandfather is currently the Chancellor. What is she doing serving as a knight?¡± ¡°Eh, the Cherubim line has always been a bit weird¡ªeven when compared to the other damnable nobles. The matron of the family usually serves as the Templar of the Order of the Dignified Cherubim while the patron takes care of matters related to the court. They haven¡¯t had a decent female warrior in a while, though, so that runt Deborah took up the mantle despite being so young. Hells, when I left for war she was only up to my waist! Glad to see she turned out alright; guess that old codger¡¯s blood really does flow through her.¡± ¡°Was he that strong?¡± Annalay sighs and looks up at the sky with a distant look. ¡°Once upon a time. Gadreel was quite the intimidating warrior when he was a Throne¡ªscary, yet firm. Powerful. I respected him a lot as a kid, but, like everyone, he grew old. Now all he does is preach about rules and traditions. I¡¯d rather perish on the battlefield than turn out like him.¡± ¡°That is¡­ quite the resolution.¡± ¡°Hah! Funny, that¡¯s exactly what Lorelai would say. She¡¯d be all apprehensive while Celia would curse me out and call me an idiot.¡± Annalay freezes and turns around to face the Knight, a curious air creeping forth from her gaze. ¡°Wait just a moment¡­ tall, good frame, from the Principality, has a solid punch, and is stubborn enough to withstand the miasma? Hah, I might¡¯ve just figured it out!¡± She jumps up and locks it within a tight, crushing hug without any warning. ¡°Hells, Celia, I knew you¡¯d somehow escape! Not even the Stars would be able to hold back a woman like you. Damn, this is great. Now all we have to do is find Lorelai and the three of us¡¯ll be reunited again!¡± Celia? An unfamiliar name. It is unfortunate I cannot draw upon the Shell¡¯s memories, but perhaps there exists a portrait of her visage somewhere in the city. For now, I shall maintain my guise. ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry, Lady Annalay, but my memories are still¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. You¡¯ll spring back in no time. Heh, maybe I should take advantage of this while I can¡­¡± A dangerous look glints in her eyes. It is the look of one bordering between banter and heartfelt revenge. ¡°Come to think of it, I never got back at you for throwing my drunken ass out on the streets, did I? The academy officers didn¡¯t stop monitoring me for weeks because of that¡ªcouldn¡¯t even get a good night¡¯s rest without one of them knocking on my door. I think it¡¯s time I settle this grudge once and for all.¡± Well, this does not look good. The Knight rushes to the quarreling siblings and snatches them between its arms faster than they can resist. It does not need even look back to feel an overpowering presence chasing closely from behind. ¡°W-Wha¡ª¡± the two begin in unison before they¡¯re quickly hushed. ¡°Deborah, you are a Seraph, correct?¡± ¡°Why¡ª¡± ¡°Yes or no.¡± ¡°Y-Yes.¡± ¡°You can manifest wings, correct?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Good, because we¡¯ll need them in a moment.¡± ¡°What do you¡ª¡± She doesn¡¯t need to wait long, for once the Knight reaches the very edge of the walls, it jumps and dives into the capital. ¡°You won¡¯t escape me that easily, Celia!¡± a voice roars from behind. It won¡¯t be long before the Throne catches up to them, but her armor¡¯s bulk should delay their capture for a brief moment. The siblings scream out in terror as their descent quickens, but the Knight remains serene amidst the raging gale. It is rather relaxing to surrender one¡¯s body to the elements; however, such moments inevitably last not for long. ¡°NOT YOU, TOO!¡± Dariel screeches, clinging to its side. ¡°I DON¡¯T KNOW WHAT¡¯S GOING ON ANYMORE!¡± Deborah reciprocates with similar fear despite being a winged one. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Deborah, but unless you want to face Annalay¡¯s fury first hand, then I think you should start heading for the castle.¡± The pink knight rebels at first, seemingly intent on maintaining her pride, but a guttural cry from Annaly quickly changes her mind. ¡°Okay, okay! I¡¯ll do it! Damnit, I¡¯ll do it!¡± She squirms out of the Knight¡¯s arms and calls forth a pair of flowery wings. Tulips and peonies encompass the entire span, but the Knight has scarce a second to admire their beauty before they begin to flap with chaotic, panicked strokes. ¡°DAMNIT, I¡¯LL DO IT! YOU BETTER REPAY ME FOR THIS LATER!¡± And with that, the three bolt towards the castle towering proudly at the center of the city. The King awaits; soon, he shall have his audience. Chapter 24: The One Who Once Commanded the Tempest ¡°We spent years in that old forest. I don¡¯t remember much, exactly. All that preoccupied my mind at the time was how to survive. Every day passed by in a hazy blur of hunger and cold, but I would always awaken the next morning¡ªalive, and ready to repeat my struggle for life. Surasha struggled quite hard as well, for though she became sickly often and her body was reduced to but skin and bone, my sister would always rise back up with a trembling smile on her dirt-stained face. Thus was our routine: harsh, yet I experienced the greatest of happiness in those times compared to that crowded house of self-pity and resentment. Surasha and I were together, and that was all I truly needed. Or at least, that was what I thought. ¡°One day, whilst scavenging at the village¡¯s edge, I happened upon a worn-out book. The cover was torn and the ink had long since faded, but I could just barely make out the title: ¡°The Sagas of Wing and Feather¡±. Despite being of fallen status, I was still given a greater education than most¡ªalbeit I could only recognize a few odd words here and there. Something about the book called to me, however. And as I opened the dusty pages, an entirely different world unfolded before my eyes: one of valor, of bravery, and of freedom. In that world, grand heroes from all over fought to claim a new life for their own. They were strong. Fearless. Everything that I wasn¡¯t. ¡°From then on, a treacherous seed began to grow within¡ªone wishing for more. For a chance to be a true hero. But I knew such a future was never meant for someone like me. To allow hope into your heart will only lead to greater suffering once reality seizes you within its grasp, yet I still dared to dream. I dared to wish for that decisive moment where I could finally prove myself, and indeed¡­ it came, eventually, in the form of a Caelum scout trudging towards the place I once called home.¡± - King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight Their flight is rather stable despite an ever-dogged pursuer leaving them not a second for hesitance, and whilst its hearing is plagued by confused shouts from the two by its side, the Knight finds itself lost in fascination towards the formation of the bustling city. Each corner is laden with structures of differing flair - an intriguing design seemingly intent on establishing clear, distinct regions - yet never does it convey a sense of clutter or disorganization; rather, they blend seamlessly together¡ªforming a unified whole. One such space is filled with elegant buildings held up by spiral pillars, while another is more rustic in nature¡ªcobblestone and wood being the main material of assembly. A constant all throughout, however, is a purveying harmony with nature. Foliage and flora line the paved streets: pink, yellow, orange and red fostering together in a warm air, and with a turn of its gaze, the Knight is met with an array of blue and violet in the more refined districts. But nothing can compare to the colossal marvel resting at the city¡¯s center: the grand castle of Polus, home to the winged King. It rises up to yonder heights as its marble exterior bathes in a cloak of crystals and shimmering light, yet adornments of delicately-carved feathers can be seen plainly from afar¡ªenveloping the castle in a hallowed aura. Everything - from the smallest residence to the largest quarter - cowers before its imposing size, and as the trio approach the very heart of the nation, a regal garden replaces the once-stone field¡ªits domain barren of human construction save for a lone arch welcoming all at the entrance. Thus is where they land. Or rather, crash, for a wide swing from Annalay¡¯s glaive disrupts their passage and sends them hurtling into the flowerbeds. The garden¡¯s serenity is ruined as dirt upturns from the impact, and a gathering of knights standing guard quickly rush to the scene¡ªconfused whether they should be helping the sudden arrivals or imprisoning them. ¡°Oh, this day¡¯s just been great¡­¡± Deborah groans while she gets back up, Dariel following along though his mind still remains in a dazed state. ¡°Templar Deborah? What is the meaning of this?¡± one of the guards asks with a cautiously pointed weapon. ¡°Stars, I¡¯m the last person you should be asking that. Why don¡¯t you get an answer from her?¡± Annalay collides with a snort a few paces away. A single look is all they require for the true perpetrator to be identified, and the guards swiftly encircle the Throne in an interconnected formation. Poised. Weary, as if this routine has become all but common. ¡°You¡¯ve gotten quick, Deborah. I must be getting slower with age, hahaha!¡± she guffaws to an apathetic audience. ¡°But did ya really have to run all the way here of all places?¡± Soon, an endless wave of knights begin flooding out from within the castle. Not a speck of the garden can be seen now, just the glistening of metal and sheen. Even the Nature¡¯s Throne would struggle before such an army, and while it would be amusing for the Knight to see her delve into a futile rampage, Annalay¡¯s bloodlust begins to dwindle. It appears she shares the same sentiment. ¡°Another day, then,¡± she sighs, re-sheathing the glaive and raising her arms up in surrender. ¡°Shame. If I had my way, Celia¡¯s memory would¡¯ve been fixed by now. She always did love a good scuffle.¡± Before the Polus knights can apprehend her, an aged, booming voice crushes down upon them - tone filled with the weighty tremor of a hundred campaigns - from the distance. Emerging from the entrance is an elderly man with features akin to Dariel, but his presence bespeaks of one who has known endless war. And endless loss. ¡°Thine appetite for wanton recklessness is truly baffling,¡± the man says, slowly trudging over to the Throne. His path is quickly cleared, and all in attendance - save for one particularly apathetic woman - descend down onto their knees in respect. ¡°The city gates are in chaos. The people are beset with worry, and for what? To satisfy your craving for destruction? I should strip you of your title here and now.¡± ¡°Alright, I made a mistake,¡± Annalay says with a sheepish gesture. ¡°Sure, I may have been a bit too rough with my methods, but make no mistake you old codger: I didn¡¯t hurt anyone, and the people definitely aren¡¯t beset with worry. Hells, I even saw a couple of smiles while flying over here! A spectacle here and there is what¡¯s really needed in this depressing place.¡± ¡°Must you act this way when our nation is currently under such distress?¡± ¡°That¡¯s exactly why I have to act like this.¡± ¡°Hah¡­ the fault is mine for expecting even the most minute of reflection. Perhaps some time in the gaol will do you some good.¡± ¡°Heh, again? Soon enough I¡¯ll have to start treating it like my second home. You know it won¡¯t change who I am.¡± ¡°Oh, one can dream, Annalay. One can dream.¡± With a hefty lock, a pair of giant stone cuffs are placed upon her wrists, and she is slowly escorted into the depths of the castle. The last the trio hear from her is a fading cackle. The man turns towards them now, his face cast aglow in an anxious look, and locks eyes with Dariel who is standing uncomfortably still. ¡°You¡¯ve returned, my boy,¡± he says with a gentle whisper. ¡°I apologize if my actions resulted in your departure. It brings this old man great shame to have been blind when you struggled so.¡± Dariel¡¯s eyes soften and he beckons the man forward into a big hug. ¡°It is not your fault, grandfather. Rather, I grew frustrated at the court as a whole. This journey of mine was to serve as¡­ I suppose a form of self-discovery. To realize who it is I truly wanted to be and achieve. And I believe I have, now, which is why I chose on my own accord to come back.¡± ¡°Hohoh, you¡¯ve got a fire inside you. That is good. If thy path has truly been lit, then far be it for me to rebuke you. Welcome home, Dariel.¡± ¡°Hey, don¡¯t forget about me!¡± Deborah shouts as she jumps into the embrace as well. The family has finally been reunited. ¡°I¡¯m still upset at you, Deborah.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± The three engage in a bout of bellyful laughter all the whilst the Knight remains silent in its solitary corner. Hm, I wonder if Aegis¡¯s invisibility sorcery is cast upon me as well. To play the spectator before such a common scene is a rather dull task. Perhaps I should interject. Fortunately, it has no need to, for the elderly man eventually breaks away and greets it with a brighter countenance. ¡°Ah, and thou must be the survivor from the Alexandria. Please, do forgive Annalay for any disrespect she may have shown you.¡± ¡°Think nothing of it, Chancellor,¡± it says while donning a polite tone. ¡°It is my honor to be of service.¡± ¡°Hohoh, manners truly do befit that of one in Polus¡¯s garb. I imagine you are quite fatigued after your voyage. Come! Let us speak in a more suitable environment.¡± With a wave of his hand, the entrance doors open, and the group are escorted into the grandiose halls of the castle. A royal blue carpet lies beneath their feet, laying upon a crystalline flooring reflecting those passing by, and an all-encompassing dome above perpetually bathes the interior with the sun¡¯s majesty. From colorful artworks to ornate sculpture, the busy palace resembles that of a gallery rather than a center for administration. Yet, there is no mistaking the regal air in this place; the Knight can feel the spirit of history flowing from every corner, and with it, a great importance in etiquette. Officials rush by with softly-treaded steps; Polus guards march in rigid pairs; and above all else, the people maintain a constant, graceful posture¡ªbacks straight and heads raised high. Dariel and Deborah quickly adapt to the surroundings - as if it has been instilled into them since birth - and so the Knight copies their stature, blending alongside whilst maintaining its gaze upon the curios about. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Eventually, the group arrives at what appears to be a waiting room for foreign guests. The refined decorum is replaced with simpler wooden furnishings of red-gold, fostering a warm, yet daunting, ambience. The two siblings are indifferent, however, and collapse themselves atop the nearby seating¡ªbreaths exhaling in exhaustion. ¡°Here we are!¡± the Chancellor exclaims. ¡°Now, do make yourself comfortable. I have already sent a herald to alert his majesty of your arrival, but I¡¯m afraid there shall be a small delay before your audience shall be granted. The King is currently¡­ preoccupied at the moment. Until then, let us engage in merry conversation.¡± ¡°I thank you for your hospitality, Chancellor,¡± the knight says with a bow. ¡°Hohoh, the pleasure is mine.¡± ¡°Grandpa, do I really need to be here?¡± Deborah groans while rubbing her armor. ¡°The Cherubim knights are probably worried sick since I had to leave so suddenly. Hells, I¡¯m not even supposed to be on-duty right¡ª¡± ¡°Language, Deborah.¡± ¡°¡­ Sorry.¡± ¡°There is no need to worry. A messenger shall hath arrived by now explaining your circumstances, as well as the Virtues to help sort the mess Annalay created. You, however, are needed here to write a report on the incident. Dariel is not exempt, either, so the both of you will have the joy of accompanying this frail old man for the rest of the day. Aren¡¯t you excited?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the two of them say with hollow eyes. ¡°Very good. Now, onto our guest.¡± The Chancellor¡¯s tone changes to one of skepticism. It is not to the degree of Annalay¡¯s intensity, but it holds a shred of doubt nonetheless. ¡°Dariel has already informed me of your ailment in his letter, so know that there is no need to strain yourself here. I will simply ask a few questions. Is that suitable?¡± ¡°Of course. My knowledge is yours.¡± ¡°My thanks. Now, I recall Annalay calling thou by the moniker of Celia. Is that truly who you are¡± The Knight puts forth a perplexed front. ¡°I am unsure. My memories of who I was before still elude me. All I can remember is the forest.¡± ¡°That is regrettable¡­¡± he sighs. ¡°Celia and I were well acquainted, you see, and though your spirit has been muted, I doth spy similarities in thy demeanor: a powerful resolve, a trained hand, and an affable air. Though it does bring me quite the amusement to see you speaking without that fiery spunk!¡± Spunk? So she is the energetic type. Acknowledged. The chancellor continues. ¡°I have also heard that Annalay tested your martial skill, so there is no doubt about your ability. It is impressive you were able to exert such strength despite the miasma clinging to thy soul.¡± ¡°Its influence has waned ever since I stepped into the outside, and so does its lock upon my memory. Once it fully disappears is when I believe my true self will be set free.¡± ¡°Yes, such is the logical course. It would be great, indeed, to have thy full recollection before your audience with his majesty, but I suppose one should be thankful for the blessings they already hold. Hm, if only there was a way to siphon the remaining curse away¡­ ohoh! I may just have the answer to our plight!¡± ¡°Really? How so?¡± Dariel leaps up in horror, mouth agape as if the Chancellor has just proclaimed himself to death¡¯s kiss. ¡°Grandfather, you mustn¡¯t! Your body cannot withstand invoking Creation¡¯s might anymore. The divinity will drain what little of your lifeblood remains.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t go killing off this old man just yet. I may be weakened now, but thy grandfather was once the Sealing Throne of Tempest. A spell here and there will only serve to sweep the dust off these aching bones.¡± Dariel looks hesitant, but the elder¡¯s stubbornness forces him to relent. ¡°Alright, but please do not exert yourself.¡± ¡°I shan¡¯t. Now, what say you, Celia? Are thou willing to put this old man to the test?¡± How shrewd, to hide your true intent with goodwill. The title of Chancellor is not a simple one, it seems. A shame your efforts will yield naught, for this curse can never be ceased. ¡°¡­ Of course,¡± it says, reaching up and giving the dozing Aegis above a quick warning. ¡°But do be prepared. When this helm comes off, the miasma will rush out in an instant. Are you sure about this?¡± The elder spews out a loud guffaw before delivering upon it an honed, determined gaze. ¡°Fear not, I will not falter so feebly.¡± ¡°Then I shall begin.¡± He nods, and the Knight¡¯s visage is unveiled before the world. Only, its features cannot be seen, for an endless cloak of darkness consumes its entirety - tendrils writhing with a visceral hate towards the living - and soon pours out into the room¡ªwretched filth staining all that is caught within its hazy murk. Color drains from the Cherubims faces as the force slowly encroaches upon them. They are gaunt, shivering with a primordial fear, but the Chancellor recollects himself and gathers the gale as he chants out to Creation. ¡°O¡¯ tempest of the raging winds, heed thyself to mine word: Seal this foul essence to the depths of oblivion. Torment onto it the fury of squall and cyclone.¡± The entire surrounding is upturned, for a blast of gust swirls and swirls until a rending vortex forms at the roof¡¯s surface. It billows with a dreadful howl - forcefully drawing in the miasma and dispersing it into a renewed breeze - but even after an eternity of time¡¯s passing, the miasma refuses to fully disappear. It will not. It can not. The Chancellor has been doomed since the very beginning, and if he maintains the invocation any longer, then nothing will be left but a hollow husk. A pity. But if it were so simple to rid this loathing, then I would have done so long ago. The Knight reattaches its helm, and the remaining miasma vanishes into the great beyond. Wheezing and with trembling stagger, the Chancellor collapses onto the ground as soon as the gale disappears¡ªboth siblings rushing to help him lay upon what furnishing has survived. ¡°Curses!¡± he gasps. ¡°This old man truly has grown soft, hohoh¡ªugh¡­ to think I¡¯d suffer such utter defeat after so long. Please do accept my apologies for being a helpless fool.¡± ¡°You were great, grandpa! Even I was a bit nervous before it,¡± Deborah says, attempting to cheer him up. ¡°Sister¡¯s right, you¡¯re still as spry as ever,¡± Dariel agrees. ¡°It brings me great joy to have such wonderful grandchildren. But do not deceive mine pride with false words: I failed. Forgive me, Celia.¡± ¡°There is nothing to forgive, Chancellor. Rather, I should thank you. The burden on my body has lessened - my mind more clear than ever before - and for that, you have my sincerest gratitude.¡± ¡°Truly?¡± he says, lips curling into a smile. ¡°How wonderful. Though it may not be much, I am comforted knowing mine help was of use.¡± The doors of the room burst open, and a new knight slathered in a marriage of red and white enters the scattered room. Authority and martial might follows her gait, but it is quickly replaced by a baffled aura as she takes in the sight of the disheveled group. ¡°¡­ Gadreel? What happened here?¡± she asks. ¡°Ah, Surasha my dear! Just some minor inconveniences, I assure you. But how goes your conversation with the King? Has he recovered his triumphant self?¡± The female knight is still bewildered; however, she deigns to answer the elderly man anyways¡ªher body shrugging off the bizarre scene. ¡°In a way, I guess. At the very least, I knocked some sense into him. Whether he gets better or falls back into his depression is up to fate, but I can¡¯t be bothered to tolerate his whimpering any longer. You¡¯ll have to do the rest.¡± ¡°I thank you for accepting mine request.¡± ¡°A debt is a debt, which means I no longer owe you anything.¡± ¡°Of course. But I do hope thine encounter this day leads to a closer bond.¡± ¡°Hah, don¡¯t count on it.¡± Hm? This is curious. To speak in such a disrespectful manner to her lord and receive not a word of rebuke from the Chancellor¡­ Surasha turns to face the Knight, her gaze inspecting every corner of its body. ¡°So you¡¯re the survivor, huh? Your frame does look a bit familiar.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been told my name is Celia,¡± it replies, to which the female knight steps back in shock. ¡°Celia?¡± she mutters before locking the Knight in, once again, another crushing hug. Those of Polus tend to have great physical strength, it would seem. ¡°Stars, that¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s the first bit of good news we¡¯ve had in a long while. I wasn¡¯t able to see you much after I became a Templar, but I never forgot those days when I first came to the capital. You, Annalay, and Lorelai were the only ones who ever looked out for me. I really missed you.¡± ¡°Surasha, I¡ª¡± it begins, attempting to comfort the woman whose voice borders on a sob, but she lets go before it has the chance and awkwardly retreats back. ¡°I know. You don¡¯t remember me, probably,¡± she whispers. ¡°But, after you finish talking to that idiot, I hope we can maybe have an outing together one day. Catch up, even if I have to do all the speaking. I just¡­ I just want to talk to someone I can trust. Would that be ok?¡± ¡°That would be lovely, Surasha. Whenever you wish, I¡¯ll be there.¡± The Knight cannot see her face, but it knows there lies a radiant smile under that guarded exterior. ¡°Great! Great, um, I¡¯ll let you go then. Don¡¯t let Ascalon¡¯s blubbering get to you too much.¡± Without a word, she disappears behind a column. The quiet tap of footsteps are all that can be heard before her presence fades completely. Her speech pattern is irregular compared to those of standing similar to Dariel. A commoner? But none have dared spout even the slightest of displeasure towards their liege. Perhaps¡­ ¡°¡­ A family member, I presume?¡± it says aloud whilst they continue their way to the King¡¯s dwelling. ¡°His sister,¡± Dariel says with a solemn sigh. ¡°Ascalon¡¯s only family left from the indirect line, though as you can see they don¡¯t have the best of relationships.¡± ¡°Ah, but I doth spot a soft twinkle of affection in her voice after leaving his chamber,¡± the Chancellor chuckles. ¡°Mark mine words, young Dariel: The two shall have a familial bond, soon.¡± ¡°That would be nice,¡± Deborah joins, her eyes affixed to the dome above. ¡°Surasha¡¯s always been a bit distant towards the other Templars, even since our academy days. Maybe she¡¯ll finally open up once the two reconcile.¡± Their group comes to halt, for a large oaken door blocks the path forward¡ªthe path to the King¡¯s domain. Everything shall start from here. ¡°Is there anything I should know before we enter?¡± it asks. ¡°All thou must do is follow our movements. There shall no problem with your speech, but do please remember to be mindful: His majesty cares much for the Madam you served.¡± The way the Chancellor words ¡®cares¡¯ implies a deeper affection, but it is good to know the ruler of Polus is one of soft heart. With a solid push, the four enter and are greeted by a large, ivory throne with a stained-glass window at the very back bathing everything in a rainbow of color. There, placed to the side, are¡­ broken pieces of pottery? A section of the marble wall has been shattered into pieces as well. What happened here between the royal siblings? As strange as the sight is, the Knight¡¯s company make no comments - as if they have expected to see such a view - and instead hurry to the room¡¯s center where they bow before an obscured figure sitting upon the regal seat. Shadow veils their torso, yet the Knight can see a deep, vivid gold emanating forth from their great plate. ¡°Glory to the ruler of the skies above,¡± the Cherubims recite. ¡°May the wisdom of Freedom¡¯s Will guide you to prosperity, O¡¯ Ascalon¡ªstalwart blade of Polus.¡± The King leans forward, and his crowned helm is finally revealed. Smoldering within the sockets are a pair of glowing amber eyes, and they stare directly into the Knight¡¯s own, burrowing deep and attempting to force its everything before him. ¡°You may rise.¡± Chapter 25: I Believe In My Heart ¡°I ran. Back to the forest. Back to our little hut of sticks and leaves. I buried Surasha into my arms, and then I ran as far as my trembling legs would take me. Even when the air was filled with the sound of screams, I did not stop. Even when the smell of burning flesh tormented my senses, I did not slow. Farther and farther, until I finally collapsed upon my own self-loathing and regret. ¡°When I eventually returned, nothing was left of the village but cinders. Charred corpses blanketed the fields as my every step was squelched against a scarlet field of blood. Stomp upon stomp, I marched towards my old home for reasons I still do not truly know. Perhaps I wanted to truly confirm my parents¡¯ death, to see the ends of those I once trusted with my very eyes, and so I did. I found their blackened remains still clutching onto my former siblings. They perished, together. As a family. ¡°No tears flowed out. No cries gave voice. I simply lingered there, surrounded by the consequences of my cowardice: a sin that shall never be forgiven. ¡°Time passed. The sun set. And as the moon rose high with its pale, unsullied light, an amber hue began to shimmer from behind. As if to mock me - as if to bring further disgrace upon my feeble resolve - the hero¡¯s call had answered me at last. Thus was I granted the Monarch¡¯s Wings. Thus did I become the Inheritor of Freedom.¡± - King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon The clattering of hectic footsteps enter Ascalon¡¯s ear as he lays on the fragmented floor. Hm? Is that the herald? My, it seems this rest must end already. But who could possibly be seeking for my audience so soon? He slowly picks himself up, brushes off the wall¡¯s dust, and regally places himself back on the throne. It is a strange sight considering the mess not so far away, but confidence in one¡¯s manner does wonders to distract away from the peculiar. The doors part way, and the herald enters once more - except now their expression is filled with horror. ¡°Y-Your majesty? What has¡ª¡± ¡°A simple incident: Pay no heed,¡± he says with utmost sobriety. ¡°What brings you forth?¡± ¡°Ah, yes.¡± The herald appears not entirely convinced before the King¡¯s facade, but they decide against prying any further. ¡°The delegation sent to escort the survivor of Lorelai¡¯s expedition has returned, and they are currently waiting in the guest chamber for your audience. I have already informed Templar Surasha, but to send them away can still be arranged if this is not the proper moment.¡± What strange fate for them to arrive now of all times. Hehe, quite the eventful day indeed. Ascalon is still a bit shaken, but the matter over Lorelai¡¯s current state cannot be delayed. He would rather receive the survivor¡¯s report now than to brood in his trepidation any longer. ¡°No need. I will await their arrival.¡± ¡°But of course. May Cosmos be with you always, my liege.¡± They depart, and Ascalon is left to ponder. What news shall they bring? No other survivors have been found since then; not a soul has left that accursed forest. I must believe that Lorelai has escaped somehow, but to claim my body is devoid of unease would be dishonest. I am nervous; that is the undeniable truth, yet the time for feeble mullings have come to an end. Whatever they bring forth, I shall accept it and be strong. Lorelai would want me to look towards the morrow. A familiar sound echoes once more, only it is accompanied by a greater number. One trots with plated foot; one marches with leather sole. The other, however, is strangely silent. Their steps have scarce a weight, almost as if left by a phantom, and a curious energy trickles deeper into the room the closer they approach. How to describe it? A soft quilt, perhaps¡ªwrapping around my body with a pleasant, enchanting song. Something isn¡¯t right; he knows not exactly why, but there is a danger in that energy. It is subtle - ever so subtle - and without even a chance to resist, it spreads throughout his blood and settles into the deepest pits of his being¡ªwhispering sweet euphoria into his intoxicated mind. It is attempting to tear down his barrier. It is attempting to lull him into a false state of sanctuary. With a grunt and a flash of amber, the King breaks free from the enthrallment¡ªa cold sweat dripping down his pale face. What¡­ was that? Such a faint trace, almost indistinguishable if not for Freedom¡¯s warning, yet it holds a terrifying sway. This is no longer a simple meeting; instinct screams at him now to steel his vigilance, for the person beyond those doors cannot be a mere common knight. Are they truly a remnant of Lorelai¡¯s crew, or are they an enemy¡ªone with the power to deceive even his closest confidants? Whatever their true purpose may be, Ascalon must be prepared to strike them down at any moment. Finally, the delegation arrives, and they slowly begin to shuffle into the chamber. The Chancellor and his grandson, Dariel, are a familiar face. Hm? Why is Deborah here? The siblings¡¯ appearances are oddly worn out. Did something occur at the gate check? However, a different air surrounds the young officer now. His usual lively spirit has been slightly subdued, and in its place is the maturity of one befitting a senior official. It appears Dariel¡¯s escapade to the outside has done him much good; Ascalon is happy for him. But what draws the King¡¯s attention is the unknown knight hidden betwixt the group¡¯s center. Is that a fist mark imprinted on their side? The bewitching aura is emanating from their being in full, and though Ascalon¡¯s mental protection is still being maintained, he cannot help but be beset by a gnawing sensation of affection. Something about the knight feels intimate yet foreign in the same breath¡ªas if he¡¯s reuniting with a long lost friend. Sorrow, melancholy, hesitation¡­ they all pang within his chest as a singular question nags without abandon: Why do they feel so familiar? ¡°Glory to the ruler of the skies above,¡± the gathering recites. ¡°May the wisdom of Freedom¡¯s Will guide you to prosperity, O¡¯ Ascalon¡ªstalwart blade of Polus.¡± No matter. I will unveil their secrets, eventually. Their fate was set the moment they entered my domain. ¡°You may rise,¡± the King says, keeping a close eye on the survivor¡¯s movements. ¡°Welcome back, Dariel. I trust your adventure has been insightful?¡± ¡°Very much so, my liege. I apologize for abandoning my position so suddenly, but from now on, I promise to show you the fervor of a renewed servant of the kingdom.¡± ¡°I look forward to it. The court has felt much too dry as of late without your fiery will.¡± ¡°Hohoh, indeed,¡± Gadreel chuckles. ¡°It is the duty of the old to foster the passions of the new. It will not be long now until young Dariel surpasses me in wisdom.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t belittle yourself now, Chancellor. Amongst those of the kingdom, you are the most astute of them all.¡± ¡°M-My liege¡­¡± ¡°And I apologize for my unsightly behavior before. You and the other officials did not deserve to be subjected to my anger; I learned a great lesson today, and I shall stake my own promise that such an outburst will never occur again. Will you forgive me?¡± Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Tears begin to well up in the elder¡¯s eyes, and he lets out an enthusiastic guffaw. ¡°But of course, my liege. No matter what, I shall always be by your side.¡± Ascalon smiles and turns toward Templar Deborah with a new, puzzled expression. ¡°I am surprised to see you here as well, Deborah. Shouldn¡¯t Annalay be amongst your party instead?¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­ let¡¯s just say she caused a little bit of trouble. Ok, a lot of trouble.¡± She turns and exposes her armor¡¯s back to him, metal laden with large nicks and dents. It doesn¡¯t take much time for Ascalon to surmise what has happened. ¡°Right now she¡¯s probably lazing around in the underground gaol. Since I was the one who had the misfortune of being her training post, I have to stay around for a while.¡± Oh, Annalay. Dear, sweet Annalay¡­ ¡°Hehe, I would expect nothing less from our Untamed Throne. Do make sure to compensate the victims generously; I¡¯ll make sure to properly give her a visit later. And don¡¯t worry Gadreel, I will be firm this time.¡± ¡°That you must, my liege,¡± the Chancellor sighs. ¡°That you must.¡± ¡°Now, onto the main subject of this audience.¡± Ascalon¡¯s gaze turns stiff as he hardens his attention onto the supposed Polus knight. ¡°Step forth, O¡¯ remnant of the Alexandria.¡± They do so, quickly and without a word, before planting their knees onto the hard floor and bowing their head in respect. ¡°Greetings, your majesty. Though my memory still remains fragmented, I shall do my best to remember as much as I can; my knowledge is yours to use.¡± There it is again: that feeling of familiarity. Their voice rings in my head, tone and quality constantly shifting with every second that passes. Never the same. Always of one dear to my memory. ¡°Now, tell me,¡± he commands. ¡°Do you remember anything about your origin? It does not need to be much: a flashing memory, a nostalgic smell, or perhaps a name.¡± ¡°I do not. My only memories are of the forest, though Lady Annalay believes me to be a knight by the name of Celia.¡± ¡°Celia? As in Celia Chaplet?¡± The King is bewildered for a brief second, but if it is true, then it would explain her martial prowess against Annalay. Though he isn¡¯t particularly acquainted with the teacher of the Seraph, Lorelai has told many a tale about their days together in the academy. Yes, she is the most likely out of all sent with the Throne to have endured against the miasma. Plausible, it is plausible, yet¡­ was she the type of knight to have such an elegant, beguiling air? No, her temperament is closer in nature to Annalay¡¯s. Cheerful. Boisterous. And full of spark. Even with a vacant memory, the one before me does not resemble her character. ¡°Hm, and what do you believe?¡± Ascalon says with a challenging query. ¡°Do you think yourself to be Celia?¡± ¡°M-My liege?¡± Gadreel gasps. ¡°Thy tone is rather harsh for¡ª¡± ¡°Ah, I do apologize if my words were forceful,¡± he says with false reflection. The knight must not know of his suspicion towards them if he is to properly reveal their intentions. ¡°This matter has left me in quite the fret this passing month. I didn¡¯t intend to be so rude; forgive me.¡± ¡°Never did I think of your words so, your majesty. It is my duty to serve.¡± They pause, mind seemingly deep in reflection, before speaking again; the answer is not what Ascalon expected. ¡°No. I do not think Celia and I are the same person.¡± What? That¡ªI assumed they would seize the opportunity to claim a reputable identity, but if not, then maybe they truly are¡­? ¡°Interesting, and why do you say so?¡± ¡°It is difficult to say. However, I believe one must have trust in the pangs of their heart, and right now, it resonates not with the name of Celia.¡± Is¡ªIs that so? ¡°I see. Well, if that is your will, then let us move on to the memories you can gleam. Do you remember retrieving anything from the Aeternum? An object, a weapon, or perhaps even a child?¡± ¡°No. What I remember vividly is a feeling of frustration, of loss, and of resolution. We changed course because there was nothing to find.¡± ¡°Truly? That is unfortunate.¡± But also for the better. Our destiny would be one of doom if Caelum had managed to claim the Comet as their own; better for the child to remain hidden than to have their power abused by another. ¡°If you were set to return, what caused the collapse of the construct?¡± ¡°I did not see it very clearly. All I remember is¡­ugh¡ª¡± The knight collapses on their knees and groans in pain as their hands scrape against the helm¡¯s temple. Gadreel and the others rush to their aid, but they raise a firm hand up and block all from coming near. ¡°I¡¯m ok. I-I just need to push through.¡± ¡°Please, don¡¯t force yourself,¡± Ascalon says with a genuine hint of concern. He knows full well their pain could be but a deceitful ploy, yet their struggling breaths convey not a bit of falsehood. Their gasps are genuine; their tremblings are true. ¡°No,¡± they wheeze, standing back up with a quivering leg. ¡°Please, let me continue. I must conquer this haze if I am to truly heal.¡± ¡°You¡­¡± Ascalon wants to rebuke them, but the way they speak reminds him so dearly of a certain other¡ªone with a stubborn personality. One who would always grit their teeth and fight back against that which dared to impede their way. ¡°Hah, very well then. But please do be careful.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± And with a deep breath, the survivor continues their story. ¡°All I remember is a sudden tremor, a screeching wail, and an overwhelming force from above. We collapsed onto the forest¡¯s bed: confused, weakened, and with nary a chance to respond before an army emerged from the darkness and descended upon us with strange, hefty suits of jagged plate¡ªthe miasma completely vanished. Rust and blood filled my nostrils, and though the haze of battle had all but consumed my sight, I remember seeing very clearly a warrior that appeared to command over the others. Violet. Yes, their body was clad in a sinister violet hue.¡± Violet armor, a force from above, and the miasma¡¯s disappearance? That could only be¡­ ¡°Gravitas,¡± Ascalon snarls. Now it is all becoming clear. Only that monster would be able to force Lorelai into such desperate conditions. ¡°Did you see anyone else? What of a woman clad in ivory whilst wielding a pair of twin blades?¡± ¡°No. I never saw her. If she was there, then perhaps she was buried under the bodies. Everywhere. Decaying. I-I trudged and trudged through the blood-soaked mud, but there was no one left. My fellows, the monstrous creatures of metal, and even that warrior in violet¡­ they were all splayed out upon the earth.¡± The survivor¡¯s demeanor turns murky, voice haunted by visions from deep within. And for a brief moment, it is as if Ascalon can see through their eyes: see the terrible realm of slaughter that never left their being. Helpless. Meek. Madness creeping ever stronger as the mound grows with every taken life. They can only watch as the lives around them dwindle; to rot in their own regret for outlasting every other. It is a far, far too familiar feeling. ¡°I watched as the miasma crept back up from the earth and devoured their bodies. Devoured my mind. I cried and I weeped and I begged, yet it dissuaded not this wretched sorrow. It only enraged the phantoms writhing in loathing, giving them life as vengeful corpses to grab at me. To claw at me. To curse me for trying to abandon them.¡± Their shaking becomes more violent with every bitterly spewed word. Broken and battered, yet it is not fear that controls them. Nor is it a terror of the battlefield. No, it is guilt: guilt in failing to save even a single life. ¡°And so I ran. Farther and farther, until I could no longer see that sickening necropolis. I ran with every miserable spout of strength left I could muster, but - in the end - I couldn¡¯t escape their screams. I couldn¡¯t escape the stench of blood. I couldn¡¯t¡ª¡± Without a word, Ascalon leaps from his throne and swiftly envelops the survivor into a wide, tight embrace. They try to protest, to squirm away from his hold, but he can feel their efforts are not genuine. Slowly, gently, they stay wrapped around each other, resting against the other as the beating of their hearts join as one. And for a moment, the world becomes ever so still¡ªjust the two of them, together. He hasn¡¯t felt this way towards another since¡­ ¡°I am going to make one last request,¡± he begins. ¡°You may refuse if you wish, but I¡­ I believe in my heart. In my soul crying out now ever so fervently, and so I ask of you; will you let me take off your helm?¡± Gadreel and the others quickly shout out in warning, but Ascalon has never felt more certain in himself than now. This is the moment: the reason for why he was granted these unbearable wings all those years ago. Everything, his struggle, his duty, and his dreams of being a hero have been all for this: that he may bring back the gift of love into this soul¡¯s aching will. The survivor freezes, and through their touch he can sense a flash of apprehension - of fear towards baring themselves true before him - but that feeling quickly disappears, and they slowly nod their head. ¡°Are you sure?¡± they mutter. ¡°Of course. Now, and in the eternity to come.¡± ¡°¡­You may.¡± Ascalon carefully lifts the helm up until their face is revealed before the world, and he smiles. He smiles, for the sight before him is of the woman he loves most. ¡°You¡¯ve returned,¡± he says, brushing his hand against her scarred cheek. ¡°Just as you promised you would. Chapter 26: The Weight of a Promise ¡°A convincing lie must spring forth from a droplet of truth. When I speak, I do so whilst influenced under the shade of my past. Under the pain, the agony, and the hatred I harbored in those times were I had naught but my own weakness to blame. Yet I do not let it control me. I do not let it consume my will, for to do so would mean abandoning my penitence¡ªto run away from the atonement of my sin. Rather than madness, I must remain sane; that is what shall truly inflict the most suffering.¡± - The Knight ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon ¡°I do not remember that name,¡± Lorelai whispers. ¡°Yet, I can feel it stirring within: a longing. A desire to reach out and claim it as my own, but I dare not. I cannot truly be her: be that symbol who the people so fervently love. How can I when all they speak of is her strength? Of her kindness, her passion, and her courage to stand proud no matter what may face her way? That is no longer me, and that may never be me ever again.¡± She smiles, but it is a strained smile. Forced. And with a heavy sorrow masking her still-radiant platinum eyes. ¡°Even if I do recover my memory, the past will never return. I am changed, Ascalon. Will you still hold me, will everyone still hold me, in the same light regardless? If so, then I¡¯m afraid only disappointment awaits.¡± Ascalon trembles, for he knows her words are true. Can this Lorelai really be the same as the one I fell so dearly in love with? But such doubts quickly vanish, and he berates himself for even entertaining such a thought. After all, a person is not defined by their past¡ªsuch is the lesson she once taught him herself. ¡°¡­ Before you left,¡± he begins. ¡°You said these words to me: ¡®No matter how deeply we suffer, how much we lose, or how terrible the days are when despair comes creeping in from the shadows of our hearts, we rise back up. Dirty, ugly, and changed, but we rise regardless, for that is what truly makes us beautiful: the courage to take another step forward.¡¯¡± ¡°That was from¡ª¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, Lorelai. Who you were is not as important as who you now choose to be.¡± He gently touches her hand, a wordless request yet clear all the same, and moves it directly above her own bosom. ¡°We all change. Sometimes for the better, and sometimes for the worst. But you¡­ I believe there is always a path towards redemption. Though I may struggle in finding that path myself, all we can do is live out each day striving towards the best aspects of ourselves. To be satisfied in our growth knowing we put our utmost effort forth.¡± Lorelai doesn¡¯t speak. She says not a word, but Ascalon can feel her guarded heart slowly opening up. It yearns to cry out. It yearns to be heard. ¡°I will always be by your side,¡± he says, pushing through her last, fragile attempt at refusal. ¡°No matter what life you choose for yourself - whether it be as a knight once more or even as a regular citizen - I shall be there: both as a shoulder to lean upon and as an eternal¡­ friend.¡± Although Ascalon has resolved himself to confess, now is not the time. Not in her moment of vulnerability. To take advantage of Lorelai in this state would be a despicable act akin to that of the foulest of curs. It pains him, this indefinite hold, but it would pain him more to foster in a manipulated love. ¡°It is ok to start anew.¡± As those final words part his lips, the last of her resistance fades away, and Ascalon is greeted by the barest depths festering in her soul. Black, dark as midnight: an endless ocean of ink, suffocating every morsel of light its greedy tendrils can latch upon. She is alone there. Drowning. Ever eternally drowning. He tries to reach out to her, to pull her out of that creeping abyss, but his hands only yield the murky water. Drip-drop. Drip-drop. No matter how desperately he attempts to hold on, the water never remains within his grasp. It flows, and it glides. Always out of reach. Its remembrance left in the darkened stains left behind. Does she still reject him so, or is he yet unworthy to alleviate that crushing darkness? Drip-drop. Drip-drop. Ascalon is a stranger here. He does not belong, yet something draws him to this place¡ªthis place of decay and misery. Was this what Lorelai was carrying all this time? Hidden beneath that resolute exterior, was she suffering like this all alone? She once berated me for repressing my agony in solitude, but in the end, it appears we both are but a pair of self-sacrificing fools¡ªtormenting ourselves for a duty with no end. He has been ever so blind. So ignorant. Yet that she now stands here means there is still a chance for atonement: to give thanks for all the years she has stayed by his side. Lorelai has shouldered his burden long enough. Now, it his turn. An abrupt push sends Ascalon tumbling away, forcefully severing his connection with her soul and lurching him back into reality. It disorients him, the sudden change, but not so much as the look his beloved plagues him with now: fear. ¡°What¡­¡± she mutters, stepping a few paces back as a delirious stutter infects her every word. ¡°What did you just do? What did you just see?¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°I saw a wish,¡± he says, descending onto his knee. ¡°A wish mired in sorrow. A wish begging to be freed.¡± ¡°A wish, you say?¡± Her body is tense, guard put forth once more, as if preparing for a sudden ambush. She is scared¡ªscared of what Ascalon has gleaned within. ¡°What will you do, then? After invading my heart, after forcing yourself upon a place that should have never been discovered, do you still wish to be by my side?¡± Ascalon¡¯s answer is to reach out with an open hand. Lorelai glares at it, as if expecting it to be a trap, but he is patient. He wants her to be accept him at her own pace, and so he waits. Until her cautious guise fades away. Until all that is left is a tired, mournful whisper. ¡°Was it not filthy?¡± she says, lightly grasping at his finger. Her mind is still wavering on that precipice, still afraid to emerge from that blackened expanse. ¡°I do not know how you viewed me before, Ascalon, but my true self must have been quite different than you were expecting.¡± ¡°Then did you think the same when you peered into my own heart?¡± ¡°No. Rather, I thought it was¡­¡± Lorelai doesn¡¯t finish. A shame, but at least she isn¡¯t repulsed by Ascalon¡¯s own darkness. ¡°It would have been impossible to obtain that glimpse without permission. Though you may try to deny it, a part of yourself must have wished for it to be seen¡ªthat sorrow. To be understood by another. You trusted me to be that person, frightening it must have been to be so vulnerable, and I trusted you as well. That trust is what allowed us to be connected - to see the depths that which we hesitate to reveal - and I would never betray it by thinking such hurtful thoughts.¡± Eventually, Lorelai relents and fully joins her hand with his. A hesitation lingers in her gaze, but more so, a desire for companionship¡ªto never be left alone again. ¡°Ascalon, is it selfish to want for more?¡± she says. ¡°No. Whatever you wish.¡± ¡°Then promise me. Promise that you shall take my side for as long as you live.¡± ¡°Of course. Though, I won¡¯t hesitate to make my voice known if I ever find cause to disagree with; don¡¯t think I can be swayed that easily.¡± ¡°Heheh, I shall depend on you then if that time ever comes.¡± Lorelai closes the distance and embraces him. It is different this time, for it is done so by her own will. Her own longing. ¡°The weight of a promise is great, Ascalon. You must never break it, for if so, I know not if I shall have the strength to trust another.¡± ¡°Rest assured. Nothing will separate us ever again.¡± This day has felt like a dream. He has experienced much - reflected on much - and though it may feel like a fantasy, there is no denying the warmth spreading throughout his being. There is no denying the tender hold around his waist. Just the two of them, together: joined as one. Except, they are not exactly alone. The Cherubim family stand off to the side, mouths outstretched into wide, gaping expressions of complete shock and remaining still as statues. It doesn¡¯t concern Ascalon much - the noble line has always been of dramatic flair - and surely enough, one of them breaks free from their suspension¡ªcollapsing onto the floor whilst unleashing a gasp that instantly tears apart the delicate mood. ¡°L-Lorelai!?¡± Dariel shouts, his voice awakening the other two from their stupor. ¡°This entire time it was you who¡ªoh, Stars. I¡­ It all makes sense now. How could I have not realized it sooner?¡± Their faces are quite amusing, especially Gadreel¡¯s whose skin has flared into a deep, scarlet hue. ¡°My dear, is it truly you? Hoh, this¡­ this revelation is much too shocking for an old man such as I. But truly, how joyous this moment is. How utterly joyous, indeed. Welcome home, Lorelai. Deborah is the last to make comment, though her surprise is shown in a much more simple matter: She falls flat on her back and mutters a single ¡°Hells¡± before fainting, her plight ignored by the other two rushing to Lorelai¡¯s side. She chuckles before the spectacle and, though Ascalon feels a slight uncomfortableness in her before their heartfelt compassion, welcomes the blubbering group into a large hug. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for not confiding in you sooner, Dariel,¡± she says, wiping at his tearful eyes. ¡°I suppose I was afraid¡ªafraid of failing to inherit her grace. Perhaps the miasma veiled my figure because I refused to acknowledge who I was, who I am, but no longer. From now on, I shall proudly face you all as the Lorelai of the present. ¡± ¡°I-I¡¯m just happy I can see you,¡± he mumbles. ¡°Now that you¡¯re back as our Throne, the city will surely be filled with hope again.¡± ¡°Hehe, I think it¡¯s a bit too soon for that, Dariel. I can¡¯t even manifest my wings anymore; what use is there in a Throne that can no longer fly?¡± ¡°You have lost thy wings?¡± Gadreel says. ¡°My, I have never heard of such an event before. Perhaps if I were to sift through the archives¡­ but what of the twin blades? Do they still respond to your call?¡± ¡°Twin blades? Ah, you mean these.¡± Lorelai¡¯s hand drifts above a pair of regular old sheathes. They appear to be of the traditional armaments given to the Polus knights, but when she pulls the handle out, the celestial blades of legend are unveiled before the world to see. Only, their appearances have changed. The gold and silver light no longer frolicks amongst the edges; a dulled grey sheen is all that remains. It is as if the blades are lying dormant, slumbering until they may be reawakened once more. ¡°I¡¯ve always had an odd feeling these blades and I are intertwined,¡± she mutters, gliding her finger along the rim. ¡°Even when I shambled through the forest, my grip never left their base. I couldn¡¯t bear to toss them aside, and yet there is a distance between us. Close, yet perpetually out of reach.¡± ¡°Curious. How curious.¡± Gadreel attempts to touch the end of what resembles the Solga, but a fiery burst sends him tumbling back with a loud yelp and a singed finger. ¡°Gah! Eh-hem, yes, it is as I thought. You are currently stuck between two worlds, my dear: neither rejected nor deemed worthy. The celestial armaments have acknowledged you still as their wielder, but they hide themselves away in an effort to protect thyself from the strain of their use. Until you regain the necessary strength, they shalt remain suppressed.¡± ¡°A pity, but I suppose there remains hope. There is much for me to do if I am to rightfully regain my seat.¡± ¡°Does that mean you will¡­?¡± Ascalon murmurs. She replies with a bright, beautiful grin. No more hesitation. No more fear. Her eyes are alight with conviction. ¡°Yes, Ascalon. I choose to remain as a knight. As your knight. And though I may be undeserving of the Throne¡¯s now, the morrow still holds endless potential. I will claim my title again: that is my promise to you.¡± ¡°Is that so? Hehe, I have a feeling that promise will be fulfilled soon. For the Lorelai I see is more resolved than ever before.¡± The sun begins to set, and the light within the chamber slowly darkens. Even so, Ascalon¡¯s world is as bright as can be. He has never felt happier, and for once, the future does not appear so frightening; rather, it speaks of a softly-whispered promise. It speaks of a bond, true. Chapter 27: A Phantom in the Night ¡°If the Thrones art our nation¡¯s firm base, then the Templars serve as the mighty branches affixed above¡ªeach one the leader of the Seven High Knight Orders and their respective noble line. The orders are responsible for a variety of differing duties - one such is blessed in the healing arts while another is dedicated to the study of Creation - and it is through their gathered union that our domain is safeguarded against all despicable threats. However, unlike the Thrones in which any may rise to the occasion, only one of the order¡¯s noble line can claim the Templar¡¯s mantle as their own. ¡°However, there lies an exception in but one: the Order of the Mending Virtue, in which Surasha Power currently reigns. None of the current Virtue are capable of inheriting the position; the only candidate among the living, Annalay, has long since abandoned her name. It will be years before a suitable knight comes of age, and thus Surasha pledged to lead until that time comes. ¡°It is a shame she wishes to depart from her role - I am sure none among the order would complain of her continued service - but that girl has never liked the burden of responsibility. She only perseveres now out of favor to her dear, quite frankly maddening, friend. If only Annalay would reconcile with her mother¡­ though I cannot fault her for acting as she has. Perhaps someday. An old man can dream.¡± - Chancellor Gadreel ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The Knight has made a grave mistake. Never in all its years has it allowed another to pry so deep into its being. Many have tried; many have failed. Yet here it lies: soul violated and unable to be rid of the King¡¯s tender voice. Ascalon was not the misty-eyed fool I was expecting him to be. Suspicion plagued his rigid countenance, and if I had truly claimed myself to be the one known as Celia, then the greatsword nestled upon his back would have sprung forth without a single morsel of doubt. He had waited for even the most minuscule of inconsistency to be let loose and give pardon for slaughter. There was no other choice; I had to don the visage of the one he loved most if I was to maintain my guise. It is not difficult for the Knight¡¯s remembrance to be invoked, nor is it difficult to set a clear boundary between past and present. So why? Why did I falter? This is far from the first time I have had to deceive another. Everything should have been under control, I should have had my emotions dulled long ago, yet all it took was a single instant for my safeguard to be pierced¡ªa crack in which my soul was laid bare. Never has this happened; never have I been so negligent. I do not understand. And when I saw his own heart, I could not look away. A golden cage was revealed before me, its bars hovering amidst a blinding blue expanse, and inside was a small, lonely child. His skin was sickly; his face was covered in dirt; and his body had long withered away into but husk and bone. Even so, that child struggled. He rattled against the cage and reached out to the sky beyond his reach. He knew it was a futile attempt, that such efforts will only serve to cause him more pain, but he refused to stop. His amber eyes never lost their shine; they continued to burn with an unceasing longing. I should have remained unfeeling, yet instead, I dared to harbor a despicable thought. I dared to think of his soul as beautiful. Was a spell used against me? No, Creation did not stir. Not a drop of his influence was sent forth. All he did was speak with affection¡ªwith a pure-hearted love brimming of naivety. How odd for such a person to exist. To be a leader of man whilst maintaining his childlike innocence. Has there ever been an Inheritor I slayed that was ever so gentle? No. Never, for Cosmos¡¯s curse has always led their kind into the maws of insanity. None who share a piece of that tearful being¡¯s Will shall ever foster in a peaceful life. Ascalon must have been no different - that sorrow in his heart speaks of a lifetime of regret - yet he remains unable to cast aside that which makes him soft. Humanity is a race of conflict. Every bit of misery in the world is wrought by their own hand, yet it is in moments of hardship they so resemble their creator¡ªresemble the Star the Knight failed to protect. Even now, as a shattered echo of what once was, their love has never wavered; it manifests as the earth and sky. As the formless divinity spread afar. And it is that love the Knight is now trying to destroy. ¡­ No matter. My plan has not changed. For so long as he believes me to be his beloved, I shall cling on to this loving ploy. Its current predicament is not particularly worrisome. Lorelai¡¯s standing is high; the people place a great deal of trust in her. Rather than a common knight with no power, a noble identity shall be useful in directing the politics of the kingdom¡ªto influence their goals to align with its own. But with greater standing comes greater risk of discovery, and not even an amnesiac facade will dissuade their suspicions for long. Polus must come to depend on it, to give such authority that they shall crumble without its command, but to do so will require a deep understanding of their affairs and customs. Fortunately, its current abode lacks not in material; the former Throne of Heaven appears to be quite the collector, for a large sprawl of books and scrolls dot the space of her former dwelling. A thick scent of waxy balm drifts throughout, settling into the musty pages and giving life to the miniature archive masking itself as a bedchamber. Her desk is more worn than the mattress abandoned to the side, but the Knight complains not, for it is thanks to her passionate pursuit that it shall spend a productive evening in good company. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. A loud thump interrupts its thoughts, and it turns around to discover a babbling Aegis flailing his arms about as if mimicking the movements of the winged ones. Their adventure in the skies has left quite an impression on him, thus he now attempts to manifest a wings¡¯ pair of his own¡ªthough the spirited effort only results in the knocking of tomes his weary caretaker has meticulously gathered and organized atop the bedside. Suffice to say, it is no longer organized. ¡°You will not succeed in that manner, child,¡± it says with a sigh whilst placing him out of the books¡¯ reach. ¡°It is simple to imagine oneself hiding from the world, but attempting to conjure a functioning appendage requires a more complex understanding. If you wish to fly, letting your body be carried by the gale would be a much more efficient, and straightforward, method.¡± Entrusting one¡¯s ability of flight to a destructible manifestation is impractical. The Polus only do so out of respect towards their ancestors, but all it has achieved is stagnating their growth. Even so, Aegis refuses to abandon his endeavor. The child¡¯s heart is set on adorning himself in a pretty set of wings. Ah, I see. You were captivated by Deborah¡¯s colorful display. In the end, you are human as well¡ªever so susceptible to glamor. But the Knight discourages him no longer; rather, it would be to its benefit if he succeeds. Though it may not match in appearance to the former Throne, presenting the feathery span shall further its claim of legitimacy. Aegis looks up with pleading eyes¡ªlips curving into a wide, trembling pout as he attempts to sway the being to his side. The attempt at manipulation is amusingly feeble, yet it can¡¯t help but feel a twinge of pride upon seeing him already so eager to exploit others. ¡°Hm, very well,¡± it says, to which the child rambles with triumph. However, his elation quickly disappears as the Knight picks him up and raises his body high into the air. ¡°If you are so devoted to this endeavor, then allow me to provide some assistance.¡± His face pales. His body tenses, and a low, deep grumble departs from his throat. Aegis knows what is about to happen; it appears he still hasn¡¯t forgiven its actions at the encampment, for a hostile aura of loathing begins to exude from every corner of his tiny body. ¡°If you¡¯ve succeeded once, then you can succeed again. Despise me all you wish, it won¡¯t change the effectiveness of this method.¡± It lets go, and Aegis falls. He screams, but the Knight doesn¡¯t move. He thrashes, but the Knight stands still. Closer and closer he plummets to the ground, yet not even a single feather sprouts from his back. If this continues, his face will smash directly into the hard tile. Hoh. He failed. Aegis is snatched right before such a fate can occur¡ªa cascade of tears and snot dripping down his pudgy cheeks. It tries to console him - to reassure that it would never truly put him in harm¡¯s way - but all its met with is the loudest shriek he can muster, sound echoing with the full might of Creation¡¯s wrath and forming a miniature whirlwind that causes the entire room to descend into a chaotic mess. Books fly, parchments twirl, and splashes of ink smother its golden hair in great streaks of black. Perhaps the Knight shall need to rethink its methods. Fortunately, it does not take long before exhaustion takes hold of his temper. Cries dwindle into hushed mumblings, and the child soon falls asleep. He looks to be at peace, as if the rage only a moment ago is but a distant memory. The aftermath, however, is all too real. It would appear the study session shall be delayed for now; only a thankless moon of cleaning awaits. At the very least, my detection feels not a soul in the vicinity so none should have been alerted of Aegis¡¯s¡ª The Knight lunges for the Celestial Armaments laying to the side and readies its body to strike. It was only an instant, a brief flash one could blame to be the wind, but there is no veiling that malicious intent. Something is watching us. However, not a breath is uttered beside its own; the Polus knights have long departed the castle. The only occupants are the King - still slumbering in his chamber - and the Seraph who are quartered far away from its own position. No one is awake, and yet the Knight can sense a shadow lurking about, ethereal, as if they are not of the physical plane. No, the presence is a phantom¡ªCreation¡¯s projection wrapped in a sickly, perverted desire. They search through the night, fondling the handles of every door and entryway, until their enigmatic hunt comes to an end at the Knight¡¯s room. With a touch, the phantom disappears, and the door leading outside changes. Not in appearance. Rather, in destination. A foreboding premonition besets its mind: If the Knight opens that door, then it shall not be the halls of the castle that meet its gaze. A separate space. A hidden realm. A floral smell wafts from the crevices, as if a luscious garden awaits on the other side, and a voice soon begins to drown the room in a gentle, deceiving lull. You poor, pitiful soul, the presence whispers in its mind. All alone in this dreadful place. But fret not, my lost little bloom, for you shall be afraid no longer. I am here to take you to paradise. You will be happy there. You will be safe, forever immortalized in a state of everlasting beauty. Doesn¡¯t that sound just wonderful? All you need to do is open the door. Trust in me, and open the door. It is a useless attempt. The source of the allurement appears to originate from the aroma, but such intensity will only succeed in beguiling the mentally weak. It preys upon vulnerability, upon dejection of oneself, and guides those afflicted with hopelessness into its slobbering maw. Unfortunately for the voice, the Knight is all too familiar with such stratagems, and it stands cautiously in place, waiting for their next action: Will the true body step out and meet its blade, or will they surrender and vanish into the dawn? Much to its disappointment, they choose the latter. The scent fades, the door returns to normal, and the corrupted husk of Creation creeps back into obscurity. What a degenerate presence: one filled with such unbridled evil. Just who could they be¡­ another nation¡¯s spy? No, the answer is much simpler. That evil befits that of a madman drunk on debauchery: a serial killer. Something sinister has hidden themself amongst this kingdom. It has seen their ilk time and time again: those consumed by a lust for blood. Their types are usually devoid of reason, mindlessly lashing out in a self-destructive purge. But sometimes - very rarely - there exists few who succeed in maintaining a sliver of rationality¡ªwho can blend alongside the masses without a hint of shame. That being has now marked the Knight. They may scamper away for now, but their pursuit shall begin again. And they will not stop until their prey is finally within reach. Chapter 28: A Mimic in the Day ¡°Life is beauty. Humanity is art. In every soul, no matter how wretched or filthy, there exists a special hue unique to them. A color. I have dedicated my life towards preserving those breathtaking masterpieces; yet, with each passing day, the people become more dull. More boring. Finding material is ever so difficult, even here in this nation of culture and creative expression. ¡°So imagine my surprise when a shade of complete, utter darkness appeared before me. Black. Blacker than the foulest night. Blacker than the deepest abyss. Wholly devoid of any color, yet that is precisely what was so¡­ so¡­ enrapturing. It soared high above, vanishing before I could even escape my own stupor, but that moment was all it took to enslave my entirety. I couldn¡¯t let it go. My every thought was consumed by that umbral divinity. Not even the King¡¯s amber soul could ever match their radiance. ¡°I have to protect it. I have to prevent it from being sullied by the outside world. It will be safe with me - safe in my garden of paradise - and so there it shall bloom eternal. For that is mankind¡¯s purpose: to be beautiful.¡± - ? ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The Knight has just finished cleaning the last of the room¡¯s mess when a knock softly taps on its door. The sun smolders high outside the window, a light-blue expanding to the far corners of the world, and Aegis remains deep in his slumber. ¡°Lorelai? Is it ok if I come in?¡± The voice of Dariel peeks through. ¡°Ah, just a moment please,¡± It responds, moving to the bed and tickling the child¡¯s belly. He groggily opens his eyes, mouth on the brink of unleashing an irritated grumble, but snaps awake upon hearing Dariel¡¯s ¡°Take your time!¡± and wriggles around as he attempts to conjure forth Creation¡¯s veil. It takes a few attempts - his addled state leading to a bizarre sight of smeared limbs and a floating head - but he eventually succeeds and is placed atop the Knight¡¯s head once more. The door opens and the young officer steps forth. His expression is shy: restless hands, a jittery step, and an anxious smile. It is the display of one failing to appear inconspicuous. ¡°H-How has your rest been?¡± he asks, mind clearly preoccupied with maintaining a polite front. ¡°Quite well, thank you,¡± it replies. ¡°But is something the matter? You seem a bit uncomfortable.¡± ¡°Do I? Um, I apologize. Truly, I didn¡¯t mean to¡ª¡± ¡°Dariel.¡± The Knight takes his hand and covers it with its own. The two stay quiet for a bit - his anxious breaths slowly return to a normal pace - and when he finally relaxes, it begins to speak in a mellow tone. ¡°You do not need to treat me any differently. No matter what my status was before, you are my friend; that has not changed. Unless, you want it to?¡± ¡°No!¡± he says with a small shout. ¡°No, I¡¯d like it if we could stay as friends.¡± ¡°Then talk to me like any other. If not in public, then at least when we¡¯re alone. Would that be okay?¡± Dariel beams and nods his head. ¡°Of course. I feel quite silly for being so nervous now.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be. In fact, I was nervous myself.¡± ¡°Really? That¡¯s hard to imagine.¡± ¡°Heheh, but it¡¯s true. ¡®How should I act now that my identity is certain?¡¯ I thought about it quite a lot¡ªhow to best conduct myself. But I realized there¡¯s no use worrying about such things. All I have to do is be myself, and if others find fault in that, then I will simply prove them wrong with my efforts.¡± ¡°It won¡¯t be difficult,¡± he says. ¡°Even before, all you needed were a few words to help me get out of my slump. If the court can¡¯t see your wisdom, then they¡¯re just a bunch of fools.¡± Dariel suddenly jumps up in shock. ¡°Ah, that¡¯s right! The court, yes. Ascalon asked me to bring you to the court when you¡¯re feeling ready. We don¡¯t have to go right now, but the elders are¡­ impatient, so to speak. It¡¯d really put their minds at ease to see your face.¡± ¡°My face?¡± It says, trailing a finger along the scarred lines of its cheek. ¡°Are you certain?¡± The entire left half of Lorelai¡¯s face is covered in old burn wounds, leaving behind leathery blotches of red as her skin peels back into an unsightly blemish, and what once resembled an ivory-white complexion has been besieged by countless gashes slicing deep and severing her lips into two wholes. I expected Ascalon to be undisturbed with her appearance due to his infatuation, but would the common person be so understanding? Beauty is a weapon in and of itself¡ªa weapon Lorelai does not wield, for she resembles that of a mutilated corpse rather than of the living. Will they truly not be disgusted before such a sight? ¡°Perhaps it would be better if I were to enter in full plate.¡± But Dariel shakes his head, gaze still the same as when they first met. Now that it thinks back, neither of the Cherubims displayed any sort of revulsion when it revealed itself. How odd. Are beauty standards different in this era? I suppose that is why she never sought for a healer. A peculiar taste, but it matters not to me. ¡°Your face is a symbol for us, Lorelai,¡± he says with a wide grin. ¡°A symbol of struggle. Of pride. That no matter how scarred we become, whether it be in appearance or heart, there shall always be a future that awaits us so long as we continue to fight. Don¡¯t worry, no one in this city will be repulsed by you. For you are the people themselves¡ªtheir spirit.¡± ¡­ Ah. I see. The Knight begins to feel a bit guilty for thinking such thoughts. It is a strange, uncomfortable feeling, and though it does not particularly enjoy demeaning the deceased, there is no point in feeling remorse over a misconception; yet, here it is¡ªhead hanging low in repentance. Ever since Ascalon has intruded upon its soul, these fickle, long abandoned feelings have been steadily rising back up. It does not like that. ¡°Speaking of full plate, I actually have a gift for you!¡± Dariel exclaims, rushing out of the room for a moment before returning with a large, weighty bundle wrapped in cloth. He clears his throat - stands up with a grand gesture - and takes off the covering, revealing a newly-forged set of armor. It shines with an ivory polish, and the design is similar to the set it saw on Lorelai¡¯s corpse back at the Aeternum. ¡°Ta-dah! A new and improved make of your previous armor, courtesy of the King¡¯s coffers. Isn¡¯t it a beauty?¡± ¡°My, it certainly is,¡± it says with genuine admiration. Very few of its bulwarks have been of this quality in the past; it''s a shame it shall need to be discarded later, but for now, the Knight will enjoy the marvel of its craftsmanship. ¡°I¡¯ll have to go thank Ascalon for the gift. A bit of fresh air will do me some good, anyways.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± Dariel asks. ¡°It¡¯s only been a day since you¡¯ve returned; even if they¡¯re a bit cranky, the elders can wait a while longer.¡± ¡°Everything will be fine, Dariel. I know my body best.¡± This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The officer leers at it with a squinted eye, carefully examining its expression for any hint of fatigue, but eventually he is satisfied and makes his way out into the open halls. ¡°Hm, alright. I¡¯ll wait for you outside, then. But you must let me know if you become tired at any point, ok?¡± ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll leave it to you.¡± Dariel exits with a chuckle, and the Knight begins to prepare for its encounter with the nobles. There shall be no trouble in imitating Lorelai¡¯s personality. From all I¡¯ve gathered thus far, she is a hero - a person of admiration - but such figures only require two qualities: to be strong and to be kind. How fortunate that this new identity is of such simple character. Its plans are progressing much quicker than initially anticipated, but it does not mind. The method is of ill concern; what matters is that this nation, everything, and everyone within shall soon be ensnared in its grasp. That is, as long as the phantom from the previous night understands their place. It knows not of how that being came to discover its presence, but if there is any threat of its true origin being revealed, then it will not hesitate to claim their life with its own hands. ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon ¡°My lord, the missing craftsman have still not been found. The bereaved families are starting to become hysterical, demanding for answers, but our guards have found naught a trace of their whereabouts. What are your orders?¡± Ascalon supposes it is only natural. When comes great joy, a new tribulation always follows in its wake. But this peculiar problem has persisted for some odd time now, and despite efforts from the local inquiry division, the court still remains utterly perplexed. ¡°I fear this case is not so simple as a drunken escapade, Chancellor,¡± he says to the exhausted elder. ¡°Indeed, my liege. ¡®Tis of strange occurrence, this dilemma. One I suspect to be of foul intention.¡± I cannot allow fear to fester amongst our populace, not in this time of uncertainty. Although Lorelai¡¯s return shall bring comfort for a short while, it will not bring back the sons and daughters, parents and siblings, and all others lost in the expedition. No, I have to solve this now before it grows into a frenzy. ¡°I agree, we can no longer treat this as a passing matter. From now on, the case shall be raised to a joint investigation between the knight orders and the court lawmen. Are there any objections?¡± ¡°None, your majesty,¡± all in the room declare. ¡°Very well, then,¡± Ascalon confirms. ¡°Let us start with the initial submission of request. Lead Officer of the Investigative Claims Department, please step forth and deliver your report.¡± The officer takes to the center and bows their head. ¡°Thank you, my lord. I will now begin my report. At the first hour after midnight last Sunday, our department received a request from a glassmith to find the first victim: a bricklayer working in the north side of the entertainment district. ¡°The requester was not concerned at first, it is common for foremen and the like to spend the closing hour at a local tavern, however, they soon grew concerned after a few hours passed with neither word nor return of the person in question. They reported the matter to us, and an on-duty knight from the Powers was sent to investigate. The bricklayer was never found.¡± ¡°What of the bricklayer¡¯s background?¡± Ascalon questions. ¡°Is it possible they were a spy of Caelum and escaped to report their findings?¡± ¡°None, my liege,¡± they reply. ¡°The bricklayer was born in the capital and has stayed within the city¡¯s border ever since. We have physical evidence of their identification tag along with their marriage certificate with the glassmith. They are a true Polus native, as are the victims of the next few disappearances. One is an actor at the Arthurian Theatre House. Another is a respected musician working for the Valkyrie Opera Company. Furthermore, there is even a report of a missing Seraph knight. Despite their differing backgrounds, the manner of the disappearances are always the same: They take place at night, no witnesses are ever present, and not a single trace is left behind. No body. Not even a footstep. They vanished into thin air, as if spirited away by some sort of phantom.¡± ¡°That is preposterous!¡± Gadreel interjects with a harrumph. ¡°We are bureaucrats, my dear. Our duty is to uncover the truth, not to believe in such whimsical happenings. No, this matter is the result of human intervention, I¡¯m afraid. We must acknowledge the existence of a potential slaughterer!¡± The court descends into a nervous mixture of agreements and vehement denials. Ascalon does not blame them for being skeptical; despite their ongoing war with Nox Caelum, the Castrum itself has been a sanctuary since its inception. None have succeeded in infiltrating its walls, thus the perpetrator of the disappearances can only be of Polus blood, and there are none would be eager to acknowledge their fellow kin capable of such heinous acts. Furthermore, It is no small feat to beat a knight of Polus, even more so when it comes to the elite echelon that are the Seraph, so if there truly is a hidden malefactor with the strength to commit such acts, then it is possible their identity is one of high position. That is what¡¯s most concerning of all: The slaughterer could be any one of them. Even so, disarray and suspicion must not be allowed to spread. A divided court will only succeed in aiding the killer¡¯s cause; if they are to uncover the truth, then they must do so whilst in mutual harmony. ¡°Everyone, remain calm!¡± Ascalon says with a booming cry. ¡°This session is not yet over. We will only discuss our findings after receiving the full facts of the case. Am I clear?¡± ¡°Yes, your majesty,¡± the room replies. ¡°Thank you. Now, let us hear from the surveillance and security unit. I call forth Templar Dismas of the Order of the Skulking Dominion to the center.¡± Not a body stirs in response to his call; not a sound is uttered forth from those in attendance. However, just as the court members start to look about in confusion, a hand emerges from the shadow cast by Ascalon¡¯s throne. It lunges forth, placing its murky hand upon the white marble, and slowly rises up into the light. A head appears, then a torso, a leg, until finally the being is revealed in full: a lanky man in black chain mail. His face is veiled in a featureless mask, body obscured to blend in with the darkness, and two daggers lay off to his side¡ªthe edge coated in a dripping, colorless liquid. ¡°¡­ Did¡¯ya call for me, Ascalon?¡± the man says. ¡°Sorry for the delay and all, but I¡¯ve been mighty busy the past couple o¡¯ days. There¡¯s a little phantom sneaking about - real good at stringing my scouts along. Can¡¯t catch ¡®m. Can¡¯t find ¡®m. I¡¯m starting to get a bit frustrated.¡± ¡°That ¡®phantom¡¯ is why I¡¯ve summoned you. It appears you¡¯re already familiar with the case, then?¡± Ascalon asks. ¡°The disappearances? Too familiar. After the Seraph kid was taken, one o¡¯ the instructor¡¯s asked me to investigate. Been searching day ¡®n¡¯ night ever since, but every time I find some sorta clue, it ends up being a bunch o¡¯ nothing. Don¡¯t know how they do it; I¡¯ve got eyes on every corner of this city and they still manage to evade my sight.¡± ¡°Are you certain it¡¯s a person responsible for the disappearances?¡± ¡°Absolutely. What¡¯s more, that thing¡¯s playing around with us. Mocking us. This ain¡¯t the work of a sane man; we¡¯ve got a really sick fella in this city, Ascalon.¡± Dismas¡¯s words push further unease upon the already anxious court. It doesn¡¯t help that his way of speaking is rather direct, but the Dominions have always been like that so there¡¯s not much Ascalon can do but try to keep the session in line. ¡°Have there been any suspicious entries at the border gate lately? Though the disappearances began a week ago, we cannot rule out the possibility of our perpetrator entering at an earlier time.¡± ¡°Not that I know ¡®f. The gate¡¯s been guarded tight as usual: identity, tag, certificate¡­ none ¡®r¡¯ getting in, and none ¡®r¡¯ getting out unless they go through my people first. And I trust my people, Ascalon. They ain¡¯t the type o¡¯ folks to get careless or accept bribes. There has to be a different way that damn phantom got ¡®n.¡± ¡°Do not worry, Dismas; I trust in your people as well. It is no easy duty to be on constant watch, but they haven¡¯t failed thus far and I believe they haven¡¯t failed even now. Whoever this madman is, their ability is of greater threat than we could have possibly imagined. The fault is not your own, I assure you.¡± Dismas stays silent for a brief second before nudging away with a shy turn of his foot. ¡°Ehm, ¡®Preciate it, your majesty.¡± ¡°The honor is mine. Thank you for your vigilance, and I trust you will persist with the investigation?¡± ¡°Course. I won¡¯t stop ¡®til that lunatic¡¯s head is in my hands.¡± ¡°Very good. You may leave.¡± Dismas bows and sinks back into the shadows, leaving the court to brood in their uncertainty. Not much has been discovered this session even with the collaboration between the two factions; however, at the very least, they are now certain of an intruder. It may not seem like much, Ascalon himself is rather disappointed with their lack of findings, but one must always look at the positives: with awareness comes action. And it is being aware that leads to a more effective approach. ¡°I believe we have revealed all we can,¡± he declares. ¡°Now, let us¡ª¡± But before Ascalon can proceed any further, the royal herald bursts through the chamber doors and fumbles their scrolls as they attempt to contain their own excitement. ¡°Entering the Dame of the boundless sky!¡± the herald chokes with eyes wrought in a blurry mess. ¡°Polus¡¯s¡­ Polus¡¯s ever-stalwart protector; maiden of the firm hand; and wielded of the twin celestial blades: Solga and Lunas. Bid welcome to our lady of the Exalted Throne of Heaven: Lorelai Principality!¡± Chapter 29: A Funeral for the Living ¡°Before Arthur¡¯s time, before the time of the first king, Freedom¡¯s chosen were of very different temperaments. Instead of concerning themselves with worldly affairs, they flew high out into the open skies. They drifted loftily as the wind blew them to faraway lands. Freedom was the gift to remain unbound - to live a life solely dedicated to pleasure - and to those fickle beings more selfish than all, the world existed to be their paradise. ¡°But Arthur despised those ideals. He forgo the tradition of wanderlust and chose to confine himself. To his people, to his duty, and to the kingdom which arose from flame and rebellion. They flocked to his side, begged for alms, and thus did he share a part of himself¡ªshared the fragments of Freedom¡¯s Will to his seven-most trusted knights. From that day, his descendants were irrevocably cursed. ¡°Arthur never did like being alone. He feared isolation more than any other¡ªfeared a fate in which he would be forever isolated. He was a man that could not live without praise, without adoration, and that need for love slowly grew into an obsession that consumed his entirety. It was a pathetic sight, watching a hollow husk deceive itself into being human. His was a madness that could never be satisfied. ¡°It was rather simple to gain access to his heart. I whispered words of comfort. I stroked his feeble, whimpering back. I became a beloved he could not be separated from, and when I slayed him at his most vulnerable, it was not betrayal that shone in his eyes¡­ but relief.¡± - The Knight ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon The King needs not even speak before the entire court rushes to Lorelai¡¯s side, feet storming the ground in great, thundering stomps. Robes are tangled. Tunics are frayed. But the once stately noblemen care not for their disorderly appearances. They surround her from all sides and sing cheers of joy. They cup her face and squeeze her cheeks in the manner the elderly always tend to so cherish. The scene is reminiscent of her return but a month before, yet the moment is more vivid¡ªa desperation born of uncertainty, one now dashed away by a single glance of her kindly face. Lorelai is quite surprised by the sudden shower of affection. She hides it well, but there is a shyness that tugs at the corners of her smile. An awkward ¡°thank you¡± and a whispered ¡°hello¡± here and there, all the while she stares at Ascalon with eyes pleading for help. He chuckles, for to see her with a bashful expression is a rare sight indeed, but the King is not one without understanding; the people before her are strangers now. Unfamiliar. And to receive such adoration solely due to one¡¯s identity¡­ he is familiar with that feeling of dissonance. ¡°Everyone, please, I understand your excitement, but I must remind you of Lorelai¡¯s current condition,¡± he says. ¡°Let us not overwhelm her.¡± The officials turn around and pout at him with a manner befitting that of a candy-starved child, but they are still nobles. Cordiality is their livelihood, and so they trickle onwards to their seats: backs straight, steps light, and handkerchiefs soaked. The only elder in the room still of dry eye is the jolly old Gadreel who now tut-tut¡¯s at the others with a pompous flair. ¡°Hohoh, to think our venerable court would descend into such chaos,¡± he teases, taking great pleasure in donning the guise of an astute gentleman. It almost makes Ascalon want to expose his phony facade. ¡°How odd. I seem to remember the sight of one peculiar Chancellor bawling their eyes out like a little babe,¡± he says with a mischievous chuckle. ¡°Why, it would not surprise me if their tears would have flooded the room in due time.¡± ¡°Ooh, whatever doth thou mean? I hath not an inkling of such occurrence.¡± he replies with feigned innocence, turning his back and playfully swaying about as if it will distract away from his guilty exposure. It is not a very convincing act, but it does serve to lighten the mood. Thanks to his comedics, the room has calmed down considerably - smiles aflutter all throughout the space - and Lorelai breathes a sigh of relief as a more comfortable energy settles into her being. ¡°I apologize for the intense reception, Lorelai,¡± he says, his own smile thankfully hidden out of sight. ¡°Thank you for coming, but are you sure in attending a session so soon? There is no shame in resting a little while longer, especially after all you have undergone.¡± ¡°Thank you, Ascalon, but I¡¯m alright now,¡± she begins, strolling to the center with a confident gait. And indeed, her appearance is much more relaxed than the day before. Whether it be due to the disappearance of the miasma, or simply attributed to the blessing that is a good night¡¯s rest, Lorelai faces him now with pride. Her eyes glimmer bright, no longer cast in a dim shadow, and her body exudes strength and authority from every surface. She has always been of strong will, but the knight of this moment is truly stunning. ¡°Besides, I have a most trustworthy friend by my side if I were to falter.¡± Dariel pokes his head out from behind her, seemingly manifesting into thin air as he bows to the King. ¡°Fear not, your majesty. I have already promised to whisk Dame Lorelai away to her bed if she shows even the slightest hint of exhaustion.¡± ¡°Hehe, that does put my mind at ease. I shall entrust her to you, Dariel.¡± It is fortunate Lorelai has already forged a friendly relationship with another. For her, in this land of strangers and the unknown, having a familiar companion will be of great comfort. Ascalon does feel a bit sad for being unable to fulfill that role, but he has his work. Documents must be perused; meetings must be led; and he is simply too busy to walk around the city with her. Dariel is no stranger to the districts and fun to be had about; he shall be a fine guide. ¡°Then let us proceed,¡± Ascalon continues. ¡°Now that you are here, and with the audience of the court, I¡¯d like to make certain of the events that occurred at the Alexandria¡ªas long as you are able, of course! Forgive me for rousing such memories, but we must glean all to be had if we are to plan any further.¡± The King does not want her to delve back into that murky ocean, yet¡­ he can feel that it is alright, for her heart beats with a firm determination. It is a powerful beat: stout and unyielding. It is the beat of one yearning to prove themself. And though no words are exchanged, there are times when speech is unnecessary. Where a glance is shared, and in their eyes is a doorway to that which cannot be hidden. Her eyes are clear right now; that is affirmation enough. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Lorelai looks up at him and smiles. It is not forced, nor is it pained. Hers is a smile ready to face the morrow. ¡°Do not worry, Ascalon. If I cannot face my past now, then I never shall. This must be done.¡± ¡°And you shall not do so alone,¡± he says. ¡°Let us start from the beginning. Your expedition did not encounter anything of note whilst in the Aeternum, correct?¡± ¡°Yes. To be more exact, there was naught but an endless sprawl of wither and decay. I do not know exactly what I had been searching for, but that feeling of frustration remains vivid in my mind: of loss and resignation. I¡¯m sorry, everyone.¡± The court members speak out to her with words of encouragement. ¡°Do not blame yourself, my lady!¡±. ¡°Perish the thought, my lady!¡±. But underneath those praising tongues is an understandable disappointment. Much has been devoted to her cause: trust, expectation, and a budding hope. To return empty handed is a result none have even imagined, yet here it is plain to see: failure. ¡°If the Comet wasn¡¯t in the forest, then so be it. That confirmation is valuable enough, and given the inactivity of the Caelum Empire of late, then we can be assured they are just as destitute,¡± he says in an attempt to calm the restless crowd. ¡°On the contrary, perhaps we are more fortunate after all.¡± And that fortune lies within the very nature of Lorelai¡¯s survival. ¡°Lorelai, last night you told me of a man adorned in strange, violet armor. He was the cause of the Alexandria¡¯s toppling, and he appeared to be the leader of the rusted legion. That man was Gravitas the Immovable; do you remember him?¡± Lorelai appears puzzled, but it is not due to his query. Ascalon¡¯s tone has shifted dramatically, every word bidding forth with a slight, sonorous quality. There is a reason for his blatant speech, but its purpose has less to do with his beloved¡¯s recollection¡­ rather, to draw attention from the surrounding nobles. ¡°Beside the battle itself, no. Did I have a history with him?¡± ¡°I suppose you could say that, but¡­ let us not talk about it here. Perhaps in a more private setting, but for now, I¡¯d like you to verify his identity before the court. Did he exert a strange energy when you clashed with him? Heavy, oppressing, almost as if an invisible force was pressing down on you?¡± ¡°Yes. Like a pair of chains, it restricted my movements. Sunk my steps deep into the dirt.¡± ¡°I see. And did he wield a great, spiked mace? The design is rather simple: black in color and made of alloyed steel. It should look exactly like weapon now on your back¡ª¡± Ascalon is unable to finish before the air becomes submerged in a collective gasp crying out in epiphany. The court is finally starting to realize his intention. They are finally starting to realize what Lorelai has achieved. ¡°This?¡± she asks, unsheathing the bludgeon of the former Commander. ¡°I, how did I get this again? After the blades rejected me, I had to find another weapon. So I¡ªI took what was nearest. It was atop a corpse, and that corpse was¡­¡± ¡°Lorelai. Do you remember what happened to that man? Did you slay him?¡± ¡°¡­ I remember now. That desperation. That vengeful desire to kill. My vision was blurry, throat plagued by a freezing tightness, whilst I could feel my blood flowing through my veins, burning. Burning. But I could not fall. My heart would not allow me to falter, so when I saw that shadow rushing in - when I saw death¡¯s grasp inching ever so closer to claiming my soul - I lunged forth. I raised the blades, and I¡­ I slashed. I severed him into two, and I collapsed into the puddle of blood wrought from his carcass. Yes, I slayed him.¡± The nobles abandon any last remnants at self-control and practically leap out of their seats in celebration as they sing and dance about with merry steps full of cheer. ¡°Hurrah! Hurrah! The Tyrant is dead! Hurrah! Hurrah!¡± Lorelai stands dumbfounded before the sight, the entire court enacting a miniature festival right before her very eyes at the mere mention of another¡¯s death, but she does not truly know how important this news is to them. Gravitas has long been terrorizing Polus since before even Ascalon¡¯s time. He has vanquished many a noble warrior, including the former Celestial¡¯s Throne. She must not know this yet, however; to do so now when recovery is within sight will only bring back painful memories. When the time is right, she will learn¡ªshe will learn that she has avenged her mother. Even the King finds it difficult to not jump out right now and celebrate with them. ¡°My word, to think this old man would live long enough to see that monster receive his due comeuppance,¡± Gadreel croaks. ¡°O¡¯ happy day. O¡¯ truly, what a happy day. With his death, I can finally face my comrades far out in the distant skies. Wait for me, my fellows. Thy feeble friend shall come to you soon.¡± ¡°Hehe, I¡¯m sure they can wait a little bit longer, Gadreel,¡± Ascalon says. ¡°Besides, our duty is not over just yet. Gravitas¡¯s death is a cause for celebration, but we must not forget the toll it has taken.¡± ¡°Pardon, my liege?¡± The King turns to face Lorelai. His demeanor is soft, a bit regretful, for what he is about to say will no doubt smother the joyous mood. Still, it has to be said. To not do so would undermine the sacrifices of those still buried in that forest. ¡°Lorelai, was there anyone else that survived?¡± Though Ascalon words it as a question, he does so more out of formality¡¯s sake. The answer is already known. ¡°¡­ No. I¡ªeveryone perished. Neither Polus knight nor Caelum Legionnaire was spared from the miasma once Gravitas¡¯s influence wore off. I was the only one to successfully endure.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± Gadreel mutters. ¡°Everyone. Even dear Celia¡­¡± Death is ever so familiar to the people of Polus, yet its sting never lessens. All that remains are memories of what once was and what shall never be again. Ascalon almost lost to that great, terrible grief, but he is lucky. She has come back, but the others are not so fortunate. Friends, lovers, family¡­ they are gone. But that does not mean they would wish for the living to join them. Rather than despair, they would want the people to smile. ¡°Everyone, heed my call!¡± he roars to the room with a booming command. The sound snaps them back to reality, forces their lowering heads to rise, and dominates over the previous somber air. All eyes are upon him. ¡°The summer¡¯s first breath will come soon. The calendar marks it as the next day of the sun, and it is then that we shall hold a funeral. It will be a grand funeral, one with every citizen in our fair city in attendance. We will weep for every lost knight. We will grieve for every passing kin. But make no mistake; this funeral is not one where we wallow in sorrow. No, this shall be a funeral for the living; for us to make peace with the departed and gain their blessing for the days that wait ahead. Are there any objections?¡± None. Not so much as even a faint murmur. The court is unanimous in their approval, and they soon descend upon their knees. They gently wave their hands to the side. Then, they arch their backs high and place their foreheads flat upon the marble. Body upon body lowers in succession, and eventually, Lorelai is the last to fall. Only Ascalon remains above, and he brings out the Mattatron from its rest, raising it to be bathed in the light¡¯s rays as it fills the room in glittering dots of amber crystals. ¡°Then let it be so. An official period of mourning has been set. In accordance to the bylaws of the kingdom¡¯s constitution, I shall now bless this city with the hymns of the great rite of burial. O¡¯ wondrous Cosmos, harken to our plea: ¡°May the children of Polus descend from the skies far beyond. ¡°May the souls of warriors and ancestors past mingle amongst the living once more. ¡°And may we all celebrate in glee: of life, of love, and of thanks to this hearth we call home. Together, united as one.¡± The dead are the dead. Someday, Ascalon too will join their ranks. But until that time comes, he will love this nation. It is his home, just as it is the home for many others: a place where all may come to find peace. ¡°The session is now adjourned. Everyone, you may leave. Ah! Except you, Lorelai. I¡¯d like to take a moment and introduce you to a very special friend.¡± Chapter 30: A Comforting Gaol ¡°It¡¯s hard to forget, sometimes. All the rage, all the pure, utter hatred I carried in my youth. No matter how many days pass by or how deep I try to drown myself in booze, those memories remain clear. They stick out like a bad headache¡ªalways lingering when you¡¯re at your worst. ¡°And of course, I do feel a bit embarrassed. There are things I could have handled much better, relationships I could have saved, but even so¡­ I don¡¯t feel regret. I was justified in what I did, and when I begin to think otherwise, I remember the pain she inflicted upon me. I remember the moments where it felt like my heart was being strangled, drowned, and all I could do was grit my teeth and hope my screams wouldn¡¯t leak out. All I could do was hold back my tears because I wasn¡¯t even allowed the freedom to cry. ¡°Crying was for the weak. Weakness was for the poor. I was forced to kill my feelings, and what did that bring? An emotionless doll. A toy for that woman to project her expectations on¡ªexpectations to be a leader. There was never any other path for me in her grand design, and so I did as she demanded. Even when my back was marked red with lashes, I tried my best to satisfy her. Even when I cried myself to sleep, begging, hoping, for someone to whisk me away into the night, no one ever came. All I could feel was just how alone I was, and that pain hurt more than any would she could ever inflict. ¡°And what disgusted me most was how she always tried to claim it was for me. ¡®This is for your own good, Annalay.¡¯ ¡®Everything I do is for you, Annalay.¡¯ ¡®Why can¡¯t you see just how much I care about you?¡¯ I loathed those damn words¡­ because it never allowed me to truly despise her. I know - in her own twisted way - that she really did care about me. Love me. So what was I supposed to do? It would have been much easier if she had always treated me like filth, but in the rare moments where I wasn¡¯t disappointing her in some way, we were happy. We would walk about the city, hand in hand, and visit the theatres. We would attend plays, watch musicals, and laugh and giggle and love the day for all that it brought. And whenever I got sick, she would be there by my bedside¡ªholding my hand and comforting me all through the night. ¡°Why couldn¡¯t she just decide? Why did she need to give me hope that all that pain would be worth it? I despise her. I wish for her to be dragged into the foulest pits of the hells, but I¡­ I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s a strange feeling: like I¡¯m just tired of it all. I can¡¯t even muster the effort to even think about her anymore. Heh, guess the drink¡¯s finally starting to work. Pour me another one, would you, Lorelai?¡± - Annalay Virtue of the Nature¡¯s Throne ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight Ascalon is now leading the Knight into the bowels of the castle¡¯s underground. The bright marble and gleaming white of the surface is gone, replaced by a rustic brown as aged wood now encompasses the worn exterior. It is reminiscent of a forest cabin: serene in some manner in the isolation it provides, yet stale with smells of musk permeating the tight corridors. This place is a prison, and judging by the commotion caused upon their arrival the previous day, the Knight can surmise who it is the King wants to introduce. ¡°This is a rather odd location to meet a friend,¡± it teases. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s Annalay we¡¯re meeting?¡± ¡°You would be correct,¡± he chuckles whilst carefully taking its hand and descending deeper into the darkness. With every step, a hollow echo resonates around them, ringing through the passage and empty cells slowly coming into their view. ¡°It must be a nostalgic experience for her, to return to the gaol. Well, it is used nowadays more as a penitentiary than any other; this space once was reserved for traitors of the nobility, but as time went on, we changed its purpose to serve as a rehabilitation center for our rather unruly knights. You can imagine a few days locked up in this dreadful place would make any soul feel repentant.¡± The Knight has seen worse: dungeons covered in an inescapable fume of flayed flesh and tortured bodies. The Polus gaol is quite the paradise in comparison. Though there is an air of stuffiness, the cells appear to have been wholly scrubbed clean of filth. The room within is also quite accommodating: spacious, a neat mattress, a private space to relieve oneself, and multiple bundles of cloth to serve as blankets. There are even a few odd candles to serve as a light source. For the winged ones who yearn for open skies this may seem to be torture, but the Knight finds it rather quaint. ¡°Why would Annalay feel nostalgic?¡± A strange aura envelops the King. Pity? Sadness? It is a mixture of many emotions: complex, but not entirely negative. There is a hint of fondness in his rigid stride¡ªof memories both fickle and comforting. ¡°Before she became a Throne, Annalay was known as the capital¡¯s resident troublemaker. She still is, to an extent, but in those early days there was no end to the chaos she stirred. Taverns were left destitute, woman found themselves by her bedside, and it wasn¡¯t rare to find her sprawled out on the street after a heated brawl. Hehe, the court really despised her, said it was unbecoming of a noble to behave in such a matter, but she cared not. So, they resorted to more drastic measures and imprisoned her in the gaol after every one of her antics. Unfortunately for them, Annalay actually grew to like sleeping in these worn cells; she spent more time here than in her own barracks.¡± I can see why. Sometimes, it is nice to have a silent shelter all to oneself. ¡°I never did find out why she liked being here so much. Perhaps this is the time to sate my curiosity.¡± Just as he finishes speaking, a loud, rumbling snore pierces through the quiet. It is a snore one cannot achieve without being thoroughly relaxed¡ªmind content with losing itself in the land of dreams in a manner only the defenseless can display. Ascalon has not lied; she really is at peace here. They walk up to her cell, and the first thing the Knight notices is its uniqueness compared to the others. The room is larger, hosting two mattresses in order to hold strong against her colossal size, and numerous little markings are carved upon the wood: some shaped into crude drawings while others appearing to be mere gibberish and long-winded rants. They are far from new, and judging by how faded the dents are, it estimates their creation to be about a decade old. There, stretched out on her back with nary a care in the world, is Annalay whilst still donned in her thorned armor. The spikes pierce the mattresses and leave behind holes of exposed cotton, but it supposes her position must be comfortable if she is able to slumber in such a position. Ascalon sighs and shakes his head. His expression conveys that of a disappointed sibling, and so he walks up to the bars, raises his hand, and knocks against the cell. ¡°Annalay, it is time to wake up.¡± She grunts and, with great effort, forces herself to rise¡ªdoing so one limb at a time as if her bodily function has yet to fully awaken. An arm is raised - sluggish and flopping about - and then so is the other until she collides face-first into the bed and pushes up¡ªall the whilst smacking her lips together in a bid to rouse her dry throat. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Mmm, Ascalon? That you?¡± Annalay mumbles, stumbling onto her feet as she tries to rub her eyes to no avail. ¡°Ah, that old codger probably told you to come lecture me, didn¡¯t he? That¡¯s fine and all, but I¡¯d appreciate it if you could give me a few more minutes. Hells know how long it¡¯s been since I¡¯ve had a nap this nice. It¡¯s good to be back home.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± he says with a small laugh. ¡°Unfortunately, your time here is at an end. I have another punishment awaiting you.¡± ¡°Stars¡­ really? Maybe I should¡¯ve caused more trouble.¡± ¡°Please don¡¯t. Besides, I think you¡¯ll quite like this punishment.¡± ¡°Hoh? Sounds like you¡¯ve got something real fun in store for me. Is that about Celia?¡± ¡°Well, why don¡¯t you see for yourself.¡± Ascalon steps back and waves the Knight forward. And as it does so - the candlelight illuminating its armor in a cloak of rippling flame - it is as if the Nature¡¯s Throne has just bore witness to the arrival of a divinity. Her voice becomes silent, she collapses onto her knees, and her hands grope her own body, smacking herself as if the pain will cause the sight before her to disappear. But it does not. This is reality, and as soon as she comes to that realization, Annalay springs forth and bends the cell bars back¡ªripping them apart effortlessly as if they¡¯re made of clay. In an instant, the Knight is once again trapped in her hold. But this time is different. This is not the hold of one welcoming back a beloved friend. This is the hold of a desperate little girl, clutching onto the manifestation of her hope. Her savior. The one who gave her the courage to rebel. It does not understand these feelings emitting from the burly woman, but such peculiarities have become all but common lately. ¡°It really is you, isn¡¯t it?¡± She says with a trembling whisper. ¡°Hells, I¡­ I really am a fool. Didn¡¯t even notice the entire time we were together. Some friend I am, huh?¡± The Knight strokes her back and allows itself to stay with her in the moment. Love is a powerful thing; it turns even the most wild of souls into a fragile, bleeding heart. ¡°Oh, Annalay. Dear, sweet Annalay: Of course you wouldn¡¯t have known. I¡¯m not Lorelai anymore; not the same, at least. I¡¯ve changed. But, even so, I¡¯m still here. I¡¯m still alive, and I have the chance to strive towards a new me, so please don¡¯t blame yourself. From now on, I¡¯d like to make new memories with you¡ªto start from the very beginning as a friend. Is that ok?¡± She pauses, and in her helm¡¯s slits is an onslaught of thoughts. There is torment in them. There is longing. But, above all else, there is a wish for fellowship once more. ¡°Heh, I¡¯d like that. I¡¯d like that a lot. But you¡¯re wrong about one thing: You are still Lorelai. A different one, sure, but even now I can feel that you¡¯re the same as ever.¡± Annalay lets go, hesitantly and with a shaky breath; she steps back with an uneven gait until her body rams into the remnants of the cell¡¯s bars. There is still something that preoccupies her mind, but she tries hard not to show it¡ªthe worry hidden beneath her outer bulwark. The Knight believes it knows the source of her behavior, and it has to do with its first assumed identity. ¡°Just tell me one thing,¡± she begins, voice breaking with an obvious melancholy. ¡°Is everyone else dead?¡± ¡°¡­ Yes.¡± ¡°Even Celia?¡± ¡°I saw her body. She¡¯s gone.¡± ¡°H-Hah.¡± The Nature¡¯s Throne struggles to keep herself standing, but she remains stoic in the end. Or rather, she has already long come to the truth. To have it finally confirmed, however, shreds away at any vestiges of erstwhile hope¡ªno matter how implausible it may have been. Still, despite the grief, there is a peace in her appearance. Peace in knowing she need not suffer under the worry of an ambiguous fate. Her friend can finally rest. ¡°Right, it¡¯s a miracle you were even able to get out. And while Celia¡¯s strong, she¡ªah hells, did you really have to go and see the Stars before me? Guess spending all that time cooped up here made you soft. I always did tell you to get some fresh air once in a while, and look at you now. You better be feeling sorry up there for leaving us behind, damn idiot¡­¡± The Knight doesn¡¯t say a word. Sometimes, silence is more comforting than any consolation. Annalay wishes to cry in silence, and so she does. All it can do is foster a safe haven for her¡ªa retreat where she may let loose her emotions unburdened. Ascalon appears to have the same sentiment, and so the three of them pass the time together, sharing in a private period of mourning. When her tears have finally dried, she makes no attempt to put on her previous facade of unruliness. This must be the true Annalay: a thoughtful, softhearted woman full of care. That she now bares herself shows her trust in the Knight¡­ a trust that will be cherished very, very well. ¡°Sorry. I¡ªforget you saw that,¡± she says with an uncharacteristic meekness. ¡°Heh, sometimes you really need to let out a bawl. People aren¡¯t meant to bottle up their emotions; being true to myself is how Celia would want me to carry on. Though, it doesn¡¯t change how embarrassing this is.¡± ¡°I, for one, am quite honored to see a new side of you,¡± Ascalon says with a perhaps poorly timed attempt at reassurance. ¡°Oh, shut up your majesty. You¡¯re only making this worse.¡± ¡°Ah. I apologize.¡± The Knight bursts out laughing with a strange, exhilarating rush of delight it has not thought possible of itself. Its body doubles over, hands desperately clutching its stomach in an attempt to calm the joy spilling forth without abandon, and soon tears from its own eyes begin to flow out in a cascade of hilarity. It does not know why its acting in such a manner. Is it because of Annalay¡¯s flustered tone? Is it due to Ascalon¡¯s clumsiness, his demeanor abashed as if he¡¯s a plump-cheeked child being scolded by their caretaker? It does not know. This feeling is frightening, foreign, and yet it can¡¯t help but give itself to this bliss. How terrifying. How utterly baffling. And yet, I cannot stop. Why? I¡ªthis isn¡¯t right. This is the second time I¡¯ve been subjected to such abnormal behavior. Has a curse truly been beset upon me? The other two join along with its merry fit, laughing along as they surround it in a wide hug from all sides. There is no escape from their affection, and most concerning of all, it doesn¡¯t want to. The Knight feels a bit of kinship with them in this moment, as if it truly is the Lorelai they have come to love with all their warmth. But it must never forget: the Knight is an imposter¡ªa creature only wearing the skin of the one they so adore, slain by its own hand. It doesn¡¯t deserve this happiness. This life is built on deception. Eventually, it will all come crumbling down, and the only thing that shall await it is further sorrow. Remember who you are. Remember your duty. ¡°I-I¡¯m so sorry,¡± it says to the giggling pair. ¡°I don¡¯t know what came over me.¡± ¡°Ah, it¡¯s all fine. I think that little laugh brought me back to my good ol¡¯ self, anyways,¡± Annalay says with a hearty squeeze from behind. ¡°Come to think of it, was this really supposed to be my punishment? I doubt me blubbering my eyes out was what you wanted, Ascalon.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right, I nearly forgot!¡± he says, leaning in close to Annalay¡¯s side and patting her shoulder. ¡°You are correct. Your actual punishment is to escort Lorelai through the city.¡± ¡°Hm? That doesn¡¯t sound so bad.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad you think that way. Because your first destination is the Virtue¡¯s central office.¡± Annalay¡¯s mood shifts in an instant. She stiffens in place, hands clenching together with such intensity that they begin to tremble, and a layer of venom coats her next few, furious words. ¡°Is that hag still there?¡± she growls with the savagery of a wild beast. ¡°Yes, Annalay. And she¡¯s waiting for you. She¡¯s been waiting ever since your return, but I wasn¡¯t able to find the right time to inform you until now.¡± ¡°¡­ Damnit.¡± ¡°Please. Surasha is there as well, and I¡¯m sure you know as well as I how much she¡¯s missed Lorelai. If not for me, do it for her.¡± Annalay doesn¡¯t respond. She merely begins to walk away with lumbering, weighty stomps. It can see her every move is instilled with a suppressed wrath, and yet she tries her best to remain carefree as usual¡ªhowever poorly veiled. ¡°Come on, Lorelai,¡± she eventually grumbles. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡± Chapter 31: What Could Have Been ¡°I don¡¯t remember my family at all. Heck, I don¡¯t even know what their faces look like. My earliest memories are of Ascalon, the forest, and a constant feeling of¡­ exhaustion, I guess. It¡¯s hard to explain, you know? To describe that constant hunger gnawing all the way down to your bones. To explain that sort of hollow feeling that sits right in the center of your stomach. Ah, I¡¯ve never been good with words, but you get the idea: It wasn¡¯t a very pleasant time. ¡°But despite that, I never really felt any fear because I knew Ascalon would always be there for me. When I got so thirsty it felt like daggers were digging deep into my throat, he¡¯d be there, rocking me back and forth while giving me the last bits of water we had. Whenever I got so hungry it felt like my insides were trying to rip themselves out, he¡¯d sing, comforting me with old fables while stuffing my face with the nuts and berries he could find that day. It wasn¡¯t a great life, but I felt happy. I depended on him. I trusted him. ¡°And then he left. When he got those damn wings, when those knights came and proclaimed him as the next Ruler of Freedom, he abandoned me and shut himself off in that castle. No matter how many times I tried to see him, I¡¯d always be turned away. He didn¡¯t want to see me anymore, and that thought hurt more than any hunger or sickness I felt in the forest. ¡°Did he truly love me, or was I just some substitute for him to play hero? Every time he sung to me, played with me, did he see me as his sister? No, I was just a doll. My only purpose was for him to feel good about himself and to stave off his own loneliness. Once he found other people and no longer needed me to be his helpless little damsel, I was tossed away. He had an entire kingdom¡¯s worth of people now to tout his heroism. I was just a reminder of his dirty little past.¡± - Surasha Power, Templar of the Mending Virtue ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight ¡°How¡¯re you doing under there, Lorelai?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine. Thankfully, it¡¯s a cool day today. The wind feels nice.¡± After Annalay¡¯s release from the gaol, the Knight strolls along with curious steps upon the busy roads of the city¡¯s districts. A large, dark cloak currently covers its body, and while it is interested in seeing the reactions of the common people toward their beloved Throne, Ascalon wishes for its identity to remain hidden for now. ¡°The time is not yet right,¡± he has said. ¡°We must wait for when your return bears the most celebration. The funeral shall be that moment, to shine a ray of hope amidst the gloom of mourning, and so I must apologize: only the court and those of upper stature shall be privy of your survival.¡± Ascalon is quite the schemer. It has no qualms with such a plan, but to use only a cloak to serve as its covering is¡­ a rather curious choice. The Knight stands out greatly, especially within this district of refined air and elegant architecture. The people walking about are dressed in tight suits of all sorts of colors - ties covered in patterns ranging from flower petals to wings - while their briskly walk conveys that of a practiced mannerism. How does such a populace react to a suspiciously concealed stranger? With suspicion. Fortunately, Annalay¡¯s presence limits the worst of their skepticism to passing glances and faint murmurings. None dare to approach for as long as she is here; her appearance is easily recognizable, after all. And after listening to stories of her exploits, it doesn¡¯t fault the people for having an apprehensive gaze. The Throne in question is unbothered by their stares, however, and proceeds to stomp through the streets while excitedly babbling on as its tour guide. ¡°This place¡¯s where the Virtues are mostly huddled up,¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯s not that bad, but I¡¯ve never liked being here much. All of the districts maintained by the knight orders tend to be real strict with their rules. You can tell how posh they try to act just by looking at the people lingering about.¡± ¡°Hehe, I imagine the entertainment district is where you much prefer to be.¡± ¡°Aw, am I that obvious? There¡¯s no better place if you want to have some fun. The only things around here are hospitals and medical ateliers, and I¡¯m not really suited for the healing arts. Surasha¡¯s much better than me¡ªah, right. Do you remember Surasha at all?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid not. Is there anything I should know before we meet?¡± ¡°Well¡­ nah, you¡¯ll be fine. The girl¡¯s adored you since she was up to my knees. The real problem is going to be that hag waiting for us.¡± There it is again: a sudden shift of pure hatred in her voice. Whoever they are, they must have committed a serious slight to have garnered such disgust from Annalay. While she is rather eccentric, the Knight has never seen her act with intentional malice. Hidden beneath her rough facade is a caring soul, laid-back and carefree, and a thick skin unbothered before contempt. She is not one to be offended so easily. ¡°Your tone is quite harsh,¡± it inquires. ¡°Who exactly are we soon to meet?¡± Annalay pauses for a moment, hanging her head back and grumbling with an indecipherable gibberish. She looks apprehensive, standing still while tapping the end of her sole against the hard pavement, but eventually an answer parts from her lips. ¡°My mother.¡± Ah, I see now. A tale as old as time. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. ¡°Do you want me there? By your side?¡± it asks. ¡°¡­ Yeah. I¡¯d appreciate it. Don¡¯t think I could stomach her otherwise,¡± she says while closing in for a thankful hug. ¡°Damn. Speaking of which, looks like we¡¯ve made it. Hah, I was hoping to stall for a little bit longer.¡± The two stop and are greeted by a large fenced gate. A courtyard blanketed in greenery lies yonder in which hurried footsteps of those wrapped in white and red robes plague the ears. An endless mass of healers and apothecaries trickle back and forth, but lying farther beyond, a giant mansion watches over them all, and a stone effigy of a staff covered in snakes hangs above the rooftop. It is an odd figure, especially for those who proclaim themselves adheritors to medicine, yet strangely it fits well with the antiquated building. ¡°Weird sight, isn¡¯t it?¡± Annalay says beside it, her eyes also fixated upon the aged sculpture. ¡°There¡¯s a reason for that ugly thing up there, though. Poison and Venom: They seem harmful at first glance, but if you mix them up just right, even those toxic things can become a medicine. The problem is in finding the right dosage. Heheheh¡­ trust me, it¡¯s not a fun time.¡± She absentmindedly reaches out to her neck and scratches. Her gauntlets grind against the armor, but she notices not its futility. Scratching, grating, harder and harder as the screeching metal begins to attract attention from the surrounding people until, eventually, her senses return. And all that remains is an anxious crowd and a dazed Annalay. ¡°Hells, I really am coming back here, huh,¡± she mutters to herself, more as a dry statement than any other. ¡°Wonder how she looks now. How many years has it been again? A lot. A damn lot. Stars, I don¡¯t want to see her face¡­¡± ¡°Annalay,¡± the Knight says, patting her shoulder with a soft touch. It seems to work, for her nervous ramblings start to settle. Then she goes quiet and turns to face it. ¡°Annalay, are you listening to me?¡± ¡°Oh. Um, yeah. My bad. I just¡ª¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re acting this way, nor do I wish to pry into your private matters. But know this: Whatever you are feeling right now? It will get better once you go in. What shall soon occur, what is going to be¡­ do not let those thoughts scare you away lest you be filled with regret of what could have been. I will be with you, so let go of your worries. Trust me.¡± ¡°I¡ª¡± Annalay starts to protest. But her body betrays her will, and so she slumps over. Silence reigns for a time, but then a deep, rumbling groan emerges from her being. It escapes with a quiver, rattling the gate¡¯s bars and toppling the less-balanced onlookers flat onto their rear, then a large smack silences her voice¡ªa smack wrought from her own hand onto the side of her face. ¡°You¡¯re right. I should see her at least one last time. I owe that much, at the very least.¡± With a firm step, she walks up to the gate and breaks through the bars. It¡¯s not as if she¡¯s stopped by a lock: the metal poles simply crumble and bend as she moves past. How very¡­ like her. The destruction draws ire from the more daring Virtue knights, but they are quickly silenced. She only needs to stomp once upon the ground to bring forth a quaking tremor, and soon, none are left standing beside the two marching Thrones. They reach the entrance door, and then they step inside. An atrium of blood-red carpets and crystal chandeliers reveals itself, along with a horde of the Virtues quickly filling in the space and approaching them with weapons raised. ¡°Gahaha! Quite the opening reception,¡± Annalay says, and for an instant, the Knight can see a blazing green glow emanating from her helm. ¡°You lot have gotten ruder over the years. Not sure if that¡¯s Surasha¡¯s influence or that hag¡¯s, but I like it. Makes me feel better for what I¡¯m about to do.¡± A shrill voice echoes from behind the crowd. It is familiar, and the Knight needs not wait long before the source is revealed¡ªslowly striding forth as the Virtues part to the side. ¡°Please don¡¯t, Annalay. I¡¯m already drenched in enough work as it is. What in the Stars name are you even doing here, anyways? I thought you despised this place.¡± The Knight Templar Surasha stands before them, arms crossed and glaring at the Nature¡¯s Throne with a mixture of amusement and wariness. ¡°Wait a minute, aren¡¯t you supposed to be imprisoned? I thought you¡¯d stay down there for a couple of days at least before breaking out.¡± ¡°That was the plan. Unfortunately, I¡¯m here on official business. Preferably in private.¡± Surasha quickly catches on and waves the others off. The Virtues hesitantly return back to their duties, and the three make their way towards a small office on the upper layer. The space is decorated oddly, but it has a certain charm to it: dark wood makes up the furniture while cabinets bursting with papers are shuffled off to the corner. There are even the occasional potted plants placed here and there, although the arrangement is rather disorganized¡ªa bit messy. ¡°So, what do I owe the pleasure?¡± she asks, turning her head to the still-veiled Knight. ¡°Doubt you came here just to visit little ol¡¯ me.¡± ¡°Ah, come on. Do I really need a reason to see my favorite lass?¡± ¡°Annalay. The last time I tried to bring you here, you threatened to wipe this place off the city map.¡± ¡°I¡¯m still thinking about it.¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather you didn¡¯t. Is this about Celia? Did something happen to her?¡± ¡°About that¡­ the survivor wasn¡¯t Celia.¡± ¡°Huh? Oh. That¡¯s¡ªum, your judgement¡¯s usually pretty good. That¡¯s a surprise. Wow, so she¡¯s not back? I¡ªStars, to think I actually had a little bit of hope there. Celia¡­ well, who was it then? Someone from the Virtues?¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s better to see for yourself. You can take off the cloak now, Lorelai.¡± ¡°H-Huh? Did you just say¡ª¡± The Knight tosses away its shroud and lets the golden sheen of its armor shine bright amidst the dimly lit room. It cannot see Surasha¡¯s face, but it can hear her plainly¡ªhear her guttural cry as she jumps up and crashes directly into its chest. Her hands grope alongside the sides of its helm and latch on with a tightness determined to never let go. Desperate. Crazed, as if teetering on the precipice of insanity. ¡°F-Face. I need¡ªI need to see your face,¡± she chokes with a delirious whisper. ¡°Please, please, please, I¡ªyou won¡¯t trick me. I won¡¯t be deceived by false hope. Not again. Not until I see, ugh, see your¡ª¡± Surasha practically rips off the helm from the Knight¡¯s head and sends it flying away. Once its features have been bared before the world, she stares at it. She stares at the burn mark, she stares at the gouges, and she stares at its severed lip¡ªslowly tracing her finger along the lines and across every surface of its mutilated skin. But far from being repulsed, she shivers at the touch, treating every jagged surface as if it¡¯s a delicate sheet of glass. She caresses its face from top to bottom until there is nothing left to be touched, breath gasping in delight at every moment. ¡°It really is you,¡± she says through her tears. ¡°You came back. You came back to me.¡± ¡°¡­ Yes. Yes I have, Surasha,¡± it soothes, rubbing her back and lending its shoulder for her to cry upon. ¡°And I promise: I will never leave you ever again.¡± Chapter 32: A Daughters Virtue, A Mothers Regret ¡°When I first rose to the title of Throne, I was ambushed by Xeros. He was much more active in those days, leading the war front from the safety of his veiled seat. Never once did he take to the field personally, and even now I still do not know what powers he truly wields. That uncertainty made me anxious, and in the folly of my youth, it made me reckless. I hated those corvantine eyes¡ªeyes that viewed me, viewed the entire world, as inferior. I sought to bring him down, and in doing so flew straight into his trap. ¡°I lost many faithful knights that day. And many more returned home with scars that would make even the most unflinching of souls recoil back in disgust. Not even our best healers could mend those wounds, and so they were discharged¡ªforced to live out their days ostracized from the ones they fought so hard to protect. Honor, valor, loyalty¡­ all it took was a single look at their disfigured faces to rip it all away. It didn¡¯t matter that they served. The people only saw grim reminders of the war; they were reminded of the fear, the unease, of the forces advancing ever so closer. The veteran knights were treated as symbols of misfortune, and I was solely to blame. ¡°What could I do for them? How could I get rid of this stigma attached to their wounds? The answer was really quite simple: I stopped treating myself. When my face was carved in two, I kept the severed remains of my lips. When my face was cast awash in flame, I gritted through the scorched flesh. With every campaign my scars grew until the Lorelai of before was but a distant memory, but I never regretted my decision for a moment. The people began to see these wounds not as something to be ashamed of, but to be honored. To give thanks to those who have sacrificed so much.¡± - Lorelai Principality, the former Exalted Throne of Heaven ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight ¡°Sorry,¡± Surasha murmurs, her hands still clinging tight onto the Knight¡¯s waist. ¡°I¡¯ve just been¡­ I¡ªit¡¯s been really hard, these last few weeks. I missed you. A lot.¡± ¡°You have nothing to be sorry for,¡± it says. ¡°Hold onto me for as long as you wish.¡± ¡°Hehe, I¡¯ll do that.¡± The King¡¯s sibling has quite the obsessive nature. The Knight needs not even stoke its beguiling aura much to have her wholly dependent on its presence. That is good; it will be of much help to have the support of an entire order. Ascalon and Annalay are of a differing faction, so it must reach out to as many branches of the administration as it can. ¡°Ascalon sends his regards, by the way,¡± Annalay says whilst sinking into her seat and watching the scene unfold before her with an entertained chortle. ¡°Can¡¯t you just forgive him already? The poor man¡¯s pitiful enough as he is. You know he loves you.¡± Surasha¡¯s response is quick and curt, as if spending another moment even thinking of the King is beneath her. ¡°You know full well about how hard it is to forgive, Annalay.¡± ¡°Yeah, I know. But I¡¯m working on it, you stubborn lass. Why do you think I¡¯m here in the first place?¡± ¡°With your temper? I thought today was the day you decided to finally tear your mom apart.¡± ¡°Eh, we¡¯ll see. But at least I¡¯m making the effort, you know? At least go spend a day together. Take him out for some fun or something: Get him drunk. Stars know the last time he¡¯s left that stuffy castle of his. Besides, no matter what you think about him, he does care about you. I can¡¯t say the same for that hag.¡± ¡°Annalay¡­¡± Surasha¡¯s voice drops, and she slowly leaves the Knight¡¯s lap to give the brooding Throne a comforting hug. ¡°Jezebel might seem like a cold woman at times, but she isn¡¯t all bad.¡± ¡°Gah, don¡¯t say that. It¡¯s weird hearing her name.¡± ¡°What, am I supposed to just call her advisor, then?¡± ¡°I just don¡¯t like it. She¡¯s always been mother or madam to me. Well, not anymore at least. We cast aside those ties, and I doubt her nature¡¯s changed much since then.¡± ¡°You might be surprised.¡± ¡°By what, how much she despises me?¡± ¡°She talks about you sometimes.¡± ¡°So she¡¯s even resorted to cursing my name in public now, how quaint.¡± ¡°Annalay!¡± Surasha smacks the sides of Annalay¡¯s helm and raises herself until the two are face to face. The futile back and forth has clearly left her frustrated, but above all else, there is a yearning in her movements¡ªa yearning to properly convey the words tumbling awkwardly about her throat. ¡°Stars, how do I say this¡­ it¡¯s the opposite Annalay. She¡¯s proud of you, and whenever she talks about you, there¡¯s this¡ªum, light in her eyes? It¡¯s warm. A bit soft, and while her face is usually all stone-like, it always relaxes when your name¡¯s mentioned. She doesn¡¯t show her emotions much, but I can tell that she really misses you.¡± Annalay attempts to appear indifferent, but the Knight can see an uncomfortable shuffling in her body¡ªrestless, and slowly loosening. Her figure is not so stiff now, but a droplet of hesitation remains: one of doubt and a lifetime of resentment. ¡°I really find that hard to believe, Surasha,¡± she mutters. ¡°That hag, of all people, praising someone? No, her pride won¡¯t allow that. It goes against her very beliefs. ¡®Vulgar¡¯ or so she would say. Inelegant. The only time she¡¯ll praise someone is when they¡¯re deep in the grave or to manipulate others into doing her bidding. That¡¯s the kind of person she is¡ªnot this kind old elder facade she¡¯s been showing you.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± Surasha relents. ¡°But¡­ I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a facade. To me, she seems genuine¡ªat least when she¡¯s talking about you. I don¡¯t know what she was like before, and I don¡¯t think it matters. Right now, you should see for yourself if it¡¯s all a lie.¡± ¡°Now?¡± ¡°Hehe, I doubt your entrance went unnoticed. She¡¯s probably waiting for you at the end of the hall.¡± ¡°Hells¡­ that¡¯s just like her: acting all dignified.¡± Annalay sighs and leans back as far as she can into her seat. Her gaze is focused on the ceiling, but her mind is somewhere else. There¡¯s a dryness in her voice and a hint of something else¡ªa combination of reluctance, contemplation, and acceptance. It¡¯s not the most firm of resolutions, but it will do. If they are to meet, then she will be fine as is. ¡°Are you coming along?¡± ¡°No. I don¡¯t think I should,¡± Surasha says with a sly shake of her head. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not meeting her alone. Either Lorelai comes or I don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Hm, I think that¡¯s fine. She¡¯ll probably be really happy seeing her anyways.¡± With a grumble, Annalay stands up and heads for the door. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Lorelai. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can get out of this place.¡± ¡°Remember what I said before, Annalay,¡± it says, bidding Surasha a goodbye wave and following the Throne out into the hall. ¡°Do not let regrets blind you.¡± ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll try.¡± The two walk forward with echoing steps. The hall is abandoned, and the only sound coming forth is from down below¡ªback in the atrium where the Virtues can be heard scrambling about after the sudden commotion. Annalay doesn¡¯t say a word, but it can feel her tension steadily rising. Still, she continues, and as their long march comes to an end, they are faced with a small, weathered door. Its age is apparent, and the wood is far more worn than the others passed by. Annalay reluctantly moves to knock on the base, but a commanding voice rings through before she has the chance. ¡°I can recognize those crude stomps anywhere. Do come in, would you Annalay?¡± She mumbles a curse to herself, teeth grating as her hand struggles between moving for the handle or curling into a fist, but her self-control wins out in the end and she pushes the door wide open. There, sitting elegantly in the midst of a faded, pale interior, is a frail woman with dull grey hair. She is much smaller than the Knight has expected, and contrary to her hardy voice, her appearance is feeble: sagging skin, tired brown eyes, and a meekness unbefitting of one with her stature. Yet, there is an air of authority that lingers in her movements: subdued, but a phantom hides within¡ªa remnant of a woman who once reigned above all others. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Please, take a seat,¡± the woman says, beckoning them towards her desk. A clay pot lies in the middle, and two ornate cups have already been set for them. ¡°I just brewed a fresh batch of tea. I do hope you will enjoy it.¡± ¡°¡­ I thought those kinds of things were beneath you,¡± Annalay mumbles. She has changed drastically, no longer harboring that guarded vigilance from before. Now, her gaze is bitter - almost sarcastic, as if laughing at herself for being so hesitant towards such a frail husk. ¡°Don¡¯t mumble, dear. It¡¯s beneath you.¡± ¡°Why the hells do you care about how I speak?¡± ¡°Language, Annalay.¡± ¡°Stars, you¡¯re insufferable¡­¡± ¡°I have nothing but time these days,¡± she continues while ignoring her defiant daughter. ¡°It was inevitable that I would come to fancy a hobby, and I do quite like the art of making tea. It¡¯s sophisticated, yet simple to learn. It requires a deep wealth of knowledge to properly brew a quality batch. I must apologize to our old servants one day; the tea they brewed was truly breathtaking.¡± Annalay grunts and, though reluctant, takes off her helm. A rough face is revealed, burly and stout with harsh, piercing eyes. She looks exactly like a younger version of her mother, the only difference being her hair which is a slight auburn¡ªcolor like that of a chestnut. She grips the cup¡¯s handle with a grumble and swallows the tea inside with a single gulp. ¡°How is it?¡± ¡°¡­ Fine. Doesn¡¯t taste bad, at least.¡± ¡°Mm, that makes me happy. What about you, Lorelai my dear? I remember you like your tea quite sweet, so I¡¯ve prepared a few sugar cubes to the side, if you so wish.¡± ¡°Ah, is that so?¡± it says while feigning an embarrassed flush. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. My tastes are still a bit unknown to me.¡± ¡°Oh, there¡¯s no need to worry about such things. The Chancellor already told me of your condition. One step at a time, my dear. One step at a time.¡± It is silent between them for some time. Neither mother or daughter deign to speak to the other, and the Knight knows not whether it should attempt to break the spell or continue to remain in the uncomfortable environment. Fortunately, Annalay decides to take on the burden herself. ¡°You¡¯ve, um, gotten old,¡± she says. ¡°Indeed I have. And you¡¯ve grown much since I last saw you.¡± ¡°Not really. At least compared to the other brats running around this place. Aren¡¯t they supposed to be living at the academy right now?¡± ¡°We got special permission from the head principal for them to live here. We¡¯ve been rather protective of the younger generation after that monster of steel killed all of your cousins.¡± ¡°You¡¯re still on about that? You know Sarathiel had no other choice, and I won¡¯t stand by while you insult my friend like he¡¯s some kind of abomination.¡± ¡°But he is, my dear. I¡¯ve always had a bad feeling about that man, and he only confirmed my suspicions when he lost control of his own mind. If it were not for him, you wouldn¡¯t be pressured to become the family head. Our grudges run deep.¡± ¡°Oh yeah? Then what does that make my grudge, then?¡± Again, silence. Unbearably so. ¡°¡­ Why did you call for me, exactly? I doubt it¡¯s to have this little tea party.¡± ¡°Is it so wrong for a mother to wish to see her daughter?¡± ¡°You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve made my mistakes, Annalay.¡± ¡°I don''t think those were just simple mistakes.¡± ¡°I was¡­ scared, dear. I didn¡¯t want you to go out onto the battlefield. You were supposed to get an administration position. It would have been safe; you would have been safe, and your honor as a noble would have been upheld as well.¡± ¡°So that¡¯s why you disowned me? Forced me to give up the Virtue name and sent me out onto the streets? Real swell job you did, and now look at me: the Untamed Throne of Nature. Even you can¡¯t boss me around anymore.¡± ¡°And what a fine woman you¡¯ve become.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t give me that bullshit.¡± ¡°Language, Annalay.¡± Annalay slams her fist on the table and smashes it into a pile of wood and broken shards. Her mother doesn¡¯t flinch, nor does she react to the sudden bout of violence. There is only a sad look in her eyes¡ªone of shame. ¡°I¡ª¡± she begins, voice struggling to part her throat. ¡°I¡¯ve regretted that moment every single moment of my life ever since, Annalay. When I wake up, I see your face then. I see your tears, those eyes filled with betrayal, and I wonder what could have been if I had acted differently. Treated you with a bit more compassion.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a little bit too late for that,¡± Annalay mutters, her voice bordering between a growl. ¡°I know. And I¡ªI tried to justify my actions. I thought renouncing your name would force you to look at reality. That day, I wanted you to come back, to stop being so rebellious and finally give up your dreams of becoming a knight.¡± ¡°But I was too stubborn.¡± ¡°You really were. I suppose it was only natural: You resemble me, after all. Perhaps too much.¡± ¡°I am nothing like you.¡± ¡°If only that were true. I would have liked it quite much if you took after your father more.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t take after someone who¡¯s face I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s why I didn¡¯t want you to become a knight, Annalay. Your father and I sacrificed everything to protect our nation, and when I heard news of his passing after giving birth to you¡­ I knew then I had to give up my glaive. I wanted to raise you as someone who would never have to worry about loss.¡± ¡°Raise? Do you even remember what you did to me!?¡± Annalay leaps up from her seat and snatches her mother by the throat, raising her high off the floor and clenching tight as the frail woman sputters and chokes before her grasp. The Knight moves in to stop the seething Throne but is stopped by the very victim of her rage. ¡°It¡¯s ok,¡± she gasps, holding a trembling arm out. ¡°And I do, Annalay. I was harsh¡ª¡± ¡°Harsh? Hah. That doesn¡¯t even begin to describe it. Stars, I sure was lucky to be born into a family of healers, huh? If not, I would¡¯ve become more scarred than Lorelai from all the whippings and beatings and lashings you gave me. Everytime you fed me poison, my guts would rot from the inside out, only to be completely recovered the next day. Everytime you bashed my face bloody for disrespecting your orders, I¡¯d be all fine and dandy after a quick splash of tonic. Again and again and again, without rest. I had to endure fourteen years straight of your abuse before I was finally free. Fourteen years of pure hatred I¡¯ll never get back. You call that just harsh?¡± There is nothing the woman can say, and Annalay knows that full well. There are no excuses that can be said, and if even there are, she has no intent on listening to them. ¡°From the very bottom of my heart, I despise you,¡± she says. ¡°And that will never change.¡± ¡°I know, Annalay. And I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need your apology.¡± ¡°Still, I will say it nonetheless. I know I don¡¯t deserve to be forgiven, and I know nothing I say will ever reconcile the pain I¡¯ve inflicted upon you.¡± ¡°Then why the hells are we here!?¡± Annalay screams. ¡°What did you bring me here for, if not for that, then? Go ahead. Try. Get on your knees and beg me to forgive you.¡± ¡°If it will make you feel better, then I will.¡± ¡°Stars, you¡¯re utterly pathetic.¡± She lets go and trushes back to her seat, leaving her mother to remain as a crumpled, collapsed mess on the floor. ¡°Forget it, I don¡¯t care anymore. Just tell me why you called me here.¡± ¡°I¡­ already said why, dear,¡± she wheezes. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t give me that. I know you have another reason. What, is it to convince me to come back to the Virtues? Surasha¡¯s doing a fine enough job, already.¡± ¡°I just wanted to see your face, Annalay.¡± Tears begin to glide down her cheeks, rolling. Rolling, leaving behind stained patterns wet with sorrow as a subdued cry leaks out from her trembling body. ¡°I wanted to ask you about your life. How have you been? Are you eating well? Is it hard out there? I worry for you every second you¡¯re out there against the Caelum legionnaires. And I worry that, one day, you¡¯ll return in a casket, and I¡¯ll have to say goodbye to my only child. Thrones don¡¯t tend to live long, dear. And the thought of you departing for the Stars before me is more terrifying than anything else in this world. Even if it¡¯s only for a short moment, I want to spend as much time as I can with you. Only Cosmos knows how long we have left together, so even if you berate me or yell at me or do whatever you wish to me, I will be satisfied as long as I can see you alive and healthy. That is my only wish.¡± The Knight has seen many families. Some are happy, and some are not. Oftentimes, many suffer from broken relationships, and more likely than not, tragedy always befalls them before they have a chance to reconnect. It is because it has witnessed so much that it can without a shred of doubt that the woman before it truly loves Annalay. The Throne has an opportunity right now: to forgive and let go of the past, or to fester in her loathing and forever discard what little bond between them remains. It is very interested to see what she chooses. ¡°¡­ Hah, get up,¡± she says, lending an arm for her mother to hold onto. The woman rises, and though it appears the two are about to make amends, Annalay¡¯s expression is still cold. That hatred is still there, but not to the intensity from before. Something else has burrowed into her heart, but what exactly is unknown. It is a strange feeling, marred in a chaotic, jumbled blend of all sorts of emotions. The Knight is confused. What exactly is this? ¡°I will never forgive you,¡± she repeats, face blank and devoid of warmth. ¡°But, for all the suffering you¡¯ve caused, there were moments where I was happy. It was rare, but I remember them. I cherished them, because it was the only time I ever felt truly loved by you. And while I won¡¯t forget the days where it felt like I was the most miserable person in the world, you tried at the very least to act like a mother. I won¡¯t attempt to understand you, but I will acknowledge your effort. That¡¯s the best you¡¯re ever going to get from me.¡± Her mother softly laughs. It is a mournful laugh, a gloomy, depressive laugh of one resigned to their fate, but it carries a small inkling of hope.¡°Will you visit me again?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe if I feel like it.¡± ¡°Then I will dare to look forward to it.¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah. I¡¯m leaving now. Don¡¯t want to see your sorry face any longer.¡± ¡°Goodbye, dear.¡± ¡°¡­ Goodbye, mom.¡± The two stand up, and they leave. The Knight can faintly hear the feeble woman sobbing behind the door, but Annalay doesn¡¯t react. Whether she truly hears her or is merely pretending not to is unclear, but what¡¯s certain is the gaunt expression spread across her face. Tired and weary. ¡°What shall we do now?¡± it asks. ¡°Good question,¡± she begins. ¡°You know what? Let¡¯s go out for a drink. I think I need it.¡± Chapter 33: Marys Tavern ¡°For as long as I can remember, I have always loved flowers. Such pretty little things they are. Colorful, vibrant, and when you caress the soft petals, a story springs to life from the trails of your touch. You see the pigments transform, shifting that way and this way in rippling waves of ecstasy, yet it does not stop there¡ªno, no, no. The leaves begin to quake, they cry out and sing a haunting song of pain and agony. Unbeknownst to the human ear, they are dying. All because of your touch. All because of your desire to revere their majesty with your filthy hands. Flowers are pure, and thus it is their fate to wilt before our sins¡­ but must it truly be that way? No. I will not allow it. Their purity will blossom without end, for I am their savior. I alone will preserve humanity¡¯s bloom for all of eternity.¡± - ? ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight ¡°Right, here we are!¡± Annalay exclaims as the two arrive at a cozy building of red brick and mortar. A swinging wooden door lies in front of them, and a never-ending stream of intoxicated patrons flow in and out as the sound of laughter fills the ale-ridden air. There, above the entrance, is a sign carved with the words, ¡°Mary¡¯s Tavern¡±. ¡°Mm, I missed this smell,¡± she says, taking in a deep gulp of air. ¡°Drunkards, beer, and a whole lot of rough housin¡¯. Ain¡¯t no better place to drown your sorrows.¡± ¡°Hehe, you seem quite excited,¡± the Knight chuckles. ¡°Course. I haven¡¯t been here in a long while.¡± Annalay looks up and stares at the signboard for a spell. A flood of melancholy appears to wash over her, and memories of bygone days soon display themselves within the subtle sway of her head. She drifts, back and forth, as if the phantom of her youth is right there¡ªlaughing in a time without responsibility. ¡°¡­ You know, we used to come here every week during our academy days. You, me, and Celia: We¡¯d stop in after a rough night of training and get ourselves piss-faced. I¡¯d groan about the instructors, Celia would nag us for drinking too much, and you¡¯d be downing every bit of alcohol in the bar. Stars, how you managed to drink so much of that garbage, I don¡¯t know. Sure did impress those foreman geezers, though.¡± ¡°Oh really now? Looks like I have quite the image to uphold,¡± it teases with a playful jab to her shoulder. ¡°Do you think I can still hold my liquor?¡± ¡°Only one way to find out.¡± Her voice is instilled with a competitive spirit, but unfortunately her loss has already been determined. The Knight is not a foe she can defeat. Hm? What is that sound? A sudden yell erupts from within the establishment. Then, a scuffle. A thud, a crunch, and an ear-piercing shriek¡ªIt does not take long before the door swings wide open and a battered body is sent flying out into the street by a strong-armed woman. Her hair is red as flame, and an apron with the words, ¡°Welcome to Paradise!¡± are emblazoned in bold, striking letters. ¡°And don¡¯t come back ya dirty little maggot!¡± she roars to the stumbling patron; rather, former patron. ¡°I¡¯ll rip yer manhood clean off and feed it to your mother if I ever see you again!¡± She spits on him and watches with a wide smile of satisfaction as he runs away into the crowd with a pathetic whimper. The Knight can hear the faint sound of a snicker beside its ears, and with a clap of her hand, Annalay steps forth in front of the smug woman. ¡°You¡¯re one hells of a fighter as usual, Mary,¡± the Throne says, opening her arms wide as the woman stumbles back in shock. ¡°Glad to see some things never change.¡± ¡°Ooh? Well I¡¯ll be¡­ is that a right fine madam I spy over there?¡± Mary squeals as she jumps right into Annalay¡¯s embrace. ¡°You¡¯re one naughty girl, you know that Annalay? To think you¡¯ve left this poor maiden all by her lonesome for a year straight.¡± ¡°Sorry lass, I¡¯ve been a bit busy,¡± she says, swinging her around as the two share a giggling fit. ¡°But I¡¯m here now. Did you miss me?¡± ¡°Ya already know the answer to that, lovely. Why don¡¯t I show you just how much?¡± ¡°Heh, that¡¯s tempting, but not right now. I¡¯ve brought an old friend along.¡± ¡°Hohoh? You talkin¡¯ about this cloak wearing fella?¡± Mary turns her head, pouts her lips, and then lowers her brow as she stares at the Knight with a curious, yet whimsical, expression. ¡°Now let me think here¡­ who in the whole wide world would Annalay call a friend? I bet I can count them all on my fingertips.¡± ¡°Gah, you really gotta do me like that, Mary?¡± Annalay yelps with mock tears. ¡°You¡¯re a shy ol¡¯ soul, darling. And you know it. Now, judging by that height and chiseled frame, you¡¯ve gotta be¡­ ahah!¡± Mary jumps out from Annalay¡¯s hold and briskly strides forward until she is directly in front of the Knight. She raises her hand, opens up her palm, and then delivers a mighty slap to its rear. ¡°About damn time you showed up, Lorelai!¡± she says with an equally mighty hug. ¡°Really, now, why did you hafta worry us all so much? Damn city¡¯s been moping about for far too long, I say.¡± The Knight is perplexed, especially as it has yet to remove its covering. ¡°How did you know it was me?¡± ¡°Bah, I¡¯d be a right failure of a proprietress if I didn¡¯t have a keen set of eyes! Just like momma and my momma¡¯s momma: Mary the first!¡± she laughs. ¡°You can hide yourself in that cloak all ya want, there¡¯s only a few people in this place with that height and presence.¡± While her ability is impressive, there is a reason why it is hiding beneath the cloak. ¡°Annalay, what about Ascalon¡¯s request?¡± ¡°Hm? Ah, it¡¯ll be fine,¡± she says, waving off its concern. ¡°Mary¡¯s as tight lipped as can be. You don¡¯t have to worry about her spilling any secrets.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right, I¡¯m a trustworthy gal: Ain¡¯t let anybody tell you otherwise!¡± It is not her trustworthiness I am concerned about. ¡°Though, there is something strange I¡¯m feelin¡¯ here¡­ ah bless the Stars, just what is it?¡± Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°About that¡­¡± Annalay whisks Mary away to a corner for a moment and whispers into her ear. It is a very loud whisper, so loud that the Knight can hear every word, in fact. Eventually, they return and a newfound look of pity is spread across the tavern keeper¡¯s face. ¡°You poor thing,¡± she sniffles. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry your pretty little head: I¡¯ve got just the thing to help spruce up that memory of yours. Come on in!¡± Mary excitedly grabs the Knight¡¯s wrist and drags it inside the building. The interior is covered in a dark-brown oak - a warm, welcoming environment accompanied by a flickering fireplace off to the side - and the two quickly dart between a staggering mass of drunks and bar hands as they make way towards a large counter-top. Before it even has the chance to protest, she shoves it atop one of the stools and soon disappears beneath the display of liquors and ale. Annalay joins it after a brief moment and lets her head thud onto the hard surface. A loud grumble of relief escapes her, and her tensions rapidly loosen as she begins to take off her armor and tosses it aside to some random corner of the establishment. ¡°This is nice,¡± she grunts. ¡°Stars, I didn¡¯t know how tense I was until we got here. Damn back of mine¡¯s been aching ever since we left the Virtues.¡± ¡°Do you feel better?¡± it asks. ¡°Old wounds are never easy to forget, but I think you did well. At least, you seem more at peace with yourself.¡± ¡°It¡¯s complicated. I still don¡¯t know exactly what it is I feel, but it¡¯s not terrible. I don¡¯t hate her any more than I did before. That¡¯s enough for me.¡± Mary pops her head up just as Annalay finishes speaking and slams two large mugs of drink on the counter. The knight can¡¯t help but feel a bit apprehensive, for it has never seen a liquor actively bubble before, yet that is exactly what the thing in front of it is doing right now. ¡°What¡­ is this?¡± it says while hesitantly reaching towards the handle. But before it can, Mary smacks its hand away and clicks her tongue in disapproval. ¡°Nope, not yet, darling,¡± she scolds. ¡°I have to add my special touch first!¡± ¡°Special touch?¡± ¡°Yep! Just give me one sec. This beaut¡¯s about to get potent.¡± To the Knight¡¯s surprise, Creation begins to stir around Mary, fluttering near with an excited sparkle as she stretches her hand over the drinks and gathers the divinity into the center of her palm. Then, as the force swirls into a misty ball, she cries out and beckons for the final deliverance of her spell. ¡°Double, trouble, toil and¡­ mumble? Now that can¡¯t be right. Ah, no use overthinkin¡¯ it. mumble. Give this drink a hearty bubble!¡± Despite the questionable chant, Mary succeeds, and she tosses the now-bubbling ball into their drinks. It dissolves in an instant; then a loud, crackling noise rises up as a frothy white foam forms at the liquid¡¯s top. Bigger, larger, it expands until it is as if a miniature cloud is nestled softly within the mug. Suffice to say, the Knight is baffled. Is this how Creation should be used? I wonder how Cosmos would react to such an odd request. Though, I suppose they wouldn¡¯t care much: as long as it makes their children happy. ¡°This here¡¯s a Mary¡¯s Tavern speciality: The Bubblin¡¯ Gut Puncher!¡± she declares with a smirk full of pride. ¡°Ain¡¯t anywhere else you can get this special ol¡¯ thing.¡± ¡°It certainly is unique,¡± it says. ¡°Did I drink like this often?¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am! This here¡¯s actually your favorite, wouldn¡¯t you know. Used to order a mountain¡¯s worth of this stuff every time ya dropped by. Trust me, even if your memories have gone woosh, there¡¯s no foolin¡¯ your body: I¡¯m sure this¡¯ll jog up that noggin¡¯ in no time!¡± As if to encourage it, Annalay picks up the mug and downs the entire contents straight into her stomach in one round¡ªall-the-while a sound resembling that of boiling acid climbs up and assaults its ears with sharp snaps and pops. The Knight waits for Annalay to show a sign of affliction, yet all it is met with is a crass belch and a grunt of satisfaction. She has enjoyed it very much. ¡°Now that¡¯s the stuff,¡± she murmurs, sinking into her seat as Mary produces another mug from seemingly out of thin air. ¡°Keep them coming. I¡¯m not leaving this place until the ceiling starts spinning.¡± The Knight looks at its own drink and picks it up. It examines the gushing liquid, the color golden like an oat, and then it takes a small sip. The first thing it experiences is a burning sensation traveling down its fabricated throat; then comes an odd sense of bloat. The liquid expands out in the flesh cavity currently serving as a stomach, yet as quickly as it comes, it retreats back into a small - but persisting - sensation of grime. It is not an experience it cares much to redo, but it is also not entirely terrible either: There is some entertainment that can be derived from this act of self-harm, it supposes. A pity I am unable to be affected by its inebriating effects. Perhaps that would make the drink more tolerable. ¡°Well? How¡¯re ya feelin¡¯? Mary asks. ¡°Wonderful,¡± it lies straight through its teeth. ¡°I could drink this all through the night.¡± ¡°Hehe, I¡¯m glad to hear you say that,¡± Annalay says with a playful slap to its shoulder. ¡°Because that¡¯s exactly what we¡¯re gonna do. Open wide, Lorelai!¡± Just as it begins to lament its own fate, a new voice shouts from across the room: a familiar voice, one with a formal undertone unbefitting of the company around it. ¡°I do not think so, Madam Annalay.¡± There, standing firm with his hands tightly crossed, is Dariel: frowning, and accompanied by an escort of knights. They quickly begin to flood the tavern, and soon, the two Thrones are surrounded on all sides. There is no escape. ¡°Really?¡± she says with an exasperated groan. ¡°Can¡¯t a knight have a nice drink once in a while? What did I even do, you brat?¡± ¡°The Virtues sent a complaint,¡± he replies. ¡°Someone tore down their gate, after all. Furthermore, that same someone besieged the district with a large earthquake, causing civil unrest and damaging infrastructure in the process.¡± ¡°Ah, that.¡± Dariel shakes his head. ¡°You are hereby sentenced to serve an undetermined period within the castle gaol - again - as is decreed by the Court Chancellor Gadreel Cherubim. Will you comply?¡± Annalay looks at Dariel; then she looks at the surrounding knights. She taps her foot in a rather ponderous manner, looking back and forth between them, before turning to Mary and gently kissing her hand. ¡°Sorry, love. It looks like we¡¯ll have to push off our date for a few days. At least, until I break out again.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t take too long now,¡± she giggles. ¡°And Lorelai¡­¡± ¡°Yes, Annalay?¡± it says. ¡°Go and have some fun. The night¡¯s still young; don¡¯t let my leaving here put an end to your evening. Drink, see the theatres, do whatever the hells you want. That¡¯s the only way you¡¯ll recover: Remember that.¡± ¡°Hehe, will do.¡± ¡°Good.¡± With a solemn nod, she turns around and raises her arms up high. ¡°Alright, get it over with already.¡± A pair of locks are clasped around her wrists, and she is quickly escorted out into the street illuminated in moonlight. The day has passed quickly, but there is still much it can yet do. ¡°Um,¡± Dariel mutters, approaching it with an apologetic smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for ruining your reunion with Annalay. I know the two of you share a close bond.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be,¡± it reassures. ¡°You are an officer. It is your duty to uphold the law.¡± ¡°Thank you for understanding. And, I know this might be a bit odd considering what just transpired, but¡­ Annalay is right: There¡¯s still some time before the district closes for the night. This was my last official order of the day, so I¡¯m free if you¡¯d like to, ehm, perhaps go on that tour I talked about before? If you¡¯re ok with that of course! I don¡¯t want to force you if you¡¯re feeling too tired or¡ª¡± ¡°That sounds lovely, Dariel. I¡¯d be happy to.¡± Dariel attempts to contain a bright grin from spreading across his face, but it is no use. He practically leaps up in joy as he rushes to take the knight¡¯s hand, and soon, the two are darting out of the tavern and into the bustling crowd of people outside. Chapter 34: The Nebulas ¡°Gosh, those two sure know how to stir some excitement ¡®round here! It¡¯s a shame those burly knights chased away all my customers though¡­ ah, well. Looks like we¡¯re closing early for tonight. Maybe I should go on down to the theatre myself for a change¡ªhm? The doors? Now who could that be¡­ well bless the Stars, I wasn¡¯t expecting ya ¡®til tomorrow! You¡¯re wearin¡¯ that funny looking mask as always, too. I should really start keeping up with the fashion trends these days, but nevermind me: What brings you on over here, Mister? Uh-huh¡­ Oh, of course not! I¡¯m always thankful for your flower deliveries - helps quiet those old codgers from bellyachin¡¯ about my lack of decor - but it¡¯s rare to see you so early. Aw, you were worried about me? Guess that ruckus was pretty loud, but you¡¯ve got nothin¡¯ to be afraid of¡ªhuh? Who was that passing by? Hehe, let¡¯s just say they¡¯re a special friend from the past. But that¡¯s mighty strange¡­ I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen you so interested in someone before.¡± - Mary Anne Bethany, Third Generation Proprietor of Mary¡¯s Tavern ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight In every corner, from the alleyway streets to the storefronts illuminated in bright, dazzling lights, a festivity of art and song is proudly celebrated in the merrymakers wandering the busy district. Their faces are flushed, hearts bared in revelry, yet the cries of their merriment are but a faint whisper before the roaring ballads and poems spilling forth from the bards lined all about the cobble promenade. However, it is not just their voices that are fanciful. A whimsical set of garments cover their bodies: red, yellow, green and blue. The musicians are swathed in soft, billowing fabrics, purposely jutting out as if demanding for the world to lay its eyes upon their flamboyance. And yet their songs are but one part of a much greater whole: Artists stained in blotches of paint create lifelike portraits for a meager price; aspiring Astrologians bid Creation forth in a playful show of sparkles and glittering sorcery; and playwrights set up curious makeshift theatres where the only actors are of puppets and models performing in front of a hollow wooden frame. Athletic stadiums, gambling halls, grand auditoriums of stone¡­ it would be highly difficult to experience all there is the city has to offer in a single night, and yet that is precisely what Dariel has sworn as his mission. The Knight is hurriedly shuffled back and forth between an innumerable number of opera houses and venues, leaving not a single second for rest before it becomes time for a new show. A new production. But never is it left feeling overwhelmed. On the contrary, it has not had such fun in a very long while. Such moments are rare¡ªto be immersed in such an innocent gathering of creation: Humanity¡¯s creation, brought forth solely by their own will and artistry. However, all the excitement is much too stimulating for the child still hiding atop its head. Aegis can only last for an hour, his body struggling in a perpetual battle to remain awake, before he eventually drifts off to sleep. It is a shame, for the Knight can feel his heartfelt desire to witness everything around him. It can feel his curiosity overflowing with a pure love towards the physical world, only to be forced into the realm of dreams in the end. Still, it is a wonder he has managed thus far given the day¡¯s events. Even whilst plagued in boredom during the court attendance and Annalay¡¯s tour, he has remained hidden well, never uttering so much as a grumble. His rest is well deserved; perhaps it shall take him back in the morrow when he is more alert. That is, so as long the presence trailing them halts their futile hunt. The Knight can feel it¡ªthat madness soaked in perversion. They merely lurk out of sight for now, but it has no doubt their passivity will not last for long. It must handle this soon, or else their obsession will burst and lead forth to a more physical confrontation. ¡°Thank you for following my whims so far, Lorelai,¡± Dariel says as the two stroll along the dwindling avenue. It is close to midnight now, and the festivities are slowly coming to an end. ¡°I, um, didn¡¯t intend to make you see so much on your first visit, but¡­ I guess I was a bit overzealous. There¡¯s so much I wanted to show you and¡ªwell, not enough time to do so. I¡¯m sorry if this whole night has felt rushed.¡± ¡°We did fly through the fair rather quickly,¡± it replies with a small laugh. ¡°But this night has been nothing but pleasant, Dariel. Thank you for accompanying me today.¡± ¡°Hehe, I¡¯m glad. But don¡¯t think we¡¯re finished just yet. I¡¯ve saved the best performance for last!¡± They gradually come to a stop as they approach their final destination of the night: a towering theatre building of onyx and crystals. An all-encompassing twinkle covers its every surface, and the words ¡°The Arthurian Theatre Company¡± are engraved in fanciful, swooping lettering. It is a wonder of architecture, second only to the King¡¯s castle, and the two quickly join the long line of sharply-dressed men and women spilling out from the entrance. ¡°Here we are!¡± Dariel says proudly. ¡°The Arthurian Theatre! While the other venues in the district are all quite charming, this building and company have been here since the days of the founders. Their performances are truly of another quality, so much so that you have to reserve your seats months in advance due to how popular they are.¡± ¡°Oh? Will we be alright, then?¡± it asks. A shy grin tugs at his lips, and he shuffles away as a flush begins to shade his cheeks in a bright red hue. ¡°Eh-hem, though I don¡¯t particularly enjoy touting my status, it does allow for some certain¡­ privileges.¡± ¡°My, my, Dariel. I thought you beneath the use of corruption,¡± it teases, to which the flustered officer quickly begins to shout out in protest. ¡°N-No, I promise I don¡¯t do this often! It¡¯s just, well, if you¡¯re going to visit the theatres, then you may as well be treated to the very best. I know fully how this looks, but it¡¯s not often you come by¡ª¡± ¡°Hehe, you can relax, Dariel. I was just teasing you. I know you¡¯re doing this for my sake, and for that I am very thankful.¡± Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°¡­ Rude,¡± he pouts. But his mood quickly lightens as the two make it to the front of the theatre¡¯s door. Even the entrance is lavish, for a long, flowing red carpet is unfurled below and a golden rope bars entry inside¡ªguarded by a gathering of knights and attendants in formal gowns. ¡°May I see your ticket, sir?¡± the registrar asks. ¡°Ah, one moment. I believe this will suffice?¡± Dariel uncovers what appears to be a pink metal plaque and displays it with a rather bashful expression. The registrar¡¯s eyes widen in shock, but they quickly return to their prior air of professionalism.¡± ¡°Oh, dear! Forgive me for not recognizing one as esteemed as yourself,¡± they say with a bow. ¡°Our company shall always welcome a member of the Cherubims. Please, come in; the exclusive seating for V.I.P¡¯s shall be made available to you on the upper floor. Welcome to the Arthurian Theatre, and I do hope you enjoy tonight¡¯s production of The Nebulas.¡± The Nebulas? The Knight barely manages to steady itself upon hearing the name. Its breath slows, its eyes narrow, and its movements become stiff as a curious lull rumbles deep within its chest. How interesting. I thought I burned all copies of that text long ago, yet here it lies¡ªtranscribed in stage form. The question is¡­ how accurate is its portrayal? I suppose I shall soon see. ¡°Is something the matter?¡± Dariel asks. ¡°Oh, I was just surprised. The name is familiar to me, though I can¡¯t remember why.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not surprising. The Nebulas is a classic fable, after all; grandfather would read it to me every night when I was little. I¡¯m sure this is a good sign that your memories are returning!¡± ¡°¡­ Perhaps. Let us hurry. I am quite excited to see the performance.¡± Dariel and the Knight walk past the gilded atrium of black and ivory gems. They climb up the spiraling staircase covered in rugs of exotic patterns. And eventually, they reach a long curtain. Dim candlelight flickers above them, casting a shadow against countless paintings and the odd statue set alongside the walls, and as they pull back the fluttering cloth, a grand space of otherworldly beauty is revealed before them. Gone are the crystals; gone is the shadowed interior covering the muted halls in a somber air. Instead, a splendorous display of gold and red envelopes the entirety of the rotunda, and a gigantic chandelier - light blinding to the sight and accompanied by a mural of stained glass - illuminates everything from the farthest corner to the cushioned seats lined below. From their private view nestled to the back and high above the floor, it is as if the entirety of the theatre is presented solely for them. Suddenly, the lights go out, and a spotlight is shone onto a lone presenter standing on the stage. ¡°Ladies and gentleman,¡± they declare. ¡°I would like to welcome each and every patron that has come to visit our beloved theatre on this day. Soon, the clock shall strike midnight. And a performance like none other will begin. Thank you, one and all, and immerse yourselves as we bring to life a fairytale of old: The Nebulas, the story of humanity¡¯s creation. Enjoy.¡± They disappear. The curtains unfold. And then, the actors arrive¡ªdancing, dancing, gliding about with mesmerizing steps as the leader of the troupe triumphantly marches forth and begins to speak with a clear, powerful timbre. ¡ª¡ª¡ª ¡°Our story begins with a twinkle and shine Of a blessed star, of a radiance so sublime There, high above the milky clouds, lies a never-ending sea of darkness and shrouds But among the haze, through the stifling night, there frolicked a sparkle, a glimmering light They were the Stars, divinities of play They were the first, immortals come what may But even eternity has its loathful end, and soon came boredom to a lone Star wishing for a friend Her name was Cosmos, a name as beautiful as the celestial expanse But even she could not escape the hold of solitude¡¯s trance The other Stars mocked her, they called her a freak For she was a frail child, her powers ever so weak ¡®Oh, woe is me. Woe be my name,¡¯ she cried. ¡®For I have naught a soul in this space. A companion to give me grace.¡± She weeped, she sobbed, she bawled herself to slumber And then came a miracle, a granted wish of wonder Creation had come and answered her call Creation had come to awaken her lull Thus was it born, a life full of sanctity Thus was it born, the progenitor of humanity.¡± ¡ª¡ª¡ª The performance ends, and as the actors gather to give one final bow, a roaring crowd of applause bids them farewell. Hm, I do not think that rhymed. A pity, the arts are still far beyond my reach. The Knight is bewildered. The play is certainly done quite well, but there is something off about the ending. It feels detached, cut off without resolution, and it soon comes to realize the source of the discomfort: The second half is absent. They do not speak of what Cosmos has lost. They do not speak of that Star¡¯s sacrifice¡ªof the reason why humanity is caged ever so tight. It supposes this is a good thing: Ignorance is a bliss. If they are to ever discover the truth, then their beloved creator will become sacred no longer. It does not want that. Let that lonely being be remembered for their love; that is what they deserve. ¡°Bewitching, was it not?¡± an unfamiliar voice asks by its side. Rich, smooth, an enchanting tone, but hidden ever so subtlety is a poisoned tongue dripping with insanity. ¡°This play is a favorite of mine. It portrays it well, the beauty, the tragedy, and the heartfelt love our blessed creator must have had for humanity¡ªto finally escape from her isolation. And yet, I have never been able to be rid of this feeling of hesitation. Is that truly how she felt? No, something is amiss. But what? ¡°A question plagues me. Some may see it as blasphemous, but I cannot be rid of it no matter how I try. It stalks my dreams, tortures my mind, but I do not shy from it. Its allure is impossible to resist, for the answer is just so tantalizing to imagine. Do you think you can solve it? Tell me: If Cosmos truly adores humanity, then why has she left us here, alone, on this earth?¡± The Knight turns to its side, and it is greeted by a tall, lanky man wearing a peculiar floral mask. Chapter 35: The Man in the Floral Mask ¡°There once was a mother, her warmth for all to embrace Her love shone through even the darkest of disgrace But her children were feared, for their power defied the Stars And so she wept until naught remained but scars However... her story ends not here. Such pain, such despair, would invoke a wrath most dear Her beloved held her tight, fury wrought true in its eyes And so it bared its light, rampaging all through the skies The Star of greed was deprived of its most sacred treasure The Star of decay was starved of its splendor The Star of carnage was impaled and drained of blood The Star of revolution was crushed into a tiny, frail bud None were spared, none were forgiven Thus it came to be known as the Slaughterer of the Heavens.¡± - The Nebulas ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight ¡°I daresay that is quite the dangerous question,¡± Dariel interrupts, shoving himself awkwardly in front of the Knight so as to face the strange new gentleman. And for good reason: His appearance is quite different from the common Polus citizen. Long, blood red robes cover the entirety of his guise - patterns of flora sewn on the hem - and an unusual mask obscures his face. It is an ornate mask, and delicate carvings are etched all about the surface. However, what draws the most attention is the vibrant rose blooming from where the right socket should be. The left contains an eye of crimson and a pupil glaring with a serpentine quality. The Knight is not certain, but there is something different about that rose. It has the same appearance, the same fragrance, and yet it oozes a sinister aura¡ªas if the bloom is something else entirely. As if it is screaming out in plea, begging to be ripped out and granted a swift end. Dariel¡¯s body becomes defensive, and his brow furrows in distrust; it is clear something about the man is unnerving him, but he doesn¡¯t appear to know exactly why. Still, he maintains a clear boundary and speaks with not a tremble. It does not prevent him, however, from breaking out into a nervous sweat. ¡°A question, I should say, we are not inclined to answer¡ªespecially to an odd fellow such as yourself. Who exactly are you? I don¡¯t recognize that appearance, and I¡¯ll have you know I¡¯m very familiar with the nobles allowed in this booth.¡± ¡°Oh dear, there is no need for such hostility,¡± the masked man chuckles. ¡°I am but an admirer of the arts. The esteemed stewards of this theatre have been ever so kind as to grant me permission to peruse their performances from atop this view.¡± ¡°I find that hard to believe,¡± Dariel grumbles. ¡°Ah, but it is true. You see, I am the maestro of a humble flower boutique: ¡®The Floral Bloom.¡¯ It is a quaint boutique, one nestled away from the rush and excitement of the city, but nonetheless I take pride in the quality of my art.¡± The man gestures around him. ¡°Why, my darlings can be seen at this very moment. Beautiful, are they not? I have spared no effort to cultivate an arrangement befitting this fine theatre.¡± And indeed, his words are true for the walls of their private viewing, and the theatre as a whole, are embellished with delicate flowers of red and gold. They blossom together - conjoining in twisting stalks - until a portrait of a single, merged bloom is budding out into the world¡ªpetals spread out and drawing all into its aroma. ¡°I¡­ see,¡± Dariel says with an apologetic look. He is still wary of the man, but the crease in his eyes has aslightly eased. ¡°Do forgive me for being so suspicious towards a new face¡ªer, mask I suppose.¡± ¡°Please, my good sir: You have nothing to be apologetic about,¡± the man replies, his voice rumbling with a deep, silky bass. ¡°I understand, I really do. To be cautious of the unfamiliar is but our base instinct. It is our impulse to be hesitant towards change, and I do admit my appearance can be rather eccentric. But is that not what makes life - us, as individuals - so unique? And there truly is no shortage of uniqueness in the capital; it is why I have settled here despite the rather¡­ prudent reception from the locals.¡± Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°You moved into the capital recently?¡± Dariel asks. ¡°That¡¯s rare, especially in these times unless you¡¯re a knight recruit. The process must have been quite the slog.¡± ¡°On the contrary, I found it rather simple. Very simple indeed.¡± There is an eerie charisma about the man. His polite speech, his charming voice, and the manner in which he carries himself¡­ are all to bring about a deceitful solace. The Knight has no doubt; it can recognize a fellow swindler. But this one¡¯s purpose is far beyond the likes of mere manipulation. No, his facade denotes a more degenerate cause. ¡°But I¡¯m afraid I do must take offense over your prior statement,¡± he continues. ¡°For why must a simple question be labeled as dangerous?¡± ¡°Um,¡± Dariel stammers, struggling to refute the man¡¯s rebuttal. ¡°Well, it¡¯s rather inciteful, don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°Oh? How so?¡± ¡°It encourages unrest. Our nation is one dedicated to her word. Our beliefs, our values, our traditions¡­ to question that devotion is to shake the very foundation of our identity, not to mention blatant heresy as well. If the Mother truly has abandoned us, then why grant the gift of Creation to the world? Why can we still use her power? Frankly, I find it hard to believe how anyone could be a nonbeliever with such clear evidence of her Will around us.¡± But the man only cackles before Dariel¡¯s firm assertion, uttering a hoarse cry as he feigns wiping a tear off his expressionless mask. ¡°I believe you are confused. Why, I am an adherent of Cosmos as well. None are as devout as me, or so I tout. But there is a difference between blind obsession and an inquisitive faith.¡± ¡°Blind obsession?¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± he says with a snap of his finger. ¡°You claim to understand the Mother. You think yourself knowledgeable of her wish. But is that truly the case? History is fickle; who is to say the words of one are not the twisted lies of another? It is our duty as her children to question the world around us - to decipher the truth hidden beneath - and yet you run around spouting doctrines not of your own. Have you ever sought to understand why the common faith is the way it is?¡± ¡°N-No¡ª¡± ¡°No. You merely believed; you failed to know. What is that called, if not blind obsession?¡± Dariel doesn¡¯t say a word. He remains quiet, face downcast as he attempts to hold back a trembling fist. ¡°I, on the other hand, choose to think differently,¡± he continues, voice rising high with a fervor of a mad zealot. ¡°I looked at the world, I looked at the skies above, and I witnessed a different purpose for us. I saw the suffering in this world, the love, darkness, hate, joy, and back then - when I was but young and ignorant - I cursed this existence for what it was: colorless. Bland. A miserable, rotting pile of filth and decay. Everything was but a monotonous expanse of grey, stretching endlessly as the people sunk further and further into their hopelessness. And yet, despite it all, Cosmos remained far out of reach. She continued to watch us fester. ¡°But, one day, I finally understood why we needed to endure such hardship, and it was then I was truly reborn. Amidst a field of bloom and torture, enlightenment came to me. It is my own realization, a unique duty of my own. And so it is that I seek to find others, to fulfill my sacred destiny.¡± ¡°What are you talking about¡ª¡± ¡°You do not need to understand,¡± he interrupts, leaping from his seat and smothering Dariel¡¯s mouth with his palm. ¡°My question was not directed at you. It was never meant for you to stain with your ramblings. No, no, no, the answer I desire is from your companion¡ªthe one shrouded in darkness. The one immersed in an endless abyss of ink. You¡­ tell me. Why do you think Cosmos has abandoned us?¡± The man is dangerous. Not in might, not in power, but in his way of thought. If left alone, he will one day bring about terror. His beliefs will infect the masses, and so it is they will contribute to the spread of chaos. Even so, the Knight is a bit curious: What shall happen if it further feeds into his craze? It is not easy to break away from the common belief: perhaps it shall grant him a small piece of the truth. ¡°Rather than ponder over why she has left,¡± it says to him. ¡°You should have asked whether she is still here. If she has ever departed in the first place.¡± He freezes, scarlet eye alit with a glow threatening to break free, and then he collapses onto the floor: shaking. Groaning with a sensual ardor. He grovels onto his knees and takes the Knight¡¯s hand with a gentle caress¡ªstaring at it as if it is an object worthy of divine worship. ¡°Ah,¡± he whispers. ¡°My eye did not deceive me. Truly, you are the masterpiece I was looking for¡ªmy magnum opus.¡± Dariel is utterly baffled before the display, and his body seizes up in shock before he finally regains his wit and attempts to drag the man away. But it is useless. He latches firm, desperate, and with a strength unbefitting of his gangly structure. ¡°Ugh, y-you¡¯re being really quite disrespectful now,¡± the officer grunts. ¡°If you don¡¯t stop this now, then I am afraid I¡¯ll have to resort to forceful measures¡ª¡± ¡°It is ok, Dariel,¡± the Knight says with a raise of its free hand. ¡°Actually, I would appreciate it if you were to take your leave first.¡± ¡°What? Are you sure about this?¡± ¡°I will handle it. Trust me, you know who I am.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± ¡°Dariel,¡± it asserts. ¡°Please, this is for your own good.¡± He sighs, concern still evident on his face, but he eventually gives in and begins walking away with slow, hesitant steps. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you plan to do, but¡­ be careful. If there¡¯s anything you need, the nearest guard outpost is only a corner away.¡± ¡°Thank you. Have a good evening, Dariel.¡± ¡°Yeah. You too.¡± And with that, he is gone, leaving only the Knight and the masked man to be alone in the booth. ¡°Now then,¡± it says, voice no longer attempting to maintain a friendly tone. ¡°It is time to reveal your true intentions.¡± ¡°¡­ Hehehe,¡± he chuckles. ¡°Why, I have but one desire. A small wish, really.¡± ¡°Get to the point.¡± ¡°Oh, very well. All I ask is that you come grace my humble boutique with your presence. I promise, it shall be an experience to remember.¡± Chapter 36: In the Garden of Eden ¡°For it was on the first day humanity was born, and thus Cosmos smiled. She reached out to the newborn life, the child wreathed in her image, and it was then she wrapped her arms around it and embraced it within her bosom. ¡®You are my spirit,¡¯ she said. ¡®My love, my everlasting companion. Come with me, and let us never separate for all of eternity.¡¯ The child took her by the hand, and so they journeyed across the celestial expanse. Thus marked the beginning of the second day. ¡°The blessed two found joy in life, for it was good. Their union brought change to the solitary Stars, those divine beings cursed to follow their role¡¯s namesake, and so it was a new era had emerged - the very first since the dawn of the first breath. Cosmos cried, for life was good. Thus marked the beginning of the third day. ¡°The Mother had never been happier, but even with all her blessings, she was not yet satisfied. ¡®This love of mine must be spread,¡¯ she declared. ¡®For it shall become our holy duty. And the Stars will shed tears of bliss; they will laugh and smile and know of true contentment. Yet this duty will never end with but us loving two. I must make more children. I must ensure my legacy will endure without end.¡¯ And so it is Creation granted her wish, and humanity sprung forth in droves, and a new hearth was created for their dwelling. Thus emerged the dirt and soil, the sphere of blue and clouds of great white. Thus were the waters risen, and whorls transformed into an endless ocean. Cosmos named this new land Eden. Thus marked the beginning of the fourth day. ¡°And it is from then on that Cosmos would smile no longer.¡± - The Nebulas ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The Knight and the floral man are the last to depart from the theatre. It is late now, and the bustling crowd of merry-goers and performers outside have long since left. There are only empty streets here, save for the two obscured souls strolling wordlessly under the darkened night. They pass the corners - they tread away from the main district - and soon, the narrow lanes of the alleyways surround them from all sides. Tight. Restricting. The Knight cannot even walk without its shoulders touching the cold brick, yet the lanky man is undisturbed: steps silent and body light. All it can see is his robed back as they descend farther into the passage. Eventually, the man stops before a worn-out door. A prickly rose is embedded in the front, and the words ¡°The Floral Bloom¡± are engraved upon the wood. ¡°Here, at last,¡± the man says, caressing the splintered edges. ¡°Welcome to The Floral Bloom.¡± ¡°This is your shop?¡± it asks dryly, for at first glance the business is rather unassuming. No, it is even more mundane than that; if not for the sign, then the Knight would have never guessed this inconspicuous corner to be the home of a flower boutique. It is hidden here, far away from prying eyes, lurking in a place where only drunks and the dregs of society will pass. ¡°I must admit, this is not quite what I expected. How can you hope to attract any patrons in such a desolate location?¡± He chuckles. ¡°Ah, but you are mistaken. I do not hope to attract anyone. I merely wish to provide the utmost quality of service to my guests, and that is simply not feasible in the hustle of such a busy area. This corner is quaint, do you not agree? It has its charm, and besides, I prefer to cater towards a specific¡­ clientele. Fate tends to draw them to me, and it is so I am ever fortunate to establish such fond connections.¡± ¡°Fate draws them you say, or is it that you seek them out?¡± ¡°Is there any difference? They are chosen, all the same.¡± ¡°Of course there is a difference. One has a choice, and the other doesn¡¯t.¡± But the man only laughs as if it has just said something rather humerous. ¡°No one has a choice before their destiny. Everything is predetermined: my occupation, my clients, and even our meeting here on this day was set from the very beginning. I am merely following its call.¡± ¡°And just what is that call, exactly?¡± He stays quiet for a moment - a bit ponderous, a bit calculating - before he replies with an obvious redirection. ¡°Why, it is to serve you, of course! Come now, let us talk inside. My art awaits.¡± The Knight stares at him with a baffled silence, for it questions if he really thinks it so foolish as to follow along with such a laughable ruse. Still, the man is, if nothing else, incredibly confident. It respects that to a certain degree¡ªenough to not slay him right away, at least. ¡°I do hope your art is more appealing than the storefront suggests.¡± ¡°Hehe, worry not. Outer appearances do tend to be most deceiving.¡± He grabs the handle, and the same mysterious scent the Knight has encountered at the castle begins to waft beneath the crevice. Something has changed in the beyond; whatever was previously behind the door is no longer there, replaced by a much more sinister domain. The door opens, and a bizarre view is unraveled before it: flowers. Strange, otherworldly flowers. They are nothing the Knight has ever seen before, forms twisted and transfigured into a grotesque, yet alluring, amalgamation. They hang from the ceiling with their bulbous petals - pigment drenched in a bloody hue as a faint glow from within illuminates the room in a haunting light - and their stamens extend slightly outward with spindly, thin appendages¡ªlike a spider¡¯s leg. It is a disturbing sight. Unnatural, but why exactly the Knight knows not. It oozes a disgusting aura that reeks of depravity. But those spider-like flowers are not the only species in this degenerate bouquet of a space. There are familiar sights as well such as lavenders and purple hydrangeas resting within the confines of glass displays lined to the side. And a red carpet lies underneath, covering a floorboard infested with orange chrysanthemums growing below the wood; yet their growth is not chaotic. They are meticulously arranged, forming a pathway as if to serve as a guide through the maze of flora. ¡°¡­ Deceiving indeed,¡± it says as the masked man leads it to a silken lounge. He gestures for it to take a seat and then saunters over to the displays, meticulously inspecting each bloom and humming to himself as he searches for a fitting specimen. One after another, one after another, he shoves his face against the glass. He ogles the petals, the stems, the ovaries, and then he gently picks it up in a tender hold¡ªlike a parent with their child. There is genuine love in that gaze of his, a mark of a true artist. And a complete utter devotion towards the refinement of one¡¯s craft. A pity, the Knight contemplates. What caused such a pure-hearted desire to become so malformed? No, perhaps it is because of his obsession that he is able to be so fervent. Madness is but a step away from passion. Eventually, he finds his mark: a peculiar flower with six lance-shaped leaves. The edges are drenched in white, intensifying into a deep pink towards a center while red freckles are dotted near the throat. The man cackles in satisfaction as he carefully shields the flower and presents it to the Knight with a flourish. ¡°I do believe you will quite enjoy this child,¡± he proudly declares, placing it atop its gauntlet. ¡°It goes by many names throughout the world, but I much prefer the Polus¡¯s moniker: the Stargazer Lily.¡± Stolen novel; please report. ¡°Stargazer, you say?¡± the Knight says while stroking the leaves. ¡°A ravishing flower, is it not? Its namesake represents prosperity, abundance, and a deep connection with culture. I dare say it is a fitting symbol for the Throne of the heavenly skies.¡± Hoh, will he shed his guise at last? ¡°So you know who I am? Interesting, I don¡¯t remember ever taking off this cloak. How exactly did you find out?¡± He chuckles and waves toward his rose-embedded socket. ¡°Oh, I have my tricks madam. Call it the ¡®Maestro¡¯s Eye¡¯. I have a talent for finding people. It is my gift, a blessing granted by Cosmos upon my birth, although there was a time I failed to recognize her majesty. My purpose¡­¡± Something dreadful suddenly courses through him. It passes by and soon disappears just as quickly. But its singular appearance is enough to leave a lasting impression¡ªan impression of agonizing despair. Of pure, vitriol hatred towards the world and all it has brought. That feeling is malice in its rawest form. ¡°¡­ Ah, but nevermind that,¡± he says, returning back to the perverse madman it has come to know. ¡°What matters is the present and the future to come. And you, my most esteemed Throne, have a very special future awaiting you.¡± The man collects himself and casually strolls towards the back of the shop where yet another door is located. But something is different about it. It feels endless. Whatever lies beyond is no mere closed space; it is much more grand. More open. And according to the Knight¡¯s sight, there is even a ray resembling sunshine trickling below. But that is impossible. It is currently twilight, so where does that door lead? ¡°Follow me, if you would so please,¡± he beckons. ¡°Beyond here lies my most treasured possessions. Normally, I would bar entry to this area from my other guests, but you¡­ you are special. You deserve to bear witness to my life¡¯s work.¡± ¡°My, what an honor,¡± it says with words dripping in ridicule. If the man has noticed its sarcasm, then he pretends to be unaware. Or else he truly is ignorant, and his attention is smitten with something else. Something more murky. Nonetheless, the Knight rises and follows him to the door. Prepare yourself, Aegis. I have a feeling this fraudulent peace shall soon come to an end. The hidden baby above taps its helm in affirmation, though it can sense his increasing worry. The masked florist has unnerved the child since the very beginning, and he wishes for nothing more than to quickly flee towards safety. That is something they cannot do. They must solve this threat now. The door creaks open, and the man steps into the light. ¡°Without further ado, welcome to my sanctuary.¡± The Knight enters as well, and it is soon mesmerized by an impossible sight. They are outside. But not out on the streets of the Capital. Not under the pale gleam of the moon. No, they are outside and standing under the blistering heat of the mid-day sun. The ball of flame glares far, far above them, high above the cloudy skies of blue. It shines its light upon the realm below, and the Knight looks down to find itself standing atop a verdant field of grass. Luscious. Rolling. The meadow stretches far beyond the eye can see, spreading without abandon as gorgeous flowers of every species lie scattered about in an ocean of perpetual bloom. It is as if they¡¯ve been transported to a newborn land¡ªa land still yet untouched by humanity. At first, the Knight believes itself to be caught in an illusion. A trick of the mind. Yet that cannot be, for it can feel the wind lash at its helm in gentle whips. It can feel the hot smolder of the sun and the cool breeze rushing through. This is no spell, but a desperate dimension entirely. It has never seen such a thing before, to force creation into conjuring a realm solely for one¡¯s own use. The man doesn¡¯t appear to be powerful, and yet he has just become the most dangerous being it has encountered since its awakening. ¡°Where is this?¡± it questions. ¡°My very own paradise.¡± The man opens his arms wide and takes in a deep, gluttonous breath. He lets the light wash over him, and he embraces the surrounding world. ¡°I call it the Garden of Eden, for this shall be the final destination of the worthy. Of the most beautiful of humanity. Their sorrow, their ugliness, their love¡­ it will all be safe here, safe in a land where they may bloom without worry. Thus is the duty given to me by the Mother, and it is why she has granted me this sacred garden.¡± He beckons it forward, and so the two walk side by side through the realm. It really is peaceful here where naught can be heard but the sounds of nature, and the Knight cannot help but view this space as something beautiful. It knows this beauty is a deception. It knows the truth of those flowers so falsely innocent. It knows what truly lies beneath; nonetheless, this space is beautiful. No matter how it has come to be. Soon, the pair arrive at the only landmark of note: a lone birch tree surrounded by four flowers encased in an amber substance. Their beauty is forever imprisoned, trapped in a constant state of eternity. The masked man walks up to one of them, and he touches the display with what appears to be a sentimental yearning. ¡°I call myself an artist,¡± he whispers. ¡°And yet, in my lifetime, I have only managed to create four flowers of true divinity.¡± He caresses the case, and inside lies a flower that resembles a carving of crystal. Seven petals surround the jewel-like heart, and each petal is dyed in a color of the rainbow: a fiery red; a cool blue; a leafy green; a vibrant yellow. And so on, until they all merge together into a dazzling prism. ¡°The first was my mother, who worked so hard to ensure I grew up proper. Without her, my love for art would have never bloomed.¡± He moves on to the next flower. Unlike the first one, it emits a despicable aura, more so than the spider-like flowers of before. Pitch-black tendrils spit out from the center, a noxious green slime is splattered in unsightly patterns without reason, and its petals lay decayed in but a dirty pile of filth. It is repulsive, and merely looking at the pathetic thing is a waste of the Knight¡¯s effort. ¡°The second was my father. I learned from him that there was beauty in everyone, no matter how darkened their soul may be.¡± The third flower is towering in size compared to the others. It is also the one with the least floral shape; the pallid white stem is large and thick, taking on the form of an adult woman¡¯s torso, and the leaves curve into two round spheres of sagging clumps. It is as if the thing is attempting to replicate a bosom, yet its seductive facade is betrayed by a gaping maw in the chest¡¯s center, opening up as spikes surround the vibrant red lip. ¡°The third came from a particularly lascivious woman. She was a fellow admirer of the arts such as myself, and in the end, she became that which she cherished most.¡± The final flower is strange. Not in outlandishness; rather, it is but a simple red rose. And yet, there is something mesmerizing about it. Out of all the flowers thus far, it is the most beautiful despite its mundane appearance. Innocent. Unknowing. It is the very essence of virtue, of a purity unsullied by human emotion. ¡°The fourth came from an exceedingly ordinary man. He was average in every sense imaginable: average appearance, average personality, and average ability. Yet, despite his mediocrity, he became the star of my little collection. Fascinating, isn¡¯t it? The most unique of souls laid blended in amongst the crowd, his true potential undiscovered. That is, until he met me. And so it was that I gave him a new purpose.¡± He turns around and faces the Knight. His demeanor is different now; the man who attempted to manipulate it at every moment is gone. Now, there is only a misguided child. He pleas with his lone eye, begging for it to listen to him. For the first time since this prolonged charade, the man is truly sincere. ¡°Do you remember what you said to me at the theatre?¡± he mutters. ¡°Cosmos¡­ you are correct. Our Mother has never left, for she is here with me. She is this garden, the rose blooming from my eye. She is the land, the soil, the dirt in which humanity shall be saved. This is my destiny. I am the savior. And it is your destiny to bloom as one of the chosen¡ªas my magnum opus.¡± The Knight doesn¡¯t say a word. In a way, it feels pity for the man. He has given his heart, his very soul, to a cause born of twisted ramblings and false revelations. It is his only purpose, and if he is to learn the truth, then he shall surely crumble. That is why he is so mad; it is all he can really be. ¡°¡­ I see,¡± he says with a bitter laugh. ¡°You, too, have refused me, then?¡± ¡°Are you really that surprised?¡± it replies, throwing away its cloak unsheathing the twin celestial blades for battle. ¡°You know who I am. You know where my devotion lies.¡± ¡°I suppose I am not. Still, I had hoped for one with such darkness as you to embrace my gift. A shame. Truly, a shame.¡± With a sigh, he reaches behind his back and reveals forth a curved, serrated dagger. It is small, jagged blades jutting out with a malevolent bloodlust, and a crimson liquid drips from the weapon¡¯s edge: sticky. Spurting. Like an abnormal form of sap. ¡°Ah, now this won¡¯t do. I believe I¡¯ve never formally introduced myself! To think I¡¯ve been so utterly rude all this time. Do forgive me,¡± the man cackles. ¡°I go by many names, but you may call me Satanael.¡± Chapter 37: Satanael of the Bloom ¡°Long, long ago, when I was but a common child in the slums of Lux Caelum, I lost my right eye. It was an unceremonious loss; sudden, quick, and without remorse. A drunken fool, a flying bottle, and before I knew it, a bloody mess spurted forth - like a macabre fountain of gouged tissue - as a glass shard pierced my eye and wretched it out of my socket. I could not see. I could not feel. From then on, the world was cast in the most dulled of greys. I lost the gift to see color. ¡°My only joy, my precious little garden - blooming with such wondrous pigments despite being planted in the ash-wrought concrete - was my sole relief in those days. Yet it was ripped away from me. Those colors, that beauty¡­ I could not see it anymore. Those flowers were my only love, but the world deigned to leave me bereft of even that. And so I shattered. Years passed, the nation transformed into the age of Nox, yet I was still broken. Empty. Hollow.¡± - Satanael of the Bloom ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The two silently leer at the other, foot stomping onto the moist dirt as they carefully stalk around on the field¡ªwaiting for the first move. This foe is different; Satanael is unlike the Nature¡¯s Throne who rampages with her heart laid bare. Instead, he scrutinizes the Knight¡¯s every move. He lingers with footsteps aflutter, gauging its every twitch of muscle and keeping a firm distance away. Those are not the maneuvers of the Polus; rather, they are of an assassin¡¯s. A killer who lurks out of sight for a singular moment of vulnerability¡­ and yet here is¡ªhis form fully revealed in this garden without shadow. There must be a secret to his confidence, a scheme lying in wait: That much is evident. But the Knight will yield nothing of worth so long as they continue this revolving dance. The door has disappeared, there is no escape in this endless meadow, and Satanael¡¯s intentions are clear: ¡°Come to me,¡± his form seems to beckon. ¡°Come, and let yourself be wrapped in my embrace.¡± So be it, it muses. But it does not intend to fall for his tricks so simply. If the only path is forward, then it shall employ a ruse of its own. Close your eyes, Aegis. The Knight raises its leg, and then it pulverizes the ground below. A plume of dust erupts skyward in a billowing trail, sound traveling through the garden in an explosion of debris, and Satanael¡¯s stance becomes flustered for a brief second as he attempts to scurry away. It is too late, and the Knight emerges from the cloud faster than he can react. It bolts behind him, raises its blades, and severs his head in one fluid motion. Just like that, his body crumbles. His head falls. And he stains the tattered grass with his blood. ¡­ Is that all? It lifts up his head and crushes it between its fist. Bone and brain matter splatter together into an unrecognizable mound of flesh, yet Satanael still does not react. Is he truly dead after that entire speech? No, there are still some methods in which he can revive. The Knight stomps the corpse¡¯s heart. It tears away the arms, rips out the legs, and splits the torso in two. Yet Satanael, or rather what remains of him, still remains quite dead. Hrm. This can¡¯t be right. This separate dimension should have begun collapsing upon his death. That it still remains implies the man is still alive. Well, if physical mutilation has failed, then perhaps a more thorough method is in order. It gathers every mangled piece of sinew around it and throws the bloody pile all together into one clump; then it raises the blade of the sun and prepares to reduce the man¡¯s remnants into but ashen cinder. ¡°Solgas, let loose your flame.¡± But it receives no response. ¡°Solgas?¡± The blade is entirely dulled as if it is currently slumbering. The Knight takes a look at the Lunas as well and discovers a similar fate: the twins are not responding to its call. No, more accurately, they are unable to respond. Something about this space is disrupting Creation¡¯s flow, turning the celestial weapons into mere scraps of stardust. Aegis, it speaks to the child in its mind. Are you able to stir the Creation around you? Attempt to beckon it forward. Aegis does as he commands, but he soon lets out a confused gurgle. His frustration is conveyed clearly¡ªa sense of disorientation. The energy in the garden feels strange and foreign, as if the Mother¡¯s divinity has been corrupted in some way, and any attempts at summoning it only result in the child¡¯s senses to be assaulted by pain. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. But if so, then why is his invisibility invocation still being maintained? Curious, it is ever so curious, but now is not the time. Before it can ruminate over the bizarre phenomenon any longer, an ominous laughter from the beyond confirms its suspicions. Satanael¡¯s gloating voice rings clear in its mind, but the pile of flesh that used to be his body is still there. Unmoving. The Knight attempts to find the source of his snickering, but all that meets its vision is the same blue sky and verdant field. ¡°My, my, quite the impatient one you are,¡± he says from every direction. Satanael has become a true phantom: immaterial and ephemeral in nature, but how exactly still eludes the Knight¡¯s grasp. ¡°A pity. I had much more planned for the first act - oh, it would have had such wonders and twists - but I suppose I should have expected one such as you to surpass my expectations. Never the matter, let us delve straight into the second act, shall we?¡± Suddenly, a thread of bloodlust bids its instinct to move, and the Knight quickly slashes at its side towards what appears to be mere air. Only, its blade makes contact with something. Something unseen. And it does not take long before the bloodlust reappears in stride¡ªsending an unrelenting surge of invisible attacks to strike it without rest. They are not particularly powerful in comparison to Annalay¡¯s wrath, but what makes Satanael¡¯s assault difficult to deflect is the complexity. The rhythm. At times it contains a clear pattern while others are more disjointed and chaotic in nature. He is not a warrior, his attacks lack that ingrained depth that comes from repeated training, and his urge to kill is almost whimsical in a way. It is almost as if Satanael is leading it on a waltz, purposely conducting its every movement through a song of sparks and strikes. But his true form is not there. He has no physical presence, and slashing the space behind the transient attacks yields nothing: not even so much as a scratch. This is puzzling. If he was simply invisible, then my vision would have revealed him long ago. Not even Aegis¡¯s sorcery can fool me. ¡°Oh, my dear madam! It appears you are in quite the conundrum,¡± his voice whispers into its ear. ¡°Your efforts are admirable, but surely this cannot last forever. You will falter, eventually. Bit by bit, I will prune you. I will be the one to bring out your inner beauty, and from your blood shall rise a flower like never seen before. I wonder¡­ just what appearance shall it bloom into? Goodness, my body shivers at the thought.¡± ¡°I am afraid you¡¯re going to be disappointed,¡± it grunts. ¡°What makes you so sure these feeble attacks will wear me down?¡± ¡°Feeble? Your words wound me, Lorelai,¡± he says with mock indignation. ¡°But I admit, my strength is no doubt lacking in comparison to the Polus knights. I much prefer to tend to my flora than hold a weapon, after all. However, your fate was sealed the moment you stepped foot into my garden. My paradise. I have all the time in the world, my dear. And I will savor every moment of your futile resistance.¡± When I set foot into the garden? So it all started there. I must think back¡­ what did I see? Nothing¡ªa flash of light. The mock sun blinded me, and when I turned my head, he was standing there with his arms held wide. But was that truly him? Was the man I entered with and the man I saw truly the same? Perhaps, my thoughts were wrong from the very beginning. This garden is not just a separate dimension, but rather¡­ The Knight understands now. It understands why Creation is so muddled, and it knows why mutilating his body results not in his death: because it isn¡¯t his actual body at all. The garden is Satanael. The sky, the soil, the very space itself: all of it is he. ¡°You¡­¡± it stutters. ¡°What have you done to yourself? How can such a thing even be possible?¡± Creation is endless in its potential, but even the Knight has never witnessed such a baffling transfiguration before. The man cannot even be considered human anymore, for all that remains of his mortal self is his spirit. His blood has transformed into rain. His flesh has been ground into soil. He is the land itself: his very own seedbed. This shouldn¡¯t have been possible. At least, not without the help from a being far beyond the nebula. ¡°Hm? That look in your face¡­ hehe, you¡¯ve realized it, haven¡¯t you?¡± he chuckles. ¡°Oh, Lorelai. You¡¯re ruining all of my dramatic reveals! Where¡¯s the flair, the art of suspense, when you discover my secrets so quickly? ¡°I am not in the mood to listen to your ramblings. Answer me: Who gave you this power?¡± The earth should never be found. It must stay hidden, it must remain far away from their loathsome sight, but the Knight cannot help but assume the worst: That they have found their way to Humanity¡¯s last bastion. ¡°Were you seduced by a Star?¡± He doesn¡¯t answer; instead, the onslaught stops. The expanse becomes silent. And soon, Satanael manifests into reality with his prior puppet of flesh. It has the same floral mask, the same robe, and the same eerie aura, but there is something else now mixed into his guise: confusion. Genuine confusion. ¡°A Star, you say?¡± he questions. ¡°Now why would I give myself to one of the Mother¡¯s kind when she is here right with me? Do you think of me to be some sort of unfaithful scoundrel? Oh, you insult me. My heart belongs to only her, and so it shall be for the rest of my existence.¡± Hm? Was I wrong? There is no deceit in Satanael¡¯s words. He is sincerely baffled by its question¡ªas if it has just insulted him with the most foul of curses. ¡°But a Star you say? That is very interesting,¡± he says. ¡°You surprised me at the theatre, and you surprised me again with this mysterious knowledge. Does Polus doctrine not proclaim those divinities long absent in search for new lands? And yet¡­ you, who is second only to the King, seem to believe otherwise. What other secrets are you hiding? I must know.¡± Satanael raises his crimson sap-covered dagger and hovers it right next to his chest. ¡°Ah, but you won¡¯t answer me, will you? That is perfectly fine. I shall simply have to wretch it out of you by force.¡± Without even a hint of hesitation, Satanael plunges the dagger straight into his body. He laughs, and then he writhes. Shaking. Trembling. Until a squelching wet blob of puss begins to crawl out of the cavity. ¡°Now, it is time for the third act.¡± Chapter 38: Through Patches of Violet ¡°When I found my mother dead, body pummeled and blackened from my father¡¯s final rampage, I did not mourn. I couldn¡¯t, for her blood was still that ever bland shade of grey. There was no color in anything, so why must I feel sad? Life passes by, and even that old fool¡¯s hanging corpse appeared to be at peace in the end. At that moment, I thought myself not so dissimilar to them. Could this emptiness truly be called living? Every day was the same dry routine. The same smog-ridden sky. So I despaired, for I knew then that I would never be happy. ¡°Nonetheless, I continued to slave away. I returned to the factories, and I buried my parents in the same garden that once bloomed with my dreams. I do not know why I chose to bury them there¡ªperhaps, I wished for them to have what I could not: to become a part of something so much grander than oneself. I wanted to be beautiful. ¡°And then, one day, I returned to that garden. Years had passed, and the buds I once planted had all but withered away. I wished to end it all; I desired to finally become one with the earth. And through my flesh and bone, the soil would nurture and new life would spring forth. I wanted to become a seedbed, and with my death would I finally become something of worth to the world. ¡°But I faltered, for nestled within that graveyard of violets and roses was something I had yearned to see for so, so long. There, atop the patch of dirt where my parents layed, were two radiant flowers. I cried, and for the first time since I lost my eye, I saw color again.¡± - Satanael of the Bloom ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The blob rips its way out of Satanael¡¯s torso with a shuddering wail. Bit by bit, its form shifts - undulating and sticky - until it begins to faintly resemble the figure of a human being. It breaks free, and then it soon falls with a splat. Twitching. Yet the thing rises with a deformed leg. It stands up and basks in the sunlight¡¯s rays. The light showers it, burns away its membrane of mucus, and thus is left a complete replica of Lorelai¡ªbody bare and skin gleaming like that of a newborn child. Indistinguishable. Only, there is one difference: the thing¡¯s face is unmarred. Smooth. And it is through the copy that the Knight can see how truly stunning Lorelai must have been. ¡°This form¡­ it truly is beautiful,¡± the thing says in Satanael¡¯s voice. He runs his fingers along the arm of his new vessel, groping and inspecting every bit of his naked surface. He delights in the touch, revels in the wind sending waves through his golden braid, yet the Knight does not sense a morsel of lust in his caressing hands. It is not sexual perversion; rather, a form of freedom. A degenerate pleasure in taking away the identity of another. ¡°Why you choose to remain scarred, I know not. From these supple breasts, firm torso, and toned muscles: It is not so disingenuous to proclaim your body as a work of art itself. Truly, there is no more fitting model for my rebirth.¡± ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± the Knight questions. There is no benefit for Satanael to halt his assault, so why display this grotesque ritual of birth? It does not matter what form he takes when the entirety of the garden is his flesh and being. An endless number of false bodies could attack it right now if he so wishes, but instead he stops and performs this farce for only one reason: sadistic glee. ¡°Whatever do you mean?¡± he teases with a giggle. ¡°I desired a change in appearance, that is all. Does it bother you? To see your face in another? I do wonder¡­ would even a mighty Throne hesitate to cut down their mirror image? Would you squirm? Flinch as your blade slices through what is your own? So many questions, but I am not worried. We have all the time in the world to solve them.¡± Satanael does not merely wish for its death. No, he wants to dominate it. To torment its emotions and enslave its mind. For others, this would be a rather diabolical tactic¡ªa way for even the meek to slay one who is strong. But for the Knight, they are merely empty words. The woman he seeks to subdue isn¡¯t here. That means his tactics are futile as well. ¡°Now, come to me. Can you truly cleave your own¡ª¡± The Knight rushes forward mid-way through his speech and pulverizes his head into a fine red mist. Contrary to before, the body does not crumble. Instead, the headless torso freezes in place and crosses its arms as if baffled by what has just occurred. ¡°¡­ No hesitation?¡± Satanael¡¯s disembodied voice echoes once more. ¡°That¡ªhrm, is surprising. Even for you. I don¡¯t know quite what to feel. Every plan of mine, this stage designed to bring your beauty to its highest peak, has been completely dashed away. I am starting to feel a little bit vexed, if I am to be honest. ¡± This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°Then end this farce already. No more dramatics. No more feeble attempts at manipulation. Either you use your full strength to bring me down, or you will give up and allow me to exit this realm.¡± Satanael sighs. ¡°Such a bore, you are. Do you not realize I am trying to help you? To realize your full potential so that you may bloom at your best? Now it¡¯s all ruined; when you perish here and I use your body as a seedbed, your buds may not be as lovely as they could have been. Does that not frighten you?¡± ¡°I am not dying here, Satanael,¡± it says. ¡°Not to you, nor to the source of this grotesque power. Were you truly not swayed by the lies of a Star?¡± ¡°How many times must I tell you?¡± His voice grows enraged, spitting and assaulting its ears with sharp rumblings and a disgusted grunt. ¡°I was blessed by the Mother. I saw her form on the day of my first sacrament - the day I rediscovered my passion for art in this world - and I will not have the likes of you tarnish mine devotion.¡± He saw that lonely being¡¯s form? ¡°And how do you know that was truly Cosmos? Think back to that day and look very clearly. Look at their face. Their hair. Their eyes. Can you remember exactly what their appearance is?¡± ¡°I¡ªI¡­¡± The headless body trips on its own steps and falls to the floor. It stumbles there pathetically, rolling on the dirt as its limbs flail about as if each one has a mind of its own, and Satanael¡¯s distressed voice rings clearly in its head: confusion. Rejection. ¡°N-No, you¡­ you cannot trick me. How dare you attempt to shake my faith! That form was clearly the Mother¡¯s. No other could have shone with such love - such tender warmth. No¡ª¡± ¡°What did you see, Satanael?¡± It pushes his sanity further down. It pries open his heart and plants a seed of doubt: such exploitation should be familiar with him, and yet he is just as vulnerable to its effects than any other. ¡°Tell me clearly. What did you see?¡± ¡°I saw¡­¡± He pauses, and for a moment the Knight believes him to have finally succumbed. But he soon proves it wrong. Instead of facing his insanity, he chooses to delve deeper within. ¡°Hah. Ahaha, ah¡­ I saw my face. It reflected off the flower¡¯s dewdrops, and it was in there I saw a light glaring from my lost eye. I understand now. That form of hers was me. I was Cosmos all along¡ªher avatar. Her sacred reincarnation. And when I realized my purpose, my body bloomed. It turned into the seedbed I had always wished for, but this world could not handle the birth of another. It could not handle the birth of a new divinity, and so I hid in the space between reality. I could only exist in the possibility of what lies beyond the doorway.¡± Hm, it appears I have made him worse. ¡°Yes. I am Cosmos, and Cosmos is I. My purpose isn¡¯t false. This truly is my calling¡ªmy sacred duty. Oh, Lorelai¡­ I am more devoted than ever before, and I have you to thank for this wonderful epiphany. Do not worry: Even without the pruning ritual, I am confident now that I can bloom you into a truly special existence.¡± Words have failed. In the end, the Knight must fall back to its prior strategy: physical resistance. Though it does not have much hope for its continued use; Satanael is becoming stronger, the garden¡¯s frenzy is rising, and his zealotry is causing the space to distort even further. Aegis squeezes his little head in pain, and if something is not done soon, then his concentration will falter and his body will be revealed before the madman. ¡°My dear madam, have you not accepted your fate?¡± Satanael chuckles while manipulating the husk¡¯s body forward into an indifferent stride. ¡°There is nowhere for you to escape. Nowhere for you to hide. And while this is a rather dull method, I could simply watch you starve here rather than exert the effort to make your death a stunning one. But I do not want that. I want to respect your strength¡ªto give you an end befitting that of the Heaven¡¯s Throne. You cannot destroy this Eden, Lorelai. Please, I am an artist. Allow me to make you my masterpiece, and so you shall thrive here in paradise.¡± As loathsome as his goading may be, Satanael¡¯s confidence is not misplaced. The Knight cannot destroy the garden in its current state; it has never faced a foe like this before. The only option left is to tear through the field and bring about as much destruction as it can. But that will take some time. This realm stretches far beyond the horizon; I know not if Aegis will be able to endure such force. It is unfortunate I cannot use the Solgas to cause a wildfire, but perhaps I can¡ª The Knight stops. It looks at the Celestial blades, and then it peeks at the still-invisible child atop its head. When we entered this garden, Aegis already had his spell invoked. It persisted¡ªbrought in from the outside. But the blades are different. They require to be called upon before using the surrounding Creation as a medium. They were not invoked beforehand. That is why they can not respond now. The Knight can never invoke Creation¡¯s aid. But that does not mean the divinity¡¯s presence is absent. No, it lurks deep within its chest as a plague¡ªone the Polus know very well. ¡°Lorelai,¡± Satanael says, outstretching his blood-soaked palm. ¡°Accept me, and I will gift you an eternity of happiness.¡± It can feel it bubbling, that sickening mist. It wishes to escape, to infect everything with its resentment. And so it shall have its wish. The Knight is done holding it back. It takes a step forward, and then it grasps his hand. It can feel his smile, though his head still remains a fleshy stump. That joy does not last for long. ¡°Unfortunately, I am quite tired of eternity.¡± Before he can react, the miasma toiling inside the Knight explodes, and it rushes out in an uncontrollable wave¡ªswallowing everything within its murky ocean of ink. Chapter 39: Paradise Lost ¡°There was a time when I once believed in paradise, but that being has long been forgotten. It was stripped away bit by bit¡ªendeavor after endeavor in an effort to lead humanity. But they did not listen. Their curiosity was impossible to control, and at that time, I could not understand why they behaved so destructively. They had everything they needed to live a peaceful life: food, land, shelter, love. They should have been content, and yet they sought for yonder skies. I did not understand. I could not, for I was different from them. And no matter how hard I tried¡­ eventually, they broke free from my grasp. They chose adversity over comfort, but I have never faulted them for a second. They take after their creator, after all; that boundless yearning for the unknown is instilled deep within their soul. It is why they can grow, evolve, and change. But I cannot. I am the same as I ever was, and so it shall be until my final breath.¡± - The Knight ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The garden descends into an excruciating scream. The field withers, the clouds darken, and all that travels through the expanse is a guttural choke of the most foul of pains as Satanael cries out in sheer, utter terror. His voice does not even sound human anymore: rather an incoherent mess of retching and spit¡ªlike a wild animal gargling on vomit. Only his desperation is one that only a human can have. A blood-curdling wail. A pathetic whimper stemming from an instinctual need to bawl. He is suffering, for this space serving as his body is rotting from the inside. There is no escape from the miasma, and Satanael can only watch on in despair as the umbral poison spreads farther and farther into his Eden. Unfortunately, there is only so much of Creation¡¯s loathing locked away inside of the Knight. Its reach eventually stops a distance away, forming a large blanket of mist that drains away at his power, but it is not quite enough to slay the garden. It pains him, afflicts him with a never-ending curse, but torment only serves to stoke a more harrowing resistance. Desperate. And it can feel that desperation now dripping from his struggling voice. ¡°Y-You,¡± he chokes. ¡°This¡­ what is this? I¡¯m cold. So very cold. M-My mind is not listening to me. It whispers and whispers without end. It seduces me with a miserable song. I, am I not your child, Cosmos? No, these are lies. I am the chosen. I am not mad. Stop that. Stop speaking in her voice. Please, I beg you, make it stop!¡± An innumerable mass of fleshen clumps are manifested from the befouled air, but whatever it is Satanael is attempting to create has been muddled by the miasma. It latches onto his heart, it unearths the doubts hidden deep within, and so it is laid clear: the words he dreads most. ¡°I am happy. I am¡­ happy,¡± he sobs. ¡°Do not take my color away from me. I cannot go back¡ªnot to that hopelessly grey world. Am I truly so pathetic? No, my flowers love me. And I love them. I cherish them, saved them from this disgusting world that would watch them shrivel. I am not a mindless killer. My cause is pure, so please do not abandon me.¡± The flowers are dying, and their once colorful petals have all been reduced to mere sludge and filth. Satanael attempts to protect them with his misshapen blobs, deformed into a vaguely human shape, but even their bodies begin to melt before the miasma. He cannot protect even a single bud. His cries are all that is left of the barren field. The rain turns into his tears, but the waters only profligate the spreading stain. He cannot even weep without aiding the destruction of his life¡¯s work. It is a miserable sight¡ªalmost pitiful, if not for the suffering he has wrought to create these blood-fed blooms. He has earned his due; all that is left is to wait for him to break. A soft tap knocks at the Knight¡¯s helm. It is Aegis, and he does not appear to be happy. ¡°What is it, child?¡± it asks. Sadness. Aegis is sad watching Satanael suffer. For one beloved by Creation, it must be sorrowful indeed to watch it be malformed and used in such a twisted manner. More than anything else, he does not wish to see the man so wracked with pain. He wants to save him. ¡°¡­ Do you really want me to show him mercy?¡± He nods, and the Knight can only sigh before such a naive sentiment. It is only natural given his infancy; Aegis can only understand intent¡ªthe surface essence. He can follow orders, but he cannot grasp the reasoning. All he sees is that the man is being hurt; he does not like watching others be hurt. ¡°He has committed many foul acts, Aegis. Do you still desire his pardon?¡± The child does not understand morality. ¡°He will seek us again. The likes of his kind will never forgive the humiliation of being slighted.¡± The child does not care. He is only focused on the present rather than the future. ¡°Hrm. I do not expect you to understand this now, but there will come a time when you must take the life of another. It is inevitable. And hesitating in that moment will only lead to your death.¡± The child remains ever as stubborn. Truthfully, the Knight is not particularly set on the man¡¯s death. On the contrary, it would be useful to have someone like him cause chaos in the kingdom to distract away from its own deception. But it is clear the two will be unable to escape for as long as he lives, and his power is far too much of a threat to keep alive. They will be forever hunted if he is not stopped now. It is unfortunate, but the child must learn to face disappointment. ¡°Ah,¡± Satanael¡¯s voice suddenly mutters. ¡°You are the cause for this. You are the reason my divinity now treats me with disdain. It is you and this foul mist¡­ this disgustingly insistent mist. I thought you to be my muse, a work of art that would lead to my most dazzling masterpiece, but now I see you for what you truly are: a heretic. You deceived me, you ensnared me, all for the chance to enter my garden. To corrupt my paradise with your lies. No, there is no need to turn one foul as you into so beautiful a form as a flower. You do not deserve to even be the soil they lay upon!¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. The earth begins to tremor beneath it, and the field of grimy floral corpses are destroyed as great stalks of thorny stems rise up and pierce through the sludge. They sprout from all around the Knight, congregating and conjoining together into a single mass, until a giant amalgamation takes form into some sort of bizarre creature. It has no resemblance to anything that walks upon the earth¡ªits appearance akin more to an abstract painting than anything else. A messy collage of random flowers are affixed all throughout its sloppily-held body - stems hanging loose and mimicking that of intestines - and strange tendrils emerging from the bottom serve as the thing¡¯s legs. Only, there are far too many and each one is different in size from the other, leading its elongated torso - like that of a serpent reaching up to the sky - to swing back and forth in an unbalanced stumble. It is a disgusting thing, an ugly monstrosity for someone who proclaims themself as an artist, and the only part spared from the deformed manifestation is a colossal rose blooming from the top where the Knight assumes the head would be. The flower is unchanged at first glance - simple but elegant in its design - but a closer inspection reveals something nestled in the center. It is round, a much darker shade of red, and vein-like protrusions bulge out and creep along the surface. The Knight does not need to wait long before the thing opens up and reveals a large, gaping mouth. ¡°Hideous. I am hideous,¡± the thing says. ¡°Ugly, ugly, ugly. An appalling mass without elegance¡ªwithout reason. But I suppose humans are disgusting to begin with, aren¡¯t we? We cannot escape this soul born from filth. We do not deserve to be beautiful. We are all sinners, wading through a defiled world, and I am its harbinger: a fool that failed to create a paradise. All must repent. Let our bodies return to the earth so that a new world will sprout from our unworthy carcasses. I hear you, Cosmos. And I promise to atone¡­ starting with the death of this heretic¡ªthis great evil who has led me astray.¡± Without any hesitation, the creature springs to life and lunges deep into the blanket of miasma. The curse erodes at its exterior, but it remains unbothered. New filaments quickly replace the withered splotches. And it crawls forward in an unnerving jaunt as its tendrils tear apart the earth. Its maw froths¡ªits voice emits a constant, low groan as it approaches the Knight with a speed unfitting of its monstrous form. ¡°He is too far gone, Aegis. Close your eyes; I shall end this soon.¡± Closer and closer it comes. Crazed. Frantic. And when it finally nears the Knight¡¯s reach, the grotesque thing leaps up and descends onto it with the full force of its body in a crude show of strength. The deliberate steps and careful movements of Satanael are gone, replaced by a beastly instinct to thrash mindlessly. Even so, with such a large size, the Knight has no choice but to flee. It dashes to the side and lets its body travel along the wind as the thing crashes and unleashes a shockwave to burst through the air. The force sends the Knight flying high above, and it wastes not a second as it draws the twin blades and cleaves through the torso of stems and flowers in a fluid, arcing slash. It should have severed the thing in half, but the moment Satanael¡¯s floral flesh is cut, a collective ooze of green sinew bubbles from the exposed part and spurts out in hundreds of tiny string-like veins as it reconnects the tissue in a matter of moments. It is no use; the thing cannot be harmed with ordinary methods. No matter how many times the Knight slices its body, tears apart its limbs, or carves into its hollow shell, it continues its ceaseless rampage¡ªscreaming all the while in a jumbled ramble as the last remnants of Satanael¡¯s consciousness begs for penance from his conjured deity. ¡°Flay my flesh,¡± he cries. ¡°Scorch my blood. Stake my heart. Spare me not your wrath, and may I be consumed in your hateful inferno. Agony, I must feel it more. I must not be allowed to have even a single thought bereft of pain. Suffer, suffer, until this world is heard no more.¡± The garden is unrecognizable from its prior splendor. Even the fields still yet untouched by the miasma have been razed by his indiscriminate lament¡ªmounds of muddy shrines erected upon the battered mountaintops. And the skies that once shone blue are now the colorless grey Satanael is ever so fearful of. Everything is covered in a dry, dull layer of grey, yet the man himself is oblivious of his own undoing. He flails there in that messy form of stalks, blinded - perhaps purposely so - of all the blooms crushed beneath his tantrum. The Knight cannot watch this any longer. It plants its feet firm onto the ground and begins to recall every last shred of the miasma back to its body. The air is hazy no longer as the mist rushes back and settles into its heart, and the creature brought forth from Satanael¡¯s delirium halts - confused - over its sudden newfound clarity. ¡°You¡­?¡± Satanael¡¯s voice mutters. ¡°The voices¡­ they are gone. I, my mind is clear. Why have you?¡± The Knight opens its arms wide and beckons the creature to come close. ¡°I will resist no longer, Satanael. I know there will be no end to this struggle, so I submit myself. Slay me if you so wish; all I ask is that you let me become one with this garden. Consume me and transform my blood into the masterpiece you claim capable of.¡± The thing pauses, hesitant, as if any moment the Knight will cease its facade and torment it once again, but that moment never comes¡ªeven when its maw-like rose nears its body. ¡°Truly? You¡­ you choose to entrust yourself to me?¡± he asks with an almost childish drawl. ¡°Ah, I¡ªperhaps I have misjudged you. You are not a heretic after all. No, I understand; this struggle in and of itself is a way for you to blossom. Through this exchange of ours, we have both been pushed to the very limit¡ªthe true core of our beings. Thank you, Lorelai. From now on, we shall bloom together. Forevermore.¡± The rose opens its mouth wide, and its petals shiver in anticipation as it comes closer and closer until its pungent breath is brushed directly against the Knight¡¯s helm. It is a foul aroma, a scent of dying flowers and putrid gas, but it needs not be tortured with that smell for long before the rose snaps forward and swallows it whole in one swift gulp. It will take much too long to wait for his sanity to erode. Slowly, gently, it travels down the slimy stalk. Complete darkness reigns here, and Aegis whimpers in fear as the plant walls tighten their pressure around them. Squeezing. Constricting What I need is a shock: a blow strong enough to shake the very foundation of this domain. Soon, it begins to feel a viscous liquid oozing from the side. Rancid and spoiled, the sludge burns at the touch¡ªlike an acid. All-devouring. And eager to strip away at its outer surface. I can feel it: his connection with this monstrosity of foliage. The garden may be his body, but this creature is where his mind dwells. The miasma could not penetrate the wall of stems and flowers, but it is different now. I am inside. Here, in this crude stomach, he is more vulnerable than ever. There is no escape. The Knight gathers the miasma around its heart, and it begins to condense it. Refine it. Crush it as small as it can until the baleful mist quivers uncontrollably from the tension. Unlike before, it will not simply let the mist flow out. No, it must be unleashed in one sudden burst. Cover your ears, Aegis. The Knight releases its hold, and then comes a flash. It ignites faster than Aegis can comprehend. It vaporizes Satanael¡¯s avatar faster than he can scream. And as the two emerge from the darkness and out into the cold sting of the outside, a rain of mangled bits and green blood splatters from above. Falling, falling. And all the while, Satanael remains silent. Still as death. Chapter 40: And Thus I Proclaim Thee My God, the Lord Almighty ¡°At first, I merely watched over them. I laid by the hillside while they stumbled around this newfound world. Those were peaceful days, for the concerns of humanity were only of survival and shelter. They could not feed off of Creation like I, and so they were forced to ravage the plants and beasts. I did not agree with it, for I saw all life as offspring of that divinity. But there was nothing I could do lest I witness mankind wither away from starvation. ¡°From then on, I would come to accept many difficult arrangements: some trivial. Others utterly bizarre. When they began wrapping their bodies in leaves and bark, I deemed it simply a necessity against the cold. But then they started to wear those strange coverings under the scorching sun. ¡®Clothes¡¯ they called it. A form of ¡®fashion¡¯. I thought it madness back then, but it would be false of me to say I did not come to grow fond of all the differing styles. ¡°But what truly baffled me was how they spawned children of their own. Cosmos never did set the exact method in which humanity would reproduce - never did I expect the divinity to part with us so soon - and so years passed as I worried for their continued future. Eventually, however, humans began to change. They molded their bodies into odd forms. I did not understand why some desired to walk about with big lumps of flesh attached to their chest, and I was certainly confused when others had grown a strange mushroom-like appendage from their lower half. ¡®Fashion¡¯ they claimed it to be again. A form of ¡®personal identity¡¯. It did not take long before they started conjoining those ¡®fashions¡¯ into each other in a grotesque union of love. It was certainly a sight, to say the least, but my surprise was great when a child somehow emerged from that unsettling ritual.¡± - The Knight ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The garden is eerily serene now. No mocking laughter. No leering voice to taunt its patience. All that can be heard is the gentle breeze and the faint sound of something crawling in the distance. There, by the birch tree wherein lays the most precious of his flowers, is the sunken form of Satanael. His mask is shattered in half, and his body has been shriveled into a thin, hollow shell: dry, cracking, and with bones protruding from the sagging remains of his skin. The Knight can no longer see any color in his eye; it is but an empty cavity now¡ªdark like the void. And the rose which he claimed to be a gift from the divine has wilted into a brown muck. Somehow, the four flowers have been unaffected by his rampage. A miracle, perhaps, or maybe it is the result of an instinctual love: a subconscious desire to protect his beloveds even whilst bereft of a sane mind. Nevertheless, he makes his way there now. He digs his dirty nails into the soil and slowly pulls himself forward, bit by bit, as he continues his wordless endeavor with neither a care nor acknowledgement of the one who has left him in this feeble state. Hm? What is it, Aegis? The child excitedly raises his head, and he manifests a plain white flower onto his palm. It is a kindly - and rather bland - looking flower, entirely different from the blooms¡¯ Satanael touts, but Aegis is proud of his creation. It also denotes a weakening influence; Satanael no longer has full control over this realm. And soon, the twin celestial blades shine once again¡ªconfused over their sudden dormancy. ¡°It is about time you two awoke,¡± it says, casually tapping against their handles much to the weapons¡¯ embarrassment. ¡°But I suppose now is better than never. Come, let us put an end to this struggle.¡± The Knight steps forward, and it heads towards the still-creeping form of Satanael. He eventually reaches the amber displays; then, he collapses before the flower of rainbow petals¡ªhis mother¡¯s essence. And he wraps his body around the crystal, weeping, latching on with a pitiful wail. The supposed maestro is not here; there is only a vulnerable child. One afraid of what is soon to come. ¡°From where does the blue jay sing?¡± he mutters deliriously. ¡°Above. Above. Oh joyous meadow; oh little bud. For what reason do you bloom? Abloom. Abloom. Will you take me there, to that place o¡¯er the yonder skies? Will you take me there, to the land of paradise? My precious Eden, do not cry for me. You will live on in my heart. In this garden of possibility, we shall all finally be happy.¡± It approaches the man. He shudders in recognition, but then he smiles. And for a second it is as if all the world¡¯s hatred and wrath is contained in that scornful sneer. Regret. Despair. Loathing. It all courses through him in an instant, but in the end, all that is left is bitter acceptance. ¡°What¡­ will you do?¡± he says. ¡°What I must,¡± it replies. ¡°Ah, I see. And what if I were to let you go? My strength is exhausted; I can no longer stop you. We could simply part ways here. I promise to never show myself before you ever again.¡± ¡°I cannot do that. You have seen too much.¡± ¡°What, that dreadful mist? I must say I have never heard about the Heaven¡¯s Throne commanding such a power, but you need not worry. I am a man of my word. What secrets you have shall be safe with me¡ª¡± ¡°Stop this, Satanael,¡± it says with a firm command. ¡°I know full well the kind of man you are. Do you really think me naive of your intentions? If you wish to fool me, then at least attempt to hide your face wrought with vengeance.¡± Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°Heheh, was it truly that obvious? Pity, and here I thought myself rather adept at deception.¡± He crumbles into a meager pile on the ground and then looks up at the false sky. There is naught left but resignation; soon, even his conjured form begins to fade. But before he does, Satanael reaches out and bids the Knight one last request. ¡°May I ask of you a parting wish?¡± he whispers. ¡°¡­ Speak.¡± ¡°Take these flowers away before you destroy my garden. They are innocent, my beloved children, and even if I am to perish¡­ they shall live on¡ªforever dreaming in eternal bliss.¡± ¡°Very well. I shall find a lone meadow where they may rest undisturbed.¡± ¡°Thank you. I no longer have any regrets. Do with me as you please.¡± The Knight raises the Solgas, and it calls forth the inferno to surround the blade. The heat is blistering, and it does not take long before a scorching conflagration is whorled into a mighty spiral. Hungry. And eager to devour everything within its flaming maw. ¡°Solgas, let loose your¡ª¡± A mighty slap knocks against the Knight¡¯s helm, disrupting the spell and leaving it puzzled as an angry Aegis babbles into its ear. ¡°Hm?¡± Satanael says, aghast. ¡°What is that sound? Is that¡­ an infant?¡± Aegis, it scolds in its mind. Now is not the time. But the baby does not stop. He kicks and flails and screams in an attempt to stop the Knight from continuing with its execution. No, I already told you why we cannot spare him¡ªespecially now that you¡¯ve revealed your presence. For as long as his hatred of me remains, it is too dangerous to leave him alive. Unfortunately, words of reason have no power when it comes to the stubbornness of a babe set in his ways. His outburst even reaches the point where it is tempted to render him unconscious. But then, something truly baffling occurs. A miracle. An impossibility beyond any of its expectations. The Knight is left speechless - it twitches not even a single muscle - for right before its very eyes, Aegis cries out and the entire garden is blessed with life once more. From the mounds of ruptured dirt, the fields withered by the miasma, and the far reaches hidden out of sight: they are all gone¡ªreplaced by a beautiful expanse of flora and blinding, vibrant color. The mud beneath is replaced with that rolling green meadow of before. The grass blades¡¯ flutter, the wind blows in a joyful dance, and every last one of the crushed flowers have been revived. The garden returns to its scenery of paradise, as if not a single moment has passed since it stepped through the boutique¡¯s door. Every trace of the battle is gone, reduced to a memory. Satanael¡¯s form is rejuvenated as well. His flesh solidifies, his body returns to a lanky physique, and he stares with disbelief at the landscape around him. Forward, he steps - hesitant and shaky - and then he takes another. And another. Until his hands brush against his cherished flora, and he trembles, and then he falls onto his knees as great, blubbering sob is finally unburdened from his heart. He sob and sobs, letting a cascade of tears flow without resistance as he continues to lie there. His is a sob of pure relief. The Knight does not know how to react. It should be concerned, for Aegis has just rendered all its effort to break the man completely void, but rather than be upset at him, it is curious. Curious to see the child¡¯s wish may just come true after all. Perhaps¡­ yes, I can use this. Aegis, reveal yourself. The baby looks down at it with a perplexed look, especially after all it has warned him to never allow be seen by anyone. Your presence is already known due to your prior tantrum. Do not worry, I shall protect you. Aegis is still a bit wary, but he does as the Knight says and rids himself of the invisible veil. It walks up to Satanael and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turns his head, eye red and wet with tears, and without any resistance, he is exposed directly to Aegis¡¯s star-speckled irises. ¡°This child,¡± he says with awe. ¡°Why do I see her in you? The Mother¡­ she is there in your eyes. Those oh so beautiful eyes. I¡ªI do not understand.¡± He stares into that great, celestial expanse. Into that world beyond the sky. And it is here he witnesses the truth¡ªthe true form of Cosmos he claims to have seen. ¡°Ah, I see now. You are my god, the divine Almighty. The blessed Comet of legend. This entire time, I was the true sinner, wasn¡¯t I?¡± He laughs a bitter laugh, and then he smashes his head against the ground with a sudden burst of force. Satanael grovels there, burying his face in the muck, and he raises his palms up in deliverance¡ªas if waiting to be granted punishment. ¡°I am unworthy: a vile, wretched creature. For the crime of blasphemy, for daring to bring harm to the avatar of my Lord, please grant me unending torment. I must atone.¡± The Knight takes his hand into its own, and then it leans in close. It whispers into his ear: the words that shall chain him once and for all. ¡°Rise, Satanael. Your wrongs are great indeed, but worry not. All is forgiven, for you are special. Your skills, your devotion¡­ they must not be wasted in this little corner of the world. Your duty lies elsewhere.¡± ¡°What must I do?¡± ¡°Pledge yourself. Your body, your soul, your garden¡­ from now on, you will dedicate everything to me. And on the day of this world¡¯s final reckoning, you shall be led towards the beauty you desire. As one of the chosen, frolicking in paradise.¡± He raises his head, and his expression fills with such innocent joy¡ªas if he has been waiting his entire life to hear those words. However, there is still one last speck of doubt buried within him. ¡°But why?¡± he asks. ¡°Why does my divinity lie with you, the hero of Polus? Do you intend to use him as a pawn of the kingdom?¡± ¡°Oh, that is right. You still do not know of my identity, do you?¡± The Knight removes its helm, and thus it discards Lorelai¡¯s skin. Shifting, toiling, its face distorts into a hideous amalgamation of human contortions, shifting through appearance after appearance in a ghastly display as Satanael watches on with stunned silence. Eventually, a quiet chortle parts from his lips. Louder and louder. Until it expands into a hysterical, deranged howl. ¡°I was never in control. No, everything has been predetermined from the start. The true maestro was hidden all along, a puppeteer amidst a kingdom of marionettes. And I am but a mere doll, foolishly gazing at the sky¡¯s Constellation.¡± He regains his posture and then prostrates himself before it. There is no longer any doubt; everything he is and everything he shall be¡­ it belongs to the Knight. ¡°But if this doll can be of use to your cause, then use me as you wish. I am yours. Now, and for eternity.¡± Chapter 41: Curtain Calls on the Phantom ¡°It is embarrassing to admit, but my skills are rather limited whilst away from my garden. Here, I reign above all else, but take one step outside and I am as vulnerable to death as any other. I become a being of flesh and blood once more. ¡°Of course, I am no stranger with the dagger. If need be I can emerge victorious against a Polus knight, nay, a member of the Seraph¡ªthough it would be quite the harrowing battle. If all else fails, then I can simply run away. My garden is everywhere, and thus I am everywhere: from the most guarded castle to the deepest dungeon. All I need is a door: a vessel of passage. Any common door will do, though I have never thought much of what defines a ¡®door¡¯. It is, how do you say, natural to me¡ªwhat I can and cannot emerge from. Though, I am unable to travel a long distance from where I have entered. ¡°Hm? Can my creations be brought outside the garden? But of course! Where do you think the flowers in my boutique originate from? Once I plant a fresh corpse into the dirt, I draw out the color of their soul, and so a lovely child is brought forth from their remains. Even I know not exactly what shall be birthed, but isn¡¯t that what makes the whole process so rewarding? The anticipation, the wait: a tantalizing sense of excitement as you watch them blossom before your very eyes. ¡°¡­ My, that is quite the odd question. I suppose I can manifest a copy of myself, but whatever do you need such a thing for?¡± - Satanael of the Bloom ¡ª¡ª¡ª Dariel Dariel is in quite the predicament. He knows Lorelai would not be too happy with him for disregarding her orders, but something about that strange masked man has left him feeling ill at ease. When exactly did he get so close to us? I don¡¯t remember anyone sitting at that seat when the play first began. I didn¡¯t even hear so much as a footstep. Strange, how very strange. It¡¯s almost as if he appeared from thin air¡ªlike a phantom. His memories teeter back to the court session, of the mentions about a deranged killer at large, and though he is not one to engage in idle speculations¡­ his instincts tell him that this is a matter that shouldn¡¯t be ignored. And so here he is: running through the darkened streets in a nervous trot towards the nearest knight outpost he can find. Dariel knows Lorelai is strong. Dariel knows she isn¡¯t one to be felled by a common madman. But even so, he cannot subdue these anxious shivers creeping up into his throat. Her voice was more forceful than usual. Was she trying to keep me away? To warn me not to interfere? I know I would just be a burden in a scuffle, I know that, but Stars¡­ she¡¯s just recovered. I can¡¯t allow her to deal with this on her own, and even if my worries are unfounded, then I¡¯d rather live with the embarrassment than regret not helping at the crucial moment. Eventually, his steps slow, and he arrives right in front of a large pink-marbled building. An insignia of a bow wreathed in a single wing is inscribed upon the base: the insignia of the Cherubims. How fortunate that his family¡¯s branch be so close; it will make convincing them all the more simple. Dariel crashes through the door to the surprised yelps of the people inside and quickly rushes to the front reception before they can stop him. ¡°Y-Young lord?¡± the clerk stutters with a flustered bow. ¡°What brings you here at this hour¡ª¡± ¡°Apologies, but there isn¡¯t much time to explain.¡± He reaches into his suit¡¯s pocket and pulls out the same plaque shown to the concierge at the theatre hall. ¡°I, Dariel Cherubim, hereby invoke my authority as a noble descendant of the main family line: Gather what knights are available and search the streets near the entertainment district for a man donning a rose-covered mask. Arrest him at first sight. You are granted permission to use force if he resists, but be warned: He is much more dangerous than he appears.¡± ¡°Oh, um, at once,¡± they reply, frantically scribbling onto a document and running around in a mad dash. Soon, they begin to recite a spell, and their voice is raised to a deafening level for everyone in the building to hear. ¡°ATTENTION, ALL KNIGHTS OF THE CHERUBIMS: REPORT TO THE FRONT ENTRANCE AT ONCE. I REPEAT, ALL KNIGHTS OF THE CHERUBIMS MUST REPORT TO THE FRONT ENTRANCE.¡± In a matter of seconds, the once quiet hall is swiftly overcome with the footsteps of over a hundred strong. The poor clerk looks to be rather dazed from the sudden excitement, but nonetheless they dutifully relay Dariel¡¯s command and organizes the knights into various companies. One group is responsible for this section, this one another, and so on until they all disappear into the night just as quickly as they¡¯ve been summoned. The clerk breathes a sigh of relief, but their rest is short lived as they harden their expression and begin to write down a - no doubt - very lengthy report. ¡°As per the order¡¯s bylaws, I must request for you to remain here while I contact a superior official for further review. Do you comply?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Very well. Is there a specific member you had in mind?¡± they ask. ¡°Please notify Templar Dismas of the Order of the Skulking Dominion. I have a possible lead on the case he has been investigating of late. Oh, and I would prefer if we could talk in a more private space, if you would.¡± ¡°It shall be done.¡± The clerk fiddles under the desk for a moment before pulling out a small metal key. ¡°Follow me, please.¡± After making sure everything is in order, the two leave the reception area and ascend the staircase to the second floor. As always, the decorum of these Cherubim outposts are much more lavish than he is comfortable with. Plated gold covers every speck of the walls, and the sheer volume of jewels embedded throughout are dazzling enough to stun a blind man. With how bright it is here, one can scarcely believe it¡¯s currently the dead of night. Such glittering excess¡­ he has never been able to become accustomed to it. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Eventually, they arrive at a small door near the back of the building. ¡°I shall send a messenger to the Dominions shortly,¡± they say. ¡°In the meantime, please stay here until we receive a response. Would you like any refreshments while you wait? Tea, perhaps?¡± ¡°No, thank you. I am not planning on staying for long,¡± he replies with a clumsy smile. I would like nothing more than to be out there searching along the other knights, but I¡¯d only get in the way. Heh, I¡¯m starting to regret not taking my bow lessons more seriously. Then again, I¡¯ve never been much for physical activity. But if staying this way must mean to endure this gnawing feeling of uselessness¡­ then perhaps I should pick it up again. The clerk leaves, and Dariel opens the door to find himself in a surprisingly normal room: wooden tables, regular folding seats, and a small candle to serve as a light rather than an abundance of jewels. They must have noticed Dariel¡¯s discomfort with the interior¡ªhow nice. He gently closes the door, and then he begins pacing around the room in an anxious circle. There is nothing else left to do; only the Stars know what shall come next. Still, it is inevitable for one to grow anxious when left alone with their thoughts. Ugh, maybe I should¡¯ve told them to search for Lorelai as well. I know we¡¯re supposed to keep her return a secret, but what if they mistake her for that dreadful man? She was wearing a cloak, and it is rather dark out, so it¡¯s not impossible¡ª ¡°Yer lookin¡¯ real troubled, kid. Sit down. Don¡¯t want the nerves to overtake ya.¡± Dariel jumps up in fright upon hearing the raspy voice, and as he turns around, a figure rises up from the room¡¯s shadow. One by one, the stranger¡¯s limbs are thrust out of the darkness, and for a moment Dariel begins to panic¡ªfor that silhouette looks frighteningly similar to that of the masked man at the theatre. He cannot see them well in the dim light, but he can scarcely make out the shape of a mask. H-How did he find me? Damnit, to think this would happen after sending all the knights away. No, perhaps¡­ was he waiting for this moment? When I¡¯d be completely alone? Agh, there¡¯s no time: I need to get out of here! He bolts for the exits and fumbles with the doorknob in a desperate attempt to escape his sudden pursuer, but a hoarse sigh from behind makes him start to think otherwise. ¡°Alright, what¡¯s all this then? Aren¡¯t you Gadreel¡¯s boy? After callin¡¯ for me this late, now yer tryin¡¯ to run away? I don¡¯t ¡®preciate my time being wasted, kid. Calm yourself; I don¡¯t bite.¡± On a closer look, the man¡¯s mask does look a bit different. It¡¯s missing that strange looking rose; rather, there aren¡¯t any features of note at all. Its surface is just a smooth, unremarkable black. And his voice is also rather rough in comparison to the elegant, bewitching tone. ¡°O-Oh, it¡¯s you, Sir Dismas,¡± Dariel says with a big sigh of relief. ¡°Forgive me for the rude reaction. You see, the man I just saw looked very similar to you, so I had assumed the worst.¡± ¡°Right, I remember hearin¡¯ about that. They said you have some information for me?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Dariel takes a deep breath in and slowly soothes his still-beating heart. ¡°I believe I¡¯ve found the phantom you¡¯ve been looking for.¡± ¡°Really now? After all my slavin¡¯ away to get even a crumb of a lead, you just happened to come across that sick bastard? And escape without so much as a scratch at that?¡± ¡°Well, he was a bit preoccupied with someone else.¡± He looks around the room as if to reaffirm their privacy and leans in close. ¡°I assume you already know about Lorelai?¡± ¡°Know? I was there when she stormed the courtroom. Just because you couldn¡¯t see me doesn¡¯t mean I wasn¡¯t there.¡± ¡°I see. But yes, I was her guide this evening, showing her the Arthurian Theatre, when a strange man in a floral mask approached us. Slim. Posture grand and deliberate. He was¡­ odd. I¡¯m not sure how to explain it, but there was something in that gaze of his that felt unsettling¡ªlike a beast eyeing its prey. I tried to intervene, but then Lorelai suddenly commanded me to leave. She looked different from usual. Firm, as if at any moment she¡¯d draw her blades. I know she can handle herself, but I still felt worried which is why I called the Cherubim knights for assistance.¡± ¡°That so? Hm¡­¡± Dismas lowers his head and stays silent. Very silent. He must be sorting through his thoughts, but the Templar shows not a single sign of life¡ªnot a twitch nor even a grumble. He just stands still for some time, and thus Dariel also stands still in a rather awkward period of silence. Thankfully, he speaks at last, only this time his tone is a bit more polite. ¡°I get it now; so he set his sights on a more allurin¡¯ target this time. Wasn¡¯t satisfied with just spiritin¡¯ away the common folk. But how did he figure out her identity? Either we¡¯ve got a rat hiding somewhere, or he was drawn to her presence. Either way, this is good. Real good. Now that I¡¯ve got a description, it¡¯ll be much easier huntin¡¯ him down.¡± ¡°Good? But what about Lorelai?¡± ¡°Trust me, kid: Even if she¡¯s lost her memories, I doubt anyone in this kingdom ¡®sides Ascalon can do her in. She¡¯ll be fine. That damn ghost has probably run away by now after seeing her strength. What matters is makin¡¯ sure he can¡¯t leave the capital.¡± Having another confirm Lorelai¡¯s proficiency does wonders to ease Dariel¡¯s troubles. If even those of the upper echelon say so, then it must be true. ¡°I¡¯ll check the alleyways for them,¡± Dismas continues. ¡°With the knights roaming around, there aren¡¯t any other places for him to run¡ª¡± A loud yell from outside startles the two. The source is close, right next to the building, and the sound is quickly followed by an accompaniment of similar cries. Something is happening. ¡°Hm, that doesn¡¯t sound good. Come on, kid. Let¡¯s see if this is our rodent.¡± Dismas quickly scoops Dariel up into his arms and then dives into the shadows before his startled partner can even react. The two are completely consumed by the dusk, and Dariel finds himself in the midst of a strange, suffocating realm. There is no light here, no sound¡ªit¡¯s as if he¡¯s floating in empty space. And all the while he suffers from a constant pressure pushing down on his body. Constricting. It is fortunate the moment passes swiftly, and they soon emerge out into the open street. A few knights of the Cherubims have already pulled out their weapons here. Their bodies are positioned, hands plagued with a slight tremble, and the cause of their tension can be seen plainly in the distance¡ªa shrouded outline. One unnatural in shape, almost monstrous, and it is approaching them with a steady stride. Dariel is no warrior, but even he can sense the pure aura of danger exuding from whatever this being is. But it is the sound that shakes his heart with fear. With every step they take, something falls onto the pavement. Dripping, dripping, a wet liquid. Splattering. A periodic rhythm of the unknown, and it is that mystery that invokes a fearsome image¡ªcreatures, grotesque and hideous, birthed from the imagination of his mind. But he will not need to imagine any longer, for the figure is now but a mere jaunt away. There, stepping out into the moon¡¯s spotlight, is the bloodied visage of Lorelai. And she is with a familiar face. Or rather, mask, for gripped tightly in her hands is the severed remains of the man Templar Dismas has been searching for: the phantom. And he is very much dead. Chapter 42: The Skulking Dominion ¡°Dismas has always been kind of withdrawn, even while I was in the academy. A lot of the Templars right now were my classmates in those days so I got to know them pretty well, but he preferred to be by himself. And I respect that, you know? I absolutely despise being alone, so I admired that part of him¡ªthat sort of listlessness and uncaring demeanor. ¡°He was content with life, and it wasn¡¯t as if he was unsociable either; he talked when he needed to and put in the effort when it mattered. Even when others mocked him for his odd way of speaking, he just brushed them off without a care. I was also made fun of since I never learned proper noble speech, but Lorelai and Annalay were there to chase them off for me. ¡°I had someone I could rely on, but Dismas didn¡¯t have that. All he had was a really stubborn attitude and a sharp one-two. Seriously, that jab of his wasn¡¯t something you¡¯d want to mess with. Fast. Precise. No wonder he started using daggers: that man knew how to move. He really was someone I looked up to. ¡°But then, one day, he changed. Even to this day I don¡¯t know exactly why. He stopped coming to classes for a while, and when he returned, there was a scary light in his eyes. Almost desperate. From then on, he tried harder than anyone else to become a knight, and the instructors were praising him for the sudden change. But I thought differently. To me, it seemed like he was chasing after something¡ªsomething far out of reach. He became a Templar for that reason, and yet I don¡¯t think he ever managed to find what he was looking for. Is he still searching for it now, even after all this time? I wonder¡­¡± - Surasha Power, Templar of the Mending Virtue ¡ª¡ª¡ª Dariel Dariel very nearly faints before the sight right then and there, but with a firm grit of his teeth and a fearful desire to not embarrass himself, he manages to stay upright as Lorelai casually walks up to them with the dismembered carcass in hand. ¡°Oh? Is that you, Dariel?¡± she says without a care for the baffled expressions of the knights around her. ¡°I thought you would have long returned home by now.¡± ¡°Sorry, Lorelai,¡± he mumbles. ¡°I know you told me to leave and all, but I brought some help just in case. Though I¡­ guess you didn¡¯t need it in the end.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be! I appreciate the thought.¡± She pats his shoulder as if to comfort him, and it would have worked if not for her gauntlet leaving a scarlet print on his suit. Blood makes Dariel squeamish, so to have a man¡¯s guts hanging out in full view is not easy on the eyes, to say the least. ¡°I was wondering why there were so many knights out. I tried to reach out to them at first, but then they ran away shouting about needing reinforcements before I could come close. It was odd, but I suppose I was in the darkness at the time: one¡¯s sight tends to play tricks on you when staring at the unknown. My identity is supposed to be a secret, anyway, so I didn¡¯t try very hard to correct them.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think the corpse in your hand helped with the misunderstandin¡¯,¡± Dismas says with what sounds like a grimace. The sight must be particularly brutal even for a Templar like him. ¡°I¡¯m guessin¡¯ this was the phantom Dariel¡¯s been talkin¡¯ about?¡± ¡°This?¡± Much to his dismay, she lifts the body up and presents it to him¡ªgouged flesh and all. ¡°I suppose that is a fitting name. I knew at first glance his intentions weren¡¯t benevolent, but with Dariel there and us in the middle of the theatre, I didn¡¯t want to risk endangering the public. So, I followed him to the back alleyway, and it was there he finally revealed himself.¡± Lorelai turns her head and looks at Sir Dismas with a curious look, as if scouring for a particular memory. ¡°His power was quite similar to yours, in fact.¡± ¡°Like me?¡± he questions. ¡°Huh, didn¡¯t think ya¡¯d remember. We only met a few times before you were sent off to the front.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I was referring to the courtroom. You were there, weren¡¯t you? The one in the shadows watching over everyone.¡± Dismas stumbles over his feet, appearing to be rather perplexed that another has managed to see through his concealment. ¡°Hah? Now that¡¯s a sorry blow. I¡¯ve a lot of pride in my skills: Not even Ascalon can discover me if I¡¯m at my best. How¡¯d you figure it out?¡± ¡°Hehe, I like to think my senses are quite keen. Without them, I¡¯d be the corpse instead of this fellow here.¡± ¡°Well, can¡¯t complain ¡®bout that.¡± He leers at their surroundings and quickly grabs the other two¡ªpulling them in near. The other knights murmur amongst themselves all the while, and soon, the other groups from around the area begin to congregate, lured in from all the commotion. ¡°¡­ But let¡¯s continue this talk in a more private spot. Don¡¯t want to attract any more attention than we¡¯ve already ¡®ave. I¡¯ll send some of my subordinates to clear things up around ¡®ere, and in the meantime, you two¡¯ll follow me.¡± Oh no. Dariel sighs and braces himself for the inevitable. Just as he expects, the ground beneath disappears, and the three are sucked into the darkness. They emerge out into a large dwelling. It¡¯s nice here, much more comfortable than the spaces at the Cherubims, for the interior is thoughtfully furnished with warm colors¡ªa maple-lined floor, rich brown walls, and a crackling fireplace nestled behind a quaint little desk. The decor is simple, but that is what makes it all the more welcoming to the young Dariel. He very much likes it here. ¡°Ah, bother¡­ forgot ¡®bout the blood,¡± Dismas grumbles as he takes a seat behind the desk. ¡°No use frettin¡¯ about it now. Just toss that damned corpse to the side and I¡¯ll deal with later. For now, I need a recount of what happened for the records. Even if it¡¯s you, Lorelai, killing in the capital is real serious business, and it¡¯s my line of work to know everythin¡¯ there is to know ¡®round here.¡± Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°Of course, sir¡­?¡± she says. ¡°Dismas. Templar Dismas of the Order of the Skulking Dominion. I¡¯m responsible for investigation, infiltration, and any other work that requires a shifty fellow like me. Interrogation is also part of that work, so don¡¯t take it personally if I seem a little rough; the scowl¡¯s just for effect.¡± But¡­ we can¡¯t see your face, Dariel almost blurts out loud. ¡°Hehe, you are quite the humorous person, Sir Dismas.¡± ¡°Just trying to lighten the mood, is all. Glad it seemed to work.¡®¡± Huh? Dariel is very lost, but he chooses to remain oblivious. There isn¡¯t any room for him to butt in, and besides: some things are better left unsaid lest he make himself out to be the fool. ¡°But let¡¯s not get too distracted now. I¡¯ve already got the gist from Gadreel¡¯s kid over there. What I need to know is what exactly happened after he left. Did you know the man was after you?¡± ¡°Not exactly,¡± she says with a trailing hum. ¡°I did notice a presence following us while we were enjoying the district¡¯s entertainment, but I decided to ignore it at the time. Dariel was having fun, and I didn¡¯t want to ruin this precious evening by making him worry over such things.¡± ¡°Lorelai¡­¡± Dariel murmurs. ¡°However, I could not keep my silence any longer when that presence finally approached us at the Arthurian Theatre. I knew then that a confrontation was inevitable, so I bid Dariel to leave before he could get involved in his scheme.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s when he brought ya out to the alley?¡± Dismas questions. ¡°Yes. He owned a small boutique there, hidden in an obscure little corner. We went inside, and then he began rambling about art and making me his masterpiece. I tolerated his nonsense in the case he would reveal more about his purpose, but all I really learned was that he was a complete, utter madman. He did not seek to kill me under someone¡¯s orders or for some grand reason: No, he merely wished to turn me into one of his grotesque artworks.¡± ¡°Knew that bastard was a sick one,¡± he groans. ¡°So he wasn¡¯t some spy from Caelum, then? No mentions of anyone else involved with his murders?¡± ¡°None. He appeared to be alone in his pursuits, and his reasoning for entering the capital was for finding suitable victims in which he may use as his inspiration.¡± ¡°And I¡¯m guessin¡¯ he got in through that power that¡¯s similar to mine?¡± Lorelai nods. ¡°Yes, he could blend in with the light. Cast himself in an intangible veil whilst in front of my eyes. It was very difficult to resist against. He attacked me whenever I was most vulnerable, and he ran away if I attempted to make chase. The only reason I claimed victory in the end was in due thanks to his naivety.¡± ¡°Oh? How¡¯s that?¡± She smiles. ¡°Sound. Though I could not see his body, I could hear his footsteps: the hard knocking against the floor. And I could hear his voice, ever persistent with his goading. When he thought me at my lowest, I seized the opportunity and cleaved him in half. I was lucky. If he put his full effort into fleeing, I would have never caught him.¡± Dismas slowly reclines back into his seat and lets out a deep sigh of relief. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter what could¡¯ve happened. Ya managed to slay him: That¡¯s what counts. And it seems he¡¯s the one I¡¯ve been searchin¡¯ for as well. Not many people in this world are that adept at stealth. Looks like I can finally get a good night¡¯s sleep for once. ¡°Ah, d¡¯ya remember where he took you? Probably¡¯s where all his victims are kept.¡± ¡°¡­ I do know where it is, but I do not think you will¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright. I¡¯m not expecting much,¡± he says, interrupting her with a raised hand. His voice still has that rough tone, but Dariel notices something else: a sad, sad tremble. ¡°But we should at least find their bodies. Lets the families ¡®ave a bit of closure. A way to mourn. Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ more painful in this world than not knowing for certain what¡¯s become of yer folks. You know they¡¯re gone, that there ain¡¯t any way for them to still be alive, but¡­ there¡¯s always that possibility. That damned sliver of hope. Next thing ya know, you¡¯re obsessed with it, and then it¡¯s too late to move on.¡± Dariel doesn¡¯t know what to say. How to comfort him. For those aren¡¯t the words of someone merely speaking in conjecture. ¡°Personal experience?¡± Lorelai asks. ¡°Hah. Hard to find anyone here who doesn¡¯t. I¡¯m just tryin¡¯ to stop others from becomin¡¯ a poor sop like me.¡± ¡°And we will, Dismas. I¡¯m sure of it.¡± He looks at her, and for a moment his coarse posture softens. It¡¯s just a little bit, and he soon returns to his gruff no-nonsense guise from before, but Dariel likes to think that the two have become closer. At the very least, he seems more relaxed. ¡°Well,¡± he says, shyly turning away and letting out a gruff cough. ¡°I¡¯ve got all I need. Sorry for draggin¡¯ you here so sudden and all: It must''ve been a rough night¡ªfor both of you. Get some rest and I¡¯ll send someone over in the morning to get the exact spot.¡± ¡°Thank you. And, I hope you do not blame yourself too much. He was a very cunning man; it is not your fault he was able to evade your sight. On the contrary, thanks to your efforts, I think you prevented many others from being spirited away. Be confident in yourself, Dismas. You¡¯re a much more capable man than you believe.¡± ¡°¡­ Ah, damnit,¡± he sighs. ¡°It¡¯s like ya can see right through me. Not a bad feeling, I¡¯ll admit. But at least let me save some face in front of the kid.¡± ¡°Being vulnerable is not something to be ashamed of. I doubt he respects you any less. Isn¡¯t that right, Dariel?¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± Dariel chuckles. ¡°Trust me. I¡¯ve had my fair share of embarrassing moments after meeting Lorelai.¡± She really does resemble that of a beacon¡ªa light for all those who¡¯ve lost their way. Above all else, he admires her ability to comfort people. To know what it is that troubles them from merely a few short glances. You can¡¯t hide anything from her, and that¡¯s why she knows exactly what to say to make you feel better. ¡°Alright, alright. The air¡¯s gettin¡¯ a bit too sappy for my liking. Get going already or I¡¯ll have to drag you out myself.¡± Grumpy to the end, hm? Hehe, you¡¯re not fooling anyone. I bet there¡¯s a big, bright smile hiding under that mask; you¡¯re just too flustered to show it. ¡°Besides, Ascalon¡¯s goin¡¯ to need ya soon. There¡¯s a lot o¡¯ stuff to be done, and the sooner you go to his side¡ªthe sooner I¡¯ll be free from all this work.¡± ¡°Hm? What does his Majesty need so much help preparing for?¡± Dariel says. ¡°The funeral ceremony, and Lorelai here¡¯ll have the most important role of all.¡± Chapter 43: The Sword in the Stone ¡°When the first King, Arthur, overthrew the ruler of his old nation, he was accompanied by seven loyal knights who would become the pillars for the orders that exist today. They were called the Knights of the Round Table. ¡°Sir Galahad Principality, his steps as light as the flowing river. ¡°Sir Kay Power, his rage an inferno whorl. ¡°Dame Isolde Virtue, her grace second only to her poison. ¡°Sir Tristan Cherubim, his arrow a pursuer without escape. ¡°Dame Morgan Sovereignty, her umbral magic a terror unparalleled. ¡°Sir Percival Dominion, his gaze pierced through the facades of men. ¡°Dame Guinevere Valkyrie, her strength the mightiest of them all. - Legends of the Knights of the Round Table: Penned by Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight Time has always been rather inconsistent to the Knight. Some days are long, where every hour is beset by some manner of excitement, and others pass in a blink of an eye: decades, centuries, aeons¡­ vanished into obscurity. Those fleeting days have become the norm as of late despite its initial reception, and it has gradually become accustomed to the daily routine of those who serve in the castle. And that routine is work. Never-ending work. It is no wonder why Templar Dismas has bid it to assist Ascalon; the King spends his every waking moment either signing documents or attending to the court¡¯s demands. The rare times he can obtain some semblance of peace is then dedicated to honing his strength, but even that small period is quickly shortened as preparations for the funeral reach its busiest. Nowadays, one cannot even take a step out into the halls without being trampled by a stream of haggard knights and hectic officials. Everyone is exhausted. That is, everyone except Ascalon. Surprisingly, despite being the most occupied of all, the man has never once wavered or succumbed to fatigue. On the contrary, there¡¯s a certain liveliness in his movements that clashes quite humorously against the gloomy-eyed environment. The Knight has watched him all this time as his attendant, helping him with paperwork while steadily reintroducing itself to those of the upper class, and yet it has not been able to glean anything of worth about him other than a few meaningless quirks. For example, Ascalon writes with both of his hands. The people of this kingdom tend to be more inclined towards their left, but the King uses this modest trait to plough through his workload with twice the speed of a common scribe. Another is that he rarely eats full meals. There is a dedicated banquet hall where one may gather along cohorts; a variety of dishes are all laid out so that one may serve themselves with the dishes they most prefer. But never has it seen Ascalon actually partake in such courses. Instead, he subsists off dry, cured meats and the occasional basket of fruit. Not too sweet, however: The sugar makes him wince. It can list more, if it so wishes. About how he tends to doze off during the evening hours only to snap back awake with an embarrassed cough; about how he hums to himself a cheerful little tune when he thinks no others are around; or about that sigh of his after a long, tranquil day that never fails to stir a strange heat inside its chest. All this it has come to know in but the span of a week. Meaningless. Completely, utterly meaningless. And yet, the Knight does not particularly dislike it¡ªlearning more about Ascalon. Before it can even realize, his gentle figure has already been ingrained in its memory: just the two of them in his office. Watching the sun slowly set. It is nice. Though the Knight hasn¡¯t had much opportunity to inspect the city since its excursion with Dariel, Ascalon has done his best to keep it from feeling listless. He does this by talking often, sharing his stories. And so it is that the two of them are here now: one last story at the eve of their work¡¯s culmination. ¡°What shall it be today?¡± it giggles as it sets down an ink-tipped quill on its desk. Everything is finally finished. Now, all that¡¯s left is to wait for the morrow. ¡°I quite liked the story about the boy and the beanstalk. It did have a rather odd ending, however. What was the moral lesson: Stealing should be encouraged?¡± ¡°It is¡­ ambiguous, I¡¯ll admit,¡± Ascalon chuckles. ¡°But I guarantee this next story will be even better. It¡¯s a personal favorite of mine; I used to read it everyday before I was brought to the capital.¡± ¡°Oh? An epic about a hero of old, perhaps?¡± ¡°Hehe, how did you know?¡± He reaches underneath his counter and pulls out a very worn book. The leather cover is frayed, covered in small scratches and stains, while the pages have aged into a pale yellow. Still, Ascalon holds it lovingly¡ªas if it is his most priceless treasure. ¡°This old thing is ¡®The Sword in the Stone¡¯: a legend about the founder, King Arthur, and his rise to lordship.¡± The Knight flinches. That is a name it does not like much to remember, but it is curious how that man¡¯s life has been preserved. Ascalon sits upright, clears his throat, and begins to recount the tale with a grandiose voice. ¡°Once upon a time, in the now fallen land known as Camelot, there lived a humble farmer¡¯s boy by the name of Arthur Polus.¡± ¡°¡­ Polus. ¡®Sky¡¯ in the old tongue,¡± it murmurs. ¡°How very fitting.¡± ¡°So you remember. Yes, it was a very regal name, especially for a child hailing from a small little village out in the plains. The people then were of much poorer folk, forced to labor the land under the watchful eye of Camelot¡¯s enforcers, and kindly Arthur suffered even greater hardship for he was of the lowest class: an orphan born from slaves. ¡°Slave: a despicable title. It is hard to imagine in this era¡ªthat such cruelty could have ever been enforced. To treat our own kind as mere property to be bought and sold¡­ no wonder Arthur grew to loathe them. Ever since his birth, he was treated as a lesser being.¡± Cruel? Perhaps, but it is not unimaginable how it came to be. I needed a method in which to punish those who did not adhere to my laws. The Knight is the one who invented slavery, the very first back in a time when it still believed in coexistence. When it reigned as ruler of all. Mankind is a species full of unpredictability, and part of that innate nature is a desire to trample over others¡ªa belief that they are superior. Those few troublemakers always did cause me trouble. Stubborn, too: Even when I threw them into the gaol for their crimes, they would never reflect. I did not understand. Did they not already have all they could want? Why must they greed for more? Irritating, it was very irritating. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. And so, instead of letting them rot away whilst contributing nothing of worth, I devised a most ingenious solution: I put them to work. I stripped them of their rights in a show of warning to others who¡¯d dare go against me. I placed a guard to watch over their every waking moment. They had no personal freedom, no privacy, and no control over their way of living: Thus did I control every part of them. It was very efficient; rarely did anyone ever act out since I implemented that system. Looking back, the Knight can understand why such treatment may have not been the best of ideas. It has felt this most especially when their resentment spiraled into an uncontrollable rebellion. Still, it is not its fault that those in the future would twist its well-meaning punishment for their own gain. For one, it has never intended for the status to be passed down onto their descendants. Others have merely adopted that particular detail as an excuse to maintain a convenient workforce. It has also never intended for slaves to be sold as some public commodity. No, those recusants belong to the central authority, the government, where they can be properly monitored and given clear direction. To allow others that right is to only encourage the philosophy of elitism¡ªclass difference. A philosophy, in fact, that is rampant even now. ¡°Do you not find it hypocritical?¡± it asks. ¡°That you scorn such treatment while perpetuating the divide between noble and commoner?¡± Ascalon does appear to know of his own contradiction, and he sighs with a great, weary huff. ¡°I agree with you. Is it not ironic that which made our founder rebel has become a core part of our culture? Whilst we may not own others, it is clear there is a stark distinction between the treatment of a high-born and the treatment of a common laborer. It wasn¡¯t always like this however. Back then, the Seven High Houses were no different from anyone else. All they had were their families¡¯ legacy and their duty to serve the people. ¡°But as time went on, that duty was warped into a sense of superiority. They believed themselves better just because their blood was that of a heroes¡¯, and unfortunately, the people agreed. The citizens of Polus revered Arthur and his seven noble knights with such fanaticism that they willingly prostrated themselves before the orders¡¯ descendants. Thus was the title of ¡®Noble¡¯ born. How saddening, don¡¯t you agree?¡± It is, in a darkly humorous way. The Knight has seen it firsthand¡ªhow that pitiful King wished to change the world. The lengths he has sought. The sacrifices he has made. If Arthur is to see his beloved nation now, he would no doubt raise his blade and purge it in a sea of blood and flame. But regardless of what it thinks, it is surprising that Ascalon is being so blatant with his distaste. These are very dangerous words he is saying right now¡ªone that could land him blasphemy. ¡°Ascalon, are you certain about telling me this?¡± it says. ¡°Of course,¡± Ascalon replies instantly. ¡°I know you are not one to judge another based on status.¡± Still, to place such trust in it¡­ how foolish. Even he cannot escape the consequences if his words are to be leaked outside this room. And yet, his expression shows not a shred of worry. Ascalon wholeheartedly believes in the Knight. Ordinarily it would be happy about this, but for some reason it cannot be rid of this strange sensation of guilt. Bothersome. So very bothersome. It is like a leech, this itch inside me. I want to scratch at it. To claw at it. To tear apart my insides until everything is an indistinguishable mess. ¡°And I¡­¡± he continues. ¡°I would confide in you quite often about this matter. About my wish to end this loathful hierarchy for good. Unfortunately, I know not if I will succeed in this lifetime. Society is ever so resistant to change, and to bring about such reform would no doubt cause much conflict from either side. I cannot have that, not when we¡¯re in the midst of a twenty year long war with no end in sight. The moment we are divided is the moment we fall before Caelum.¡± He sighs again. The Knight would be hard pressed to remember a day where he hasn¡¯t sighed or groaned or bemoaned about some matter involving the nation, but he does so out of genuine concern rather than vitriol. ¡°I apologize for the sudden shift in mood,¡± Ascalon says with a bashful scratch of his helm¡¯s cheek. ¡°Let¡¯s continue with the story, shall we?¡± ¡°But of course.¡± ¡°Thank you. Now, Arthur - the young boy as he was - did not think much about his life. His only concern was of survival, and so he spent his days in grueling labor. To him, this was all he had ever known. Normal. And so it would be until his death. ¡°But one fateful day, his dull routine was interrupted by the sound of a roaring horn. A messenger from the mainland had come, and with them, a most interesting decree. The Lord of Camelot had invited everyone, from the poorest farmer to the wealthiest merchant, to come partake in a festivity without restraint: The Ceremony of the Sword in the Stone.¡± ¡°Quite an interesting name.¡± ¡°And literal as well. Legends say that long before even the founding of Camelot, there was a warrior without equal. They roamed the land searching for worthy opponents, yet in all of their battles, not once had they ever felt the sting of defeat. There are many records of their exploits - some believable, others outlandish - but the one constant in them all is that the warrior was never once harmed. Not a drop of blood was spilled. Not even as much as a scratch. It was as if they were completely invulnerable.¡± Oh? Now that sounds very similar. ¡°The Inheritor of Freedom: one preceding Arthur¡¯s oath,¡± it mutters. ¡°Indeed. And so they continued their quest, battle after battle, until they made their final appearance at the hill where Camelot¡¯s capital would eventually lay. They raised their weapon, the celestial zweihander: Mattatron, and then they plunged it directly into a great, hulking boulder. ¡®Hear me, all those who seek mine inheritance,¡¯ they proclaimed. ¡®Thy worthiness shall be tested. Thy mettle shall be made clear. To you, who doth pull this sword from the stone, I bequeath the legacy of Freedom: And so thine shall become the rightful heir of my will¡ªthe strongest in the land. ¡°From that day forth, it became a tradition for all to gather and try their hand at claiming the sword. Year after year did many a hopeful challenger come, and yet no one ever succeeded. Time passed, a nation had risen, and the ceremony had transformed into one of entertainment: an excuse to revel from dawn to dusk in merrymaking. No one truly believed they would succeed. ¡°That is, except the young Arthur Polus. As the child of a slave, he was never granted leave to participate in the festivities. Only citizens were allowed to attend, and in the eyes of the law, he was but of rotten birth: a being lower than human. ¡°But that did not deter him. For the first time in his life, Arthur had felt his smothered heart beginning to stir. Beating to life. Something about the decree called out to him, stoked the flames of ambition in his eyes, and so he ran away. He could feel it¡ªthat this was his destiny. There, in that place, was where he could finally find his life¡¯s purpose. ¡°Of course, it would take a long while before Arthur reached Camelot¡¯s capital. He endured the elements, walked the trails until his soles bled, and suffered many a night writhing in pain from hunger. Yet he persisted. He pushed on to the end, and when he finally took a step into the grounds where the sword laid, the festivities had all but almost finished. He was the very last to challenge the ceremony, and so the eyes of all in attendance were upon him¡ªeager to watch him fail. They saw his mud-stained clothes and snickered. They howled at his decrepit, bony figure. Everyone thought him nothing more than an amusing end to the night. ¡°But they would laugh no longer, for Arthur took the sword in his hands, and then he pulled it out with not a single bit of resistance. The people were starstruck. They could not believe their eyes, but the scene before them was very much real. And those that saw him that day said it was as if the Mattatron itself had leapt from the stone to welcome him. Soon, a flash of light consumed them all, and when the world was clear once more, a pair of brilliant amber wings had manifested upon his back. Sparkling. A monarch given birth.¡± ¡°And then what happened?¡± the Knight asks. ¡°That¡­ is a story for another day,¡± Ascalon chuckles. ¡°I was having so much fun that I failed to realize the sun had already set. My apologies; I¡¯ve taken up too much of your time.¡± ¡°Are you truly going to stop at the best part? My, to think you would have such a sadistic side. You tease me, Ascalon.¡± ¡°Hehe, I can be mischievous when I want to. But we really must get some rest. Tomorrow is an especially important day. Who knows? Perhaps it shall mark the start of your own legend¡ªone where you emerge from the realm of eternal rest as a divinity, reborn. There you shall be, showering the light of hope unto all.¡± ¡°How grandiose, but I do not think it will be as lavish as that. As long as even one person can find strength in my presence, I will be content.¡± ¡°Are you certain that¡¯s all you wish for?¡± ¡°Well, it would be rather nice if a certain someone would finish their story later.¡± ¡°Hm, you strike a hard bargain. But I suppose that can be arranged.¡± ¡°Promise?¡± He giggles, and so it is that unknown feeling returns to the Knight in full: strange, uncomfortable, yet more precious than anything else. ¡°I promise.¡± Chapter 44: Chasing Dreams Out of My Reach ¡°The Sword in the Stone is a very famous, and very popular amongst children, retelling of the first King¡¯s life and his rebellion against the forces of Camelot. Even I, a man well into his years, cannot help but feel my soul burn at the thought of chivalrous adventure and a warrior¡¯s romance. I may be an Astrologian, but that doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t appreciate a good epic. ¡°However, the story is not all that it seems. Of course, you have the fabled Seven Knights of the Round; the dread lord Mordred; and the esteemed Comet Ladislava, but there is one figure shrouded in mystery. They are only mentioned in brief: at the King¡¯s highest rise, and most notably, his tragic end. What records I¡¯ve managed to salvage only speak about them in passing references, which is quite odd. Quite odd indeed, for you would think one so intertwined with Arthur¡¯s fate would have much more known about them. But, nothing. Not so even as to where they may have originated from. It is as if the keepers of that age were attempting to hide something¡ªsomething that must never be revealed to the world. ¡°The name of this mysterious being is Nimue. Lady Nimue of the Lake. She was a dancer - a beauty from foreign lands whose performance was said to be as refreshing as the morning dew - and on the night of the King¡¯s wedding ceremony, she laid upon his bed¡­ and silenced him forever.¡± - Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight Sometimes, the Knight wonders what it would be like to dream. When it must rest, it does so in an instant: the body automates - the mind shuts down - and then it blinks. That split second of darkness is all that is needed for the world to age and for the Knight to remain timeless. In the midst of that boundary, between the waking world and the long quiet, there is nothing. So it has never understood dreams. Imagination. What exactly is it that mankind experiences? Is it the mind¡¯s conjuration of random memories and emotional stimuli, or are they truly transported to an alternate reality? One where their fate has diverged, a possibility realized. A better life. Aegis dreams quite often. It cannot see exactly what transpires inside his tiny little head, but at moments he experiences a wide range of feelings. When there is fear, he squeezes the Knight¡¯s hand and cuddles close. His face then softens, as if the he of that differing world can feel its embrace from the beyond. Other times he will have a great big grin of satisfaction and wriggle restlessly around the bed. It does not understand what can be so entertaining: Is it not terrifying, to lose control of one¡¯s will? To be subjected to the whims of that other self? It has asked this question to many others, and every time it receives the same answer: that it is not them. Those ethereal beings may look similar, act familiarly, or talk in the same manner as them, but there is always a faint sensation of disconnect. They wake up, and the dream is over. Whether it be a pleasant one or a nightmare, there will always be an end, so they are not frightened. To them, dreams are a form of escape from the troubles of reality. Unfortunately, the Knight cannot partake in that escape. Perhaps things would be different if it could. If - in those long aeons of unconsciousness - it could immerse itself in a blissful illusion, would it not be so cynical towards the conflicts of man? No, it cannot say that it is truly apathetic: these days are filled with such confusing emotions. Ascalon is the source of this change, but it does not understand why. He has no power of seduction. He does not force it to do his bidding. Even though he has seen the Knight at its most vulnerable, he does not attempt to pry any further than it wishes. Instead, he simply waits. He accompanies the Knight throughout the day, and he waits for it to open up on its own. Always patient. Always understanding. It is baffling he hasn¡¯t yet sought to mold it into the Lorelai he so clearly loves. Are his words really true? That he would accept it no matter how its character changes from the beloved of his memory? How idiotic. That timidness will lead to his nation¡¯s downfall. How is a leader like him so hesitant to have distrust in others? He should have realized that something is different about me, and I would have responded in turn with a more elaborate hoax. This is how it has always been with these types¡ªfigures of authority. Paranoia clouds their thoughts. Their rule is one always subjected to uncertainty. But he is different. He is not like a ruler at all. I do not need to even attempt to behave like Lorelai anymore for him to grant me access to his most precious possessions. This is all too simple, too convenient. I should be ecstatic about this development, so why am I overcome with infuriation instead? In a sense, Ascalon is a bit similar to his hero: King Arthur. That man was also rather naive, but not to this extent. His philosophy was simple: treasure those who treated him well and bring swift punishment to his enemies. No matter how close he was with someone, if they showed any hints of betrayal, he would cut them down without a second thought. And then he cried. He weeped when others had forced his hand, but he still faithfully did his duty. He did not hesitate to do what was necessary for his people. In comparison, Ascalon is strange. He is not a perfect man, but there is something about him that unites the hearts of others. Even his sister who claims to despise his very existence secretly fosters a desire to make amends. I have seen him converse with others, and there is nothing special about the way he carries himself. So how? How has he achieved what Arthur could not even after laboring so desperately? This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. The more the Knight thinks, the more frustrated it becomes. If only I could dream. I would hide somewhere in a little corner of the world, and I would lose myself in the life I could never live. Awakening every few ages to slay the Comet would not be so monotonous, for I would have an eternity in-between to be happy. But I can¡¯t. I am cursed to be trapped in a constant stream of consciousness. The night is my only relief, a time where I may push aside my worries and stare aimlessly at the sky. Drifting, drifting. Until the sun rises once more, and I am forced to continue this never-ending facade. Perhaps the Knight should just slay Ascalon now. It would be a shame to lose such a useful pawn, especially if it wishes to eliminate Grand General Xeros as well, but is it truly worth being subjected to this uncomfortable vexation? It already has his trust; all it needs do is entice him to the bedside and then strike him at his lowest. Simple. Quick. It can do it even now if it desires so. A brief trip to his chamber and a few honeyed words will have him yielding in an instant. Never has slaying one of the Inheritor¡¯s been so straightforward. But, it falters. It takes a step towards the door, and then it takes a step back. When did I become so irrational? It sighs. No, I am better than this. I cannot be impulsive now, not when I have finally resolved to end this cycle for good. Aegis must become the one who stands above all. I know not if there shall ever be a time again where I may discover the Comet in their infancy, so if there exists a less arduous path, then I must take it. Polus shall be my vessel, and it will war against the world in my stead. I would be a fool to give it up now. The funeral presents an opportunity, a chance for the Knight to enrapture this nation once and for all. Therein lies no better moment to sway one¡¯s heart than when they are at their lowest, and the people of this city have already been consumed by futility. They drown themselves in drink. They revel in a ceaseless consumption of festivity and art. But it is all a distraction, a way for them to forget the worries of tomorrow. In truth, they are awaiting the end. And yet, they still hope. They desperately search for the tiniest glimmer of light, and so they shall find it. The Knight will become their new god. But to do so, it will need a spectacle. It must ingrain its figure into the memories of all in attendance. Only one being is capable of aiding it now, and that being is Aegis. ¡°Come to me, Satanael,¡± it commands to the empty room. The Knight waits, motionless, twitching not a muscle, until eventually a floral scent begins to waft from beneath the door. A pale, golden light gently trickles forward, and the knob turns by itself to reveal the visage of a man who¡¯s carcass resides in the castle¡¯s keep. Only he is here now, and he is very much alive. ¡°It is ever a pleasure to answer your call,¡± Satanael says with a deep bow. ¡°Pray, what do you wish of this humble servant?¡± ¡°First of all, I am rather curious. Do you really need to speak with such formality? I thought it part of your beguiling act, but you have yet to stop even now. It is¡­ interesting, especially as you are not even a citizen of this nation¡ªmuch less a noble.¡± He chuckles and leans back with a mock gesture of astonishment. ¡°Whatever do you mean? This is no mere act, mine Constellation. But a virtue, a way of life. It is my firm belief that a gentleman must always conduct themself with grace. It matters not if you are before an urchin from the streets or a dignitary of higher standing: Respect is paramount. How can I dare spread beauty if I am not beautiful myself?¡± The Knight delivers upon him a sharp, unamused glare. ¡°For your sake, I hope you have not obtained any more ¡®seeds¡¯ since our encounter. You have not forgotten my words, have you? The Polus must believe you dead for my accomplishment to be of worth.¡± ¡°Perish the thought! While it is a shame I cannot lead these poor, lost souls to my paradise, I understand your intentions. I really do. Rather than spiriting away a few odd souls now and then, it is much more efficient to wait until all of humanity can be reborn in one fell swoop. Worry not, I shall always adhere to your command.¡± It is almost impressive how he can bend my words to fit his own narrative, but there is no need to correct him. To try and reason with a madman is a fool¡¯s errand. I do not particularly enjoy wasting my time. ¡°Besides,¡± he continues. ¡°Have I been naught but faithful to you since then? I followed your word and recreated the bodies of my victims. I even allowed those brutish knights to take away all my lovely blooms in the boutique. I put in quite the effort to decorate that abode, you know. The composition, the layout¡­ all reduced to a barren, empty space. But I did it for you. Does that truly not show the depths of my loyalty? My love for you?¡± His whiny voice resembles that of an abandoned pet, and yet it is not nearly as charming as he believes. To have such words be spit forth from a grown man nearing his forties is certainly a jarring experience. Still, the Knight humors him. For all his eccentricities, Satanael is a very useful tool. ¡°Alright, speak no more. I can see your devotion, clear; let us move on. How goes the child¡¯s progress?¡± ¡°Aegis? He is doing just fine. No, more than that. The boy is a true prodigy, but I expected as much from the avatar of Cosmos¡¯s Will. Rather than beckon Creation for assistance, it is as if the divinity is begging to be of use. I am truly honored to witness his growth thus far.¡± ¡°Is that so? Good, I knew your garden would serve as a suitable environment. Your training shall be essential for the day he must become independent.¡± Though, perhaps I should not allow him too much time alone with the child. It would be my greatest failure if I allowed Aegis to become as twisted as this abominable artist. Hm, on second thought, I suppose it doesn¡¯t matter. What he does once I find eternal rest shall be his own affair. Yes, it concerns me not: Paint the Stars and humanity in blood if you so wish. My involvement lies only with making you indomitable. ¡°¡­ But that is a future still far away,¡± it says. ¡°My concern is with what he can do now. Will Aegis be ready for tomorrow?¡± Satanael bursts out into a most pompous little cackle and waves towards the door. ¡°Would you like to see for yourself?¡± Chapter 45: FInding Hope ¡°That is not quite what I had in mind, child. Are you really certain about maintaining this appearance? Yes, they are beautiful, but it is not¡ªhrm, oh very well. I suppose it is of no concern if they are not the same. No, perhaps this is for the better. The Lorelai of the people¡¯s past shall be forgotten. Instead, there shall only be I: reborn with wings anew.¡± - The Knight ¡ª¡ª¡ª Mary RING. RING. RING. ¡°Mm¡­ come on now, just five more minutes¡­¡± RINGRINGRINGRINGRING. ¡°Aw, shut yer trap already!¡± Mary groggily raises her fist and then delivers a clean right hook at the clock by her bedside. The ol¡¯ thing¡¯s sent flying right into her wall with a smack and a mighty wallop, but it daintily lands onto the ground without even a scratch. Still ringing. Still making that infernal racket. That¡¯s the trusty Polus guarantee for you: real damn stubborn. ¡°I get it, I get it. Sheesh, and I was having a nice dream too! Ah, well, ¡®spose it doesn¡¯t matter. Wakey wakey, Mary you darlin¡¯ gal: It¡¯s time to greet the morning.¡± She yawns and rolls her body out into a little stretch before lazily sinking to the floor and shimmying to her window. ¡°Well, would you look at that! Mighty fine day it is out there. The sun is shining; the breeze is singing; and there¡¯s not a dang ol¡¯ cloud in the sky! Now this calls for my bestest get-up. Bestest¡­ is that a word? Well it is now!¡± A messy bundle of clothes flies out of her dresser, and Mary fusses over her hair as she changes into a variety of promising garments. ¡°Let¡¯s see here¡­ no, red¡¯s a bit too bold. Ooh! I like this design, but eh¡ªwearing white on a funeral? Everybody¡¯ll think I¡¯ve lost my noggin! Decisions, decisions. Shouldn¡¯t rush though, it¡¯s a big day today!¡± Today is a big day, for the castle has invited everyone in the Castrum to the city square for a grand send-off¡ªan honorable ceremony for those lost in the deep dark woods of the Aeternum. One would think this to be a gloomy event, but Mary knows a little secret. Well, it¡¯s not very little. It¡¯s a humongous one, and she can¡¯t wait until it¡¯s revealed before all the low lookin¡¯ faces around the district as of late. She just knows a certain someone will finally make her appearance, and when that time comes, Stars be damned if the ol¡¯ girl isn¡¯t at her bestest. Eventually, she settles on a nice black overcoat with a grey dress and some leggings. And the heels. Can¡¯t forget about the heels. Yep, I look like a proper mourner now. One with some style. Funerals shouldn¡¯t be all doom and gloom. Mary likes to believe in hearty goodbyes¡ªin exchanging fond memories and bright smiles so that those of the beyond can rest easy knowing the living¡¯s moving on. Finding their own happiness. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, you foolish brother of mine?¡± With a clickety-clacking step out of her room, she walks up to a small, closed-off cupboard. Inside is a little shrine decorated with candles and wax and a big bouquet of flowers¡ªcourtesy of that nice gentleman in the weird mask. A name is inscribed on a stone plaque in the middle: Joseph Bethany. It¡¯s the name of a man with a noble dream, of becoming a knight, and that dream has brought much frustration amongst his folk. He¡¯s gone now, but Mary still remembers him fondly¡ªyes, even the annoying bits. That¡¯s family for ya. ¡°That¡¯s right, moping around never did anyone any good. Don¡¯tcha worry: I¡¯ll make sure to knock some sense around here.¡± She lays down a tribute of crackers, gently shuts the cupboard, and then heads on down towards the exit door. ¡°I¡¯ll see ya later, little Joe.¡± With a final thump of her heel, Mary leaves her abode, and then she treks down a flight of stairs to emerge out into the wide, open space of her tavern. This place is her home, her breadwinner, and the final gift her parents left her. Ain¡¯t anywhere else does she want to live. Well, not that she has any choice. The capital¡¯s too damn expensive these days, and the real estate prices would make even a grown man whimper like a babe. That¡¯s the cost of safety: Here, you don¡¯t need to worry about attacks or raids or great cranky beasts. Some people are willing to spend a fortune just for that, so Mary considers herself very fortunate. It¡¯s like my momma always said: ¡°Count your blessings, girl. Sometimes we really don¡¯t know how good we¡¯ve got until we see others who don¡¯t got what we have good.¡± Aw, Momma¡­ you always did have a way with words. She slaps her cheeks and turns her frown upside down. Even though the tavern¡¯s closed day for the funeral, she should at least get some chores in before the bell tolls¡ª A sudden knock on the door practically sends the little lady into a fright. Now who could that be? Mary walks over, and she opens the door to discover a crowd of her regulars waiting right outside. Drunks, they are. The lot of them. But they¡¯re kind folk, good business too, and though she doesn¡¯t particularly mind a morning rush, it is a bit strange that they¡¯re here right now. ¡°Now what in the Stars name are you all doing?¡± she hollers with an embellished sigh. ¡°Waiting fer you of course!¡± one of them shouts. ¡°Come on, dear: You know I need my daily drink! Is the only thing that keeps me awake these days.¡± ¡°That¡¯s all fine and dandy old man Gillian, but can¡¯t ya read the sign? I even made it all big and colorful for you folk with weak eyes.¡± Mary points to a very obvious and very clear sign hanging on the doorstep that says, ¡°CLOSED FOR FUNERAL CEREMONY TODAY. I MEAN IT. DON¡¯T COME. THAT MEANS YOU GILLIAN!¡± Suffice to say, it doesn¡¯t look like it worked. ¡°Oh, that thing?¡± the sly elder chuckles. ¡°Must¡¯ve missed it.¡± ¡°I bet ya did, gramps. I bet ya did.¡± ¡°Do humor this old fella, won¡¯t you? Besides, a couple of bottles are just what¡¯s needed to send off the departed. You can¡¯t expect us to go there sober now can you? ¡°Mm¡­ eh¡­ maybe¡­¡± It¡¯s no use. Trying to stop a drunk from getting their liquor is as useless as arguing with a certified idiot: You¡¯ll only feel sorry in the end. But just as Mary¡¯s about to give in and let everyone inside, a loud, echoing sound erupts right into her eardrums. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. It¡¯s the sound of the bell, clanging with a force powerful enough to wake the dead. ¡°Hehe, sorry gramps. Looks like the funeral¡¯s ahead of schedule.¡± This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°Ah, blast my luck! Well, nothing to be done now, but prepare yourself girl: I¡¯ll be needing the extra strong stuff by the time we¡¯re done.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll save some jugs just for you.¡± Soon enough, the streets start filling with people until not a speck is left of the ground in sight. Body after body marches, trailing along in a steady flow as the air busies with a whole lot of talking and whispering. They talk about all sorts of things: Some are feeling restless about the future; some just want the day to be over with; and others are wondering why they¡¯d need everyone at the square in the first place. But, above all that, is a name fluttering around with hesitation: Lorelai. Before the ceremony, nobody has really talked about her much. They all know what happened, they¡¯ve all heard the wishful statements from the royals, but it would be a lie to say that the people haven¡¯t half-given up. No one wants to even mention her name, for to say it out loud would mean coming to terms with reality. Everyone¡¯s stubborn; they want to hold on to the past however long they¡¯re able, and this whole event is a mean reminder that they can¡¯t keep on running away. But something¡¯s different. The common folk are all depressed, but Mary¡¯s noticed that the knights are rather calm. Not a hint of grief are in those typical stoney eyes. She knows why, of course, but it is interesting to see how their composure is messing with the atmosphere. It¡¯s a weird mix of despair, defeat, idleness, and comfort. Even the others are beginning to feel that something¡¯s off. Funerals aren¡¯t uncommon, the castle usually holds one once a year, but never have they asked the entire city to gather into one big lump before. Most of the time they just parade around the districts, so the people are wondering if there¡¯s something special about this occasion. One passing comment Mary catches with her eavesdropping expertise says that it¡¯s almost as if they¡¯re planning on revealing something. And she can only giggle to herself, hiding back a toothy grin. Finally, after snaking along with the crowd, Mary arrives at the square. The entire castle can be seen here, and all the Orders of the kingdom are lined to the side. Oh my goodness, there must be thousands, no, tens of thousands, no, HUNDREDS of thousands of people here. The entire goshdarn city is up and about, from the workers to the knights to even the little kids at the orphanages. They must really be planning to make an impact; I¡¯m excited. The crowd goes silent as a lone man walks out into the castle¡¯s promenade. His armor gleams with swirls of light and amber; his fabled zweihander exudes a mighty pressure upon them all; and a large, white feathered cloak hangs free from his back, specks of glitter and gold dotting all around the side. Everything about the man exudes a regal grace. It¡¯s only natural; after all, the man is King Ascalon: Ruler over all of Polus. But Mary knows another side of him¡ªof a shy, clumsy man who wouldn¡¯t know the difference between a passing compliment and a very obvious flirt. Sure, she hasn¡¯t actually met him face to face, but her friends have said plenty about his personality while drowning their sorrows in the throes of drink. Those words come back to her now, and she¡¯s surprised: It¡¯s hard to believe them after seeing his gentle aura in person. It¡¯s warm, like a nice wool blanket on a cold winter¡¯s eve. She¡¯s certain that if a divine being were to descend right now, their presence would not be so different from the King standing up there. Holy and radiant. Mary doesn¡¯t have to wait long before his voice ripples throughout the air. Benevolent, yet filled with an immense strength. It crashes right into her heart and overpowers it with a strange, bubbly feeling. It¡¯s familiar, almost a little bit scary, but she doesn¡¯t reject it. After a while, it¡¯s even starting to feel a bit nice. It¡¯s faith. That feeling is faith. ¡°Citizens of Polus,¡± he cries out, and it¡¯s like the sky itself is listening close. The windy breeze disappears; the sun shines down with a big blinding ray. Here, amongst all these people, the world¡¯s attention is focused entirely on him. ¡°We have gathered here today to honor all those who have joined our beloved Mother Cosmos in the celestial expanse above. May they be at peace, for her embrace is kind. May they feel at ease, knowing our love will shower upon them forevermore. ¡°This war has been long and painful, and what transpired in the Aeternum is no doubt a tragedy, but we must not allow ourselves to be plagued with despair. For to do so would be to forget the sacrifices of those who fought for a better world. To forget their valor and their grace, and though they no longer walk this realm, their spirits still live inside our hearts. They watch over us, and they would not wish for us to be chained by their memory. We must live on. That is how we may give thanks to the path forged by their virtuous hands. ¡°I know the days are long, and every passing morrow grows more uncertain than the last. Nonetheless we persevere, for that is our nature. We are strong, hearty people, wearing smiles upon our faces to distract away from the gloom, but even the strongest of warriors falter eventually. We suppress our sadness in fear of becoming weak, but that is not the answer. And so I command to every soul here today: hold back your tears no longer. ¡°It is okay to cry. Cry until your throat is hoarse. Cry until your cheeks are stained with grief. Cry, for your friends, your family, and everyone else you have loved and cherished and honored no longer among the living. For that shall be our tribute: that they may know just how deeply we cared for them. And so it is they shall find comfort, and we shall gain their blessing for the days to come. I command you all: Cry until there are no more tears to be shed. ¡°And when our hearts are free of burden, and our eyes are clear with hope, we will rise anew. We will carry on the wishes of the departed, and we will stride confidently towards the dawn. Together, united as one!¡± At first, everything is silent. Not a word or grunt or even a mumble can be heard in the audience. But like all things, it starts with a ripple. A single tear from a devastated widow. A muffled sob from a lonely friend. And then it all floods out at once, and there¡¯s not a dry eye in sight as the entire capital descends into a sea of mourning. They cry, begging for the dead to return, and they curse those who¡¯ve left them alone, asking why they had to leave so soon. It¡¯s unreasonable, their pleas¡ªbut it¡¯s what the people need. They need to let go, to shout about all they want about how everything is unfair, because that¡¯s how they heal. And how they may finally come to terms with living without those special someones. And, eventually, Mary starts to cry as well. She doesn¡¯t know why, she¡¯s made her peace with her family long ago, but before she knows it, there¡¯s a roaring cascade gushing down her cheeks. H-Hah, why¡¯s my vision so damn blurry? Damn it, I don¡¯t like feeling like this. I have to smile, I have to get it together, but I¡­ I don¡¯t know. Stars, when¡¯s the last time I cried? I promised I¡¯d never do it again after little Joe passed away, but there¡¯s a big lump in my heart that¡¯s just begging to be let loose. And I don¡¯t mind it. I thought it¡¯d bring back all those hard times of being alone, yet I feel more surrounded by love than ever before. It¡¯s nice to not worry about what others think. Here, she can cry knowing there¡¯s a whole kingdom¡¯s worth of people who feel the same. But you can¡¯t grieve forever. And when Mary¡¯s throat is all clogged up, and the people start to regain their composure, Ascalon speaks out again. Only this time his tone is different. Rather than being all comforting and encouraging, his voice carries an almost childlike excitement¡ªas if he¡¯s about to introduce an especially special someone. ¡°We must all reach for the light, for the hope ever so close within our grasp. And though it may seem an endless pursuit, know that it is not without reward. Our efforts are not useless. Your hope was not misplaced. It returns in the form of our beloved guardian, our beacon amidst the darkness, and so I shall prove it to you all: that our nation has yet to be abandoned.¡± Ascalon steps off to the side, and a figure emerges from the castle. A familiar figure, one with armor of the most pristine white. A beloved female warrior whose devotion is known to all. That being walks to the ledge¡¯s end, and she stops for all to gaze upon her appearance¡ªher scarred face that brings out gasps of relief from the giddy citizens. They can¡¯t help but celebrate, for that face is of the one they¡¯ve wished to see most. ¡°For our Lady has returned!¡± Ascalon declares. ¡°May your hearts be riled with joy, sons and daughters of Polus. Lorelai Principality of the Heaven¡¯s Throne lives!¡± And with his final shout, Lorelai¡¯s wings materialize in a dazzling explosion of light. Only, they are not the wings the people know, but a beautiful canvas of black and blue and purple¡ªall spiraling together in a manifestation of the celestial heavens above. Nebulae and milky clusters, twinkling sparkles scattered in a deep, vivid cloud of endless space¡­ those wings are of Cosmos herself, of the realm far beyond humanity¡¯s reach. Mary can¡¯t take her eyes away from that mesmerizing shine. None in the audience dare to look away. She¡¯s never seen such a beautiful sight in her life, and for some odd reason - despite having laughed together with that kind, playful woman - there¡¯s an itch inside her demanding to worship the very ground Lorelai walks on. To revere her existence and to follow in her every step. Everyone in the square falls to their knees, and they soon prostrate before her. Even Mary can¡¯t help but be swept up in the mood, for the Lorelai standing up there is really, truly breathtaking. She is the symbol of Polus. And she is the hope of all. Chapter 46: Urgent News ¡°Did you know each nation is different in the manner they utilize Creation? It¡¯s fascinating, really¡ªhow one¡¯s environment and cultural values can affect their power¡¯s development. With the divinity¡¯s aid, anyone can accomplish anything. The impossible becomes possible. No one is limited in their path, and yet time has proven that - when left alone - a child¡¯s natural inclination will resemble those around them. ¡°Take the Polus for example. While their heritage of Wings is their most defining feature, the knights of the order tend to rely on invocations that manipulate the elements¡ªthe natural world. Lorelai calls upon the sun and moon; Annalay stirs nature¡¯s wrath; Sarathiel clads himself in unbending steel. And in the same vein, the Templars are of similar ilk: poison, shadow, water, and so on. You understand, yes? They are staunch fundamentalists. ¡°But there is one Templar I am not familiar with. A mysterious figure, he is, for I have never once met him in person despite all my good-will visits to the capital. There are stories of course, the occasional rumor hastily whispered in a busy tavern, and while I am above such baseless chatter¡­ if they are to be believed, then that man is very different from his fellows. And dangerous, oh yes. Very dangerous, for he is the leader of the Order of the High Seraph: Joshua Yahweh.¡± - Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon Upon the final close of Lorelai¡¯s reveal, a glorious festival engulfs the city for three long days, and so it persists for three long nights. It is not entirely brought by her hand; when sadness abates, one must shed tears of happiness in order to truly move on. Though, her presence is certainly no doubt one of the causes for their joy. But the celebrations will not last forever. Eventually, normalcy will return, and the kingdom must be prepared for when the Caelum forces cease their passivity. The war shall continue as it always has, and so while the people revel and cheer outside, the occupants of the castle gather in the throne room to discuss the future. ¡°Everyone, I have called you here today for a matter of utmost importance,¡± Ascalon declares to the court. ¡°We have just received information from those of the frontline concerning the empire¡¯s movements. Chancellor Gadreel, would you please?¡± ¡°Certainly, my liege,¡± the elder says, and he takes to the stand with a belly noticeably more plump than the prior day. His face is flushed bright, grimacing from an evening of copious intoxication, and though his waddle is an interesting sight, he nonetheless settles in place and speaks with a clear vigor devoid of slurs. ¡°Ever since the first withdrawal of those dastardly heathens, we have been maintaining ever a vigilant eye on their activities. The Templars and Sarathiel of the Steel have engaged in a few odd skirmishes, but nothing to the extent of what we have faced before: The border remains at an impasse. What is rather curious, however, is the absence of their commander: Libevich the Man-Slayer.¡± The very mention of that monster¡¯s name brings shudders to everyone in the room. Even Ascalon cannot prevent his leg from twitching in worry, for that woman is a catastrophe in every sense of the word: a living disaster, one who would not hesitate to destroy the world if it means satisfying her bloodlust. So that beckons the question¡­ why has she retreated? ¡°I imagine that crone of all people would be most against the Grand General¡¯s command,¡± Ascalon utters. ¡°Indeed, the wicked creature knows naught but carnage and death. Which is why it is most suspicious when she vanished from the battlefield, and upon closer investigation, we have discovered that her forces have been redirected to the Arch Magus¡¯s territory where Gravitas once was stationed.¡± And thus is released to the world a collective sigh of relief. The Arch Magus is not one who is willing to involve his people in this war, but hesitation does not necessarily mean neutrality: Faust is a smart man, and an opportunity like this is one he will gladly take advantage of. ¡°I see. Yes, that is reasonable. Without the Immovable One¡¯s command over gravity, it would be difficult to defend against the Meteor of Faust. Xeros has no choice but to thin his army¡¯s ranks.¡± ¡°Ah, but that is not all, my liege,¡± Gadreel says with a twinkle in his eyes. ¡°Libevich is not the only scourge who has bid departure. No, there is another, one who hathst hidden themself away in the capital of smog for many moons¡­ until now.¡± ¡°¡­ Impossible. Are you referring to?¡± ¡°Yes, The Grand General. Xeros is no longer on Caelum soil.¡± An outburst of speculation and hectic ramblings drown the court as if almost by command, and officials from all sides direct a storm of questions at the Chancellor whilst leaving no room for him to reply. ¡°How can this be?¡± one exclaims. ¡°After all these years, only now he deigns to reveal himself?¡± shouts another. ¡°This must be a ploy. He should be busier than ever with his commander¡¯s death!¡± And so on, and so on again. The Chancellor almost explodes from rage, but thankfully Ascalon interjects before the mood worsens. ¡°Everyone, calm yourselves!¡± he declares with a bellow. ¡°Please, save your questions until after the Chancellor is finished with his report. Is that understood?¡± ¡°Yes, your majesty,¡± they reply. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Very well. You may continue, Gadreel.¡± ¡°Many thanks, my liege,¡± he says, turning his head to give a rather rude gesture to those in the back before returning with a scoff. ¡°Eh-hem, as I was saying, The Grand General is no longer amongst his territory. He departed a week prior, upon the day Lorelai had returned to us, on a voyage to some manner of location in the east.¡± ¡°The east? How odd. Aside from the Augurium Thaumaturgy farther up north, therein lies nothing in that land but barren plains and¡ª¡± No, there is one nation out there¡ªif it can even be called as such: a domain Ascalon has only heard of in books and passing records, one embroiled in a constant age of strife. That is, until ten years ago when a certain man rose to power and seized control over the wandering nomads of the Steppe. Not even his name is known, only a moniker. A title that evokes pause. ¡°The Overlord,¡± Ascalon grunts. ¡°Xeros seeks to form an alliance with the Overlord.¡± The King half expects for the court to erupt once again, but instead there is only silence. And not the silence that comes from fear or shock or even confusion; rather, they do not know what to think, for what the Polus grasps of the current situation in the Steppe can be summarized in one word: nothing. Whether it be about the nomads or the various tribes under that arid sky, none of them can be contacted. Any attempts from Polus in recent years have always resulted in the disappearance of their delegation. Suffice to say, the Overlord does not welcome visitors. ¡°How trustworthy is this information?¡± Ascalon questions. ¡°Certain, my liege. Unearthed by Templar Joshua of the High Seraph, himself.¡± ¡°Really? That is comforting. I know none other who¡ª¡± ¡°¡­ Dirty sand-blood.¡± Ascalon stops. The court officials gasp. The world in all its movement and sound and reality halts in a frozen moment of sheer, uncomfortable eternity. And as the King slowly turns his head towards the source of the interruption, a hot, boiling rage seethes from inside his chest. Pounding. Threatening to explode. But he smothers it, that vile feeling in his throat, and he maintains his calm. Anger will serve him no good; however, that does not mean he will allow such slander to be spewed so freely. ¡°Name,¡± Ascalon says with a cold, jagged rumble. ¡°¡­ Pontius Power, your majesty,¡± replies the offender, and Ascalon can see plainly the fright dripping from their brow. But there is no remorse in those eyes. No apology. They are only regretful of being caught. ¡°I know you. An elder of the conservative faction, am I correct?¡± ¡°Y-Yes.¡± ¡°I see. And do you know why you have been called?¡± ¡°B-But your grace, with all due respect to the Chancellor, can we truly trust the words of one who is not of Polus origin¡ª¡± ¡°Joshua Yahweh was raised and trained in our fair kingdom. He has proven his worthiness, manifested the Seraph¡¯s wings, and earned the qualifications to become a Templar. I have faith in his loyalty, no matter the place of his birth.¡± ¡°Still, he is of the desert folk¡ª¡± ¡°Sir Pontius,¡± Ascalon thunders. ¡°I know you have good intentions, that you only wish to be of aid, but I will not tolerate such disrespectful conduct towards one of our own. Prejudice has no clemency in our court, nor shall it be allowed to fester amongst our people. And whatever views you may hold, I only ask you refrain from speaking out. Am I clear?¡± The elder appears to shrink into themselves as they mutter a weak, ¡°yes, your majesty¡± before slithering back into the audience. Only when they disappear is Ascalon allowed to let out a quiet sigh of relief, but he cannot be fully at ease. The highborns have always held questionable beliefs, and it is inevitable for there to be some discourse, but the King is dumbfounded that they would spout such nonsense aloud before so many others. It is truly astounding, their recklessness. Or perhaps boldness. Either result is lamentable, but unfortunately, now is not the time to address their behavior. It would be best to move on from the topic whilst the air is still amiable. ¡°Regardless of Joshua¡¯s background,¡± Ascalon continues. ¡°We must fully consider the possibility of a united front between the Grand General and the Overlord. I know not how Xeros has managed to contact the Steppe¡¯s ruler, but the fact he only endeavors to do so now speaks of his desperation. ¡°Nox Caelum is currently shaken, but it will not be that way forever. If that man truly does succeed in fostering an alliance, then the war will only worsen with time, and not even the Arch Magus¡¯s support shall be of much use. We must decide here on how best to cripple their forces.¡± ¡°Ah, but why must we merely cripple them, my liege?¡± Gadreel says with a tut and wag of his finger. ¡°I do believe you remember mine previous proposal?¡± ¡°¡­ To serve as the aggressors, ourselves.¡± ¡°Indeed. And I daresay there shall never be a moment more fortuitous than now to end this long, bitter war.¡± ¡°I understand, Gadreel. I do.¡± But, though Ascalon does not want to admit it, he is still fearful. Of the deaths that shall come with his decision. Of the consequences if they are to fail. He remembers vividly the pain of losing Lorelai. The despair. The regret. But above all else, how helpless he had felt knowing there was naught he could do himself. There is no greater horror than watching one¡¯s beloved suffer. And if their forces truly do move in earnest, then he has no doubt Lorelai would march alongside them. That is who she is: a hero resolved to endure the world¡¯s weight. If she is to be lost a second time¡­ Ascalon does not know if he will ever recover. But, the mere thought of squandering their only chance over such a selfish reason puts shame to his very name. It is always about his own fears, his own personal desires, but that is not the way of a ruler. A King must do what is best for their people, and if he is to be complacent now, then failure is all that awaits no matter the outcome. Ascalon does not want to waste it: this sliver of hope. From the very beginning, he should have had trust in his people. His knights. And in Lorelai¡ªtrust that no matter what may come, she will always return. Even amidst the darkest of hours, her promise remains unbroken, and so Ascalon will fulfill his own promise: to serve the people, and to bring about a tomorrow without worry. No matter what they shall come to face, Polus will persevere. And Polus will prosper. Thus is the King¡¯s Decree. ¡°Chancellor,¡± Ascalon says, rising to his feet and glancing over all in the courtroom. ¡°Send a missive to the frontlines. I command for Sarathiel and every last Templar to return to the capital. We shall discuss our plan of attack once everyone has gathered. ¡°My liege? Does¡­ does this mean?¡± ¡°Yes, my friend. No more deliberation. Let us end this tiresome war once and for all.¡± Chapter 47: Around the Round Table ¡°A nation¡¯s territory is only as wide as a ruler¡¯s capability to maintain it. I oversee all of Polus, but it is inevitable that my influence weakens the farther away one travels from the capital, and it is within these lawless lands that communities unbound by lordship or allegiance call home. They are nomads, wanderers, and people of wholly differing cultures. To them, the war is of no concern. Their only wish is to live in peace, hidden away from the world¡¯s conflicts. ¡°The previous Kings and Queens of Polus have respected this wish since time immemorial, and so it is that we co-exist in mutual harmony. We do not interfere with their matters, and in turn they stay away from our fields. There is a clear, set boundary, and it is very rare for it to ever be broken. ¡°But, one day, a baby was born amongst the desert tribes near the Polus-Augurium border. That baby was Joshua, and he was the only survivor of a brutal civil war. His people were slaughtered, their blood dyed the sands red, and his mother breathed her last upon delivering onto the world a small, frail child. Joshua should have died there that day, but as if by some divine intervention, a Polus delegation came across his wailing cries. And thus he was saved by the late King Dainsleif who then raised him as a son. ¡°Yahweh means ¡®miracle¡¯ in the desert tongue. His majesty gave Joshua that last name, for his existence was truly a miracle. But not everyone agreed with the King¡¯s decision, and even now, there are those in the court who still deny him to be one of our own. ¡°It is regrettable, for I believe he has the constitution of a leader. If I were not thrust into this position, if the Monarch¡¯s Wings had not chosen me, then perhaps Joshua would have taken my place. Alas, blood is rooted too deep in this nation, but I do not lament his origin: Joshua is who he is now because of his experiences. His struggle for acceptance.¡± - King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The courtroom has swiftly transformed since Ascalon¡¯s order to recall the Templars. Where once was but empty space in the center is now occupied by a grand, circular table of jewels. It is a very shiny sight, and a familiar one as well, for this is the same table Arthur once gathered his adjutants around. The Knight hasn¡¯t expected to see such an old thing still around, but that is the nature of the world, or so it supposes. Man¡¯s products do ever tend to outlive their creators. It is no surprise, for they are a fleeting kind¡ªleading lives so very short. And yet, in that brief period of existence, their journey is remembered in the form of a fable. A legend, one spanning for all of eternity. It can still remember them clearly: those seven warriors and their lord. The Templars the Knight has met so far matches their ancestors similarly in regards to personality - with the exception of Surasha - but they do have their own traits separate from blood¡¯s legacy. Yes, it knows their habits well, for it has spent the latter days stalking them intensely throughout the castle. Deborah is a lively girl. She completes her tasks in a nonchalant and gentle manner whilst always ensuring to trap those nearby into a lengthy, inescapable conversation: a conversation that usually amounts to unimportant small talk or purposeless ramblings. She dislikes sweet food. Her weakness is mediocre muscle balance¡ªneither area of the body particularly honed. A swift rush into close quarters combat should be all that is needed to render her vulnerable. Dismas is a solitary man. And perceptive as well. The Knight has had slight difficulty in trailing the Dominion¡¯s head, for his sight extends to the shadows in every corner, and he prefers to handle his work isolated from the others in his private chamber. Still, he has his warmth; the moments when Dismas does take leave is when his fondness is fully displayed in the short interactions with his fellows. He prefers dried nuts. His weakness is feeble core strength, resulting in poor posture and a lax slouch. A blow to the abdomen will leave him paralyzed. Surasha is meticulous¡ªvery meticulous. Every day, she organizes a daily list of tasks and determines the most efficient order of completion: the estimated time it shall take, contact information of those involved, and so on. She follows this list with rigorous precision, and very rarely does she veer off her intended schedule. This unwavering nature has inspired both awe and bafflement from her peers, but nonetheless they treat Surasha with great respect. She avoids starches and grains. Her weakness is subpar physical strength, of which she makes up for with a flexible body and swift mobility. Recommended course of extermination: overpower her with an unrelenting assault. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. These three do not often have chance to meet amidst their respective duties, but they have gathered here now, for today is when the last four Templars are set to arrive. Even Annalay has been released from her cell for this occasion, and she stands side by side along the Knight as they accompany Ascalon by the throne. Her usual brash demeanor has disappeared, replaced by a grim expression. Her sentiment is shared by the others in the room; they know the kingdom¡¯s fate lies on the fringes, and this assembly shall be its turning point. ¡°¡­ Ack, this tension is killing me,¡± Deborah groans, letting her head thud onto the table as she buries herself in her arms. ¡°I thought I would be happy seeing the others after so long, but the mood just isn¡¯t right.¡± ¡°You¡¯re concerned about the wrong things, Deborah,¡± Surasha says with a sigh, but her body betrays an otherwise stern tone. She leans deep into her seat, foot tapping restlessly against the floor, and her hands grip her knees firm as she shifts about uncomfortably in a guarded position. ¡°Of course we¡¯re all tense. For Stars¡¯ sake, this is the first time in decades that all the Templars and Thrones will be in one place. Nevermind that we¡¯re leaving the front line completely unguarded, to think we¡¯re even considering pushing into Caelum territory. If this goes wrong, our nation will literally be wiped from the map. Try to be a bit more serious about this.¡± ¡°Now, now, go easy on ¡®er, lass,¡± Dismas interjects. Compared to the other two, he appears to be the most composed, but there is still a subtle hint of concern in his gruff voice. ¡°It¡¯s hard to believe myself¡ªthat we¡¯re finally tryin¡¯ to fight back. Can¡¯t say I¡¯m against it, though; we can¡¯t stay like this forever. Eventually, we would¡¯ve had to change things, and when better to do so than the moment that bastard Xeros is off to foreign lands.¡± ¡°Gahah! I agree with the man,¡± Annalay guffaws. ¡°Fancy timing, too: I was just about tired of defending all the time. Besides, do ya really think we¡¯ll fail? The old crow only has Libevich and that alchemist freak Nokron left. Gravitas would¡¯ve been a bit troublesome, but I heard he¡¯s rotting in the Aeternum right now thanks to a lovely lady over here.¡± ¡°Hehe, you honor me, Annalay,¡± the Knight says. ¡°But do not let overconfidence take you. It is good to be prideful, but war is volatile¡ªfull of surprises and hidden dangers. Too much pride will instead act as a poison. We should remain cautious - especially towards one so shrouded in uncertainty as the Grand General - and plan for the unexpected, no matter how unlikely it may be.¡± ¡°Well said, Lorelai,¡± Ascalon chuckles. ¡°And that is why we are here now. To plan. To devise. And to ensure without a shadow of doubt that this campaign will end in victory. Everything must be infallible, and there is no better method to assess possible variables than in the company of others. Even just one more perspective can be the defining factor in our success.¡± So he says, but the Knight has already devised an efficient plan of attack. From geography to available forces and even locations of the Caelum fortresses¡­ it has studied this all, and this meeting shall be the moment in which its efforts¡¯ culmination be given stage. Still, it is not so bad to allow the others speak their minds first; it will be especially insightful in gleaming the natures of the others yet to arrive. If the Templars in the capital are responsible for defense, then the Templars of the frontlines are suited for warfare. Naturally, their dispositions will reflect as much, and they will be all the more difficult to control. But no one is bereft of weakness. All the Knight must do is find it. Suddenly, the air around them begins to shake and vibrate with anticipation. There is a great energy radiating from beyond, and it now trickles into the room with an intensely powerful aura. No, multiple, for they are of different qualities, all coinciding together with their own distinct characteristics. One roars afury with the impassioned ardor of molten magma. One whispers a deceitfully serene song of glacier and brine. One is enveloped by a myriad swarm of Creation and its blessings. And the last is barely intelligible. Small. Subdued. To the untrained observer, one would be unable to distinguish it between the other presences, but the Knight isn¡¯t fooled. It can feel it¡ªa cunning, shifty wisp hiding amidst its peers, softening its intent so as to mask the ambition lying beneath. That aura is different from those of the Polus. It is much more cold, more calculating, and detached from all worldly affairs. Among all the Knight has met so far, even the maniacal Satanael, the source of this unsettling chill is by far the most dangerous. For they are not ruled by madness: not by emotion or patriotism or even simple desire. No, whoever this may be is utterly, wholly apathetic. Uncaring. The complete opposite of Ascalon. The chamber¡¯s doors part way, and an eager herald emerges from the gap with a long scroll trailing behind. ¡°Eh-hem, ladies, gentlemen, and his majesty of the court,¡± they decree. ¡°Entering the esteemed knights of the round table¡¯s lineage. Please bid a warm welcome to the four warring Templars.¡± The herald quickly shuffles to the side, and in his place are the silhouettes of the final attending leaders of the Order. Chapter 48: Between Two Worlds ¡°Power and Principality: Together, these kindred orders are responsible for directing the wingless knights out on the warfront. Whether one chooses to don heavy armor and weapons of great size, or to dance through the battlefield with piercing spears and straight swords, all who yet seek glory shall find it here. ¡°Indeed, these venerable halls have birthed a number of Thrones and Seraph alike, and as time passed, a rivalry began to develop¡ªone which has persisted to this day. It is no surprise, for the twin orders are stark opposites, bickering and fighting over which style is the superior. All in good fun, I assure you, but there are the occasional spats every now and then. Such is the passion of youth. ¡°However, this rivalry has grown in ferocity ever since the inauguration of the current Templars. It is a curious situation, for despite how dissimilar they are in personality, the leaders of Power and Principality are related by blood: half-brothers of a different father. And if there is anything history has made clear, it is that no greater feud exists than that between siblings.¡± - Chancellor Gadreel ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight ¡°Mm. My, the castle hasn¡¯t changed one bit, don¡¯t you think Cain? It is quite comforting to be back home.¡± ¡°Conduct yourself, Abel. I do not want your loose tongue to stain these sacred halls, especially before an audience with his majesty.¡± Two of the knights walk forward, and their appearance is revealed under the gleaming skylight. The one speaking in harsh tone is a man plated head to toe in wieldy cuirass, with streaks of deep red and orange splashed throughout, while the face is masked by a sharp great helm. Every surface of his armor exudes a jagged, crag-like spirit, and so it contrasts strikingly with the other man by his side. This one has a much more elegant presence, and it is shown clear through his slender frame and form-fitting breastplate. It curves and glides around his figure in cool streams of blue, an almost whimsical pattern, until it reaches the helm where a simple design is bared: an adjustable visor, a keen peak, and a smooth surface. Their weapons likewise suit their image, for the bulky one wields a giant war hammer while the other has a pointed lance. They do not resemble each other at all, and yet there appears to be a slight bond between the two. A begrudging one, filled with annoyance and minor jests, but it is a bond nonetheless. They walk up to the round table, and then they descend onto their knees before Ascalon, one foot stamping over the other in a methodical, well-practiced step. Cain speaks first, an articulate, ¡°Templar Cain Power formally greets his majesty.¡± Then, a softer voice: ¡°Templar Abel Principality, at your service my liege.¡± They remain with bodies poised until Ascalon finally bids them relief. ¡°Cain, Abel, you may rise,¡± he says with a raise of his hand. ¡°I thank you for answering my summons with such haste. Do forgive the suddenness of this matter, but time is of the essence, and we must hurry whilst this period of grace still lasts.¡± ¡°Perish the thought, my lord!¡± Cain exclaims. ¡°We shall always adhere to your beck and call. As the one who claims the Highest Seat, your command is our piety. Our divine sacrament. Let us - the unworthy - fulfill your will, for that is our life¡¯s purpose.¡± The Knight is almost impressed with how utterly zealous the Power Templar is, and it is also impressed with how Ascalon is able to keep such a stone-cold demeanor before his endless flattering. The King hides it well, but it can notice his discomfort¡ªhow he shrinks back into his throne and awkwardly squirms in place. I wonder, does this reverence stem from their distant relation? While Ascalon does bear the lineage of Power, he has never shown himself to be particularly fond of the name. Though, I suppose his feelings must come second to his duty as King, and the Powers are not one he can so easily ignore. They must be elated to have one of their blood be enthroned, even if it is a blood they themselves have discarded. It is a wonder Ascalon can subdue such averse feelings. There is someone, however, who is very blatant with their disgust, and that person is Surasha who¡¯s reaction is akin to that of one staring at a bug. She physically recoils back with a groan and lowers her head as if attempting to transport herself somewhere far, far away from the current moment. Cain takes notice of her, but if he has any offense, then he veils it well for the man greets her with the same warmth. ¡°And I must say, it is a pleasure to see you again, sister,¡± he says with a polite nod. ¡°Sister¡­?¡± she mutters darkly. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ a nice thought, Cain. It¡¯s, um, good to see you too.¡± ¡°Ah, I see your speech still retains the odd mumbling. Do come to me if you require a new tutor; your current one appears to be quite subpar.¡± She grits her teeth. ¡°Sure. Yeah, I¡¯ll do that. Later, that is.¡± Surasha is doing everything in her power to remain courteous, but her patience is waning, and she appears to be seconds away from descending into a shriek. Fortunately, Abel who has remained quiet thus far deigns to speak and break the tense air. ¡°Now, now, brother, you¡¯ve had your turn,¡± he says with a friendly pat on his shoulder. ¡°Come, let us greet our sister-in-arms. It is wonderful to see you in good health, Lorelai. We were all in despair when we heard of your disappearance, but the Stars are merciful. Indeed, for us to meet once more is nothing short of a miracle, and know that Cain and I shall do everything we can to help regain your memories.¡± ¡°Hehe, thank you, Abel,¡± the Knight replies. ¡°It comforts me to be in the care of friends, but please: Do take a seat. You have traveled far; it would be discourteous of us to keep you standing.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Oh, of course!¡± Cain interjects, subtly pushing his brother to the side. ¡°By my word, your radiance is as benevolent as ever, my lady. Thank you for your kind consideration.¡± An eager one, that. Yet, what is most curious is his voice devoid of any deceit or trickery. He is a natural-born fanatic. Useful, I suppose, but I do hope the other Powers are not so fervent. The two eventually take their seats at opposite ends of the round table, and a new knight steps forth to greet the King. Only, the title of knight is not quite accurate, for the stranger dons an appearance closer to that of an Astrologian: they bare a long, flowing cloak of dark purple that shrouds the entirety of their body, and what would normally serve as the helm is instead replaced by a white clay mask. Not a single arm or leg is visible, and as they move their body remains perfectly still¡ªas if gliding. ¡°Soloman Sovereignty, you have arrived,¡± Ascalon says, to which he receives not a single word in response. The figure only stays there frozen in a half-bow. ¡°Quiet as ever, I see. But do not let me keep you. Take a seat, sir, and we shall begin momentarily.¡± The only acknowledgement from the man - or at least, I assume is a man according to Ascalon¡¯s ¡®sir¡¯ - is a single nod before he wordlessly drifts to the chair next to Dismas. Though their exchange is silent, the two appear to be friendly in some manner: at least, that is what the Knight can glean. It is rather difficult to assess one¡¯s character without seeing their expressions or bodily movements; fortunately, his muted demeanor is betrayed by the expressive buzzing of Creation around him. The divinity is much more vivid than usual, communicative too, almost as if reflecting the Sovereignty¡¯s current mood. And that mood is elation at reuniting with fellow comrades. Six have gathered. Only one is left¡ªthe one with the unsettling chill. They approach now: steps deliberate. Slow. Echoing. And as the final Templar makes their presence known, the shadows pull back to reveal¡­ the figure of a young boy. ¡°Haha, it seems that I¡¯m last. Stars, I¡¯m a bit embarrassed. Really, I¡­ I had this fun little speech planned, you know. For when I¡¯d see everyone again. Oh, I was so excited. It would have been a wonderful, touching moment, but how strange. I seem to have forgotten my words. Dear me, my head¡¯s gone and emptied itself. Isn¡¯t that just a laugh?¡± The Knight¡¯s first thought is that the Templar is much smaller than it thought they would be. Even Surasha, who is of average height amongst the common folk, is shorter than the others, and yet the man before it barely reaches up to her shoulders. It is not just his height either, for his appearance is almost indistinguishable from that of a young child: glossy skin devoid of blemishes, plump cheeks one could easily squeeze, and an innocent, aloof face brimming with purity. ¡°Ah, but you know what I can do? Introduce myself! Yes, that is easy enough. A simple, classic conversation starter, wouldn¡¯t you agree? Oh, I know you do! Anyways, I am Joshua Yahweh, Templar of the Order of the High Seraph. Pleased to make your acquaintance again, my dear friend Lorelai. Wait, am I still your friend? I am, aren¡¯t I? But I suppose you have forgotten me¡­ ah well, we can always start again. I think it will be quite simple. After all, a bond born on the battlefield cannot be so easily broken. The soul remembers where the mind fails, I say. It always does.¡± The boy - no, man - is the sole Templar thus far to have revealed their face, and in doing so his features are displayed quite clearly¡ªhow he is different from the people of Polus. Instead of a skin-tone of red-blushed white or subtle tan, his is a darker complexion: bronze with little hints of brown and gold, like the desert sand sparkling under the sun¡¯s scorching ray. His short black hair is also a rarity, alongside eyes of rich silky brown, but despite how blatantly he stands out among the others, Joshua flaunts his appearance without a care. At first glance, that is. Something about the man unsettles the Knight. Despite his innocuous nature, it cannot rid this eerie chill stirring in its chest. It warns it to look closer, to see through his friendly facade, and as he continues to ramble on, the source of the discomfort is finally discovered. His eyes. They do not shine. He stretches his lips out into a wide grin, and yet his eyes do not smile. His voice conveys an affectionate, kind tone, and yet there is a deep emptiness nestled within. Hollow and unfeeling. It is as if he is but a mere creature pretending to be human, pretending to know emotion, and so it mimics the logical inflection best suited for the mood. But a fake is a fake, no matter how hard one tries. And that is what Joshua is: a lie, pretending to be something it is not. ¡°Lorelai? Is something the matter?¡± his youthful voice suddenly inquires, and the Knight is startled, for it does not believe to have shown any indication of its hesitance. ¡°Is it me? Am I meandering too much? Oh, I¡¯m just a bore, aren¡¯t I? I really did not mean to waste so much time, but there are just moments when you need to speak on and on and on, you know? It feels good to let your thoughts out. You should try it sometime, but that¡¯s just me. I can stop if you¡¯d like.¡± ¡°¡­ Forgive me, Joshua,¡± it replies carefully. ¡°I appreciate your eagerness, and believe me: I mean no offense. But it is a bit overwhelming to be barraged with such quick conversation, especially since - for the current me - this is our first time meeting. I would love to reconnect with you at a later date, but for now, we should focus on the task at hand.¡± He freezes at first, as if the Knight has just slighted his very existence, but then he nods. It looks like an understanding nod, or so it hopes, and he soon begins to make his way towards the last seat. But before he can sit down, he cocks his head to the side and then stares straight into the Knight¡¯s eyes. ¡°Come to think of it¡­ has your voice changed?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Your voice. It¡¯s changed. Or at least, I think it has. I remember it being deeper. That¡¯s strange, isn¡¯t it? I like to believe I have a good memory, so why is it different? Can you tell me?¡± The Knight is stunned. It has not accounted for this. Does my beguilement not affect him? No, even if that were true, I have tempered my voice to match closely with Lorelai¡¯s by gauging the reactions of others. I spent many an hour in the company of Ascalon and the officials, and not once have they said a single comment. ¡°Is that so?¡± it says with feigned confusion. ¡°I apologize, but I do not remember how I sounded before, so I can¡¯t really provide an answer.¡± Thankfully, the other Templars jump to its aid. ¡°Really? I don¡¯t think she sounds any different,¡± says Deborah. Surasha goes even further with, ¡°Are you sure you''re hearing things right? You should come give me a visit later because there¡¯s obviously something wrong with your head.¡± And many other cries of affirmation. Eventually, the noise becomes too loud, and Ascalon¡¯s pressure surges through the room as he gestures for all to be silent. ¡°Be calm, everyone. Personally, I hear no difference as well, but that does not mean Sir Joshua¡¯s observation is any less valid. Perhaps Lorelai¡¯s voice has changed subtly, or perhaps Joshua is confused after so long apart, but nonetheless this is not the right moment for this sort of talk. We have gathered for one purpose: to prepare for this war¡¯s end. Please hold any further questions until after we are done, am I clear?¡± ¡°¡­ Of course, your majesty,¡± Joshua says with a bow before settling into his seat. ¡°Your word is my command.¡± ¡°Thank you for understanding.¡± The King lets forth a big, heaving sigh, and then he faces the round table with a renewed sobriety. ¡°Now then, let us start.¡± Chapter 49: To Everlasting Glory ¡°Despite his youthful appearance, Joshua is actually a decade older than me. It has been seven years since I was officially inaugurated as King - a ceremony hosted upon the advent of my adulthood at the age of eighteen - and yet the Seraph¡¯s Templar has not changed one bit since those days. I have heard tell of those particularly blessed by Creation to age slower than others, but Joshua is a special case even among them. ¡°His personality is ever the same: a cordial gentleman through and through. Even when he is mocked by another for his pedigree, he greets them with a smile, and he never treats another with disdain or rudeness. Joshua is a very kind person. But¡­ I don¡¯t know why. At times, my intuition will ache, warning me of something I cannot see. It tells me to be wary around him, and it conflicts me. I trust in my instinct, but I also want to trust in my friends. When the two clash against each other, which one am I to truly believe?¡± - King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon The King descends his seat and makes way to the round table. All seven Templars have gathered. And while Sarathiel of Steel has yet to arrive and complete the Thrones¡­ he would likely prefer to not attend. Ascalon understands his circumstances, his hesitation to be in the audience of those he has wronged, but it is a shame. The man cannot seclude himself forever; someday, he must atone for his mistakes. Nevertheless, the assembly must go on. With a wave of his hand and a quick whisper to Creation, a grand map is manifested, and thus is displayed the world in its entirety: the Four Nations and Two Great Regions. Ceramic figures are situated here and there, representing various barricades and fortresses standing tall along the border, and large blocks symbolize the concentration of forces garrisoned in the area. ¡°At the current time, our numbers boast around 700,000 strong with the inclusion of both winged and wingless knights,¡± Ascalon says. ¡°A fourth of our forces are defending the capital. Another fourth are scattered along the borders near the Thaumaturgy to the east and Ishmahab to the north. That leaves the remaining half to contend with the southern Caelum legion. ¡°There are three matters we must address today: the time granted to us until this campaign fails, how many knights to take, and which routes to invade through. Let us begin with the first.¡± Everyone is silent at first - gazes lowered in thought - but eventually a hand is raised, and Dismas begins to speak. ¡°It¡¯s a tricky situation. Our best bet is to attack the capital while that old crow Xeros is gone, but that means we¡¯ll hav¡¯ta hurry. He left, what, a month ago for the Steppe?¡± ¡°Right you are, Dismas!¡± Joshua says with a light chuckle. ¡°I was gliding about, you know - stretching my wings and getting some much needed fresh air - when I just so happened to float on by near the Caelum capital.¡± ¡°Just so happened?¡± Cain mutters, anger creeping up his throat. ¡°You disappeared is what happened. For weeks, at that. When the legionaries first began to behave oddly, and we were uncertain whether it was a ploy or the preface of a sudden attack, you suddenly vanished into thin air and left the Seraph in a state of panic.¡± ¡°Haha, don¡¯t be like that little Cain. I did tell someone, you know. Your brother in fact. I left a note by his bedside and everything.¡± ¡°And I do appreciate the fair bit of warning,¡± Abel says hesitantly. ¡°But¡­ your note was rather sparse. ¡®I¡¯ll be gone for a short while. Take care of everything in my stead, please and thank you!¡¯ Does not tell us much of your intentions, I¡¯m afraid.¡± The Principality¡¯s Templar does make a fair point, but Joshua only responds with a puzzled expression¡ªas if he cannot understand what the problem is. ¡°Really? Oh, I do apologize if that¡¯s the case. You two brothers are just so dependable and competent that I assumed you would be able to handle things in my absence. Was I wrong? Was it troubling for you? Oh dear me, how rude I must have been. Truly, the shame is mine to bear¡­¡± The two brothers squirm in their seats as a repentant Joshua continues to berate himself with a sad, pitiful murmur. His looks are akin to that of a small animal¡ªtiny and with clear, sparkling eyes. His is a face one cannot possibly be irate towards, and so a flustered Cain eventually lets out an awkward cough and bids him to stop. ¡°Cease your self-deprecation, Sir Joshua. While I am still rather displeased with your conduct, no harm was caused in the end, and it is thanks to your investigation that we know of the Grand General¡¯s leave. All I ask is that you be more clear with your intent if you are ever to repeat such sudden voyages.¡± Joshua bounces back almost immediately with his usual cheerfulness and gives the shy Cain a bright smile. ¡°Of course! Worry not, I¡¯ll make sure to leave an extra long note next time.¡± ¡°That is not what I meant¡ª¡± ¡°Anyways, while I was peeking from the clouds, there were these big, scary looking machines all rolling out of the city, and it was then I spied a familiar looking scowl getting on board. My, they sure were in a hurry. The Steppe is quite far, but with their pace I¡¯d say it¡¯ll take about, hm, maybe two months? And then another two coming back. That¡¯s a four month round trip! Dear me, Xeros must be quite confident to leave little ol¡¯ us alone for that long.¡± If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Ascalon clasps his hands together, leaning forward and squinting his eyes in concentration as he assesses Joshua¡¯s information. ¡°Four months¡­ so we have until the start of autumn to subjugate the empire. A fair period, but it may not be enough.¡± To launch a campaign, one must consider the needs of their combatants. The strain of the elements, the available rations, and the coordination to move such large bodies: all of this requires careful planning and much time to prepare¡ªnot to mention the inevitable delay when injuries begin to mount. ¡°But at least we have a conclusive date. Now, what of the numbers? How many knights can we afford to send?¡± Deborah is the one to speak first this time. ¡°We should have a lot. The only reason we have so many people defending the capital in the first place was because of Xeros and his spies. Now that he¡¯s gone, I doubt we¡¯ll need to be as attentive, so we can probably spare maybe¡­ about half? If we thin the ranks along the Ishmahab and Augurium borders, we¡¯ll have even more to join with the front-line.¡± Then joins Annalay as she utters a loud grumble. ¡°Ah, I¡¯ve been meaning to talk to you about that, Ascalon. Do we really need that many people up there? I doubt that shut-in Astrologian and the old crone will try to invade us. It¡¯s a waste of our numbers.¡± ¡°While we are currently in good relations with the two states,¡± Ascalon says. ¡°That does not mean we can be entirely at ease. Latizia the Gold-Blooded is a very ambitious woman, and the chances of her turning on us are high if our weakness is to be revealed. With the Monarch¡¯s Wings, I can protect the capital in the worst case scenario of an invasion, but my power alone will not be enough to fend off her army. ¡°Arch Magus Faust is a stalwart ally. He is not one to betray the trust of others, but I am less concerned with him and more of the warring tribes in the desert. We are already asking much of the good man to pressure Caelum¡¯s front; with his absence, the people of the sands will be more active, and I am afraid weakening our border will only encourage them to expand their territory.¡± Annalay sags her shoulders and lets out a disappointed grunt, as do the others in the room. Unfortunately, the world is never so peaceful: When one threat subsides, another looms. Though, I suppose this conundrum affects both sides. Thus is why Xeros now seeks new alliances. ¡°¡­ However, it is not as if we cannot withdraw some forces,¡± he continues, to which the Templar¡¯s respond with a hopeful gaze. ¡°Just enough for us to retain appearances. I would say maybe an additional 50,000?¡± ¡°That¡¯ll be enough!¡± Deborah exclaims, shifting excitedly in her seat. ¡°With that, we should have around half a million to lead the advance.¡± ¡°Indeed, it shall be greater than any we have amassed thus far. But even with such large number, it matters not without a decisive route.¡± Ascalon raises his hand and waves to the geography of the south. ¡°In regards to defense, we are fortunate to be surrounded by such treacherous terrain: the Aeternum to the west, the swamplands farther south, the mountain tops dividing the valleys, and the dunes snaking along the east. Caelum has little way of invasion, and so we have held strong thus far by reinforcing those pivotal points. ¡°But that, in turn, goes against our favor as well. Each environment hosts their own challenges, and we will risk exhausting our troops before they even reach the Caelum¡¯s bastions. The only clear method forward is through the front-lines.¡± Cain and Abel both sigh in unison. They look at each other, neither one willing to speak first, until eventually Abel emerges the loser in their contest of wills. ¡°If I am to be honest, your majesty, there is little hope in that path for us even with such excess knights. The legion is currently dwindled, yes, but Caelum boasts a much large population than we do¡ªnot to mention the countless fortresses and choke-points along the path. ¡°Aggressors, by nature, shall always be at a disadvantage. To take over a bastion would require double, no, triple the number of opposing forces. And, though I loathe to admit it, Caelum simply has more advanced technology than we do. They are unable to take advantage of this whilst invading, but know we shall face adversity like never before if we lay siege.¡± ¡°Yeah, and that¡¯s not all,¡± Dismas says, tapping his finger on the location of the Caelum¡¯s capital. ¡°Soon as we¡¯re spotted, ya can bet they¡¯ll send reinforcements faster than we can react. Their supply line¡¯s too strong; the whole army¡¯ll be recalled, and then we risk Libevich comin¡¯ after us. Can we win? Maybe, but it sure as hells won¡¯t be ¡®fore Xeras returns. And by then¡­¡± ¡°¡­ We¡¯ll be screwed,¡± Surasha grunts. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s impossible. I¡¯d rather take my chances with the swamps than brute forcing our way through. Though, it¡¯s not like we have to take the wingless knights with us. Why don¡¯t we just gather all the Seraph and storm the capital ourselves while the others cause a distraction?¡± Upon her proposal, Soloman stirs to life from his supposed inactivity and begins to write in the air by bending light¡¯s ray around his finger. ¡°Not enough¡± is illustrated. ¡°Power not enough. Capital too fortified.¡± ¡°Haha, he¡¯s right you know,¡± Joshua says. ¡°My order¡¯s already lacking in members to begin with, not to mention all the fancy anti-air defenses Xeros has plastered all over his city. Without the ground troops, we¡¯ll just be shot down from the sky one by one.¡± ¡°Then what¡¯re we supposed to do!?¡± She shouts, suddenly standing up and slamming her palms against the table. ¡°Stars, this is all a waste of time. We can¡¯t do this, we can¡¯t do that¡­ Caelum¡¯s weaker than ever and we¡¯re still this helpless. Is there even anything we can do?¡± Ascalon can feel her frustration well, and though he wants to reassure her, in truth he is just as concerned. I knew it would be difficult, but to think our options would be this bleak despite all our efforts. Is there truly no hope for us? None of the Templars respond. They cannot refute her, nor can they offer any other solution. In the end, it appears the campaign will be smothered before it can even begin. But then, a voice is raised. A voice from one who has remained silent this entire gathering until now. It is the voice of Lorelai, and she speaks with such confidence, such utter certainty, that all in the chamber are drawn to her decree. ¡°I have a plan.¡± Chapter 50: Find the Flame ¡°I wonder, when was it mine heart had ceased to beat? To feel warmth, the passion inspiring a new day¡¯s life. I suppose it was when Valkyrie died, and I only watched as she laid helplessly on her bed. None of the healers could save her. No spell or balm could mend the wounds wrought by the Constellation. I merely sat by her side, and I weeped as the ember in her eyes faded with each passing day. When she had finally joined those among the Stars, I did not attend her funeral. I couldn¡¯t, for my soul would not bear the sight of her slumbering face. ¡°Ladislava came to me then. The Comet. The savior. She who was holiest of all, but those titles didn¡¯t matter to me. It was because of her negligence that Valkyrie sacrificed herself. It was because of her weakness that my beloved withstood a mortal blow in her stead. Ladislava came to me then, offering half-hearted words of apology, but I only bid her to leave. I cursed at her, and I forbade her from entering my kingdom for as long as I drew breath. I knew that I was emotional, that she didn¡¯t deserve such scornful treatment, but what else could I have done? How else could I calm the grief boiling in my blood? ¡°The days were so very long. I spent hours merely staring at the sky, and it was then I understood why my predecessors abandoned all worldly ties. How nice it would have been to leave everything behind... to cower in some small corner of the world, never worrying over such fickle feelings like love or pain. But I couldn¡¯t, for this was my pledge¡ªto use my gift in the service of others. To create a peaceful world, and so I persisted. My eyes dulled. My body hollowed. ¡°But then, I met a woman. A dancer from a faraway land. She had come to the capital alongside a desert troupe, hosting some manner of festivity, and though I had not wished to attend, my faithful knights encouraged me to spend the evening away from my work. I did not expect to feel much, but when I saw her there, swaying under the moonlight¡¯s glow, my heart started to beat once more. I was bewitched. And I swore that I would do anything to never lose this love again.¡± - The Progenitor King, Arthur Polus ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon ¡°Truly?¡± Ascalon says, barely holding himself back from leaping up in joy. ¡°Have you discovered another path?¡± Lorelai crosses her arms and slowly leans over the round table before placing a finger on a point far from the frontlines. ¡°This fortress here¡­ the Magnus Murus I believe it is called? I saw mentions of it whilst perusing the archive earlier.¡± ¡°Hm? That ol¡¯ thing?¡± Dismas questions. ¡°I know of it. There used to be a trail connectin¡¯ that path with Polus centuries ago, but now the way¡¯s blocked by a deep swamp. Hasn¡¯t seen use in a long time; the fortress supposedly serves as a testing ground now for whatever rusty monstrosities Caelum¡¯s tinkering with.¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± She nods. ¡°It is an abandoned path, isolated from the empire¡¯s supply line, and it is also the most straightforward. Two vast gorges surround the stronghold, and the only exit leads directly to their capital. All we need is conquer a single blockade for there to be none left halting our march.¡± Joshua sways back and forth in his seat, all the while staring with an expressionless face ill-suited of his youthful demeanor, before he lets a smile creep forth once more and laughs out in a bright chuckle. ¡°Haha, how tricky of you, Lorelai! Very amusing. With those gorges, they have naught but one method of escape: one road to trot if they wish to send a messenger for reinforcements. But if I were to take the Seraph and fly behind the fortress¡­ oh, how very tricky indeed. Trapped, like rats in a steel coffin. You¡¯ve grown more cunning, my friend. I like it.¡± ¡°Um, hold on a second now¡ª¡± Surasha interrupts, turning her head to the others as if they¡¯ve all lost their minds. ¡°If it were that easy, we would¡¯ve already brought it up by now. It¡¯s just like Dismas said: There¡¯s a really large marsh in that area, and frankly, that type of terrain is the absolute worst for our wingless knights. The mud, the swamp, and that stale air¡­ it''d take a small group months to get through, much less our entire army. We don¡¯t have the time or energy for that kind of route.¡± But despite Surasha¡¯s claims, Lorelai remains ever as composed. She simply tilts her head and asks but one little question: ¡°Is there truly no other way forward besides the marsh?¡± ¡°Huh?¡± Lorelai shifts her attention farther north of the map, closer to where the kingdom lies, and waves to where a rocky canyon is situated. ¡°Mind, I am supposing based only on textual information, but there should be a series of tunnels hidden below that connect all throughout the land. This canyon holds a cave to one such entrance, and assuming formations have not changed in the past age, I think likely a suitable path exists¡ªone leading out a fair distance away from the Magnus Murus. And fortunately for us, I suspect the Caelum forces remain unaware of this route due to its obscurity amidst the marshland.¡± Silence. The room is stunned: from the rigid Cain to even the stoic Soloman¡ªif Ascalon could see their faces now, they would no doubt have their mouths open in surprise. The only one who bids to move is Surasha, quickly standing up and attempting to say a rebuttal, but she soon freezes in place and slowly lowers back onto her seat as a look of contemplation washes over her. ¡°Huh,¡± she mutters. ¡°I¡­ didn¡¯t even think of that.¡± ¡°Certainly¡­¡± Abel says, tapping his foot and peering at the map. ¡°It is a most astute observation, one unlikely to ever be made by us who deign to soar in yonder skies. However¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s bad luck. Really bad luck,¡± Deborah groans. ¡°Forget the Seraph, I don¡¯t think there¡¯s a soul in Polus who isn¡¯t afraid of the underground. It¡¯s been a superstition since our nation¡¯s founding; convincing the knights to move through there is not going to be easy.¡± Their hesitation is palpable, but Ascalon cannot fault them. Even in the short time whilst he still lived with his family, the King has heard tales of the dangers lurking below. To never enter a realm devoid of the light. It is no exaggeration to say such fear is deeply rooted in all of Polus blood, and yet Lorelai sits there with genuine confusion displayed clearly in her demeanor. ¡°Is it that great a fear?¡± she asks. ¡°Very, my lady,¡± Cain says with a shudder. ¡°For it was in the underground that the atrocity had claimed its hearth.¡± ¡°¡­ The Constellation?¡± Lorelai mumbles, her gaze turned upwards at some unseeable image. For some odd reason, she appears regretful. Almost longing. But for what Ascalon is amiss. This sight has become familiar to him now: sudden bouts where sadness takes hold of her, and she shies away from all others. He knows that a part of her still distrusts him despite all his efforts, but he doesn¡¯t pry any further than she allows. Trust is a two-fold connection. He will wait, and one day, mayhaps she will reveal the source of that remorseful stare. ¡°Yes, I remember now,¡± she continues. ¡°I read the stories¡ªof the first Seraph and the Comet. Of how one sacrificed their life for the other, ambushed in the depths where the sun fails to shine. To think that trauma would ingrain itself so deeply into the people¡­ but I don¡¯t think a mere fable would inspire such continued aversion. Is there another reason?¡± Surprisingly, Annalay is the one to speak further about the legends. ¡°Ahem,¡± she coughs, awkwardly looking around and deciding if she truly wishes to put herself forth. But the Nature¡¯s Throne is never one to deliberate for long, and in the end, she tosses aside her shame. ¡°I know a little bit about that. It¡¯s a children¡¯s rhyme; my¡ªhah, mother used to sing it to me when I was little before bed. Wanted to scare me into behaving by using the Constellation as some damned monster that would spirit me away. How did it go again? Ah, right.¡± ¡ª¡ª¡ª ¡®The Valkyrie¡¯s light had shone so bright, none could possibly compare. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. But on that day her light had sunk, filling all with despair. Heed my words, o¡¯ children of the sky The underground is filled with naught but peril, for to traverse it means your end is nigh. The atrocity, the scourge, the creature of night. The Constellation lurks in the dirt and filth, waiting to swallow you in one bite.¡± ¡ª¡ª¡ª ¡°Oh, I remember that one!¡± Deborah excitedly giggles. ¡°Wow, that sure takes me back. It gave me such a fright when I first heard it that I couldn¡¯t sleep for days¡ª¡± Ascalon raises his hand and interrupts her before the topic can devolve any further. ¡°Regardless, that fear remains ever present among the people. I am sorry, Lorelai, but while your proposal is the most reasonable we¡¯ve had thus far, it is unlikely the people will agree to it. We must find another solution.¡± It really is a shame. However, Ascalon does not want to subject his people to such terror if they wish against it. To force them into that tight and maddening space¡­ he knows his words have power, and the knights are likely to follow his command to the last breath, but to take advantage of their loyalty and cause them suffering knowing so would make him no better than the likes of Xeros. But, for a second, Ascalon pauses. A strange feeling stirs within his chest, burning. Aching. And when he looks up to face Lorelai, she faces him with a look that pierces into his very soul. Even now, she refuses to relent, and then her lips part to speak a few, striking words. ¡°Do you really believe that, Ascalon?¡± ¡°I¡ª¡± ¡°Do you really believe the people will not agree, or is that merely your own fear? Fear that they shall turn against you? Fear that your command shall cause them to worship you no longer?¡± ¡°No, nothing as selfish as that. I only¡ª¡± ¡°Ascalon. Take a deep breathe,¡± she commands, and it is as if two are transported to a world of their very own. No Templars. No Annalay. No grand throne room: just an endless view of white space and the woman he loves before him¡ªchallenging his views. ¡°You are kind, Ascalon. But you are also afraid of how people see you. Of failing to meet their expectations. Is that not correct?¡± ¡°Lorelai,¡± he pleads. ¡°Please, this isn¡¯t the time for this. Not in front of the others¡ª¡± ¡°Do not run away from me. Do not run away from them. You are their lord, and it is your duty to convey what your heart truly desires. They cannot help you if they do not know you, so speak. Let everything flow out.¡± Ascalon flinches, for her tone is unlike any he has heard from her before. Direct. Almost confrontational. He swallows hard, and sweat begins to form on his brow, but eventually he finds his voice and replies back¡ªstill shaky, a bit nervous, but otherwise ready to face her. ¡°¡­ It is not so much their disappointment that scares me,¡± he says. ¡°But their faith. Their innocent, whole-hearted belief that I shall see them through this perilous time. And I want to fulfill that wish, to bring about change, for every year that passes under my reign is another where they must continue to live in doubt. There are no achievements under my name, there is naught I have done but fester in stagnation, and yet they still all revere me. Me, who can only cower, praying for the war to end on its own. ¡°I have done nothing worth deserving of their love, so I have to suffer each day carrying this feeling of burden. Of guilt. And sometimes¡­ I wonder if my enthronement is a mistake. Am I truly fitting of the Monarch¡¯s Wings? Were they not intended for another more deserving? It eats away at me, that I might have stolen this gift. Wretched it away with my greed. So I have to be faultless, exemplary, an ideal image of a ruler, for that is the only way I can atone for receiving all these gifts. These blessings. ¡°I truly am blessed to have many people I can call comrades. Friends. But it is because I have so many within my care that I seek a perfect solution. One that everyone shall readily agree. I know such thinking is naive, but I cannot help but yearn for that possibility¡ªeven if it is a fool¡¯s errand. I want to protect them. I want to be the hero they claim me to be, and part of being a hero is to never forget the people¡¯s will. To be gallant and compassionate towards all. Would a kind lord force his people into service?¡± Lorelai doesn¡¯t speak, at first. She stands up, leaves her seat, and then slowly walks over to Ascalon¡¯s side. Step by step, with all the Templars¡¯ gazes centered on her, she walks forward. And then she stops so very close, a hair¡¯s breadth away so that her hot breath can be felt on his helm, and cups his face¡ªforcing Ascalon to peer directly into her shining, platinum eyes. ¡°Would a kind lord move his people to war?¡± Ascalon cannot utter a thing. ¡°No, because war is an awful, awful thing. It takes away more than it gives, and the only ones who benefit from its destruction are those who cannot see the corpses plaguing the earth. ¡°And yet we still move. Why? Because the people are tired, Ascalon¡ªtired of this twenty year long strife where death and despair is but a common occurrence. If there was a chance, an opportunity to end this bloody conflict once and for all, do you think they would shy away from it? To continue being content with this everlasting uncertainty? ¡°We do this not because we want to, but because we need to. No one wishes to fight or to grit through their fears, but when there is a purpose, a sincere desire to bring change, then they will overcome any terror. Push through any obstacle. Know this, Ascalon: Your people are capable of protecting themselves. Their desire is one you should encourage, not smother. So do not give in before their cry is even heard. Listen, truly listen, and then you shall know their will. Do not make that choice in their stead.¡± The King struggles, he squirms and attempts to escape from Lorelai¡¯s hold, but her grasp is strong. She will not let him cower. There¡¯s an almost desperate plea in her gaze, in that murky ocean of ink within, and for a moment, Ascalon can hear a tiny mutter escape her breath. A small, almost indiscernible voice, one begging to be heard despite its secrecy. ¡°Please, do not be like him.¡± Who? Why does she feel so out of reach? He closes his eyes and then lets out a deep exhale. A second passes, then another, and another. He relishes in the silence, pondering, contemplating over her words. And eventually, he realizes she is right. For all his talk of letting the people have their own freedom, he has decided their beliefs on his own. Without any consideration, without allowing them to ever voice it aloud. ¡°¡­ What do you think, everyone?¡± he asks out to the Templars. They all turn to look each other, and it is then Ascalon can see how truly wrong he has been. There is not a hint of hesitation in them. Perhaps there never has been since the very beginning. ¡°It is a bit scary,¡± Deborah murmurs. ¡°But Lorelai is right. I¡­ I barely even remember a time before the war, but grandpa would always tell us stories. Of how happy everyone was, and how there wasn¡¯t a care or worry except what next to do in the tomorrow ever so close. I want that happiness, I want to know what it¡¯s like to be completely carefree, so yes. I will brave any fear if that means making that come true, and I think the Cherubim knights will agree. They¡¯re strong people; something like a little fear of the dark won¡¯t stop them.¡± Surasha speaks next, and for once in a long time she doesn¡¯t glare at him with hate. Instead, there is something else: sympathy perhaps? No, understanding. As if she can finally bear to forgive him. ¡°I, um, didn¡¯t know you felt that way. I always thought you just cared about appearances, about looking good so that the people would fawn over you, but I-I didn¡¯t realize how much stress you were under. So, ugh, I still won¡¯t forget about all that time you¡¯ve left me alone, but I guess what I want to say is¡­ sorry. And I agree: if ending this war means having to go on a little trek underground, then I¡¯ll go on as many trips as needed.¡± One by one, the other Templars voice their agreements: their stories, their approval, and their support for whatever Ascalon decides next. It is a relieving sight, all his worries soon flooding out without pause, and upon the final accord, Annalay slaps his back and yells out a boisterous guffaw right into his ears. ¡°About time you stopped keeping everything to yourself,¡± she says with a rumble. ¡°The stoic Ascalon isn¡¯t bad, but I much prefer the one who knows how to trust others. His people. So stop thinking the whole world¡¯s putting you on a pedestal and speak up when you want to, alright?¡± ¡°Hehe, alright Annalay,¡± he chuckles, and his gloom all but disappears as her rough friendliness pulls him back to the world. ¡°I still can¡¯t help but worry sending you all off alone, but I believe in everyone¡¯s strength. I know you will claim victory, so worry not about matters regarding defense. The capital shall be safe with me.¡± ¡°Hm?¡± Lorelai suddenly says, and the attention is turned towards her once more. ¡°What do you mean? This campaign will not succeed without a leader¡ªsomeone the knights know well to spearfront the advance and inspire morale.¡± Confusion begins to settle amongst the room, and Ascalon bids to clarify Lorelai¡¯s vague claim. ¡°Yes, that does seem reasonable, but will that position not be taken by you? I know none other so wise in tactics and respected by the populace.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± she trails off with a whisper. ¡°But I know very well someone who fits that criteria.¡± ¡°Oh? Who might that¡ª¡± But Ascalon stops himself, and horror begins to creep upon his face, for he realizes the true meaning of Lorelai¡¯s words. And this realization dawns on the others as well: Joshua¡¯s mouth is left agape, Cain and Abel leap up from their seat, Surasha sinks to the ground, Deborah appears entirely dumbfounded, Dismas recoils in shock, Annalay stumbles back, and even Soloman grasps the table for balance. Lorelai is suggesting the impossible. No, what is strictly forbidden¡ªan affront against a tradition held since the very founding of the kingdom. ¡°You, Ascalon,¡± she says, and thus the court descends into chaos. ¡°You will be the one to lead the invasion.¡± Chapter 51: So That No One Will Cry ¡°Ever since my birth, I had been drawn to that realm beyond the Stars. It was ingrained in me. It was my life¡¯s sole purpose, the reason for this grand title as the Comet Ladislava. Hah, the Comet¡­ bringer of change. Herald of the new world. But I never saw it that way. To me, it was a curse¡ªa despicable curse I could never escape from, for I was but a puppet in this cycle without end. I was meant to rise, to unite the people, and to eventually fall before the atrocity¡¯s hands like all others before me. ¡°So, I ran. I ran away from my urges. I ran away from my tribe touting me as the savior. I didn¡¯t want this; I didn¡¯t want to be responsible for humanity¡¯s fate. I just wanted to live a quiet life¡ªa satisfied life, one where I could blend in as any other child. ¡°And I did, at first. I fled to the land of green pastures and rolling meadows known as Camelot, and I masked myself as the daughter of a merchant family. It was easy; my eyes always did have a curious disposition to charm people, but I could never stomach using it often. I knew it was a deplorable act, to manipulate the goodwill of others, but I was desperate. I needed a place to call home, and I found it. And it was nicer than anything I had ever experienced before. Here, I could finally be myself, thus did I spend the next few years of my youth as an ordinary girl. ¡°And then came the rebellion, the war which consumed the land in terror and mutiny. It wasn¡¯t a surprising event, and I had always expected for the slaves to rise up one day, but it progressed much, much faster than I initially thought. The ruling class became paranoid; they began to torment my new family and the common folk under the guise of rooting out insurrectionists. Yet, even so, I remained passive, for to join the fight would mean stoking these long buried embers aflame. It didn¡¯t concern me. Nothing concerned me. All I had to do was keep my head down and wait for the dust to settle. ¡°That is, until I met Arthur. Until I one day saw his figure speaking out in the square. Fervent. Impassioned. He truly wanted to bring about change, to revel in a better world, and as I listened to his voice - a voice so filled with life unlike mine - I gave in to the divine¡¯s call. I wanted to create that world as well, but not just for this one little corner of the land. No, I wanted to spread happiness to every farm and field, to those of the desert, the tribes hiding in the forest: men, women, creature, beast¡­ my love would spread afar, and I resolved to do what my predecessors couldn¡¯t. ¡°I resolved to slay the Constellation, no matter what sacrifices had to be made.¡± - Ladislava, the former Comet ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon ¡°PREPOSTEROUS! COMPLETE, UTTER INSANITY! ¡± A familiar, gallant voice erupts into the room as the good Chancellor slams the doors wide open and bustles forth, face utterly aghast. It is about time the man finally revealed himself: I was starting to think he would stay latched to the door for the entire meeting. ¡°¡­ Well met, Gadreel,¡± the King says, holding back a slight chuckle. ¡°If you had wished to join us, you needed only ask me. Your council will always be welcome.¡± ¡°Ah¡ªoh!¡± the elder gasps. He spins his head around towards the Templars and becomes a bright, vibrant red in the cheeks. It seems his heart bid him move before the brain could object. ¡°My apologies. I was - ehem - on a, how do you say, casual stroll around the castle when these old ears of mine just so happened to hear a rather startling proposition.¡± ¡°Think nothing of it, Chancellor. You are here now; if you¡¯d like to voice your thoughts, now is the time.¡± ¡°Very well then. If I may¡­¡± Gadreel takes a big gulp of air, tidies his garments, and then lets out a deep sigh as he moves to face Lorelai. It is clear the prospect of disputing her does not weigh easily on his mind, but nevertheless he remains steadfast and carefully deliberates his words. ¡°Dame Lorelai: Thy plan is an admirable one, and I do not necessarily disagree with taking advantage of the underground¡¯s passage, but I cannot allow you to take his majesty outside the capital¡¯s protection. The Kings and Queens of morrow¡¯s promise must remain here, and for good reason: We must not repeat the tragedy of his holiness Arthur. If the people were to lose their Ruler now¡­ then that shall be the end of us all.¡± Tradition. It is a powerful thing¡ªcapable of enslaving the thoughts of those who have long since diverged from their ancestors. So different, yet still so similar. And though Ascalon loathes being a mere idol for the people¡¯s worship - an ornament, a gilded decoration - he has finally since come to terms with his responsibility. He has accepted it, and he has decided to do what is allowed of him. So it is unfair that Lorelai now proposes what he has yearned so long for¡ªto shake the resolve he has just precariously built. One wishes for a dangerous task. Another wishes for stability. Who should he support? Ascalon does not know, but after what he has just seen from Lorelai, he knows she will not back down without a fight. ¡°How long ago was that decree?¡± Lorelai says, her demeanor entirely unchanged. ¡°Thousands of years, Gadreel. Far too many, and all we have left of their remembrance is a few scarce records. Times have changed; we no longer have reason to be so protective of the city.¡± ¡°So you deign to abandon the people of their protector?¡± Gadreel replies. ¡°No matter how safe the capital may seem, one must never discount the possibility of a foe lying in wait¡ªjust like the baleful murderer you slayed not so long ago.¡± ¡°I am not suggesting to leave it entirely undefended. Why not have Annalay stay in Ascalon¡¯s stead?¡± ¡°Huh?¡± Annalay stutters. ¡°Hold on now, why¡¯s my name coming up all of a sudden? Lorelai?¡± She brings her hand up and, with a grunt, rubs her helm¡¯s temple as Lorelai¡¯s intent slowly begins to dawn on her. ¡°Is this some bad joke? No. No you¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re serious. You really want me to stay back, don¡¯t you? Damn it, so that¡¯s how it¡¯s going to be. Heh, that stings. I didn¡¯t expect you of all people to treat me like this. What, am I really that untrustworthy!?¡± She roars out in rage, and the air whips around the room in a wild fit¡ªlashing at the walls whilst forcing the Templars onto their feet. ¡°Annalay,¡± Lorelai begins, raising her hand and motioning for peace. ¡°Let me explain¡ª¡± ¡°To hells with that! I know I¡¯m crass sometimes - a bit rough in my methods, sure - but I¡¯ve never hurt anyone that didn¡¯t deserve it. You saw me out there, didn¡¯t you? At the entrance? Yeah, those knights got a bit dirty, but I controlled myself. They didn¡¯t even get so much as a bruise, and I made sure to clean up my mess in the end. ¡°I-I know I didn¡¯t have the best first impression, and I, um, did drag you into my private matters, but are you really going to exclude me because of that? No, Cosmos be damned if you think I¡¯m just going to sit back and give up my chance to slaughter those Caelum bastards for all they¡¯ve done to us!¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Annaly¡¯s wrath is like a storm: unrelenting. Indiscriminate. The Nature¡¯s Throne has always had a reputation for being ferocious, but Ascalon has never seen her so enraged before, and it is clear the others know not how to react. One by one, the Templars step back and hesitantly grab at their weapons, but they are never fully drawn: only half held in the scabbard, waiting for when she truly crosses the line. Something must be done. But before Ascalon can raise his voice and put a stop to this madness, Surasha rushes forward and delivers a mighty slap to the raging Annalay¡¯s cheek. ¡°Oh for Stars¡¯ sake, calm down already!¡± she shouts into her ear, and surprisingly her sudden ambush succeeds in leaving the Throne speechless for a moment. ¡°This isn¡¯t like you, Annalay. I know you¡¯re mad, I¡¯m a bit confused too, but you know Lorelai doesn¡¯t think of you that way. How could you for a second believe that, after all that happened at the Virtues? Does that make sense to you?¡± Annalay doesn¡¯t speak. She slumps her body and hangs her head down in response, embarrassed after causing such a scene. ¡°No,¡± she eventually utters. ¡°Guess I was just too hasty.¡± ¡°Yeah, you were. Feeling dumb now?¡± ¡°Hah, more than that.¡± ¡°Good. Because you looked real stupid out there, so settle down and listen to what Lorelai has to say. You can do that at least, can¡¯t you?¡± She sighs and then collapses with a thud onto her rear. ¡°Course I can. And¡­ sorry everyone for getting heated. Not my proudest moment, but I¡¯ll try to make it my last. Maybe.¡± The others breathe a sigh of relief and let go of their weapons. Lorelai, however, hasn¡¯t moved a step since the very beginning¡ªas if she has known Annalay would never rampage against her fellows. On the contrary, she giggles before the display and then places a soft hand on the sulking Throne¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Everything is alright, Annalay,¡± she says. ¡°I had a feeling you would dislike my proposal, but know that I did not make this choice out of distrust. Rather, it is because I depend on you so that I wish to entrust the citizens¡¯ safety in your care. Your power is second only to Ascalon¡¯s in regards to defense; no one else here is capable of safeguarding the people save for you. ¡°And, I think staying in the capital would do you well. Mend your relationships¡ªboth loved and scorned. You can do that, can¡¯t you?¡± To this, Annalay lets out a bright guffaw and rises back onto her feet¡ªhand over heart. Gaze straight and clear. ¡°Well, can¡¯t refute that. Guess I¡¯ll consider this my first ever leave: one not in a cell, at least.¡± It is pleasant indeed to watch such friendship blossom, or so Ascalon chuckles in his head. Except, he notices the mood has gone quite in Lorelai¡¯s favor¡ªas if his departure has already been determined. And he is not the only one to notice this: The moment Annalay finishes her hardy speech, Gadreel clears his throat with a loud ¡°Eh-hem!¡± and directs the attention to himself once more. ¡°While this is all a most delightful atmosphere,¡± he says. ¡°May I all remind you the matter of our King¡¯s departure is not yet resolved?¡± ¡°Hm? Oh, that is right,¡± Lorelai says with a light laugh. ¡°Pardon me, Chancellor: I assumed you would have relented by now.¡± ¡°Oh, I am a very stubborn man, my lady. And unfortunately, this is one affair where my foot must remain firmly stamped. His majesty¡¯s safety must never be threatened.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± she questions. ¡°But I dare say Ascalon shall be the safest among us. After all, he has the power of the Monarch¡¯s Wings. He is the Inheritor of Freedom¡¯s Will. Gadreel, I truly do not understand your concerns, for there is no one in this land more protected than he. ¡°He, who has the blessing of invulnerability.¡± Invulnerability: impervious to all physical wounds. To be wholly incapable of receiving any sort of injury, whether it be from poison or blade or miasma or flame. Nothing can harm Ascalon for as long as he is surrounded by his countryman: That is the gift bestowed upon those who claim Freedom¡¯s mantle, and that is why Ascalon has always wished to escape this caged city. With this power, he could stop any blow - prevent so many from perishing on the battlefield - yet it is because of this very ability that he must remain here to lend peace to those who cannot fight. And he is satisfied with this position. After all, is there no more noble purpose than to protect the meek? Here, he can be the hero he so desires without taking a single step outside his castle. By virtue of his very existence, he is the strongest of them all: a paragon of might. He is satisfied. ¡°But my lady, the King¡¯s invulnerability wanes the lesser his congregation. There are millions in this city¡ªmillions to give liturgy to the Monarch¡¯s Wings. Can you truly be assured his power will persist with the smaller number of the army?¡± He has to be. ¡°Gadreel¡­ the first King, Arthur, had but a mere 300,000 subjects to his name. We have grown vastly as a nation, and so too have our available forces. The knights of the Orders shall be more than enough to retain Ascalon¡¯s authority.¡± And yet, deep down within, he knows he isn¡¯t. ¡°B-But our tradition¡­¡± When he closes his eyes, he can still see the ashes of his former village. He can see the charred corpses of his family, and he remembers his cowardice¡ªhow he ran away, abandoning them all to their fate. ¡°Tradition, by its very nature, is meant to serve the people. Once, we may have had use of such a system, but nations grow. People evolve, changing, discovering new identities, and when the time comes when tradition is no longer of use, then we must discard our old ways. We must forge new values, ones meant for the us of the present, and so on in the future shall those values be changed again. That is the cycle of life; that change is why humanity continues to thrive.¡± And he knows. He knows that he was just a boy: a poor, desperate, starving little boy. The him of the past doesn¡¯t know any better. The him of the past couldn¡¯t have known any better. ¡°Ascalon¡­¡± Even if I did confront that soldier, would anything have changed? Would I have been able to prevent our village¡¯s destruction? The boy back then only wanted to live, but I am different. I have the means to prevent another tragedy, and to do so, I must forgive myself. ¡°¡­ Ascalon¡­¡± I must forgive that child, that still ever penitent child within, so that no one will cry ever again. ¡°ASCALON!¡± Lorelai¡¯s voice brings the King suddenly lurching back to reality, and he clutches at his stomach, brow breaking into a cold sweat. ¡°Ascalon, are you alright?¡± ¡°Y-Yes,¡± he stammers, groping at his helm and huffing out a sigh. ¡°I apologize for not listening. Did you need something of me?¡± She looks up at him, worry still etched in her demeanor. ¡°You need not lie for my sake. Are you truly alright?¡± He chuckles. ¡°I am. Perhaps more than I¡¯ve ever been.¡± Lorelai nods, and in that nod is her trust felt plainly. That faith means the world to him. ¡°Then¡­ I leave it up to you. The Chancellor and I cannot come to an agreement, so by your word shall everything be decided. You are the King. You have the final say, so what will it be: Will you remain in the capital, or will you depart with us and lead the invasion at the forefront?¡± Ascalon has always wished for a call to adventure, but he knows now he doesn¡¯t need such a thing. From the very beginning, he should have had the confidence to express himself. To take charge of his own destiny. ¡°¡­ I am sorry, Gadreel,¡± he says. ¡°But I do not wish to sit idly by any longer. Can you forgive me?¡± The elder sighs, but his reaction is not as vehement as Ascalon has expected him to be. Instead, he smiles: a big smile, one that reaches to his eyes. ¡°I shall always abide by thy decision, my liege. That has not changed, and it never shall. If you wish to protect our people with thine own blade, then this old body of mine shall do everything in its power to support you.¡± And so, it is Ascalon¡¯s turn to smile. ¡°Thank you, old friend. Truly, your words mean the world to me.¡± Ascalon turns around, and he makes his way to the throne once more. He lowers himself upon the seat, hangs his head back: mind free of all worry, of all doubt, then roars out a decree the loudest his voice can muster. It surges through the room, the hall, the castle, and to the heights of the sky hanging stoically above: It echoes, and it sings¡ªhis heartbeat thundering strong. ¡°Heed my call!¡± he bellows. ¡°Send the command to every corner of the kingdom: Rally the knights, spare not a morsel of reserves, for the decisive hour soon approaches. Ready yourselves, everyone, for the time is now to make war!¡± Chapter 52: Moonlight Sonata ¡°I used to think I was trapped. That I had to be locked away in this gilded cage of gold for the people¡¯s sake, but¡­ I was only ever fooling myself. No one forced me into this confinement; rather, I chose it of my own volition. I let myself wither in captivity, for to break out into the light was far too terrifying a thought. The unknown scared me. Change scared me. And so I remained behind these imaginary bars, waiting for someone else to grant me leave. ¡°But that was only ever an excuse. I blamed all but myself for my cowardice, for it was easier to condemn them than to accept the filth in my heart. I remained chained to my naivety, for it was all I had ever known. ¡°I am not a child anymore. I will not let my identity be decided by those who see only my title. No, this path is my own¡ªa fate strewn by my will. And so it is time to finally leave this cage - this once hated, and beloved, home - and make way to lands still yet unfamiliar. ¡°I am nervous, but I know the dawn ahead is bright. There are people with me, kind people¡ªones who trust in my judgment. So I will not let them down, and I will forge ahead a future where we may all bask freely under the Stars¡¯ shine.¡± - King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight Everything is moving as planned. From the subterranean tunnels, the isolated fortress, and even Ascalon¡¯s rise to confidence¡­ the Knight¡¯s sway has settled quite firmly. Now, all are captive to its guidance¡ªsave for the peculiar Joshua whose intentions are still not yet known. But it doesn¡¯t matter; he can do nothing now. Even at this moment, the castle is abuzz with activity as letters and missives are sent to all corners of the nation, and they all carry the same message: prepare for the fateful hour. There can be no stopping the advance, and when Ascalon¡¯s blade claims the Grand General, then shall its relationship with Polus finally come to an end. And yet, despite how well its schemes are moving along, the Knight feels restless. There is an aching feeling in its chest, but it does not know what it is. It comes in a most mysterious manner, plaguing its being as if by whim, and only does it cease when its eyes are cast upon the young King¡¯s figure. That feeling disappears, and then it is replaced by a stronger, more intense, melancholy. Perhaps that is why the Knight is now at Ascalon¡¯s door in the dead of night. It does not know why it has come. It does not remember its steps ever carrying itself here. Yet, here it is nonetheless, idly leaning its head on the frame as the faint sound of cleaving air and swinging blade seeps through the wood. Even now, he is training, and the Knight makes no move to interrupt him. It merely wants to stay still where the only barrier between them is this feeble, worn door. The door may as well not exist with how keen Ascalon¡¯s perception is, but still he waits¡ªwaiting for it to take the first step. Why does he tarry, knowing I am here? Why does he always give me space, yet stay ever so nearby that I can find no pause to be alone? I do not know. I think that to myself so often these days, but what else can I say? I really, truly, do not know. All I can do is try and find the reason for myself. And so it closes its eyes - utters a soft sigh - and grabs the handle, turning it ever so slowly until the door parts way and Ascalon¡¯s armored visage is revealed before it, glowing under the moonlight. He stands there, greatsword resting in his palm, and he raises his head until his amber eyes are peering straight into its own. ¡°¡­ Why didn¡¯t you say anything?¡± the Knight asks. He chuckles, and then he moves to place his blade onto its proper display by the wall. ¡°I thought it would be better to wait. You appeared¡­ conflicted. And content with staying there. It seemed as if you would run away the moment I opened the door, so I stayed my hand. Hehe, It did feel rather embarrassing to have my practice be watched, but surprisingly it was not all too bad. I felt comforted knowing your presence was there; was it not the same for you?¡± The Knight doesn¡¯t reply. It stays silent and looks at him, exasperated over how such a man could be so foolishly considerate. ¡°Did you not wonder why?¡± it eventually says again. ¡°Surely you found it strange for someone to linger outside another¡¯s chamber. Without a word. Without any prior mention.¡± ¡°Hm, it didn¡¯t cross my mind, to be honest,¡± he says, walking over to the bed and reclining on its edge. ¡°I was merely happy you came to see me. The why does not matter as much than the now; you are here, and for that I am thankful.¡± You poor, hopeless imbecile. So observant, yet you cannot see the fake masquerading so plainly. Ascalon pats at the bedding beside him, beckoning it to take a rest, and so the Knight reluctantly accepts, dragging itself to his side until the two are but a hair¡¯s breadth away from touching each other¡¯s shoulders. ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep,¡± it says. ¡°Nervous?¡± ¡°Not quite.¡± ¡°That is a lie.¡± ¡°Not a full one.¡± ¡°Is it about the invasion?¡± he asks, gently laying his hand atop the Knight¡¯s own. ¡°Not in the way you think. I am not nervous about our success, for I know you will be a fitting leader. People naturally flock to your side, Ascalon. You have always had the capability to end this war; you only required the confidence to reveal it.¡± ¡°Then what are you nervous of?¡± ¡°¡­ I don¡¯t know. Is that strange?¡± He laughs: a twinkling, airy laugh full of life. ¡°If that is strange, then I suppose all of humanity is as well. Emotions, instinct¡­ they are not something we can control. It is a mysterious thing, this will Cosmos has granted us, and every day I can¡¯t help but marvel at all the fickle feelings that come sprouting out of my heart.¡± ¡°Do you suppress them?¡± ¡°Sometimes. I am a King, after all. There are times when I must control my expression, when I must act with neutrality even though I¡¯d like nothing better than to shout out my grievances, but you know what, Lorelai?¡± Ascalon takes the Knight¡¯s palm, and then he joins it with his own¡ªfingers interlocking together until it is as if the two are but one whole. ¡°You cannot keep those emotions buried forever. One day, there will come a time when they come bursting forth, and you will not have the choice where and when it occurs. It may come in the privacy of your room, or it may come in the presence of others. A single slight, a minor annoyance, or simply just the fated time¡­ once that spark is set alight, there can be no controlling what is spewed next. And most likely, it shall hurt the people around you.¡± He speaks as if talking from experience, but the Knight cannot imagine the kind Ascalon ever exploding in rage. The man it has seen thus far has always been understanding, always eager to lend his aid¡ªthe epitome of a benevolent ruler. And yet history has shown time and time again that those with kind hearts are the most susceptible to corruption. They cannot bear the world¡¯s cruelty, and so they diverge into one of two paths: hatred, disgust, a mind twisted by madness. Or they hold steadfast to their beliefs and emerge stronger than ever before. The Knight is neither. It is only tired¡ªtired of the world. Tired of existing. Tired of repressing these unneeded emotions for eons and eons without end. And despite all its efforts, those emotions emerge now as it finds itself growing ever so closer to the man it must one day slay. ¡°How do you stop it then?¡± it asks. ¡°When you cannot bear to suppress those feelings any longer?¡± He pauses, slightly tilting his head in thought, before eventually shuffling away from the bed and giving the Knight¡¯s arm a slight tug. ¡°Would you like to see for yourself?¡± ¡°¡­ Very well.¡± The two leave the bedside with their hands still intertwined, and then they make their way towards the moonlight¡¯s source. A translucent glass wall blocks the room¡¯s end, but with a push of Ascalon¡¯s hand, an opening swerves out, allowing them to walk out onto a twinkling marble terrace. A small portion of the city can be seen from here, and while it is a calming sight, Ascalon is not done just yet. A mischievous giggle parts his lips, and then his grip tightens as Creation begins to manifest upon his back. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ¡°Hold on, now. Do forgive me if I am a bit rough.¡± In an instant, the Monarch¡¯s Wings are brought into the world, black and bespeckled amber shimmering in full display, and then Ascalon leaps into the air and takes off with the Knight close behind. They soar high, higher, and higher still into the darkened sky, until the two are brought to the very top of the castle. There are only spires here, and their shape tapers off into little sharp edges, but the incline is not very steep. On the contrary, it is the perfect elevation for one to lay upon - like a small hill amidst a meadow - and so it is the two make their landing on the cool base, and they rest upon their backs¡ªarms and feet spreading wide as to welcome the evening dusk. The view is incomparable to before. Here, the entire city is enveloping them¡ªfrom the great, towering walls of the beyond to the districts cast aglow in their own unique decoration. They surround the two from all sides, leaving not a square nor street unseen, and all-the-while sparkles of the most pure white flicker about in rays shed by the celestial body hanging above. ¡°¡­ I come here,¡± he says, breaking the silence. ¡°When everything becomes too much to bear. When the pain in my heart refuses to settle. I come here, and I let my mind drift to those far off lights out of reach. I wander there in the sky, and I dance amongst the drifting nebulas. Hah, I suppose you can call this my secret hiding spot. But it is special to me¡ªa place where I may abandon all worry and simply exist: not as the King, not as the Inheritor of Freedom, but as me.¡± He turns his head and scratches his helm¡¯s cheek in a rather bashful manner. ¡°Well, what do you think?¡± And to that, the Knight really only has one response: a genuine one, free of manipulation and deceit. A response from the bottom of its heart. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful, Ascslon. It really is.¡± ¡­ ¡°Ascalon.¡± ¡°Yes, Lorelai?¡± ¡°You have changed.¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°The cage in your heart is gone. That solemn, gilded cage¡­ it has been replaced by a great blue sky. It stretches so very far, and yet I do not feel overwhelmed by its vastness. Instead, I feel curiosity. Resolve. You have truly become free, haven¡¯t you?¡± He stays quiet, and to the Knight it seems as if he himself doesn¡¯t know the answer. But it can see it clearly: the bright, wonderful soul of a man who has escaped their regrets. He no longer concerns himself with the views of others; instead, he looks out to the expanse¡ªeyes full of innocence and wonder of what lies beyond. New journeys. New adventures. An epic he may call his own. It is so, so very envious. ¡°You never did finish that story,¡± it says to him, though it isn¡¯t particularly in the mood for stories. Perhaps the Knight just wants to be distracted¡ªanything to take its mind off this jealousy creeping within. ¡°My, and what better setting to finish it under,¡± Ascalon chuckles. ¡°Where did we leave off again? Ah, yes: The day Arthur gained his wings. It was said that all those in attendance found themselves prostrating before his majesty, and soon, word of the young boy¡¯s feat spread to every corner of the nation. The people were elated, a hero had descended at last, but not all took to his fame kindly. No, there was one person most displeased with the sudden shift in power, and that person was the current Ruler of Camelot: Mordred the Dreadlord.¡± Mordred. That man had died before my awakening, so I know very little of what his reign entailed. Though, Arthur did speak of him often¡ªof how vile he was¡­ and pitiful. ¡°The law of Camelot was very simple: The strong reign free, and the weak are left to suffer. But in their suffering will hatred brew, rage turned into strength, and so they shall eventually oust the old as the new Lord. Such was their philosophy, and Mordred was no stranger to the cycle of power. He, himself, had risen from a poor urchin of the streets, but it was because of this upbringing that his paranoia grew to alarming heights. He sought to eliminate all who would stand in his way: from assassinating once-trusted retainers to seizing control over all means of production. His obsession knew no bounds, and it was thus the common people were caught in-between his bid for dominance. ¡°Many who would become a member of the Round Table suffered because of his plots. Valkyrie was a fallen noble, her father accused of treason: Morgana was an Astrologian, but the mage tower she served was brought to ruin. Even the gentle Isolde, an apothecary of humble dreams, turned to the use of poison when her shop was burned down for refusing the Dreadlord¡¯s affection. ¡°Arthur bore witness to all these travesties, and he resolved in his heart to create a world where even the weak may prosper: a world where might was used in the service of others, not just for oneself. His pure-hearted devotion was seen by all, thus did many others flock to his side and created a new organization¡ªan army that which would raze the corrupted system to its very roots.¡± Pure-hearted? No, Ascalon. He was not pure of heart. His motivation was inspired purely by guilt. Guilt, for once believing in Mordred¡¯s words. Guilt, for being the judicator of the Dreadlord¡¯s will¡ªblissfully ignorant and believing his cause was in justice¡¯s name. Arthur¡¯s desire for freedom was only realized upon the finding of his lord¡¯s blade thrust deeply into his back. Only then were his eyes opened to the atrocities wrought in Mordred¡¯s name, and he would come to regret his naivety for the rest of his life. Haunting him. From betrayal was obsession born¡ªone of perpetual self-flagellation. But the Knight will not reveal the truth to Ascalon. It does not want to mire the image of his hero, for the King¡¯s words are ever so impassioned when speaking of such false legends. But, even if it does, perhaps he will not be so affected. No, it is more likely he would come to understand Arthur¡¯s pain, for that is who he is: a kind man, one who would have given the first King the forgiveness he needed. ¡°Eventually,¡± Ascalon continues. ¡°Arthur, with the aid of his Knights¡¯ Round, slayed the Dreadlord once and for all. The people celebrated, and order was brought to the newfound kingdom of Polus¡­ but his duty was not yet done. Arthur was afraid of the power he wielded, that his will would one day become corrupted by the temptations of being a ruler, and so he did the unthinkable. He, who was more unbound than all, purposely shackled Freedom¡¯s Will with a curse, restraining its passing onto those only of the knights¡¯ bloodline. The celestial zweihander Mattatron, the invulnerability granted by the Monarch¡¯s Wings¡­ they would only be as powerful as the user¡¯s following, and so he ensured that every proceeding ruler would follow the people¡¯s wishes. Forevermore.¡± That part is accurate, at least. But Ascalon is missing one very important detail. The Knight begins to ask a question¡ªone it already knows the answer of. But it wants to hear Ascalon say it with his own words. It wants to be punished by his voice, knowing that doing so shall not give it salvation or reprieve. ¡°Why did he not pass Freedom''s Will down to his own descendants?¡± And to that, Ascalon responds with a sad, quiet hush. ¡°That is not mentioned in the legends, though I do not blame the bards for choosing to exclude it. A children¡¯s story must close with a happy ending, after all, for the reality ever tends to be much more somber.¡± ¡°Tell me, Ascalon. I want to know.¡± He sighs, but there is no avoiding what must come. So, Ascalon chooses to confront it plainly. ¡°I assume you have come to realize there are none among the nobles with the last name of Polus?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°It is only natural, for Arthur died before he could sire an heir¡ªslain by the one he loved most.¡± The Knight¡¯s breath quickens. Its chest rises and lowers in chaotic, uneasy bouts, and its soul burns, overcome with guilt. Guilt: It almost wants to laugh, for in the end it isn¡¯t really that much different from the sorrowful Arthur. They both are ever so foolish, only... one is still alive¡ªstill torturing itself for reasons it desperately wants to know. ¡°Lorelai,¡± Ascalon murmurs, and his demeanor changes into one of worry. ¡°I know you are still hurting¡ªstill trapped by the murky waters in your heart. I cannot even begin to fathom its depths, that darkness lurking beneath, but know that I will always be here for you.¡± ¡°That is nice, I suppose.¡± ¡°I mean it. You do not have to confide in me, nor do you have to reveal why you carry such despair, but at the very least, I will always come to your aid¡ªwhether you wish to complain about your day or just need a shoulder to lean upon.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± it says with a dry chuckle. ¡°I appreciate the thought, Ascalon, but I do not need any help.¡± ¡°Surely there¡¯s something! Hm, let¡¯s start with this: Tell me, what do you want?.¡± ¡°What I¡­ want?¡± ¡°Indeed, what you desire most at this current moment.¡± ¡°Why must it be what I want?¡± ¡°Because all you have done thus far is help others,¡± he says, and there is something about his tone that strikes mercilessly against its fabricated heart. It is not physical pain; rather, something much more senseless. ¡°You helped Annalay see her mother; you helped Dariel gain the conviction to follow in his own path as an officer; and you helped me discover the courage to break free from our old traditions. This and many more have you helped, yet never once have I seen you take any time for yourself. Have you ever, truly, dedicated a day to just enjoy life as you wish?¡± The Knight attempts to refute him at first, but the words stop at its throat before it can leave. Have I¡­ ever tried to enjoy life before? No, not just that, has anyone ever asked me what it is I wish to do? Before I took in Aegis, my every moment was dedicated to ensuring humanity¡¯s imprisonment. Every calculated move, every sweet croon, was all for the sake of my duty. Even now, not much has changed. Not once have I ever wished for anything. No, that is not correct. There is something, but¡­ ¡°I¡ª¡± it mumbles. ¡°I do not¡­¡± ¡°What is the first thing that comes to mind? Do not hold back.¡± I¡­ ¡°I want to sleep,¡± it says, voice barely a whisper. ¡°I want to dream.¡± Ascalon lets out a little chortle. ¡°Well, I can certainly help with that.¡± He picks himself up, and then he moves over to the Knight. Slowly, with a gentle touch, he reaches out and touches its head. It stares at him at first, confused and a little bit resistant, but it gives up and allows him to take hold before placing it right in the middle of his lap. ¡°How¡¯s this? I¡¯ve heard tell from Deborah that her mother once did this with her as a babe. It is supposedly very calming.¡± ¡°¡­ It¡¯s uncomfortable,¡± it mutters, and before it realizes, a loud giggle escapes from its chest. ¡°What were you even thinking?¡± ¡°Hm, is it the metal? he asks with the most dumbfounded of looks. ¡°Yes, it is the metal, Ascalon.¡± ¡°Hehe, not very soft, I assume?¡± ¡°Very.¡± ¡°I apologize. I can get up if you would like¡ª¡± ¡°No,¡± it quickly says. ¡°Would it be okay if we were to stay like this for a little bit?¡± ¡°Of course! Use my lap for however long you wish.¡± The two remain close for a while. Seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours, and eventually, its eyes begin to droop¡­ before shutting firmly tight. For the first time in all its long years of existence, the Knight drifts off into slumber, and it dreams. It dreams a very happy dream. Chapter 53: Under Arid Skies ¡°Far, far out into the arid plains of the east, there lies a great and vast stretch of land. It is a harsh land, one barren of the forests scattered aplenty in the western territories, and instead of blossoming flowers or colorful vegetation, only grass flourishes atop the dry soil. ¡°Flat lowlands, open plateaus, and a blazing clear sky: This is a region known since time immemorial as the Steppe, and to the people that call it home, every day is a constant battle for survival¡ªstruggling against the heat, the inhospitable environment, the sparse rainfalls, the rare grazing beast, and all other challenges that make living here an undeniably difficult endeavor. And yet, endeavor they do, leading to a unique culture of nomadism. The people there never remain in one place for too long, choosing to travel wherever there is water or fresh pasture.¡± ¡°But this tradition has been wrenched away by a man claiming to be the ruler of the nomadic tribes. He stakes his territory in the very heart of the plain, sends a horde of warriors to subjugate all those who dissent against his will, and constructs a countless array of camps to put his unwilling subjects to work. He is a terrible, terrible fiend, but unfortunately my knowledge is limited only to his exploits. I know not even of his true name or appearance¡ªonly a moniker. A title he claims as the Overlord.¡± - A History of the Steppe: Penned by Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Xeros If there is one word to describe the climate of Caelum¡¯s heartland, then that word would be cold. No matter the season¡¯s change, no matter the hour - whether it be the short daytime or the evening moon reigning free - there shall always come a frigid wind of frost and rime. It pesters away at the mountaintops, forming snowy peaks, and it eats away at the cities¡¯ infrastructure, leading man to a never-ending battle against the whims of nature. It is a thankless battle, but humanity is a stubborn race¡ªone that grows in the face of adversity. They evolve, they invent new methods of survival, and they become more resilient. Long have the people of Caelum weathered the countless winters, the prolonged nights without sun or shine, and they have become a grizzled folk as a result. Hardened. Thick-skinned. But acclimation, despite its necessity, is also a curse. It enfeebles the mind and body when one is taken away from the familiar, and there is no better example of such weakness than now: here, in the unfamiliar land of the Steppe. An endless field of grass and wheat stretches out far into the orange-hued horizon, stalks scorched into a dense palette of faded yellow, and the celestial ball of flame up high blazes unimpeded by neither cloud nor blanket of smog. But above all else is a sweltering, inescapable heat. It beats down on the desiccated air, and it bends the light, creating shifting waves before the eyes whilst casting the world in a tottering mirage of blurs: swaying, just like the wind. With every lick and lash, it dries up the skin. It parches the throat. And it seizes the heart until naught is left but a shriveled carcass¡ªblood boiling into a steam. And yet, despite the hostile atmosphere, there is a sense of tranquility here. The only noise is the rustling grass and a faint sizzle from the dirt roasting under the sun. Rather, that is how it should be, but a new noise makes its presence known to the lowlands¡ªan unnatural one, a hiss only possible by human intervention. There, trampling the wheat into a pulverized grain, is a guzzling war machine of grease and treading tire. Its exterior is covered in a grimy metallic frame, embellished with the symbol of the corvid, and a sickly grey smoke escapes from the exhaust pipes on top¡ªleaving behind a haze of fumes to follow along its trail. And all the while, an unearthly mechanical reverberation rings through the air as the mechanical apparatus is propelled forward by an ever-creaking system of gears and pistons. It is at the very top of this machine that a lone man gazes out to the Steppe. He is dressed heavily in a long, dark cloak despite the heat, yet his creased face shows not a sign of perspiration. The man is unbothered, no, relishing in the change of environment; the same cannot be said about the soldiers guarding the machine from below. They march pathetically through the torrid drought, breaths panting and steps slow, and soon: They begin to collapse in exhaustion. Perhaps it is inevitable, for their mechanical suits are not suited for such high temperatures. The Grand General designed them with the cold in mind, but out in the great plains, they bring more harm than good¡ªtrapping the heat and serving as nothing more than a death trap. That is why he has deigned to allow them travel armorless, yet still they display such frailty. It is a miserable sight, and the man can only let out a tut of disapproval as the soldiers are replaced by others from inside the machine. There, the withered shall be chilled by the Astrologians, but such accommodation will not always be availed out in the battlefield. If I am to ever invade these lands, then attention must be directed towards dealing with this abominable blaze. Perhaps adjusting the exosuit into a more lightweight design? No, the tubes circulating the performance-enhancing drugs are too large. They will only become vulnerable if I lessen the protection, but choosing to decrease the tube size instead will diminish the drug¡¯s effectiveness. Mayhaps a temporary cooling artifact? But such preparation will require much of the Astrologians, and I will not have the time nor resources to outfit every common suit. Hm, a conundrum, indeed¡­ He shakes his head. There is no need to think of such matters now; Polus must first fall, and he will worry of conquering the Steppe once the winged kingdom is within his grasp. All in due time. A knock taps from below, and thus does his aide climb out from the machine¡¯s underbelly. Unlike the others, she remains armored: good. Enduring the heat shall serve her well in her training. ¡°You are here, Luxanne,¡± he says, eyes still cast out towards the horizon. ¡°Report: How much longer until we reach the Overlord¡¯s domain?¡± ¡°According to the messenger¡¯s map, we are half-way there,¡± she replies. ¡°However, we will soon enter the territory of a rival tribe protesting his rule. We could pass straight through, but there¡¯s a high chance we¡¯ll be attacked, and with the current state of our troops¡ª¡± Xeros clicks his tongue and turns to face his still-foolish disciple. ¡°I do not see the problem. We will proceed as planned.¡± Luxanne stiffens, and her body begins to tremble ever so slightly. It is almost indiscernible, but the Grand General knows. He always does. ¡°¡­ If I may, there is no need for such risks. There is another path we can take, and though it would delay our excursion by a few days, surely it would be more advantageous for us to reduce excess casualties¡ª¡± Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Luxanne,¡± he interrupts with a clear, direct warning. ¡°This is the Overlord¡¯s desired route for us, is it not?¡± ¡°Yes, but¡ª¡± ¡°Think, girl. He knows this land much more than we do, so why would he willingly set us on a course through enemy lines knowing the danger it would pose?¡± She pauses, and he begins to see the gears turning in that rusty mind of hers. Still young. Still so naive. But Xeros knows she has the capacity to be much greater; all Luxanne requires is a little bit of polishing. ¡°This¡­ is a test,¡± the girl eventually musters. ¡°He wants to use us.¡± ¡°Hoh, very good,¡± he says, slowly walking forward and then patting her shoulder. She recoils at his touch, but the man pays her rudeness no heed. ¡°The Overlord does not tolerate weakness. If we are to avoid those savages, then we will be seen as cowards amidst his eyes upon our arrival. ¡°Know this: Blood must be shed for this covenant to bear fruit. While I do not intend to be a puppet of his schemes, it is true we require assistance, and regrettably the upper hand is not in our favor. But that is life. Sometimes, we must make sacrifices, and it is the duty of a ruler to know when to take the advantage¡­ and when to swallow one¡¯s pride. ¡°But it shall not be like that forever. We may comply now, but in doing so we shall also watch. Study their fortifications. Familiarize ourselves with their forces. And when the time is right, then shall our fangs be turned, and the Overlord will regret ever disgracing us with this menial trial. Do you understand?¡± ¡°I-I do,¡± she says whilst clearly not understanding. ¡°Is that so? But I see differently, Luxanne. You still hesitate. Why?¡± She doesn¡¯t reply, but Xerox knows very well the cause of her behavior. Luxanne has grown much since he took her in all those years ago, but she is still being hindered by the words of another¡ªwords he has sought to remove for a very long time. He sighs and raises his hand up to his eyes, rubbing them until the bridge of his nose is sore, and then leans directly next to her ear. ¡°Do not be like your mother,¡± he utters. ¡°She was a fool for a reason¡ªalways seeking a peaceful solution where there was none. Conflict is unavoidable if we are to build a better world: Remember that, Luxanne.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± she grunts, and the sound of a clenching fist can be heard clearly. ¡°I shall inform the operators to continue moving forward.¡± ¡°Very good, very good. I trust that I need not be involved in the coming skirmish?¡± ¡°Of course, sir. You may leave everything to me.¡± ¡°Excellent, now go.¡± Luxanne bids him a hesitant, parting salute before descending back down into the main control sector of the machine. Meanwhile, Xeros lingers on the deck, ruminating over his next course of action upon their return. Once the Overlord draws the Arch Magus¡¯s ire, there shall be none left to serve as Polus¡¯s protector. Lorelai, the hero, the great bulwark, the winged beacon of hope, is dead, and though Gravitas¡¯s death is a significant loss, the Grand General does not worry. There are many willing to take his place¡ªmany eager to prove their worthiness. The same cannot be said about Lorelai. None can match her strength and experience amongst the Polus¡¯s elite: not even the other two Thrones, so it is only a matter of time before that coward of a King, Ascalon, is forced into a corner. His ability is rather troublesome, but there are ways around it. No one is truly invulnerable, and once that man is gone, Xeros shall finally move onto the next step of his plan. ¡­ Hm? There is something curious in the distance: bloodlust. It spreads quickly, proliferating from every direction until the machine and the soldiers on guard are completely surrounded, yet he sees not a single soul out on the plateau. There is no stirring of Creation. He cannot sense any sorceries or incantations in the vicinity, so where exactly are the enemies hiding? He does not know, nor is he in a rush to. Dealing with such dregs are beneath him; besides, it has been a while since Luxanne¡¯s last extermination. This experience shall be a fine opportunity to evaluate her progress. ¡°All personnel,¡± he commands with a calm, strict rumble. ¡°Prepare for battle. The enemy is here.¡± With a flip of his cloak, he turns around and then descends into the heart of the machine. A cool blast of air greets him as he emerges out into the central command room, and a great wave of soldiers quickly pass by as they prepare themselves for the coming attack. Luxanne is among them, and Xeros stops her - forcefully grabbing onto her arm and jolting her back - before she can depart. ¡°Heed my words: Do not panic. Do not falter. Assess the battlefield with a cold gaze and a steady head, no matter the situation. That is how you shall prevail.¡± She winces, but grunts a response all the same. ¡°Thank you for your words, Grand General. I won¡¯t let you down.¡± ¡°As is expected. I do not want to be disappointed in you, Luxanne. Do not fail me.¡± And with that, she jerks her hand away and then steps outside into the blistering heat. Xeros, meanwhile, slowly strides towards a lone room at the very back of the construct. The door is plated in a dull steel, and as he turns the handle, a simplistic abode is revealed in full: small, compact, and containing only a bed and a mirror. He lowers himself onto the bed, and he stares at his reflection¡ªgrimacing as a weary old man stares back. He does not enjoy much being reminded of his ailing age, but he does not run from it. His scars, his sunken cheeks, his darkened eyes¡­ they are proof of his survival. Of all he has toiled for these countless years. They are a reminder that he must keep pushing, persisting, struggling against the world¡¯s tribulation, or else everything will have been for naught. It is too late to stop now. However, something strange begins to occur. The man in his reflection begins to warp, twisting and bending in a gruesome manner as a creeping shadow envelops the mirror image in a sudden splurge of squirming tendrils¡ªsmothering the face and plunging its dripping ooze into every last orifice. Soon, there is naught left of the Grand General in the reflection: only a malformed mockery, a hideous creature of nonsensical proportion and ever-shifting, pulsating, mass. That creature stares at him now with all its layers of metaphysical madness, and it decides it is no longer satisfied with remaining in the reflective plane. It reaches out an undulating hand, and so is its vile figure brought out into the world of the physical. Into reality. And all the while Creation screams in abject terror, for the thing before it does not belong in this world. Its very existence is being rejected, abhorred by mankind¡¯s divinity, but the thing is undeterred despite its rapidly fading form. It looks at Xeros, and it opens a repulsive maw of spit and dribbling bile. Then another. And another. Until its entire body is covered in mouths, and all those mouths cry in unison for the sake of a single word. ¡°Remember.¡± It disappears. No forewarning. Not a trace is left behind. A single blink is all it takes for it to be repelled from this dimension, leaving a haggard Xeros to be left alone in his room. He has signed a pact long ago, and he must uphold his side of the bargain. But the thing will not manipulate him for long: He is the master of his own destiny. Nothing shall use him as a puppet. However, now is not the time. The Grand General still is in need of its abnormal power, and he will take full advantage of it before the day comes when he must break free from its shackles. For now, he has more pressing matters to attend to. Xeros raises his hand and manifests a crackling dark red energy at his fingertips. It screeches and howls before being unleashed upon his own frame, and soon the Corvid¡¯s Eye is manifested¡ªsurveying the world below as Luxanne and the rest of her soldiers are exposed in full. They form a defensive array around the construct, tensions high as they await their foes to make the first move. ¡°Now,¡± he mutters under his breath. ¡°Let us bear witness to the Steppe¡¯s might.¡± Chapter 54: The Gunblade鈥檚 Might ¡°Hate. Every damned second I spend awake in the presence of that despicable, vile man fills me with such unceasing hate. It is all I think about, all I feel, all I must carve deep into my wretched beating heart, for I can never forget this rage inside me¡ªthe reason why I still force myself to be his little pawn. It is why I smile and bow and pretend to follow his every order, but the day will come when this facade can finally end. The moment he lets his defense down, I will rip him apart limb from limb, and I will savor every one of his desperate screams. I will laugh and tremble and finally know peace, as his blood covers me whole¡ªsmothered in the remnants of his oh so precious dream. That is my only purpose in this world. That is why I continue to hate. Hate.¡± - Praetor Luxanne ¡ª¡ª¡ª Luxanne The mere sight of Xeros¡¯s disgusting face makes Luxanne want to hurl, but despite the bile creeping up her throat, she manages to push it down at the last second and maintain her stoic demeanor. It is challenging, very, very challenging, but now is not the time to reveal her hatred of him. She must persist until the day the tyrant¡¯s neck is bared clean. But there are times when her resolve falters¡ªwhen she wants to break free from her mask of obedience and attempt to slay the Grand General right then and there. That rage is at its most powerful whenever his filthy tongue decides to speak ill of Luxanne¡¯s mother. Red clouds her vision; her teeth grind together into a screeching wail; and it takes every bit of her willpower to avoid pulverizing the surroundings with her fist. Whenever that temptation floods her, she reminds herself what this is all for: all the frustration, the pain, the twenty long years of pretending to be that man¡¯s subordinate. All of it is for the sake of one purpose¡ªrevenge. I¡¯m sorry, mom. I almost lost myself there, but you don¡¯t have to worry: I won¡¯t give in just yet, not when we finally have a chance to expose his weakness. So please just wait a little while longer. I¡¯ll send his soul up to you soon enough. She takes a deep breathe and then lets out a weary sigh¡ªthough the metallic filter over her mouthpiece makes it sound closer to a mechanical groan. At least it is better than the mass-produced suits given to the grunts: Theirs are forcibly loaded with all sorts of mind-numbing inhibitors Xeros has concocted, causing their speech to be just a bunch of incoherent gibberish and nonsense. Pawns have no need for a free will; what matters is their ability to follow orders. ¡°Praetor Luxanne?¡± a nearby soldier says, and it is only then that the brooding commander realizes she is still in the confines of the war machine. Frozen. Standing ever so still at the exit¡¯s door. ¡°Forgive my insolence, but¡­ you haven¡¯t moved in some time. Is everything alright?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t mind me,¡± she says coldly. ¡°Just gather the rest of the legion. I¡¯ll be outside.¡± Her head has calmed down a bit. She shouldn¡¯t be so pensive right before a battle, lest some common tribesmen manage to get the better of her. That would be almost funny. Almost, if not for how pathetic the thought is. Luxanne straightens her back, stiffens her body, and dons the posture of a rigid military leader before stepping out into the scorching drought of the Steppe. The sun beats down on her mechanical suit, plates tinted with the deepest of black, and her lungs soon fill with a dry air, but she doesn¡¯t mind the heat. On the contrary, it makes her feel alive: It stokes the smoldering rage inside her, giving it fuel so that it may never stop its endless boil. Yes, she is in her best condition for a fight. Only, there are no enemies to actually fight. Luxanne looks out far into the horizon, but all she spies is a great big field of swaying grass. The stalks are not nearly tall enough to hide a person in, so she can¡¯t help but wonder what exactly is going on in the Grand General¡¯s head. An attack? What attack? What the hells is that old man talking about? But as much as she wants to believe he¡¯s gone senile, Xeros is unfortunately much sharper than she is¡ªalways looking out with that miserable Corvid¡¯s Eye. An eye that is hanging right above them this very moment, lingering with its red iris and smoky fog. If he¡¯s watching, then that must mean there truly is a threat¡ªif only that blasted crow would actually give them some kind of clue where it¡¯ll come from. But no, this is a test for her. It¡¯s always a test. She¡¯ll just have to adapt like always. ¡°Praetor, what are your orders?¡± the platoon leader asks her as the rest of the soldiers begin to spill out from the construct. ¡°¡­ We will take defensive formations for now,¡± she commands. ¡°I don¡¯t know where the enemy will appear, but the Grand General¡¯s words are absolute. If he says to be alert, then alert we shall be. The legionnaires will surround the transport while I take charge at the center, understood?¡± ¡°By your word, ma¡¯am!¡± The soldiers swiftly hurry to their positions, and Luxanne readies her stance, drawing the weapon by her side. It shoots out of its sheath with a spark - long, curved steel etching out with a serrated edge - but this blade is different from its peers, for it is a combination between traditional armaments and mechanical innovation: a gunblade. At the base lies a barrel running alongside part of the edge, and a firing mechanism is built into the hilt¡ªa trigger. And a chamber. One filled with countless bullets enhanced with Creation¡¯s blessing. It¡¯s a powerful weapon, frighteningly so, but Luxanne can never stomach using it. The blade is designed by Xeros himself, and he is the one who gifted it to her on the night he struck down her mother. She remembers his appearance then¡ªclothes drenched in blood, a bright red heart crushed in hand, and a face obscured in shadow. She remembers him walking up to her, her tiny little self hiding in fright, and whispering a few, curt words that haunt her to this day. ¡°Become strong, Luxanne. That is the only way you shall ever have your vengeance.¡± Despicable, abhorrent, irredeemable monster. ¡°The troops are in position!¡± the platoon leader shouts. Luxanne shakes her head. ¡°Good. Now, we wait.¡± And wait they do. Seconds pass, then minutes, yet the world is the same as it always is. Nothing. Not even a whisper in the wind. ¡­ Stars, what a waste of time. How long do we have to stand here before that man is satisfied¡ª But then, a sound alerts her attention. It¡¯s barely noticeable, and one could even confuse it for a random shuffle from one of the soldiers, but that is not a sound Luxanne recognizes. No, it is closer to a snap, a crumble¡ªa stir from something unseen. Yet when she scans the surroundings, there¡¯s nothing. The sound occurs again, this time behind her, but still¡­ nothing, and eventually even the soldiers begin to take notice. They look around at their peers, confused and unsure whether they should be on guard, when the platoon leader suddenly lets out a loud gasp. ¡°Praetor Luxanne!¡± they shout. ¡°We¡¯re missing two soldiers. I could have sworn they were right beside me a second ago, but now¡­ they¡¯re gone. As if they disappeared into thin air.¡± What? That can¡¯t be right¡­ ¡°All eyes around you! Don¡¯t let a single person out of your sight!¡± she instructs the group, and though Luxanne tries to remain calm, a slight panic begins to rise in her voice. Damnit, damnit, damnit! Just where¡¯s the attack coming from? There¡¯s nothing out there; I don''t sense any sorcery at all. How the hells did two people just suddenly disappear? It is then Xeros¡¯s words invade her mind, stubbornly clinging on like a leech. ¡°Do not panic. Do not falter. Assess the battlefield with a cold hand and a steady gaze, no matter the situation.¡± As much as she despises his voice, the words are true. Luxanne cannot let herself be overwhelmed like this. She needs to stay calm, stay focused, and think: If an enemy is attacking the group, just how are they able to accurately sense where their positions are? There¡¯s no one in sight, so that can only mean¡ª Creation. Maybe¡­ yes, they can sense the Creation flowing in our bodies. I¡¯ve only ever seen Xeros and some Astrologians with such an ability, but we¡¯re in foreign lands now. I can¡¯t be ignorant. If that¡¯s the case, then maybe I can draw them out¡­ Luxanne carefully gathers a tiny bit of Creation and concentrates it a small distance away. The size is just enough to resemble a regular soldier, and she puppeteers the force so that it appears as if a person is walking away from the group. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Come on,¡± she mutters. ¡°Take the bait¡­ take the bait¡­¡± And just like that, her prey finally reveals themself in the form of a small hand bursting out from the dirt. That¡¯s where they¡¯ve been this entire time; it all makes sense now. ¡°The enemy is below ground!¡± Luxanne roars. She fires a bullet at the hand¡¯s location, and it detonates in a massive explosion of flame, filling the sky with a large cloud of dust and rubble. The other soldiers quickly follow in her wake, setting their eyes towards the earth as a sudden swarm of hands begin to erupt beneath them. Some of her men are grabbed, some manage to escape, but those not so lucky are pulled under without so much as a yelp. Luxanne¡¯s not so naive to think there¡¯s any chance of saving them, but the least she can do is protect those still here. Bullet after bullet she fires at the ground, scorching the earth around them until all that remains of the field is blackened ash, but not a single one of the assailants are caught in the crossfire. They move through the earth as if it¡¯s water, attacking and disappearing as soon as they emerge, and the soldiers are too disorientated to properly defend themselves. Against the inhabitants of this place, the Caelum forces are at a disadvantage: a foreign, unfamiliar land, no armor to protect themselves, and a strange manner of attack leaving no room to counter. If this continues, it¡¯s only a matter of time before everyone falls. She has to do something, something to drive them out of the ground. ¡­ Agh, no time to hesitate. Let¡¯s just try it. Luxanne raises her gunblade, and then she plunges it deep below until the muzzle is fully buried into the dirt. The weapon shakes, the chamber vibrates as the bullets are overcharged to their very limit, and then she fires. At first, there¡¯s only a boom. An ear-piercing thunder. And then a powerful shockwave surges, sending her hurtling back as the bullet pierces through the earth and releases its stored energy. Only instead of an explosion, a massive icicle rises from the opening, and the soil becomes frigid at the touch as a cool air seeps in, causing pockets of rime to form all throughout the field. Screams make their way up from the underground, and soon, a horde of bodies spring up a distance away¡ªfrost trailing behind their shivering bodies and evaporating into a thick steam under the sun¡¯s heat. It is then Luxanne can finally have a good look at their sudden aggressors. Their clothes are much different than the pantsuits and tunics of the western region. Instead, theirs are of long, draping cloaks, material a fine linen etched into a meticulous patchwork of vibrant colors: from blues and reds to even lighter shades of green. One would think they all clash together into an unsightly mess, but there is an odd harmony in the way they tint their garments. It is unique, and pretty, and elegant in a way Luxanne cannot fully explain. Though what attracts her attention more are the peculiar weapons gripped tightly in their hands. Some of them resemble the sickles Luxanne has seen farmers use, only these blades are much longer, curving into an arc, and gleam with their double-edged sheen. Others look like animal claws, but instead of thin nails or hooks, a wide blade is fitted atop a hand grip that rests right at the user¡¯s knuckles. Regardless of their design, the weapons ooze of danger, and she cannot help but break out into a cold sweat as her foes recompose themselves and circle around the group with strange, dexterous movements¡ªwaiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Eventually, the Steppe warriors stamp their feet, raise their heads towards the Stars, and then let out a deafening war cry before charging in without a hint of fear. There aren¡¯t many of them compared to the Caelum forces, but they must not be underestimated; Luxanne can feel a strong solidarity in their body language¡ªa trust in each other the legionnaires can never have. And that trust culminates now, in their bloodlust, their weapons¡¯ sway, their determined eyes, and in a solemn bow of the head as they give one final glance to the other before descending onto the army. ¡°Form ranks!¡± Luxanne yells to the still-flustered troop. They are no Polus knights, they don¡¯t have the discipline or experience as those of the other nations, but Caelum has their own method of warfare¡ªone only they can employ thanks to the Grand General¡¯s ever widening conquest of the outer regions. And that method is to overwhelm their enemies with sheer, mass-produced numbers. The soldiers quickly line themselves up into a row, and they switch their wieldy sawblades for the rifles stationed to their side. They are a lesser version of Luxanne¡¯s gunblade, capable only of firing unenchanted metal bullets, but it is the perfect weapon to give the inexperienced. All it needs you to do is two things: aim and shoot. And shoot they do, until the air is consumed by explosions of black powder, and an unrelenting storm of metal is unleashed upon the world: blast after blast after blast. But, even as the rifles continue to sing their song of carnage, even as their allies collapse and become on with the soil, the Steppe warriors do not stop. They do not lose speed. The bullets do nothing to dissuade the coming advance, and soon, the soldiers are left overwhelmed as their assailants close the distance and begin to massacre all those caught in their way. It¡¯s no use. Against those of real martial prowess, tricks are only effective for so long, and without the drugs to dim their minds, the soldiers scream a terrified death gurgle as their bodies are eviscerated in mere seconds. Their limbs fly high into the air, blood spurts from every dripping orifice, and the ground becomes stained with a dark red as a vision of slaughter unfolds before Luxanne¡¯s very eyes¡ªof death, misery, and tearful pleas begging for mercy. They remain unanswered; the only mercy granted to them is a swift death, if they are lucky. She can be passive no longer. Even if it¡¯s more advantageous for her to wait until the warriors¡¯ strength is exhausted, Xeros be damned if he thinks Luxanne¡¯s just going to sit around and watch her subordinates die. ¡°Fall back!¡± she commands to the rare few still alive. ¡°Hold the line at the war machine. I¡¯ll deal with this myself.¡± The Praetor readies her blade, crouches down into a charging stance, and then leaps into action at the very heart of the battle. She slips past the legionnaires and takes the Steppe warriors by surprise, swiftly cutting them down one by one as she weaves in-between their forces¡ªsteps light and body constantly on the move. Countless fall before her offensive, but she doesn¡¯t stop: not even when her armor is splattered in filth. Luxanne¡¯s only focus is to take out as many as she can while conserving her energy; this is an endurance battle. However, the enemies don¡¯t stay startled for long, and soon they recover and begin to encircle her position. But their methods won¡¯t work; a single charged shot from her gunblade is all it takes to thin the crowd, and the stragglers left behind are quickly taken care of in close quarters. She evades those near, she shoots those afar, and she pushes. She pushes until her heart is thundering in her chest; she pushes until every breath cuts against her throat like glass; and she pushes even when her body screams to stop moving. But she can¡¯t. Not here, not now, not when she still has so much left to do. Unfortunately, her enemies are just as desperate, and as Luxanne impales another of the warriors, they grip firmly onto her blade and give her a pained, manic grin. She can¡¯t pull her blade out, and she can¡¯t shoot them with the muzzle so close to her own body: They¡¯ve trapped her, and the others quickly take advantage of their ally¡¯s sacrifice to shorten the gap once and for all. This damnable loyalty¡­ just what are they fighting so hard for? Without any other option left, she plunges the blade deeper into her begrudging captor until the muzzle emerges from the other side of their body. Her arm is entirely encased in guts and entrails, but she doesn¡¯t have the luxury to avoid such disgusting things now and fires an enchanted bullet into the ground. An aggressive tangle of vines sprout out from the impact, snapping at the surrounding warriors and forming a protective barrier long enough for Luxanne to wrench her blade free and slice the martyr in half. She is exhausted; the gunblade¡¯s strain is starting to wear her down, but there is no time to rest. Eventually, the roots wither, and her enemies rush in once more. But before they can take another step, Luxanne fires a bullet into the air which explodes into a dazzling flashbang of light and blinds the others for a short moment. That moment is all she needs to catch her breath and continue her extermination. Again, and again, until the number of her slain foes becomes too much to count. When the dust settles, and Luxanne can prevent her body¡¯s spasms no longer, only a handful of the Steppe¡¯s warriors remain. They are just as fatigued, and it is clear they know the end is nigh, but still they continue to stand. Continue to resist. And Luxanne respects that¡ªtheir determination. It is a shame they met as enemies, but perhaps they can keep their lives. Of course, they¡¯ll have to submit to the Grand General, but you can¡¯t seek revenge if you¡¯re dead: better to lie in wait than having perished without achieving a thing. ¡°The battle is over!¡± she roars to the last remnants. ¡°Your people are dead. There is no point in continuing this struggle. Surrender yourselves to us, and we will guarantee your safety as new citizens of the Caelum empire. I implore you to choose wisely.¡± The warriors freeze for a second, and it dawns on Luxanne that they might not be able to understand the western language, but her worries are calmed when one of them begins to translate for the rest of the group. They descend into a whisper, arguing with each other in a tense, suspenseful exchange, before turning around to deliver their ultimatum. ¡°Death before dishonor.¡± They raise their blades, and then they slit their own throats, crumpling into a lifeless clump before she can object. Luxanne gazes upon their bodies, her eyes shaking, and she struggles to close the lumps in her throat as a scream threatens to rise from her very core, but she can¡¯t. She can¡¯t show weakness. She can¡¯t show empathy, not while that damnable eye is watching her every move. The only response allowed of her is indifference if she is to maintain this facade. Eventually, Xeros emerges from the construct, and he coldly glances at the field of bodies around him¡ªCaelum and Steppe alike blending together into an indiscriminate pile of wet sludge. The sight doesn¡¯t faze him whatsoever; he only clicks his tongue and walks over to the silent Luxanne before placing a hand on her shoulder. And what disgusts her, more than the corpses or the blood or even her own inability to kill him right now, is the look of pride on his face. ¡°That was a marvelous display, Luxanne,¡± he says. ¡°It is a shame those warriors chose death¡­ their savage martial ability would have provided a great addition to our forces, but no matter. Much has been gained from this encounter.¡± ¡°¡­ I thank you for the kind words, Grand General,¡± she replies with gritted teeth. ¡°I am simply fulfilling my duty as this empire¡¯s servant.¡± ¡°As you should. Nonetheless, be proud of this day, and I expect you to demonstrate the same prowess when we advance upon the armies of Polus.¡± ¡°By your will, nothing gives me greater joy.¡± He chuckles. ¡°Very good, very good.¡± Xeros walks over to the remains of the tribesmen and severs their heads with one swift move of his hand, gathering them all into a sack and ordering a nearby soldier to take it back towards the transport. ¡°Come, Luxanne,¡± he grunts, wiping the blood away with a handkerchief. ¡°The Overlord awaits.¡± Chapter 55: The Collector of Skulls ¡°Xeros, just how far must you go? It pains me to see you like this, so filled with hatred, when I know a glimmer of that righteous young man of the past still dwells within you. Your dream is something wonderful, but this is not the answer. Look around you! Is this world of yours truly worth the anguish and torment it has wrought?¡± - Grand General Luxmi, Former Ruler of Lux Caelum ¡ª¡ª¡ª Xeros Memories. They are a fickle thing, haunting, and yet they are necessary. From them, humanity learns. From them, the people rise. The Grand General would not be the person he is today if it isn¡¯t for the memories of his youth¡ªof a foolish, naive man brimming with a desire to bring change. It has brought him much grief, that period of struggle, but Xeros does not regret his path; the phantoms of yor and the regret he has failed to smother are what fuel his impassioned campaign even now¡ªeven here as a bitter wretch far too old to be fostering such dreams. Yet, sometimes, he remembers his mistakes. He contemplates what could have been, how his life could have been different, but memories are mere echoes of the past. They are immaterial, and obsessing over the endless possibilities will only yield a hollow emptiness. What matters is the now: the realization of his life¡¯s sacrifices. Hm, how curious. For I to become sentimental after so long¡­ it is a nostalgic feeling, but an unneeded one. Even after all these years, my mind is still plagued by weakness: a most troubling thought, indeed. A stiff voice reports from his behind. It is Luxanne, and she rises out onto the construct¡¯s deck as the Grand General remains motionless¡ªface cast in a scowl. But it is not her presence that vexes him, nor is it his prior bout of gloom: No, it is the stale view unfolding before his eyes¡ªa landscape that invokes naught but disgusted sneers. ¡°We have arrived, Grand General,¡± she says. ¡°From here on out, we will be traversing through the Overlord¡¯s territory.¡± ¡°So I see,¡± Xeros replies, sparing not a glance back. He cannot, for his attention is seized by the odd disparity in their surroundings. It is midday, the sun should be blazing high above, but instead a sickly fog encroaches upon the grey, pallid air, causing the world to be enveloped in an eerie chill. Such change is not unheard of in the mountains of Caelum, but there is something strange about this weather: only a few moments ago has he felt the heat blister on his skin, but no more. It is as if they have passed through some unseeable boundary. And the sky is not the only change: The fields of yellow grass and wheat are gone, replaced by a reddish mud. It covers every last surface of the ground, and its muck prevents any vegetation from flourishing. The landscape can only be described as one of decay: a lifeless, withering mire reeking of the most foulest of smells. It reminds Xeros of the slums in Caelum. At least, back in his day. The war machine creeps along the unpleasant land for some time. Luxanne stands stoically at attention by his side, but she cannot hide her discomfort: and for once, it is not directed towards Xeros. The Overlord¡¯s peculiar territory has even managed to wrench away her malice¡ªan impressive feat to be sure. Eventually, they reach the entrance of a dilapidated village¡­ if it can even be called such, for the homes of this place are but no more than tattered huts of rotten sticks and animal skins: so small, so decrepit, and so utterly filled with a miserable torpor. One cannot even spot a single soul out in the open: They all hide away from view, and the only hint of their existence comes from the occasional stir of shadow casting a beady-eyed glare from inside the darkness. A fog rolls forth into the party¡¯s view, and without a sound, a procession of strange beings emerge from the haze and approach the construct. Human, yet only in appearance, and Xeros is perplexed for he cannot discern a single morsel of free will nesting within their hollow eyes. They are dressed differently from the rebel attackers, choosing to march bare-chested instead of wearing colorful cloth, and their skin is sewn all over with an assortment of varying mystical tattoos. But oddest of all are the skull-shaped masks shrouding their faces, leaving only an eerie wisp to flicker in the sockets¡ªa blue flame. These things are but soulless puppets. Not even their movements display any resemblance of humanity; they lurch and swing their limbs in an unnatural cadence - like an infant struggling to understand their own body - and their heads sway constantly to the side: dazed, or perhaps bewitched, into a shriveling husk. Despite this curious display, what intrigues the Grand General most is one thing: their synchronicity. Every twitch and stagger is shared. Every turn of the head is echoed amongst the crowd. There is no individuality, no distinctiveness, nor any self of character: the only difference betwixt them is the shape of their bodies while they all move in complete harmony¡ªas if intertwined together in a collective hive of consciousness. It does not take long before they arrive at the war machine. ¡°Welcome,¡± the husks speak in unison. ¡°Grand General Xeros, we have been waiting. Waiting. Follow us. He longs for your presence. He beckons for your call.¡± There is no escape from this land. The only path left is forward.¡± ¡°¡­ Lead the way,¡± he says with a grimace. The Overlord¡¯s kin nods without a word, and they surround the construct before guiding it deeper into the worn village. It is here Xeros finally spies some of the common folk mulling about, but something is wrong. None of them are working. Instead, they shamble around as if seeking for some sort of command or order: but that order never comes, and so they live out their meager lives in perpetual wait. Eyes glossy. Gaze transfixed to the dirt below. It is the vilest sight Xeros has seen thus far. ¡°Tell me, what do you see, Luxanne?¡± he asks his protege while leering at the squalor. ¡°¡­ Corpses,¡± she says, holding back a trembling fist. ¡°There is no light, no desire, within their eyes. They may as well be dead.¡± ¡°Quite so, quite so,¡± he nods. This place is the very antithesis of the Grand General¡¯s vision. A land with no urgency, where the people fester in their own disgusting pile of sloth, is a land he has no need for. ¡°Humans are greedy, fickle creatures, but their ambition is what gives them cause. It inspires them to struggle harder, to reach greater heights, even if in the process they must endure countless hardship. Remember this, Luxanne: Desire is necessary for mankind to evolve. To overcome their limits. And it is the duty of a ruler to stoke that desire within all. We satisfy their selfish aspirations - we give them purpose - and in turn, they serve. Such is how the world should be: one where competition inspires passion. One where effort and merit are rewarded as they rightfully should.¡± ¡°¡­ Even if the weak must be thrown away in the process?¡± The words leave Luxanne¡¯s lips before she even realizes, and the girl swiftly stumbles over her words in an attempt to rectify her act of defiance. Ah¡­ you foolish, foolish child. You will never succeed in deceiving me if you let your emotions loose so freely. Eventually, your heart must harden. It is a leader¡¯s fate to grow cold with time. ¡°I-I apologize, I meant no disrespect,¡± she stammers. ¡°I merely wished to know how best to utilize those not of the same talent as the worthy.¡± ¡°Hm, and know you shall. But you are mistaken on one point, Luxanne.¡± ¡°What would that be, sir?¡± ¡°There is no such thing as talent in this world.¡± Xeros slowly steps forth, moving closer and closer to the flinching visage of his still-naive disciple, and then grasps her shoulders hard with a clutch of his wrinkly, scarred hands. ¡°No, that word is but a false illusion¡ªan excuse for the powerful to remain dominant over the masses. To cripple them. To make them feel inferior. But let this be known: No one is born with innate capability. There is only skill. Understanding. Desperation. Those who cry of talent and unfairness are miserable cretons who lack the hunger to better themselves. They wallow in their own self pity, bemoan and blame others for their own shortcomings, yet never do they truly struggle. They are content with their own stagnation, and there is but one word to describe such a people: parasites. Dreams can only be made manifest through blood and tears¡ªthrough enduring any shame and humiliation. Those who prove themselves of such determination are the only ones deserving to be treated as human, while the rest shall rot away and serve as an example; that is their only use, to kindle the desire of others.¡± You know this best of all, Luxanne. I remember that frail child of yesteryear, of the downtrodden little girl filled with rage after losing her mother. You were weaker than anyone else, and yet you rose. You became the woman you are today because of your hate for me, your desire to kill me, and that desire shall lead you to the path of becoming a proper ruler. Now, all I need left is to smother the weakness Luxmi so vexingly instilled in you before her death¡­ Xeros sighs and loosens his grip. Luxanne remains deathly still, too wary to twitch even a muscle, and she desperately attempts to maintain her stoic facade. But he knows his sincerity will get through to her eventually. It will take time, yet he worries not. Change is ever so slow: fast sometimes, yes, but a sudden change is not always for the better. Indoctrination is best done over the years. His words will cling to her, fester in the recesses of her heart, and then shall come a day when she can ignore it no longer. So until then, he shall repeat his speech as many times as needed. ¡°I¡­ understand,¡± she bitterly replies. ¡°Thank you for your lesson once again, Grand General.¡± ¡°So you say.¡± The construct comes to an abrupt halt, and the party¡¯s lifeless escorts move to the side as their destination finally reveals itself: two large stone slabs serving as a passageway into a chamber deep underground. Its appearance bears resemblance to a tomb¡¯s entrance, and markings are engraved upon the base¡ªdenoting a particularly ancient origin. One that predates the First Civilization. Xeros has heard tales of ruins documenting humanity¡¯s origin, but to think he would be met with such precious find here. Hrm, I wonder if the Overlord realizes the value of this primeval crypt. To let a stranger enter it so simply¡­ he is either ignorant, or he plans not for our escape. Regardless, I shall be ready. The husks gesture soundlessly at the entrance, but when Xeros prepares to assemble an entourage, they loudly stamp their weapons in protest and then hold up two thin fingers. The message is clear: only two may enter, and they must do so whilst traversing on foot. ¡°Testing me again, are you?¡± he mutters to himself. ¡°Very well, I accept.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°How shall we proceed, sir?¡± Luxanne says. ¡°The soldiers are on standby. If we have to, I¡¯m sure we can brute force our way out of the village.¡± ¡°My, my, there is no need for such drastic measures. You shall escort me while the others guard the war machine; if those puppets over there show any hint of aggression, then the Astrologians have permission to deploy the Elysian Ray. Understood?¡± ¡°By your order.¡± ¡°Very good. Ah, and do not forget the welcome gifts. We do not want to be rude towards our host.¡± Luxanne disappears into the construct, and Xeros takes a brisk step off the deck. But instead of falling, black thunderclouds form beneath his feet, and they gently guide the Grand General down onto the mud - footfall by footfall - until the tomb¡¯s cold rock is right within his reach. He marvels at the engravings, the crude depictions of man¡¯s appearance in the past, and he runs his finger along the etches. Feeling. Envisioning. Xeros has never been a religious man, but he cannot deny there is a certain draw in the comfort of divinity. In a different world, a different time, perhaps I would have been a staunch devotee. I would have prayed to the heavenly Mother Cosmos. I would have believed that our suffering was of purpose¡ªa trial for which salvation awaited us at the final hour. But then, I saw it: those beings the doctrine taut as holy. I saw a Star, and I knew then it was all a lie. ¡°I have returned.¡± Luxanne reappears by his side, and she brings the severed heads of the rebel tribesmen with her, their stumps soaking the sack with a dark, dripping blood. ¡°Hrm. Your blade?¡± ¡°Sharpened.¡± ¡°Bullets?¡± ¡°Refilled.¡± ¡°Then we depart.¡± The two brace themselves, and they push the stones wide open. A sprawling catacomb is revealed before their eyes, and chiseled arches of bone etch downwards into the shape of a macabre flight of stairs. The only sources of light are the sparse torches lined along the wall, glow faint and eerie, but it is sufficient enough to illuminate the murals slathered all about the space. It is a shame he has neither the time nor grace to document his findings, but no matter. His memory will serve enough, and with a grunt, Xeros sets forth and descends deeper into the underground. Luxanne trails hesitantly behind, but even she begins to show an interest in the history around them. It is upon the discovery of a most peculiar mural, however, that Xeros finds himself fascinated. It is a drawing: of a large celestial figure surrounded by deep, astral space. So wondrous are its curls, galaxies and milky rivers conjoining together into a vast strand of flowing hair, and its body is made up of a pristine white. He knows this being, or rather has heard tale of it. That being is the primeval creator: The Mother Cosmos. But something is odd. She is not so benevolent appearing as the scriptures have made her out to be. No, her expression in this mural is of a very familiar sight. Pure, unbridled fury. Rage. Rage spreads across every surface, every corner of the divinity¡¯s heavenly visage, and Cosmos wields a great array of six astral weapons¡ªall of them buried deep within the bodies of an endless sprawl of illegible, grotesque monstrosities. The Mother, who is kindest of all, is depicted here: waging a crusade against creatures Xeros believes he knows very well. ¡°Is this¡­ supposed to be Cosmos?¡± Luxanne asks. ¡°She looks more violent than what I¡¯ve seen.¡± ¡°Indeed. Curious, is it not? The ancient records hail the great divinity as one filled with love and compassion towards all, yet the Steppe ancestors do appear to think otherwise.¡± The Overlord¡­ just what have you discovered? Perhaps the secrets of this place will aid in locating the Comet. I shall take note to invade the Steppe after I finish conquering Polus. ¡°Hrm. Let us continue our descent,¡± he grunts. ¡°I surmise our coming meeting shall be most insightful.¡± ¡°By your command.¡± Each thud on the bone staircase echoes with a sinister rattle as they proceed further into the tomb. One step forward. Two steps forward. Deeper and deeper, their metal greaves continue to crunch. To grind. And all the while, the atmosphere becomes heavy with a pestering trickle of malaise. Finally, the two arrive at a massive gate. Xeros moves to push it open, but the slabs part way before he can lay a finger on it, revealing a musty room surrounded by ancient looking relics. Small candles litter the edges, providing a feeble defense against the dusk penetrating through the space, and a sallow fur carpet lays on the ground while ominous looking skulls hang from above. A large throne sits at the end, one made of an all too familiar sight as of late, and it is there that a figure is seated amidst a shroud of darkness. ¡°Aah¡­¡± an aged, raspy voice groans¡ªsound jagged as if the being has not spoken for years. ¡°Ooh¡­ you have finally arrived, son of Caelum: Xeros Nox, the Grand General. Tell me, how was your journey?¡± ¡°It was uneventful, save for some scurrying pests,¡± Xeros replies, grabbing the sack of severed heads and tossing it at the obscured man. ¡°Hehehe, pests indeed. Always hiding out of sight. Always burrowing within the earth. You have done well; I thank you.¡± The figure descends his skeletal seat and grabs the Grand General¡¯s welcome gift. Here, his body is subtly exposed under the candlelight, and what awaits the pair¡¯s eyes is a truly revolting sight. The Overlord is a walking, breathing corpse. His skin is black as tar, and pointed bones jut out from his withered, emaciated chest, but it is his limbs that garner the most disgust: unnaturally elongated. Disproportionate from the rest of his body. He is much too large for someone claiming to be of humanity¡ªno, he is several times the size of even the rugged Xeros. It is as if the being before them is not a man at all: rather, a creature of nightmarish origin mimicking what it believes mankind to be. Even his eyes are but two gaping holes of empty shadow, but no manner of dark sorcery will ever change his mortal self. For as long as it can be killed, Xeros has nothing to fear. ¡°You seek an audience with me, ruler of smog,¡± the Overlord rumbles. ¡°What is it that you desire?¡± ¡°A pact. The forces of Polus are currently at its weakest: all that remains is for my takeover to begin, but in order to do so, I require assistance¡ªsomeone to distract the Arch Magus of Augurium. It should be a simple matter. I am not asking for a full scale war, but merely¡­ for you to run rampant in his territory. Do so for me, and I shall help you with your little rat extermination.¡± The Overlord doesn¡¯t say a word. His expression is indecipherable, body completely still, but eventually a shrill cackle begins to escape from his dry lips, and the man erupts into a bellyful laughter as his howls pierce through the entirety of the tomb. ¡°A pact you say¡­¡± he says. ¡°Those are powerful words, Xeros. I do not know how you of the western folk treat such things, but the people of the plains take pacts very, very seriously. It is an everlasting bond, an oath signed only with blood: Do you believe me so desperate as to rely on a foreign wretch?¡± ¡°I know you do. It has been ten years since you have begun to claim dominion over these lands. Ten long years, and yet, your opposition remains.¡± But to that, the Overlord only responds with another guffaw. ¡°How entertaining. You misunderstand me, Xeros: They are still alive because of my will. To exterminate them all so soon¡­ what enjoyment would that bring? No, I would rather they relish in their hatred. Fester in their fury. To see sons and daughters come to avenge their parents, only to fall into despair when their end is nigh¡­ truly, there is no greater euphoria in this world than in the face of a broken, battered soul.¡± It appears the Overlord is an even uglier creature than expected. ¡°If it is blood you desire, then you shall have it.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± The corpse-like ruler leans in close, putrid breath blowing right in front of the Grand General¡¯s face, and he breaks out into a crooked smile. ¡°Now you have my intrigue. Do continue.¡± ¡°My interest in Polus lies solely with their geographical proximity to the other nations and their fine weaponsmiths: Those with competence, expertise, are all I care about. The dregs and the farmers in the countryside are of less value; if you assist me in diverting the Arch Magus¡¯s attention, then I shall offer those insignificant lives to you. Torture, pleasure, it matters not what you do to them. Know that I shall supply your depravity in fuel¡ªan endless stream of blood, more than you could ever wish.¡± ¡°Aaah¡­¡± the Overlord falls back into his seat, and he crumples into a hideous pile of glee and childlike delight. ¡°Yes, yes! I can see it now, the faces of children in anguish. Oh, how they would loathe me so as I slaughter their loved ones before them. How they would plan, rot, cultivate the obsession in their hearts. There would be so many; I would no longer need to wait years before my harvest bears fruit.¡± ¡°Then do you agree to the pact?¡± ¡°Perhaps.¡± His demeanor turns sour, an unexpected shift that causes the Grand General to be wary, for that expression across his face is of a most deplorable vice: greed. ¡°I really do like you, Xeros. I truly do, but mere words are not enough for this covenant to blossom. I require a sacrifice, and it shall be through their flesh that the seals of our union shall be tightly bound.¡± ¡°Very well, who do you desire?¡± The Overlord raises a bony figure and points directly behind Xeros. No, he couldn¡¯t possibly be? ¡°The girl. Give me the girl.¡± He waves towards the collection of skulls dangling above. Each one¡¯s figure is frozen in a state of perpetual agony, and Xeros can feel the lingering remnants of their resentment trapped within their own skeletal prison. ¡°Consider it a little hobby of mine,¡± the disgusting man chuckles. ¡°Beautiful, is it not? The skulls of the strong do ever make for the finest ornaments, and the strength I feel exuding from your toy is truly of a rare, delectable quality.¡± A vein bulges from Xeros¡¯s forehead. He is not an emotional man, but even he finds it difficult to hide the revulsion threatening to be released. Luxanne responds in a typical fashion: Her hand hovers towards the hilt of her blade, body tense as she readies herself to cut a path out of the tomb. That determination is admirable, but there shall be no need for such a scuffle¡ªnot when the Overlord¡¯s true power remains a mystery. ¡°Luxanne is my Praetor, my second in command. I can not give her to you.¡± ¡°You ask a steep courtesy of me, Xeros, and so my cost is steep in return.¡± ¡°Regardless, my answer is firm.¡± ¡°¡­ How disappointing. I expected better from you.¡± ¡°And I, you. Why lust for what belongs to me?¡± ¡°My appetite is very difficult to satisfy, Grand General. Perhaps you would like to take her place?¡± Xeros sneers at his offer and slowly manifests a thundering maelstrom of red lightning around his arms. ¡°I must decline. You are welcome to try, but you do not appear foolish enough to attempt it. I sincerely hope you prove me correct.¡± The Overlord remains still for a short spell, but eventually he breaks out into a roaring laugh once again and claps his shriveling hands together. There is a faint malice hidden within his cries, but he applauds the Grand General nevertheless. ¡°Aaah¡­ I can feel it. We are kindred souls, you and I. Like me, you are a man of destruction. Carnage follows in your wake, and for that, you have my utmost respect.¡± He lowers his head, and a sickly fog flows out of his maw. It seeps into the tomb, disappears beneath the stone crevices, and carries along whispers of something unintelligible. For a moment, Xeros believes he may very well have to fight his way out of the domain, but his worries are proven false when the Overlord¡¯s strange ritual ends with naught an occurrence. ¡°It is done,¡± the man says. ¡°Run rampant the Steppe warriors shall, but my magnanimity will only last for so long, son of Caelum. If you cannot achieve your conquest in the coming years, then your people shall be the ones to sate my hunger.¡± ¡°¡­ Thank you,¡± Xeros replies, rescinding his red thundercloud. ¡°Then we shall depart at once. May fortune be with you, Overlord.¡± ¡°Hehehe, take care, Grand General. I will look forward to your conquest.¡± Xeros and Luxanne turn around, and they leave the room as the stone gates shut behind them. The girl is noticeably shaken from the meeting, her body squirming in unrest, and she speaks up to the Grand General: curious, but a slight poison is hidden in her tongue. ¡°Will you really sacrifice the Polus citizens to that monster?¡± she asks. ¡°No.¡± ¡°What? But you¡ª¡± ¡°Deception is one of the greatest tools a ruler has in their arsenal. It is good that the Overlord is a madman; his kind are all the more easier to manipulate. We will take advantage of his influence, and we will turn against him when the time is right. Such is the ebb and flow of power: In this world, the only one you can trust is yourself. Remember that, Luxanne.¡± ¡°¡­ I see.¡± Her curiosity has been quenched, but the Grand General can sense her mind is still occupied. And he knows exactly why. Oh, Luxanne¡­ you really must try to hide your thoughts better. ¡°Hrm,¡± he grumbles. ¡°I would have never taken the deal.¡± ¡°¡­ What?¡± ¡°No matter what the Overlord offered me, I would have never given you away.¡± And for once, Xeros speaks with complete sincerity. Chapter 56: Farewells and New Beginnings ¡°Years ago, when Sarathiel was still Templar of the Powers, he was sent to the desert region under orders to intercept the then acting Caelum Commander: Rosengarten Velcroz. We had but only two Thrones at the time¡ªLorelai and Annalay, both of whom were already occupied with the Grand General¡¯s advancement. And though it was a most perilous mission, Sarathiel was young and bold. He brought alongside him a great squadron of knights - including the Dominion¡¯s Templar, Belladonna - and he marched triumphantly into battle, pledging to return a victorious man. ¡°And return he did, only¡­ as the sole survivor. The Commander was dead, that we know for certain, but of what transpired on that day Sarathiel refuses to speak. His demeanor has since been enveloped in a dark shadow, haunted by memories he spurns absolutely. Even when the families of the bereaved demanded for answers, even when his fellow knights began to abhor him, Sarathiel remained silent. ¡°Despite so many being lost to the sands, Sarathiel¡¯s accomplishment of slaying Velcroz the Terrible earned him grace as the Unbending Throne of Steel. A most unfortunate name, I must admit: It was if the elders were mocking his obstinance. ¡®Unbending¡¯¡­ both in might, and in regret.¡± - Chancellor Gadreel ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight ¡°Are you nervous?¡± a sad Dariel asks. The young officer waits right in the midst of the Knight¡¯s room, and in his hands is the suit of armor lovingly crafted for Lorelai. He helps with fitting the plate on its body, slowly polishing the metal, and he brings the helm up to its face¡ªgracing it with a conflicted smile before finishing his last act as aide. For today is the day: the day when Polus departs for the Caelum domain. ¡°I am,¡± it replies, arming itself and taking one final glance at the space it has called home these past few weeks. ¡°As I¡¯m sure are the others. No one is ever truly fearless Dariel, but it is good to be anxious, for within these moments can I truly reflect on why I fight. It emboldens my cause, thinking of those I wish to protect¡ªlike you. Like everyone else in this nation.¡± ¡°Heh, spoken like a true hero.¡± Dariel takes a step back and looks at it in its entirety. He appears a bit dejected, and a faint glimmer in his eyes begs the Knight not to leave, but he knows such desires are selfish. Still, the heart has always been a fickle thing¡ªone that cannot be controlled. ¡°Can I really not go with you?¡± ¡°No, it is too dangerous for a civil officer.¡± ¡°I know, I know, but¡­ it¡¯s hard knowing I¡¯ll be sitting back doing nothing. I feel so useless, in a way.¡± ¡°Oh, Dariel¡­¡± the Knight ruffles his hair and brings the gloomy officer in for a big hug. ¡°We all have our roles to play, each one just as important as the other. And I can think of no other I trust more to look after the citizens¡¯ needs whilst we are gone. Are you up for the task?¡± The young man struggles in its grip at first, but eventually he breaks out into a wide grin. ¡°Of course I am! Leave everyone to me and focus on ending this war for good. I¡¯ll make sure to throw a grand party once you all return. ¡± ¡°Hehe, I shall look forward to it.¡± The two separate, and the Knight parts for the door. It hesitates at the knob - hand lingering on the rugged wood - before turning back to glance at Dariel, to engrave their memories together, for it knows this shall be the last time his smile will be so innocent. It wouldn¡¯t have mattered before, but the ageless being cannot bear to imagine it now: his face stricken with betrayal. Ascalon is not the only one who makes its heart falter anymore; it is slowly creating bonds. Bonds that will be severed. Bonds that will only pain it more upon its break. So, before it does, the Knight wishes to remember his figure now¡ªof a man bright with dreams and aspirations. ¡°¡­ Goodbye, Dariel.¡± He chuckles and bids it farewell with a little wave of his hand. ¡°Goodbye, Lorelai. I¡ªno, we will all be waiting.¡± The Knight nods its head, and it finally leaves the room. Step by step, it marches through the unfamiliarly-silent halls, and it muses on the absence of both knight and official¡ªhow foreign it all seems to have such peace be prevalent. Not a soul is found on its short trek, and as the gates of the castle¡¯s end finally come into view, it stops in place. And it closes its eyes, raising a finger to the child restlessly bouncing on its head. ¡°From now on, you must carefully listen to my words, Aegis,¡± it says to him, the little babe holding on with a nervous babble. ¡°This war will reveal humanity at its most vile. There will be sights you are not yet ready to see, heartache you must not yet endure. So when that time comes, I want you to close your eyes just like how I am now. Do you understand?¡± Aegis is scared by its words, for it can feel the Knight¡¯s solemnity clear. But it is very, very serious. The child must not be shown death so soon, lest he be led onto the wrong path: to succumb before blood¡¯s maddening aroma, or to shy away from taking the life of another. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. He gurgles an affirmative cry, but it can sense some hesitation stirring within his still tiny chest. Unfortunately, fate never waits for one to be ready. All one can do is confront it. ¡°Good. Do not worry, I will be right beside you.¡± And with that, the Knight pushes the gates wide open, and a deafening boom of fanfare welcomes it to the outside. There, surrounding it from all over, stand the entirety of Polus¡¯s army: from every street and every corner, atop the grass and spilling out onto the cobblestone roads. There lie the knights¡ªbodies poised and weapons pointed high: their armors gleaming whilst coalescing into a venerable sea of metal. Each of the seven Orders have gathered here - forces positioned off to the side - and they are represented by their respective Templar leading at the forefront. Familiar faces greet it, many more bow in reverence, but the Knight remains regal as it walks down the center promenade. None obstruct its path; it continues to march, to flaunt itself before the watchful masses, and there is only one person that awaits it at the very end. The Knight stops, and it lifts its head. ¡°I am ready, Ascalon.¡± The King nods - a rigid display, one done in formal manner before their audience - and he reaches out with an outstretched hand. ¡°Then let us go, together.¡± It gently wraps its fingers around his, and the two rest side by side as a figure approaches them from the distance. It is Annalay, and she rolls her head back in displeasure as she trudges towards the duo with a surprisingly elegant step. ¡°I¡¯m doing this whole stuffy procedure for you, Ascalon. I hope you know that,¡± she grumbles whilst still taking care to maintain her image. ¡°Can¡¯t believe I have to do this when I¡¯m not even leaving with you all.¡± ¡°I appreciate the effort, truly.¡± ¡°Hah, don¡¯t get too comfortable. Soon as you come back, I¡¯m taking a well-deserved vacation. Maybe I¡¯ll visit the Thaumaturgy¡­ heard they have good food.¡± But before she can speak further, another figure approaches them: this one unfamiliar to the Knight. But instead of respect as the others have displayed thus far, the new guest begets a different reaction¡ªone of unease. Is it their size, a gargantuan behemoth towering over even the likes of Annalay? Is it their sharp, jagged appearance, helmet drab and armor composed of a chaotic assortment of rough ores? Or is it their beastly demeanor, posture hunched and body oozing of a menacing aura? Of an uncontrollable brute ready to be unleashed? It may be this all, but there is something different in the crowd¡¯s gaze: a complicated feeling, one the Knight cannot make out, but it knows of one certainty. This person is the last member of the Thrones: Sarathiel, the Unbending Steel. ¡°Thank you for coming, Sarathiel,¡± Ascalon greets him. ¡°I know it must be hard to return to the capital. Nevertheless, I am glad you are here¡ªto see your appearance after so long brings me great joy.¡± The man is hesitant to speak at first, but when he does, an unusually soft voice is uttered: quiet, almost meek in a way, as if speaking any louder will anger the other. Rather than of a vicious giant as his appearance suggests, Sarathiel reminds the Knight of a small animal. But unlike an animal, he has much more than claws; a great blood-red axe affixed to a silver pole juts out from behind his back, and it carries the malice of countless vengeful wisps in its crimson sheen. ¡°¡­ It¡¯s uncomfortable,¡± he says. ¡°But necessary. If you want to end this war, then so be it. I will be your blade.¡± ¡°You are much more than that, Sarathiel. You¡¯re my friend and a capable Throne; do not belittle yourself so.¡± He doesn¡¯t reply. Instead, Sarathiel hails the Knight with a sheepish bow. ¡°Apologies for being so late to see you, Lorelai. When I heard the news, I didn¡¯t know what to do. Of course I was happy to know you were alive, but to come and see you for myself is¡­ well, I¡¯d only ruin the mood. And it might be better for you to have forgotten me. I¡¯ve always regretted telling¡ª¡± ¡°Telling me what?¡± it asks. ¡°Nothing, forget I ever said that,¡± he quickly interjects. His words only make the Knight more curious, but it is evident he refuses to speak any more about the matter. ¡°Okay, Sarathiel. I will not pry further,¡± it assures him. ¡°But I will always be here if you need someone to talk to.¡± ¡°¡­ Alright.¡± The grizzly man still appears to be rather tense, but he lets out a sigh and shrugs off his gripes before moving to Annalay¡¯s side. She lands a playful punch on his arm, her demeanor no different than before, and teases him with a sibling-like ire. Their relationship is much more natural; if only the Knight can know why he is so apprehensive towards it. ¡°Hoh, we are all finally united,¡± the King says with a slight flutter. ¡°Then there is no longer any time to waste. Let us begin.¡± Ascalon beholds the gathering: of the Thrones, the Templars, and all other knights congregated on this day, and then he raises the Mattatron up high¡ªallowing its amber sparkle to fly up and wreathe the capital in a shower of light. The citizens poke their heads out of their homes: they stare at the twinking show; and they ready themselves, for this is a sign of a coming decree. He takes a deep breath, and then the King bellows out for all to hear. ¡°Heed my words, sons and daughters of Polus! The time is now to end this conflict. No longer shall we wait with tortured breaths for our loved ones to return. No longer shall we live in fear of what tomorrow will bring. I declare to you, one and all: We shall march with the full might of our army. We shall bring peace to these lands for years ahead, and we shall slay the Grand General and end his reign of terror upon our people. My blade will be there - charging at the very front - and together, we will bring forth the ever-radiant dawn!¡± The city erupts into a cacophony of cheers and applause. From the citizens to the knights, they all break out into a thunderous shout, echoing throughout the sky and drowning all those below with its victorious rally. They celebrate, they raise their first high, and they stamp their feet in a unified medley of song. Here and now, the nation is truly united. Ascalon turns around and faces the emboldened visage of his kingdom. Not a single doubt is writ on his face; the King is more stunning than ever before. ¡°Warriors of Polus,¡± he roars. ¡°Onwards, to Nox Caelum!¡± Chapter 57: The Alchemist of Despair ¡°I¡¯ve never understood why Xeros chooses such insane people to be his commanders. Gravitas is a crude battle-junky: Velcroz is a twisted deviant; Libevich is completely, utterly, terrifying¡­ but Nokron? Even out of them all, he¡¯s a disturbing one. ¡®The Alchemist Regent¡¯ or so his title is. You¡¯d think someone like that would be more of a researcher, right? No. He¡¯s much more. Much more cruel, more repulsive¡ªa sick bastard who views life as nothing more than subjects for his experiments. And worse of all: He¡¯s strong¡ªstrong enough that even I¡¯m not confident in killing him.¡± - Praetor Luxanne ¡ª¡ª¡ª Far, far away from the rising smoke plumes of the Caelum capital, there lies a great and mighty fortress situated in the midst of a deep chasm. Two mountains surround its grey, flat base, and at the very front of its gates is a razed patch of dirt harboring not a single sight of green nor weed. The land is completely barren, earth torn asunder in due courtesy of the armaments mounted onto the fortress¡¯s edge, and looking farther beyond will yield only the sight of a vast swamp. Such is this domain: a place of isolation where even the air is hampered by an oppressive weight. By loneliness. It is within the depths of this fortress - in a dark, murky dungeon permeating with the smell of rotting flesh - that a lone man is chained within a rusted cell. His body is bare, his eyes are blindfolded, and shackles covered in layers of dried blood bind his limbs together. He can only writhe in pain as the cold air assaults at his open wounds: lash marks. Flayed skin. Remnants of torture the likes any sane being would retch before the sight of. Yet, the prisoner savors this moment with the utmost clarity, for it is not the pain of solitude that scares him. No, what he is truly fearful of is the arrival of that monster¡ªof their cruel, apathetic words. Of the sound of the whip, the crack, or even the silence: silence following an injection of the most foul of substances into his veins. The prisoner¡¯s every waking moment is spent in terror over the thought of his captor¡¯s return. Crunch. A sound slowly trickles into the prisoner¡¯s ears. It is the sound of a boot crunching against the dungeon¡¯s gravel, approaching. Louder and louder. Someone stalks towards his cell with an eerie, deliberate stride, carefully taking their time as if to delay the inevitable¡ªto relish in the anticipation of what shall soon be. They are coming. They are here. The prisoner desperately summons what feeble strength still remains and bashes his head hard against the bars. He jerks his body and attempts with all his might to free his limbs from the shackles binding him. Even as his skin tears apart, even when it feels as if his arms will be ripped away from their sockets, he struggles with every last morsel of his being to escape. To cling onto that ever so slight hope of life. But his efforts are in vain. He does not escape, nor have his previous attempts ever availed any significant change. All he can do is silence his whimpering as the source of the footsteps finally reaches his cell. There, emerging from the shadows, is a scrawny man clad in an armored mechanical suit¡ªblack as the void. Its metal deigns not to even shine, for the light is swallowed by the mechanical apparatus. And amidst the dulled visor serving as the man¡¯s helm, a respirator is attached to his mouth, flowing towards a sputtering tankard on his back. Something is being funneled into his lungs¡ªa dark, wispy vapor. Every breath is filled with the substance, accompanied by an ever-constant sequence of deep, rasping groans. There is not a single surface where his skin is shown, and instead of eyes, two red orbs of unnatural glow burn from the visor¡¯s optics: glaring. Pulsating. And they stare at the prisoner now¡ªwholly unfeeling, as if any shred of humanity has long been consumed. ¡°You are alive,¡± the man says with a distorted, machine-like voice. ¡°How intriguing. To think a wretch like you would prove this durable¡­ I must applaud your resilience. Truly impressive, but will you withstand the next dosage? Time will tell¡­ time will tell. We have many more tests to conduct, you and I. Don¡¯t croak on me just yet.¡± He opens the cell¡¯s door, and the prisoner can only watch as he raises a syringe brimming with the vile vapor. There is no use in fighting back, for the man before him is amongst the highest authorities in the Nox Caelum empire. He is the Alchemist of Despair: Nokron Siofsvara. ¡ª¡ª¡ª Nokron Nokron plunges his newest experiment directly into the subject¡¯s neck. They scream at first, the vapor oozing into their bloodstream and spreading throughout their veins, but he cares not: The fools always scream in the beginning. Such reaction is a result of the pain inflicted upon first entry rather than of the experiment itself. Any observations not derived of the vapor¡¯s inhibiting effects are worthless. Five seconds have passed. Ten seconds have passed. Twenty. Thirty. He takes a step back and carefully analyzes the prisoner¡¯s appearance¡ªtheir bulging eyes, their skin transforming into a pallid white, and the messy froth of spit dribbling out of their mouth¡­ everything is jotted on his notebook with meticulous detail. Subject appears to have temporarily lost the ability to feel pain. Currently thrashing against the cell¡¯s bindings. Sounds of bone fracturing can be heard. Aggression levels remain high. Increased surge of strength despite starvation and torture. Appears to be two, no, three times the power of the average adult male. Conclusion: Berserker vapor is a success¡ª But before he can mark an end to the experiment, the test subject suddenly freezes, and with a loud pop, their bodily insides explode all at once¡ªblood rushing out of every one of their orifices. And worst of all, their eyes explode and are sent flying only to smash into a bloody pulp right in front of Nokron¡¯s face. He wipes the blood away with an irritated grumble, and then he pulls out his quill again. The entry is short: Correction: Test is a failure. ¡°A-Ah,¡± the wretch groans. Surprisingly, they are still alive. Nokron likens their tenacity to that of a cockroach, but there is no cheating death this time. Their end is nigh. ¡°Why? What did I do to deserve this? I¡¯ve always been¡­ been faithful to you, Commander Nokron. I¡¯ve always¡­¡± ¡°Hm? Faithful, you say?¡± Nokron says, a slight growl rising up to his throat. ¡°How very humorous, but I see differently. I see very, very differently. Hahaha¡­¡± He takes a step towards the cell and grabs at the bar with a seemingly benign air, but what comes next is much more violent, for he clenches his fists until they¡¯re shaking in strain and then rips the bars out as if the metal is naught but clay. His head jerks and twitches, anger filling his flesh until his whole body is trembling in rage, and then he crushes the disrespectful wretch¡¯s head with a stomp of his boot¡ªstamping them like they¡¯re a dirty stain refusing to be erased. ¡°Faithful¡­ no, you are anything but. You disrespected me,¡± he mutters with a cold, acid-like bite. ¡°I sent you to attend the Grand General¡¯s meeting, and what did you do? You questioned his judgment. You tarnished my name with your arrogance, and now here I rot in this damnable fortress. A thousand experiments would not be enough to pardon your sin, yet you dare refuse to even repent. You are unknowing of your own slight: That is the worst of them all¡ªignorance. Ignorance. Ignorance!¡± Nokron slams his foot down once more, and thus is the prisoner¡¯s brain pulverized into a lowly smear on the dungeon floor. ¡°¡­ Ah, a pity. I should have let you suffer more. Now I am left frustrated. If only I had more time¡ªmore time to punish. Time, time, time¡­¡± He grabs at the corpse¡¯s leg and drags it out of the cell. Slowly, steadily, he lumbers through the dungeon whilst a trail of blood follows in his wake. The body scrapes against the rugged surface, and small pieces of flesh are left littered about, but Nokron does not care. He only mumbles to himself and continues strolling along until eventually reaching a small hole: the garbage disposal. A fitting resting place for the wretch, and so he tosses his former aide and watches them disappear into the dark abyss. Staring, staring. ¡°But,¡± he says after a moment. ¡°The blame does not fall entirely upon you. I was complacent. Naive. I believed my previous¡­ demonstrations would be enough to reign you miserable lot in. Sadly, fear eventually dissipates, and I will not repeat the mistakes of the past.¡± The rest of his legion must become disciplined before the Grand General returns, or else death will be a more preferable fate than what shall befall him. The clock is ticking. More examples must be made. Argh, my mood is fouled. Itchy, itchy¡­ my brain refuses to stop squirming. It plagues me. It hounds me. Incessantly it assaults my mind, ever a merry round. Round and round. Round and round¡­ I need to calm my nerves. Nokron closes his eyes, and he takes a deep inhale of the gaseous substance from his tankard. It rushes into his throat and nostrils, it fills his mind with such innocent bliss, and the old Alchemist can¡¯t help but sway back and forth as a wave of ecstasy courses through his entire being. It is ever so lovely, a momentary paradise in which he feels true salvation, but such joy is ever fleeting. He¡¯ll need to refill the vapor stock soon; however, conjuring it shall require time. Time he does not have. Time being wasted thinking about this matter. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Time time time time time. There¡¯s not enough time. The day is passing. The sun is setting. Time is moving forward. Time cannot go back. Time is an enigma. Why must time exist? Everyone runs out of time. It doesn¡¯t make sense. It¡¯s disgusting, time. It¡¯s revolting, time. If only it would stop. If only it would cease. If only¡ª Nokron collects himself, and he exhales the substance. The madness is being calmed. Everything is calm. There is plenty of time. There is plenty of time. Repeat it, again and again. Repeat it, Nokron. Repeat it. He closes his eyes, and he waits. A few seconds pass. Then a few more. Until eventually¡­ he feels a shift - a change in position - and when he opens them once more, the squalid dungeon has disappeared from sight. Instead, a great view of the barren field outside awaits him. Wind brushes against his mechanical suit; the sun blazes down on him from above. He is now atop the fortress ramparts. Hm? This is¡­ ah, that is right. I was here this morning, and now I have returned. An unintended result, but a welcome one, he muses. The sight does wonders for his addled psyche. ¡°H-Huh?¡± A nearby guard yelps out in surprise over Nokron¡¯s sudden translocation, and they stumble on their feet before quickly shifting into a salute. How pathetic. Lookout-duty is rather uneventful in this part of the empire; the soldiers have gotten fat because of it. Time has made them weak. ¡°Ah, um, welcome Commander. What brings you out here?¡± ¡°¡­ Time,¡± Nokron whispers. ¡°I-I apologize. I didn¡¯t quite catch what you just said.¡± ¡°Tell me, do you think there¡¯s still time left?¡± ¡°Left for what?¡± ¡°Incorrect.¡± With a swift thrust of his hand, he impales the guard right in their abdomen. Confusion, surprise, horror¡­ the fool only has a brief second to ponder these feelings before they¡¯re thrown over the edge of the fortress. Flailing, flailing, they scream - despair wrought upon their meager face - before splattering into a clump right next to a pair of gatekeepers. The two stare at the mangled flesh in horror and attempt to call out for help, but their voices become silent as Nokron materializes next to the body. ¡°Tell me,¡± he rasps. ¡°Do you think there¡¯s still time left?¡± ¡°Uh, I¡ª¡± one stumbles. ¡°Yes!¡± the other quickly interjects. ¡°Y-Yes, of course there is.¡± ¡°¡­ Ah, I see now!¡± he says, realization creeping into his heart. ¡°There is always enough time. I see it now, the path forward: I simply need to do both at the same time!¡± Nokron steps over to the destroyed remains of the guard and picks up what is left of their corpse. This shall do nicely. All that is left is to gather the rest of the lot. He points at one of the gatekeepers and beckons them forth. They look at their partner - terror clear in their eyes - and they walk forward to receive the Alchemist¡¯s judgment. ¡°Summon the others,¡± Nokron orders whilst placing a bloody hand on their shoulder. ¡°Tell them all to assemble at the fortress¡¯s heart. I shall await them there.¡± ¡°Ah? Oh, of course. Right away sir.¡± ¡°Then go.¡± They scurry off like an overjoyed mutt with how fast their legs are moving. How unseemly. However, Nokron doesn¡¯t necessarily dislike cowards; on the contrary, such people are an excellent source when it comes to siphoning the vapor. ¡°You¡­ I have other plans for you,¡± he says, turning around to face the other gatekeeper. ¡°I recognize that face. You have served me for some time now, haven¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I-Indeed I have, sir.¡± ¡°Then you know what shall soon occur?¡± ¡°Yes, I do.¡± ¡°That makes this much simpler: Gather the empty tankards in my chamber and have them brought to the main auditorium. Do not forget the Maw. You shall serve as my assistant.¡± ¡°It¡­ would be an honor.¡± ¡°Excellent. You do not waste time. That is good.¡± The gatekeeper salutes Nokron with a grim expression before leaving their post. Step. Step. Step. Look how hard they attempt to remain calm, but he knows the truth. He knows they are the most terrified of them all. There is still time left before the others are gathered. Perhaps he should take a nice, brisk walk: It is a beautiful day, after all. One should properly enjoy the small comforts the world provides at times like this. Yes, let¡¯s do that. And once I return, new modifications shall be made to the berserker formula. The strain will need to be diluted unfortunately, but I can worry over making a stronger dosage later. I must present the Grand General a successful product if I am to return to his side. But before Nokron can bask in the sun¡¯s rays any longer, the world begins to twist and distort before him. His vision fades, a cacophony of nonsensical cries fill his ears, and in an instant, he returns to the dungeon with the corpse still in hand. That is a shame. It appears my time has run out. It matters not. He can enjoy the day¡¯s pleasures later. For now, his legion awaits, and so too does his demonstration. As he exits the dungeon¡¯s quarter, a strange sense of unease creeps into the Alchemist¡¯s head. This feeling has plagued him ever since he stepped foot into the fortress, but it has never been particularly worrisome until now. It is¡­ paranoia¡ªa premonition of some not-so far off m future. Just what is causing this foreboding? Why does it feel like time is running out? It is irrational, foolish, yet something deep within my being screams that oblivion is coming. Perhaps that is why I am so irritated as of late, but I do not understand. What dangers await me here in this land more isolated than any other? Curious, but this enigma shall have to wait. Nokron reaches the very top of the dungeon¡¯s stairway and finds himself stepping out into the bland, colorless halls of the Magnus Murus. Here, there is no decorum. No fancy decorations or adornments. Everything is designed, built, and operated for the sole purpose of defense, and the fortress displays this function clear in the defenses hidden away from view. He does not understand why the Grand General goes to such extremes, but it is not his job to ponder over such useless things. Xeros is his lord, and Nokron is just a pawn. A pawn is disciplined; a pawn follows orders; a pawn obeys their superior. Such a life is actually quite comfortable¡ªhe does as he is told, and in return, great fortune awaits. The freedom to pursue his study without consequence. Eventually, the Alchemist comes face to face with a large, imposing door. Murmurings and all sorts of useless conversation can be heard in the beyond, and as he pushes the entryway wide open, a force numbering near a hundred thousand appears before his eyes. They fall silent at his entrance, and their bodies seize up in tension as they gaze upon the bloody corpse in his hand. Weak-hearted fools, but I suppose it is inevitable. They are all displaced dregs¡ªremnants clinging to a land already conquered. But they shall soon know discipline; all I need to do is keep them in line, make them obedient, and thus will I return to the comforting chambers of my laboratory. The legion bow their heads in respect as Nokron makes his way towards a small podium at the end of the room. The gatekeeper from before awaits him there, and beside them is a large machine with all manners of pipes and channels connecting to a pile of empty tankards. An opening at the very top of the machine protrudes out with long, slithering tendrils - shape akin to that of a monstrous maw - and at the middle is a glass container filled with pitch-black fumes: swirling. Revolving in a maelstrom of torment as ghastly images of revenants take form within the epicenter. The substance is reminiscent of the mist found in the Aeternum, but with one key difference: The forest¡¯s malaise is naturally formed. Nokron¡¯s is artificially made¡ªno, lovingly encouraged. ¡°I have brought the Maw and your tankards as ordered,¡± the gatekeeper says. ¡°Mm. Then let us begin.¡± Nokron connects his own tank with the machine. Soon, the shadowy vapor fills his mind with insanity, and he gathers the concentrated energy into his palms before gripping tight onto the corpse and raising it high into the air. The others appear confused at first, but curiosity turns into horror as the dead soldier is gradually reformed and brought back to life in a grotesque show of resurrection. Organs and intestines manifest from the unknown, squishing themselves into the rapidly expanding layer of skin, and all the while the former soldier writhes in agony as it screams out a guttural, inhuman cry¡ªits vocal cords not yet fully recovered. But the display does not last forever. Eventually, Nokron finishes his ritual, and so is the soul born into the world: returned, as if it has never left in the first place. At least, that is how it appears at first glance. ¡°I-I¡¯m alive?¡± the living corpse mutters in a frenzy. ¡°No,¡± Nokron says. ¡°You have already run out of time. I am simply delaying the inevitable¡ªinvoking a memory of what once was.¡± With a swift move, he crushes the thing¡¯s face into the ground, and the crowd flinches as bits of flesh and brain-matter fly out into the air - splattering the terrified legionaries at the front - but they have no time to process what has just occurred before the body begins to reform in front of their eyes once more. And just like before, the corpse is brought back to life, only to be ruthlessly crushed by Nokron without a moment of hesitation. The thing begs for death, it cries out to be released from its suffering, but the end never comes. The others can only watch helplessly as their commander pulverizes the dead again and again in a cruel demonstration of might. Meanwhile, a hazy cloud forms above the crowd - manifested from the abundance of fear and terror worming its way into their hearts - and the energy is sucked into the maw-like machine before being transformed into the very same essence that continues to power Nokron¡¯s lunacy. That essence is Creation itself, but not the Creation as touted in the scriptures. No, this branch of divinity has been malformed by twisted emotions and transformed into pure, concentrated despair. Fear, disgust, dread¡­ it remembers this all, and so it is cursed to carry on the phantoms of human suffering¡ªaccumulating, growing, until mankind¡¯s ugliness can be contained no longer. And that despair is more beautiful than anything else. After a very long period of letting free his frustrations, Nokron finally stops. The tankards are fueled, and his message has been sufficiently displayed. Death is allowed to take the corpse as its suffering comes to an end for good. ¡°¡­ Do you understand?¡± he asks for all to hear. ¡°The price of incompetence.¡± Silence, nods, and finally: grim acceptance. ¡°Very good.¡± Nokron walks out of the despair-filled room, leaving only the scarred to dwell upon all they¡¯ve just witnessed. Now, they have been truly tamed. It has been a good day. There is still much to do, but Nokron feels much less stressed. After all, there is plenty of time to spare. Chapter 58: Cold Earth Coffin ¡°Once upon a time, in a far away forest, there lived a great and mighty Boar. The Boar was a proud, confident beast, for they had a snout that could sniff out any predator, powerful stumpy legs to deliver a devastating kick, and a thick skin that could deter even the sharpest of fangs. Indeed, the Boar had everything to live a comfortable life, and often did they spend their days lazing where the sun shone brightest. ¡°However, one day, a tiny Snake came up to the Boar. With slick, shiny scales and eerie slit eyes, it spoke to the beast of a proposition both curious and alluring. ¡®Greetings to you, o¡¯ regal beast,¡¯ it said. ¡®May I perhaps have a moment of your time? I promise it will not take long.¡¯ ¡°The Boar paid no heed to the Snake¡¯s words at first, but there was something about its words that drew their interest. ¡®Very well, speak quickly,¡¯ they replied with a big huff. ¡®You are interrupting my precious grazing time.¡¯ ¡°¡®Oh, thank you! Truly, thank you. You see, I had recently heard tale of a marvelous fruit hidden not so far away from here. Its juice is said to be sweet as honey, and its flesh is so delectably tender.¡¯ ¡°¡®Why, that sounds positively salivating! But for what reason have you sought my aid?¡¯ ¡°The Snake gave the Boar a conflicted look before speaking again¡ªthis time with a hint of embarrassment. ¡®The problem is, the tree growing this fruit is said to be hiding deep within a cave. And as I am a feeble, lowly Snake, such places give me ever a fright. But you are a Boar, a great beast of the land, and so all I ask is that you bring me but one of these fruits. The rest shall be yours to keep. What do you say, will you help me?¡¯ ¡°The Boar saw no reason to decline such a generous proposal, especially if they could taste this mythical fruit for themself. ¡®Hahaha! Why, how could I refuse? Worry not my new friend: The two of us shall be partaking in a feast by the sunset!¡¯ ¡°And so did the Boar part ways with the Snake. Their heart was light, mouth dripping with drool¡­ and soon, greed began to blind their better judgment. They did not think to ask themself how a tree could possibly grow in a place without light, nor did they ever realize that such caves are the dominion of those who slither in the dark. The beast only wished to take hold of that oh so tantalizing fruit, and so they trotted obliviously to the cave until its dark, all-consuming maw was within sight. ¡°The Boar took a few steps in, and then they descended into the darkness. Step by step did they trudge through the cold, damp underbelly, yet never did any sign of life or green come within view¡ªmuch less a fruit tree. There was only a frigid air and a vague feeling of being watched. ¡°By the time the Boar realized their mistake, it was too late. The Snake emerged from within the shadows, and it bared its venomous fangs. ¡°¡®I really did mean it when I spoke of a fruit,¡¯ it said to them. ¡®Only¡­ not the one you were thinking of. No, the fruit I¡¯m seeking is gorged with blood.¡¯ ¡°The Snake opened its mouth very wide, and it swallowed the Boar in one gulp. Such was the result of the Boar¡¯s hubris: a quick end, one that could have been prevented from the very start. ¡°There is nothing of worth in the underground. To traverse it means your end is nigh.¡± - The Boar and the Snake: An Old Polus Fable ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight It is an astonishing thing indeed to stand before a venerable sea of mankind. To witness them all in their glory, in their unceasing sprawl jutting out into the horizons far beyond reach, and to hear the rhythmic stomps of their steel-clad greaves as the very earth shakes in tandem with the movement of this great moving mass. They are the union of Polus¡¯s finest¡ªknights, all: from every Order, from every corner of the nation, all gathering together to march through both plain and muddy soil. It is in these moments one is reminded of the terror of the human will¡ªhow grand they are when joined in a shared cause. It is both frightening and awe-inspiring to see in person their resolve; how fortunate such ire is not directed towards the Knight this time. But will they brave the underground is the question¡­ A week has passed since the army departed from the Polus capital. In this time, not much has changed. Their pace is moving swiftly as usual, and despite the increased hurry, not a single knight or aide has fallen behind. One would struggle to spot even a hint of fatigue on their stoic exterior, and the main force leading at the forefront is quickly approaching the canyon where the underground¡¯s entrance lies. Soon, they shall enter the Knight¡¯s old dwelling. Ages ago, it has not been able to traverse so openly. The time of Ladislava has presented many challenges, for no matter how it changes its appearance, the connection between Comet and Constellation cannot be so easily hidden. A single look is all it takes for Cosmos¡¯s champion to identify it, and so it has once sought refuge in the domain far below earth. Ah, that brings back memories. I was hunted constantly back then¡­ the tunnels were my only refuge¡ªaway from the prying sight of that Comet of Starfire. It was a shame I failed to slay her during her youth, but at least I was able to rid Polus of the Valkyrie. I would have never gotten into Arthur¡¯s good graces if Ladislava wasn¡¯t so desperate to find me. How did I feel during that time? I do not remember. No, perhaps it is more that I can¡¯t. I was the same as I ever was¡ªunfeeling. Unthinking. I emptied my heart, and I smothered my longing, for it was all I could do to make the days pass without ache. The me back then was merely existing, but that was the intention. I did not deserve to be like humanity¡ªto frolic in a world of change. No, the underground fit me well. It was a realm of nothing, hidden from the wider world: a cold, earthly coffin. One where I could wallow endlessly in darkness. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. I once wished to stay in that realm for all of eternity, but now¡­ I do not know. My soul rejects it now. It wants to stay here. It wants to trick itself into being human. Suddenly, it feels a warm touch by its hand. It is a familiar touch, one ever so persistent in its life these days, and it gently kneads at the Knight¡¯s palm as if to ease the tension growing within. ¡°What are you doing, Ascalon?¡± it asks. The great, mighty King of Polus walks along its side - visage wreathed in authority as he personally leads the march - and despite being within clear view of the army behind, he comforts it plainly for all to see. ¡°Mm, I wonder?¡± he replies with not a hint of shame. ¡°Do you feel better?¡± ¡°¡­ Yes. Did I look troubled?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Then why?¡± ¡°I had a feeling.¡± The Knight lowers its head and refuses to say another word. It can¡¯t, for its throat is seized by pain as if glass shards are digging at its flesh¡ªsuffocating. So, so suffocating. It wants to retch. And yet, the Knight doesn¡¯t let go. It holds onto his hand, and it lets itself be held close to his chest. For the rest of the way, the two remain together. They stride in unison, one step over the other, until eventually the vast grassland is replaced by a rocky chasm. It is there that a great, gaping hole is etched into the stone¡¯s side: their destination at last. It is not comfort the Knight feels here¡ªbut dread. Dread that it shall return to those days of being alone. Of turning back into a hollow, empty Shell. ¡°¡­ I¡¯m sorry, Ascalon,¡± it whispers to him. ¡°I am not as fearless as I thought I¡¯d be. Even now, just looking into that great abyss¡­ it terrifies me. It feels as if I¡¯ll be swallowed by the darkness, never to return. Never to feel the light again. Pathetic, isn¡¯t it? For all my words of letting the people prove themselves, to think I¡¯d falter before the decisive moment. I¡¯m just a hypocrite.¡± There is no great monster waiting lurking within. Even if the whole mountain is to collapse, it will not bring harm to the Knight whatsoever. And yet, it can¡¯t escape this mysterious urge to flee. It struggles to breath, chest rising up and down in sporadic bursts as it gazes deeper and deeper into the umbral gloom. And soon enough, the shadows inside begin to twist, and a familiar sight reveals itself before it: of an ocean. An endless, inescapable ocean of murky ink. ¡°¡­ Lorelai¡­¡± It doesn¡¯t want to go in there. It doesn¡¯t want to go back. ¡°Lorelai¡ª¡± Because if it does, then this dream will shatter. This ever so blissful dream it has sought so long after¡­ it will all disappear, only for reality to set in. The realization of its true nature. The duty it must complete. ¡°Lorelai!¡± Ascalon grabs ahold of the Knight¡¯s shoulder and gives it a little shake. The force sends it into a daze, and the ocean¡¯s illusion begins to disappear. The world returns to its normalcy, and when it looks back, all it sees is a simple cave. ¡°You are not pathetic,¡± he says. ¡°Even I find myself shuddering at the thought of entering that impenetrable gloom, but nonetheless I feel comforted. Do you know why?¡± ¡°¡­ Why?¡± ¡°Because we are not alone. There are so many others with us, sharing in our fears, and yet here we are¡ªall gathered to face the underground, together. When our body wavers, we can grab hold of another for reassurance. When the shadows sway in and out of sight, we merely need look up to find ourselves surrounded by countless of our fellows. ¡°And, above all else, I feel comforted because I know you are here.¡± The Knight attempts to speak, but no sound is uttered forth. What can it even say? How should it react before that gaze filled with such adoring love? I wonder¡­ can I truly consider myself as one of your people? The truth is that it never will. But even so, it can trick itself into upholding this lie. This precarious, ever deceitful lie¡ªboth agonizing and tender. ¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± it says to him: and perhaps to itself as well. ¡°Thank you. I think I¡¯m ready now.¡± The King squeezes its hand, and he lingers near it for a moment¡ªpeering at the Knight with his radiant amber eyes as if to ask if it is truly alright. When Ascalon finally receives the confirmation he seeks, he raises a hand and bids forth a shrouded figure from the army¡¯s backside. The other Polus knights quickly separate into a great divide, forming a path for the summoned soul to walk forward. And so it is that the visage of the Sovereignty''s Templar comes into view: the mute Soloman and his rather curious weapon. Instead of a long blade or a heavy cudgel, a sparkling violet orb floats above him - size no greater than his head - and it pulsates with a strange, mystical energy. The Astrologians have always been one to wield unconventional armaments, but this is the first that the Knight has witnessed such a unique catalyst. The material appears to be made of glass, and a potent concentration of Creation has settled within its hollow dome¡ªswirling about with a playful air. ¡°The time is now, Soloman,¡± Ascalon says whilst giving him a pat on his shoulder. ¡°Your sorcery shall be essential from here on. Can I trust in you to light the path forward?¡± The man responds with a silent nod, and he raises his orb high into the air. Soon, tiny specks of light begin to trickle out, and they quickly spread throughout the entirety of the army¡¯s ranks as an aurora of color is formed from the rolling, shimmering waves. It envelopes them all, coating the knights in a shiny coat of luster, and all the while Soloman maintains this sorcery with not a hint of exhaustion. ¡°Thank you.¡± Ascalon returns the Astrologian''s act with a polite nod of his own, and then he raises the Mattatron for all to see before speaking out with a powerful, booming command. ¡°The way is lit. The darkness shall assault us no longer. Children of Polus, fear not the underground¡¯s peril, for together: We are strong! We will persevere through this age-old terror, and we will mark a new chapter in the history books. A hopeful one, a brighter one, for let it be known on this day that Polus shall conquer not just the skies but the earthly realm as well. We will prevail, united as one!¡± A flame quickly spreads through the knights¡ªan emboldened flame. One of bravery, of courage, and of fervor. And they release that fervor now, shouting out to the Stars with their great, mighty cries and thundering cheers. Nothing shall halt their march now. With renewed resolve, Ascalon and the Knight take a big step forward into the seemingly-bottomless cavern. And they do so together, tenderly joined in hand. Chapter 59: A Toast to the Brave ¡°Nokron¡­ that man was not always so mad. Far from it, his passionate love for the science of transmutation was once a time respectable. Such was the reason I granted him the position of Alchemist Regent, and that title was not his sole responsibility. He served as head Ambassador as well: departing for foreign lands under my command, for his tender-hearted charisma wooed the likes of men and women alike. Yes, Nokron was a very skilled tool¡­ but even the capable are susceptible to corruption. They break, piece by piece, and if they are unable to reform themselves, then such is the moment they outlive their usefulness. ¡°Remember this, Luxanne: Do not forgive failure. When the time comes to sever a rotten link, do so ruthlessly and without pause. There is no merit in keeping one who refuses to change.¡± - Grand General Xeros, Ruler of Nox Caelum ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight Contrary to the Knight¡¯s initial hesitation, the journey through the underground has been rather uneventful. The passageways are as large as it remembers, for the walls spread far to the side whilst the ceiling of dirt hangs high above, and not a sign of collapse can be felt throughout their march. No precarious tremblings. No ominous groans or creaks. The foundation is entirely stable: so much so that hardly much in the cavern has changed from its memory. There are perhaps a few more critters here and there - creatures who thrive in the darkness - but the shine from Soloman¡¯s sorcery scatters away any would-be pests. All that¡¯s left is for the Knight to conveniently lead Ascalon towards the correct path, but first it must garner support from a certain Templar of the Dominions: Dismas. ¡°Hm¡­¡± the shadowy man grumbles as the front arrives at a branching intersection. Unlike the others, he chooses to hide away from Soloman¡¯s sorcery and instead dwell within the dusk¡ªoccasionally rising up to deliver reports to the King of the path ahead. This time, however, even he is stumped. ¡°Sorry Ascalon, everythin¡¯s too spread out. The darkness feels¡­ chaotic, like a bunch o¡¯ tangled vines¡ªtwistin¡¯ this way and that way all over. Usually I¡¯d send some of my people to scout first, but there¡¯s just too many paths. Too many routes to choose from.¡± ¡°I did somewhat expect this¡­¡± Ascalon says. ¡°Fortunately, we are in the presence of a very knowledgeable academic. Lorelai, did you see anything in the castle archive that might aid us?¡± Truthfully, the Polus records contain very little insight into the underground. Most of the information is about the topography above soil, but if there is one advantage to being the resident scholar, it is that the Knight can simply make things up. ¡°While there is no direct map we can derive from, there are possible leads from both legend and written accounts of those who pursued the Constellation during the first years,¡± it blatantly lies. ¡°Reading one such transcription is actually what inspired my proposal to invade through the Magnus Murus. I believe it went like this¡­ ¡ª¡ª¡ª ¡®We spent many an hour in search of the dreaded atrocity, but the darkness was by all means a terrible maze. Eventually, our division came across a fork in the path, which prompted our already sparse knights to split up even further. I was assigned to the middle, and from then on, my gut led the way forward. Next fork I chose left, then a right, and then the second right next to the center. There was no rhyme or reason for my choice; I simply wanted to get out of this stifling gloom as soon as I could, and fortunately my wish was granted as we emerged out into a wet pasture. I remember the location clearly, for to my sides were great big mountains towering high into the empyrean and entrapping all of nature¡¯s foliage into a straight, narrow valley. Alas, the Constellation was nowhere in sight, and so despite my grievances, I was forced to return to that abominable cave.¡¯ ¡ª¡ª¡ª ¡°Although our ancestor¡¯s recollection tells of a wet pasture, I believe that location is the very swamp that lies in front of the Caelum fortress today,¡± the Knight continues. ¡°Their description of the mountains correspond with our current geography, and it wouldn¡¯t be hardly surprising if the land were to transform after countless years of rainfall.¡± ¡°Truly?¡± Ascalon says with a curious tilt of his head. ¡°I don¡¯t believe I¡¯m familiar with such a text, but it certainly seems useful.¡± ¡°Heh, it¡¯s all I need as well,¡± Dismas chuckles. ¡°Left, right, ¡®nd center right was it? Even if it¡¯s not the full path, It should be ¡®nough to help with the rest o¡¯ the way through. Thanks, Lorelai: Your memory¡¯s a sharp one.¡± The moment the words leave his mouth, an awkward air immediately exudes from his demeanor. He appears repentant, clasping his hands together in apology, while Ascalon giggles to himself over Dismas¡¯s unfortunate phrasing. The Knight finds it humorous as well. ¡°¡­¡®Pologies,¡± he mumbles. ¡°I¡¯ll be¡­ goin¡¯ now.¡± He departs, and so does their excursion continue. Eventually, Dismas confirms the passage¡¯s validity, leading the next few days to pass by in a much less tense mood as the Polus no longer need to worry about losing their way. With their hearts now ever light, and their steps thundering confidently, the knights have all but forgotten their fears. They have not always been that way - especially during the beginning where most have felt compelled to sleep with one eye cautiously open - but when one is subjected to the same scenery, the same prevalent darkness, such sights become all but commonplace. The others laugh cheerfully now, and they share amongst their peers embarrassment over feeling such reluctance in the first place. And then, it appears: the cavern¡¯s exit. There, a white, blinding glow awaits, and the soft rays reach out as if in beckoning. Closer, and closer, until the army¡¯s eyes adjust to the brightness, and their vision is greeted by a well-welcomed sight of the world outside. After days of constant traveling, here they are at last: the Bogged Marsh. ¡°My, now that is stunning!¡± Ascalon says with the excitement of an enamored child, and he fully steps out into the humid air. ¡°The scenery has certainly changed since our ancestor¡¯s record. To call this a mere wet pasture would be quite the understatement.¡± Indeed, for what has once been but a simple marsh has now been overtaken by an overgrowth of lofty trees, branches spreading wide and filtering the sunlight into little streaks of sparkle. A deep, earthy green and brown is prevalent all throughout, and one cannot avoid the musty scent of thick vegetation invading their nostrils¡ªalongside a purveying sensation of dampness. There are hardly any pockets of land here; instead, rivers and treacherous quagmires dominate the landscape, submerging all into the bottomless pools of crystal-clear water. All of this would normally pose a most inconvenient obstacle, but fortunately - not so far into the distance - the swamp stops, and a colossal fortress lies at the very end. Its metallic exterior clashes harshly against the surrounding of raw nature, and its foundation is all that blocks the tight valley beyond: a valley leading into the heart of Caelum. The Magnus Murus is close. ¡°How does it feel?¡± the Knight asks the awestruck King. ¡°To see the wider world with your own eyes. I imagine the open plains of the capital can become quite bland to look at after a while.¡± ¡°Haha, yes, it does get rather stale,¡± he laughs. ¡°But now¡­ I cannot remember a time when I last felt so curious¡ªso eager to explore the land around me.¡± Ascalon walks up to a nearby pine and delicately runs his finger along the bark. ¡°The mere sight of these drooping trees is so foreign, yet fun. And to some it may seem ordinary, but this discovery of the mundane fills my heart with such bursting joy. Even the tunnels¡­ after a while, my fear was replaced by giddiness. I relished in the sound of crunching rock, and I delighted upon witnessing the occasional fleeing bug. Such things I had never experienced and never thought I would, yet here I am. And there is still much, much more left for me to see.¡± There is a glimmer in Ascalon¡¯s eyes unlike any it has witnessed of him before, and with not a second thought, the Knight stops. It stands there, and it gazes at him¡ªgazes at his figure so wrapped in a genuine, precious love for discovery. ¡­ He looks similar. Like a mirror image, the two are almost inseparable in their affection for the world. The Knight clenches its fist. ¡°Ascalon,¡± it struggles to force out. ¡°We should set up camp here. It shall be some time before the last of the forces reach our position; by then, the sun will have set, and I think everyone would appreciate some well-deserved rest.¡± He looks back, and the Knight can tell he notices something strained about its demeanor. Yet even so, Ascalon remains silent and instead gives a slow nod before giving the order to the other troops. ¡°Rest so it be,¡± he says. ¡°In the meantime, I intend to have Dismas keep a close eye on the fortress and watch for any peculiar findings. By the morning¡¯s rise, we will convene with the other Templars for a final meeting¡­ and then shall the siege finally begin.¡± His voice crawls to a hush near the end, and a look of uncertainty briefly flashes by. But not of fear or regret; rather, of deep sorrow. It flows out of him in slight, barely noticeable shudders as he brings the Mattatron out of its sheath and stares into its cool, celestial alloy¡ªhis mind adrift in some unseeable realm. Thinking. Mourning. ¡°¡­ Are you prepared?¡± the Knight asks. ¡°Prepared for what?¡± ¡°To take a life.¡± Ascalon doesn¡¯t respond, at first. He only continues to look at the blade before eventually shaking his head and letting out a sad sigh. ¡°No,¡± he responds. ¡°And I do not ever wish to be.¡± ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The following day, the Templars gather into a large war tent to host one final rally before the inevitable attack. A minitiure, and much less grandiose, replica of the round table lies at the very center of the room, and it is there that the Knight and Ascalon patiently wait for everyone to take their seats. His appearance looks much more clean after an evening of fresh air and relaxation, as do the others as they trickle in. Sarathiel is here as well, though, instead of joining with the rest, the reclusive Throne chooses to stand near the room¡¯s corner and refuses any attempts from the King to come near. Nonetheless, the atmosphere is filled with an excitable buzz as fellows converse in reunion. They are all eager to begin. All except for Dismas who crawls out of the shadows looking noticeably perturbed. He does not appear to be the type of person to be easily shaken, and yet a scowl can be felt plainly despite his masked face. Something must have happened during the watch. ¡°My, my, you look like you¡¯ve seen a wraith!¡± the Seraph¡¯s Joshua exclaims as Dismas collapses in a free seat. ¡°That, hm, does not bode well for us.¡± ¡°Worse,¡± he grumbles. ¡°We¡¯re in fer a real bad mess, Ascalon. This place isn¡¯t as undermanned as we thought it¡¯d be.¡± Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Deborah raises her arm in a rather diligent manner, as if waiting to be called upon, before decidingly choosing to blurt out her question anyways. ¡°Their numbers can¡¯t be that large, can it? A fortress of that size probably holds only about a hundred thousand at most.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not how many we should be worryin¡¯ about, but who.¡± A gasps escapes from Surasha nearby, and her body tenses as she speaks of a name laced in poison. ¡°You¡¯re not talking about¡­ Libevich, right? Is that monster really here?¡± To this she receives a quick response. ¡°No.¡± And thus a collective sigh of relief is heard all around the table, even from Sarathiel, but Dismas¡¯s next words are not as comforting. ¡°Hells, I¡¯d say its more troublin¡¯ than that,¡± he continues. ¡°At least we know what Libevich¡¯s capable of. No, the one we¡¯re dealin¡¯ with is the Alchemist: Nokron.¡± Abel is the one to speak first this time. ¡°Nokron? The Alchemist Regent? How odd¡­ I do not believe we have any records of that man ever departing from his laboratory. Out of all of Xeros¡¯s Commanders, he is by far the most mysterious; what would such a person be doing here?¡± ¡°For what other reason could there be, Abel?¡± Cain replies in a mocking voice. Though, rather than being insulting, his tone feels more pompous¡ªas if he is attempting to outshine his brother out of sibling rivalry. ¡°The Grand General must have sent him out here to conduct some sort of twisted human experiment. As if forming the Rust-Blood Legion wasn¡¯t enough¡­ who knows what new abominations they plan to create now.¡± ¡°That¡­ could be, or perhaps we must consider the possibility that our plans were somehow leaked to Xeros.¡± Abel¡¯s concern is reasonable, especially when the lives of so many rest upon this campaign, but the Knight is more doubtful. After all it has heard about Grand General Xeros, to send only one of his army¡¯s elite in defense of such a key location feels too¡­ negligent. ¡°Rest easy, Abel,¡± the Knight says. ¡°I have a feeling our invasion is still yet secret. Let us first hear of Dismas¡¯s account; how did you come to discover Nokron¡¯s presence?¡± The Dominion grunts and crosses his arms, head tilting low as if the weight of his memories are pulling his gaze down to the floor. ¡°It happened only a couple hours ago. Two soldiers were guardin¡¯ the gate while another watched from the ramparts. It seemed that they were out there for formality¡¯s sake more than anythin¡¯ else; the one on top even looked a bit bored. Nothing special during the night either, so I was about to call it quits and return when¡­ he appeared.¡± ¡°To inspect the guards?¡± the Knight asks. ¡°Interesting. I doubt Caelum would be so blatant in revealing the man if they were truly waiting to intercept us here.¡± But Dismas is too startled for a random inspection to have been all that occurred. ¡°No. He¡ªI don¡¯t know what he was doin¡¯. One moment all was normal, and then Nokron¡­ appeared from out of thin air. Blinked, manifested, however you want to call it: There wasn¡¯t any sound or warnin¡¯ whatsoever.¡± ¡°Is that even possible without a medium?¡± Surasha says, dumbfounded, and she turns to face the silent Soloman who only shrugs his shoulders in response as if not fully sure himself. ¡°I get Creation is boundless in possibility and all that, but I¡¯ve never heard of anyone much less an Astrologian just showing up out of nowhere. Dismas is the closest I guess, but even he has to be connected to the shadows first.¡± Hm? Was that not the ability of Valkyrie? To leap across space in a singular instant¡­ I suppose that piece of history was lost alongside the true form of the twin Celestial blades. ¡°Well, that¡¯s what happened. Saw it myself,¡± he replies. ¡°And there was somethin¡¯ strange about him too. Nokron looked dazed, almost like he wasn¡¯t expectin¡¯ to be there, and then when the guard came to welcome him¡­¡± ¡°Dismas,¡± Ascalon forcibly interrupts. ¡°I understand your apprehension, but please remain focused.¡± ¡°Sorry. He¡­ killed them. That guard. I was too far away to hear anythin¡¯, but the two were only talkin¡¯ for a second before Nokron suddenly skewered their chest and then tossed the body over the fortress walls. Splat. Right in front o¡¯ the gatekeepers. For what reason, I don¡¯t know, and I didn¡¯t care much to find out. Felt too dangerous there, so I left as fast as I could.¡± A rational choice, however the Knight doesn¡¯t understand why the Templar sounds so shameful of his retreat. ¡°You made the right decision,¡± it assures him. ¡°If he is capable of transferring over such large distances, then nowhere near the fortress is safe. Better to be safe than risk exposing our presence here.¡± He utters a low grumble in reaction, but the Knight can see his body slowly loosen as he regains his composure. ¡°Mm. Regardless, I agree with Lorelai; those Caelum dregs don¡¯t look like they¡¯re waiting for us, but dealing with Nokron¡¯ll be a whole lot of trouble.¡± ¡°Perhaps so¡­¡± Ascalon murmurs, but his voice has a twinge of something different compared to the Dominion. Rather than be bleak, a flutter rises up in a hopeful drawl, and the King suddenly stands up before excitedly speaking out to the ensemble. ¡°But this may be a blessing in disguise. Xeros¡¯s most trusted are all beings of terrifying might, but Nokron is alone here. There is no one to aid him, no place to escape to, and with his death shall our assault on the capital be much less arduous.¡± The other Templars nod in agreement, for the chance to isolate and slay such an influential figure does not come often. The problem, however, lies in how they will do so. ¡°Firstly,¡± he continues. ¡°We must assign roles: those leading the charge and those supporting from the back. Deborah and the Cherubims are better suited for long ranged barrages, so they shall take to the rear. The Astrologians of the Sovereignties will provide assistance as well. Do the two of you have any objections?¡± ¡°Nope. None at all, your majesty,¡± Deborah replies with a cheery salute, although her demeanor suggests otherwise. The Templar¡¯s body is slumped, and she appears to be somewhat unsatisifed with being relegated away from the central conflict. ¡°Soloman?¡± The Astrologian does as he always does: He nods. ¡°Very well, and next shall be Sir Joshua. The Seraph will move to cut off the fortress¡¯s escape route and prevent any messengers from spreading word of our invasion.¡± The youthful Templar chuckles. ¡°Oh, if I must. Do not worry Ascalon, I shan¡¯t let a single one flee.¡± ¡°It will be dangerous,¡± Ascalon says with worry. ¡°If the Alchemist Nokron attempts to escape, you shall have to contend with him until the others arrive. Are you confident in taking such a position?¡± ¡°Haha, of course! At the very least, I won¡¯t die. You know I can¡¯t.¡± Can¡¯t? What does he mean by that? The Knight wishes to investigate more, but Ascalon moves on before it can have the chance. Joshua¡¯s strange statement doesn¡¯t bother him a bit, and the next Templar to receive their task is Dismas. ¡°Your Order shall take on a different role,¡± he says to him. ¡°The Dominions will infiltrate the fortress whilst the army engages with the main defenses. Map as much as the layout as you can, and attempt to pilfer any important documents that may be of use: the Caelum supply list, information on the Grand General¡¯s expedition¡­ leave no scroll unturned. But ensure afterwards you prioritize escape above all else. Though the chaos outside is likely to draw Nokron¡¯s attention, it is not certain if he will join the fight or remain within the base. Be very careful.¡± ¡°Will do,¡± Dismas replies. ¡°Thank you. Now, that leaves only three.¡± Ascalon turns to face the far end of the table. The remaining Templars are already grouped together, and they soon rise up to receive their duty. ¡°Surasha, Cain, Abel¡­¡± he says. ¡°You shall join my side at the forefront, and we will assault the main gate. With Power and Principality together, alongside the mending boons of the Virtue, I am confident no force is capable of impeding our siege.¡± The three appear excited over receiving the aid of their King - granted, Surasha is still a bit uncomfortable being near him - but their joys are soon interrupted by a loud, assertive cough. ¡°However, though I will do my best to protect the others with the Monarch¡¯s Wings, my power is not infallible. The invulnerability granted will be of lesser potency, and the knights will still be susceptible to mortal wounds. Do not depend on it; fight with your everything laid bare. Understand?¡± ¡°Of course, my liege!¡± Cain shouts while trapping the other two Templars in a big huddle. They do seem very pleased with the bulky man¡¯s gesture - most of all Surasha whose hand is mere seconds away from drawing her whip-blade - but fortunately Ascalon splits the group apart before the tent can descend into a battleground. So far, everything seems to have been addressed. The plan has been set; all that is left is to enact it. But there¡¯s something missing, and before long it dawns on the Knight that its name hasn¡¯t been mentioned at all so far. ¡°Ascalon,¡± it asks. ¡°Am I not a part of the siege? You have yet to assign me anywhere. Not even by your side.¡± But Ascalon only chuckles before its indignant plea. He gets up from his seat, and he walks right behind the Knight only to drop down onto a knee and place a soft hand on its lap. ¡°My apologies, Lorelai. I did not mean to exclude you from our discussion. But while I would love for nothing more than to have the comfort of your strength beside me, I have a very special role only you can fulfill.¡± He tilts his head and gestures for the mute Astrologian to come forward. ¡°Soloman, would you please?¡± As if the two have planned for this moment, Soloman swiftly brings out his violet orb, and a turbulent swirl of energy begins to crash against each other within the glass domain. Mixing. Intensifying. Until a dazzling, golden light is concocted from the result, and soon, that light seeps out of the orb whilst twisting into a singular, translucent mass of thread. The bindings are taut, and they split at the very top - like a flower in full bloom - before separating into ten distinct strands¡ªone for each of those in attendance. The strands daintily fall from the bud of thread, and they glide over to the others, wrapping around their wrist and forming a quaint little cuff. The Knight, however, receives a different ornament. Instead of wrapping around its wrist, the golden strand floats directly above its helm and curls its twine into the shape of a small crown. It does not know what to make of this. ¡°Ascalon?¡± the Knight questions, pulling him aside and whispering into his ear. ¡°I do hope you understand that me wearing a crown is sacrilege, not to mention the design is exactly the same as yours. I could be executed for this.¡± However, to its surprise, a voice rings loudly in its head: Ascalon¡¯s voice. But that cannot possibly be, for no sound is parting from his throat. It is as if his words are being spoken directly into its soul. ¡°Hehe, you do not need to be so concerned,¡± the King¡¯s voice conveys. ¡°This is simply the result of Soloman¡¯s sorcery: the Threads of Connection. With this, my thoughts can be sent to you even whilst far away, and the crown denotes you as the central figure of our link. All of us may communicate with you, and so too can you respond in kind. All you need do is focus on the one you wish to speak with, and then you just have to think.¡± The Knight has never seen such an utterly bizarre use of Creation before - quite fitting for the eccentric Soloman - but eventually it complies with Ascalon¡¯s directions and attempts to send a wordless message of its own. ¡°¡­ Am I doing this correctly?¡± ¡°Yes, exactly! Just like that. With this, you can give the others orders no matter how hectic the battlefield may be.¡± ¡°Orders? Ascalon, could it be you intend for me to serve as the army¡¯s coordinator?¡± ¡°Indeed, though I think the title of Royal Strategist sounds much more appropriate. But I suppose the responsibilities are the same; with your wisdom and experience, I¡¯d like for you to guide us whilst overseeing the siege¡¯s progress. I cannot fulfill this task from the front, so I shall leave it to you to command the knights in my stead.¡± ¡°Hah, you are quite bold, Ascalon,¡± the Knight says aloud for the gathering to hear. ¡°I am not even fully recovered yet.¡± ¡°That may be so, but your mind remains ever sharp,¡± he says with a laugh. ¡°I guarantee that you shall do a fine job. Believe in yourself.¡± ¡°I will. Thank you.¡± Gaining the position of strategist is more than the Knight could have ever expected. It is the most advantageous position for its current goal, and it no longer needs to mimic Lorelai¡¯s fighting style. No, what it can do is decide the fate of all those connected to the little strands. A misspoken direction, a deceiving whisper¡­ it can do this all, and it can eliminate anyone without so much as a shred of suspicion. And yet, the Knight is not happy. It should be. It should be ecstatic, but it is not. Instead, its heart only tightens, and it does everything in its power to not rip the pounding, despicable thing out of its chest right at this moment. ¡°I hope you haven¡¯t forgotten about me, Ascalon.¡± Luckily, a new voice snaps the Knight out of its daze, and it directs its gaze to the corner of the room. ¡°Of course not, Sarathiel!¡± Ascalon quickly says. ¡°You¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t bother. I know what I have to do.¡± The King is noticeably flustered by the Steel Throne¡¯s interruption, but he perseveres and gently faces him despite the other¡¯s rudeness. ¡°If you mean bringing down the wall, then yes. Your duty is to charge ahead first and create an opening for the rest of the army to follow.¡± ¡°Expected as much. Alright then, I¡¯ll be your battering ram.¡± ¡°It isn¡¯t that simple, Sarathiel. Know that when you make a commotion, the one to intercept you first will most likely be¡ª¡± ¡°Nokron, I know. But you don¡¯t have to care about someone like me. I¡¯ll bite and rip and smash my way through, and if he somehow gets the better of me, well¡­ that¡¯s that, then. I¡¯ll try to survive, at least until we attack the capital.¡± ¡°Sarathiel¡­¡± There is a deep, deep hatred spewing from the Throne¡¯s mouth, but it is not meant for the King to receive. No, it is for himself¡ªan immense loathing that curses at his very existence. Constantly, and constantly, without end. It is a familiar, gut-wrenching sight, for not so long ago his appearance would have been no different from looking at itself. But¡­ when did I stop looking so gaunt? ¡°I¡¯m going out to prepare,¡± he grunts, slamming his colossal axe onto his shoulders and shuffling towards the exit. ¡°Summon me when you¡¯re ready.¡± And then he leaves. He leaves without another word, abandoning the others to conduct the closing service in silence. But before the rest can leave, Ascalon¡¯s voice enters its mind once more. Only, he appears to do so unintentionally, and the words that come next are thought ever so sadly. ¡°I hope Sarathiel can one day forgive himself.¡± Chapter 60: It Shall Be Insidious ¡°To serve as amongst the Grand General¡¯s inner retinue requires one to be ever on guard, for there are no shortages of those who wish to sow chaos in our fair empire. I cannot fault them; it is simply the nature of filthy, scum-sucking reprobates to corrupt all that is good. They were mere heathens before Caelum gave their kind new purpose, and how do those fools respond? With scorn. With excuses and complaints of unjust treatment when they are the ones who failed in proving their worth. The skilled are rewarded; the lazy are given nothing. Such a simple decree, yet the slums hold untold numbers of rejects who refuse to part from their mound of self-pity. ¡°It angers me. It infuriates me. But above all else, it disgusts me that I once sympathized with those parasites. I thought them unfortunate, I thought surely with the proper support they could develop their true potential, but I was naive. From the very start, I was caring for creatures less than human, and it was only when they captured me - struck me at my most vulnerable in the hopes of weakening Xeros¡¯s influence - that I realized the truth: They never wanted to be saved.¡± - Alchemist Regent Nokron ¡ª¡ª¡ª Nokron It is getting worse. That wretched feeling of unease is getting worse. Not even a stroll under the afternoon¡¯s leisure has done much to soothe Nokron¡¯s dread, and so he has bid return to the one grace that has always given him solace: his work. Here he confines himself - a feeble imitation of what is supposed to resemble a laboratory - but it matters not the condition of one¡¯s facility; in the right hands, even rubbish can transform into superior product. That is the difference between him and the other inferiors: passion. But not even his love for research is enough to calm his troubled mind. I feel it: the slow, gradual hands of a ticking clock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Time is running out, but why? How? What is coming? I do not know. Unknown, everything is unknown. Such paranoia often is the result of ingesting his beloved vapor, but Nokron knows this is not some mind-addled hallucination. It feels different: final. As if everything is out of his control. He looks around this squalid room, and he stares at the noxious-filled beakers that once caressed his tender heart. Now, they mock him¡ªhis inability. His fear. No matter how many toxins the Alchemist attempts to synthesize, they all sputter into an ugly, grey mess. Failures. His throat tightens; his heart pounds with thunder. Terror floods his decrepit veins, and he can only cry out in horror as gruesome fiends of shadow begin to swirl around him. Laughing, laughing, forcing him to beg and cower for the voices to stop. They lash out and scream of nonsense, wishing to know the Grand General¡¯s secrets. But he does not know them. How could he? That man has never once trusted in another. No matter how hard Nokron works, no matter how desperately he devotes his life to the empire, all he receives is a judging glare¡ªwaiting for the moment a mistake is made. Xeros has once looked upon him kindly, but not anymore. And it is all because of the slum¡¯s inhabitants. Why? Why did you betray me? I loved you all. I gave food to the poor; I gave medicine to the sick. I had lived a virtuous life seeking new concoctions to help the needy, so why did you expose me to your hatred? I would have became a saint, but you despicable, greedy leeches took away all my kindness. It is not my fault. It is not¡ª The sound of a shattering beaker snaps the flustered Alchemist back to reality, and he looks down only to discover a bright red liquid seeping from his palm. The pain Nokron feels is all too real. But it is also just what he needs to recompose himself. ¡°Instinct¡­ it is warning me,¡± Nokron mutters with a gasp. ¡°This is no mere bout of insanity. No, this is a prognostication. A warning of something dangerous approaching.¡± Without a second thought, he bursts the lab doors wide open and hurries to the fortress¡¯s command center. Time is crucial; he must not slow when these moments of clarity are few and far between. Nokron has never been a man to give much credence to instinct¡¯s irrational call, but never in his life has he ever felt such abject terror. Doom is coming. His end is near, Creation decrees it, but curse the Stars if they believe him to accept this sordid fate. Eventually, the center¡¯s chamber comes into view, and a swift kick is all that is needed to send the door flying. It soars through the air, narrowly missing a shocked soldier, and crashes into a wall as Nokron unashamedly rushes to the front where a map of the surrounding is contained. And all the while, the nearby officials remain silent; they know better now. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. This cannot be¡­ there is only one possible route of invasion, and it is through the vast Bogged Marsh. No creature or rogue tribe would traverse such a path, so why can¡¯t I escape this incessant feeling of danger? Nothing can pose a threat to a stronghold of this size. Nothing, except an army. An army¡­ ¡°You,¡± the Alchemist rasps to an unsuspecting officer. ¡°Y-Yes, Commander, what can I do for you?¡± they stammer. ¡°Tell me, has Xeros sent word of any movements from Polus as of late?¡± ¡°No sir, we have received nothing of the sort. The Grand General should currently be in the Overlord¡¯s domain at this time.¡± ¡°Mm, I see.¡± Has it been a month now? Yes, a month. Ample time for a large force to be deployed. Logically, the Magnus Murus is a terrible location to mount an assault against, but logic holds no dominion here. If Nokron is wrong, then so be it. However, something must be done if only to pacify the festering unease tearing at his heart. ¡°Gather the legionnaires,¡± he says. ¡°Form a reconnaissance unit from the quickest of the lot, and have them investigate the fringes of the¡ª¡± But before Nokron can finish, a frantic soldier barges into the room - eyes panicking, breath gasping - and drowns the Alchemist¡¯s words with a distraught plea. ¡°R-Report! Urgent report!¡± they cry. ¡°We¡¯ve just identified a great number of figures approaching the Magnus Murus from the marsh!¡± ¡°¡­ What?¡± ¡°The exact number is unknown, but it appears to be a force rivaling that of an entire nation¡¯s military. And they are advancing quickly. At their current pace, the fortress will be sieged by the hour.¡± Nokron does not react, at first. He merely stands still - body wreathed in a suffocating aura of silence - before he suddenly springs to life, stomps his way to the messenger, and grabs at their collar¡ªlifting them high into the air as a deep, rumbling growl rises up from his throat. ¡°Who?¡± The wretch wriggles and chokes amidst his grasp, but eventually they manage to sputter a single word. ¡°P-Polus.¡± ¡°The Polus, is it? Hehehe¡­ ah, and pray tell why such a large army was allowed to go unnoticed?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t¡ªwe don¡¯t know, sir. It is as if they appeared from out of thin air.¡± ¡°Is that your defense? Think very hard before you answer. I will not tolerate excuses a second time.¡± Tears dribble down their cheeks; their eyes turn red as Nokron¡¯s grip becomes tighter and tighter. Now, the thing does not even sound human, and their speech becomes but a pathetic outburst of sobs. ¡°Please¡­ please believe me. I stood watch the entire day. Never were my eyes taken away from the marsh, but I swear to the Stars above that there was no one there. One moment, nothing. And then¡ª¡± ¡°Mm, a pity. I warned you.¡± A loud snap, a final warble, and thus the messenger falls silent¡ªtheir neck crushed. Their head hanging limp. The fool can yelp no longer, and Nokron tosses the body aside near a few frightened soldiers before stepping towards the next highest-ranking officer in the vicinity. ¡°¡­ Well?¡± he says to the still-speechless cur. ¡°Get moving already.¡± ¡°Y-Yes, sir,¡± they reply, promptly ordering the others to spread the message throughout the fortress. ¡°The barrier is activated, the defenses are primed, and the Rust-Blood Legionnaires will be out on the field in a few minutes.¡± ¡°Good, send the rest of the experimental war-machines as well. I want no apparatus spared.¡± ¡°They are still in the testing phase¡ª¡± ¡°I do not care.¡± ¡°Very well, and what of the Astrologians? Shall we have them defend by the ramparts¡± ¡°No.¡± The fortress has enough firepower. What Nokron needs is to inflict a sudden, devastating blow¡ªto disrupt their ranks and make all who dare invade know true horror in the face of hopelessness. And he has the perfect weapon to do so. ¡°Bring forth the Elysian Ray.¡± The head officer trembles at the mere mention of the name, and when they next speak, they do so hesitantly¡ªvoice dripping with doubt. ¡°¡­ To power the Elysian Ray shall require nigh all the Astrologians we currently possess. Is this truly your command?¡± ¡°If you make me repeat myself one more time, then you shall join them as amongst the fuel.¡± ¡°Of¡ªof course. It shall be done.¡± With a final salute, the pathetic thing swiftly flees the room. It will be unfortunate to lose such a large number of Astrologians, but they will be worth more in death than alive. I must not spare even a single tool in our arsenal. Soon, the fortress descends into chaos as all manner of personnel move about in a chaotic bid to prepare for war. Yet, despite the restlessness in the air, Nokron feels relieved. The burden ailing his troubled mind has finally been released. The unknown shall haunt him no longer. Hah¡­ so the winged rats of Polus were not so crippled by Lorelai¡¯s death after all. How interesting, but I am not worried. Why, I look forward to their assault. There is no better setting to foster despair than that of a battlefield. Man will suffer, death will reign free, and so will Creation inevitably be defiled. It shall be glorious. Chapter 61: The Orchid Goddess ¡°Curiously, despite how Polus legends allude it so, the Celestial Zweihander Mattatron does not grant its wielder invulnerability. I had the fortune one fine day to have a ¡®heart-to-heart¡¯ talk with the late King Dainsleif, and he was ever so kind as to answer my inquiries in depth - though I suppose my incessant pestering likely had a hand. ¡°But no, the Mattatron is not connected to the legacy of Freedom¡¯s Will whatsoever. It was merely discovered by a wanderer and then used as part of their warfaring pastime. Why exactly the blade only allows itself to be used by the Inheritors is a question I would very much love to ask; unfortunately, only the wielder can hear its voice, and I have been told conversation is often scarce, especially on the subject of its past. ¡°In regards to capability, The Mattatron¡¯s power is rather simple: It spreads. That is all, but when in the hands of one whose bulwark thwarts any harm¡­ well, I am sure you can imagine the possibilities.¡± - Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon Ascalon can feel it: the tension in the air. With every breath he takes, his chest rumbles. His throat dries - growing ever more parched - until his saliva is nearly drained, and all that is left is to grind his tongue against the coarse, grainy roof of his mouth. He cannot even swallow without tasting a bitter, almost metallic, grime. So this is the pressure of a true battlefield. It is as if every one of his senses have been heightened to their utmost degree. He can hear the creaks of his armor shift with every move, and the mere touch of plate scraping against skin is enough to send a shiver coursing throughout his body. Ascalon feels hot. His blood boils with a harsh jitter of anticipation, and as the King turns his gaze behind, he finally realizes the full scale of his army: knights, far spread and reduced to tiny blurs, and their countenance is not unlike his own¡ªeach and every one swathed in an aura of pure grit. Like thunder, their march deafens the sky. All is smothered before the raging spirit of Polus. And Ascalon is to lead their charge. To be their shield. Shield¡­ it is a wonderful word. To think the day has come where I may stand side-by-side with the knights as equals. I can think of no greater honor. But there is one man who does not share the same excitement. He silently strides past Ascalon now, and he pounds the earth with every heavy thud of his grieves. Step by step, the Steel¡¯s Throne that is Sarathiel walks forward with a reclusive haunt etched into his bulky frame. There is no life in that muted demeanor; rather, the titan shies away¡ªas if attempting to distance himself from his fellows. It pains Ascalon to see Sarathiel so dejected, but like Lorelai, he knows direct confrontation will yield naught but empty words. So instead, the King chooses to ease him the best way he can: with some polite conversation. ¡°I must admit: I envy you, Sarathiel,¡± he says. The Throne appears stoic at first, but a slight twitch betrays his false disinterest. ¡°Now that we are close to approaching the fortress, I find myself rather smothered by the atmosphere. It is a heavy thing, indeed, to lead such a large force, and my heart beats with such uproar. Did you feel the same way on your first excursion?¡± Sarathiel hesitates for a brief second, and it is evident the topic discomforts him. He groans, then he mumbles, and then finally he confronts Ascalon helm-to-helm for the first time since their morning departure. ¡°It was similar, but not in the way you expect.¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°Let me ask a question of my own: Why do you think your body feels restless?¡± Ascalon ponders to himself, head tilting to the side as he attempts to make sense of his emotions. ¡°Because I am nervous? My mind has been quite preoccupied: of the siege, of our people, and of worry knowing what shall soon occur. I know bloodshed is inevitable, that there are some lives even I cannot protect, but my heart aches nonetheless. I suppose death is one terror I am not yet ready to face: both of our fellows and of others.¡± Sarathiel chuckles before the King¡¯s response, but the Throne¡¯s tone is bereft of levity. No, it is crestfallen, yet at the same time full of relief as if he has known Ascalon would say as such. ¡°Yes, I thought as much,¡± Sarathiel replies. ¡°You are a gentle man, Ascalon. You care more about others than yourself, but that¡¯s the difference between us. Life is a precious thing in your eyes.¡± ¡°I do not understand¡ª¡± ¡°When I first stepped onto the battlefield, do you know what I felt?¡± Ascalon remains silent. ¡°It was joy, Ascalon. Joy, that I could finally rip those disgusting Caelum whoresons apart with my own hands. My body was restless because I wanted to kill.¡± A dangerous thrill seeps into Sarathiel¡¯s rising voice. His body shivers, his form stiffens, and a savage growl parts from his lips as he continues to speak with an increasingly manic air. ¡°Never once did I think about protecting anyone. No, I only wanted revenge. I wanted to crush, to maim, to grab hold their throats and strangle them bit by bit until the light in their eyes faded away in utter agony. I relished in their screams; I felt pure, unparalleled ecstasy watching them gurgle as blood and spit oozed out of their foaming jaws. ¡°And you know what, Ascalon? I didn¡¯t feel guilty even once. This was merely justice, their comeuppance for all the atrocities they had caused. They were monsters that needed to be eradicated, and I was just the executioner. I killed, and I killed, and I killed until there was nothing left. And when my bloody haze finally came to an end, I realized that I was all alone. There was no one else to call monster except me.¡± Ascalon is speechless. He attempts to say some words of comfort - anything to soothe the poor Throne¡¯s pain - but no matter how hard he tries, only shaky breaths are muttered. If Lorelai¡¯s suffering is like an ocean - a bottomless, eerie abyss from which naught ripples in the waves save for an all-consuming fatigue - then Sarathiel¡¯s is like a wounded beast. It howls and threatens to bite all who come near, yet never does it seek for help. The beast chooses to remain alone, even when its wounds begin to fester and its mind gradually whittles away from the stress. It does not want for salvation; rather, its pain is an atonement. A punishment for reasons the Throne refuses to reveal. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Sarathiel¡­¡± Ascalon says. ¡°That¡¯s¡ª¡± ¡°Despicable? Vile?¡± ¡°You know that is not what I meant¡ª¡± ¡°Ascalon,¡± the man says with solemn sobriety. ¡°You do not know how happy I am that someone like you is our King. Please, stay the way you are. No matter what you see out there, no matter how much anguish you experience, stay the same adoring man we know and love. Do not become like me.¡± Before he can speak any further, an ear-piercing shriek suddenly booms into existence and causes all of able-hearing to clench their heads as a vicious song of grating steel ripples through the space¡ªgroaning, guttural, an inhuman reverberation beyond the likes of any man or creature. No, the source can be naught else but mechanical origin. It lies far ahead, beyond the swampland¡¯s barrier, and deep into the grassless plateau. The army quickly hurries to reveal the source, and there, jutting ominously into the sky, is the clear sight of their objective: the Magnus Murus. The great fortress is even more menacing than Ascalon has thought. To those stationed atop the ramparts, the Polus must seem nothing more than mere dots cluttering the dirt, and the armaments mounted upon the top are of strange design¡ªtheir form bearing a faint resemblance to that of a ballista, yet the exterior is covered in a slick sheet of dull metal. But what draws Ascalon¡¯s attention are the very walls that block all passage forward: It resembles a huge slab of alloy more than anything else, and its surface lacks any defining features or nicks. The walls are completely smooth throughout. At least, that is how it seems at first glance. But as the mechanical noise grows more intense, Ascalon bears witness to a most startling view: The walls. They begin to shift. Thousands upon thousands of little tiles break free from their stationary hold, and they congregate near the center wherein a massive pile is formed from the various bits of metal. They twist, they alter, and they change, rapidly growing in size until a wedge resembling a large, obsidian obelisk is constructed. And its tip points directly at the Polus forces. ¡°That,¡± Sarathiel mumbles. ¡°Does not bode well for us.¡± Ascalon nods, for he can feel a dark energy exuding from its frame. It reeks of despair, of countless slaughter for the sole purpose of rendering Creation inconsolable, and as the two speak, that energy takes form as a web of overlapping beams¡ªweaving and threading together until everything is condensed into a spiraling ray. ¡°¡­ How despicable,¡± Ascalon growls. ¡°I suppose the Alchemist is desperate, but never would I have thought him to sacrifice so many this soon.¡± But Nokron has made a grave mistake, one he could have never predicted. Without a second thought, Ascalon unsheathes the Mattatron and slowly paces in front of the others. The Celestial Blade glows in excitement, it bids the King to unleash its full might, and so he complies. He thrusts his trusted friend skyward, and he closes his eyes as a chant steadily rises from his throat. ¡°Ascalon, are you certain about this?¡± Sarathiel says whilst blocking his way. ¡°What other choice do we have, Sarathiel?¡± ¡°I will intercept it.¡± ¡°Then you will die.¡± ¡°Better than to risk endangering your life. You have not used the Monarch¡¯s Wings in actual battle yet. How can you be sure the strain won¡¯t overwhelm you?¡± Ascalon chuckles. ¡°I am not, but I will try, and I will succeed. Know this, Sarathiel: I will save everyone possible. There will be no heroic sacrifices, no martyrs in this war. We will survive, and we will return home together.¡± For that is the King¡¯s duty. No, it is Ascalon¡¯s sincere wish. Sarathiel glowers at him, but Ascalon remains resolute. Nothing the Throne says will change his mind, and so the rugged man can only sigh in defeat as he stands aside and lets him make his way forward. ¡°Thank you, my friend,¡± Ascalon says. ¡°And¡­ I do wish you wouldn¡¯t be so eager to harm yourself. Your life is as precious as any other, Sarathiel.¡± ¡°Hmph, move along already.¡± The man bids him away with a pedantic wave, but though his face may be obscured, there is surely a smile hiding underneath. And so, Ascalon takes a deep breath, and he commands for the world¡¯s Creation to congregate upon his back. Sparkle upon sparkle flock to his call, and soon, the Monarch¡¯s Wings emerge in all their amber-bespeckled glory¡ªthe light pouring forth to envelop his everything in a blinding glow. ¡°O¡¯, to you, my most treasured blessings: This earth of wonder, mine fellow kindred, the holy Mother that which grant us grace, and everyone who doth rest under my wing¡­¡± he whispers. ¡°Receive my proclamation.¡± The Mattatron resonates with the King¡¯s call, blade shaking in thrill as it welcomes the amber light into its own cool alloy, and then comes a surge of blue. It gently rises up and kisses the light, embracing it whilst intertwining in merry union¡ªa marriage. A sacrament of matrimony. And as the two lovers adore in the other¡¯s presence, their hues combine as one. Brighter, and brighter, until a newborn dye is birthed: a divinity of orchid blossoms. ¡°You are my guiding Star. All that I am and ever will be is because of your trust. As long as your faith in me holds strong, I will never waver. I am immovable, indomitable, and so I shall be until mine final dawn awaits.¡± The grotesque spiral nears the end of its convergence, the very pressure causing its frame to convulse as an unnatural howl continues to persist and plague the world with its blasphemy. ¡°I bid thee all: Hearken to this plea. Anoint me thine wishes for the morrow, and so shall it take form as the one who doth shield us all. Rise now, sacred guardian of Polus, for you are the almighty: the people¡¯s will given flesh.¡± With a final, chilling wail, the spiral explodes. The air freezes, a loud boom crashes into all, and thus is an immense ray of pure darkness sent hurtling forth at the Polus forces. ¡°Rise, our goddess of victory.¡± Ascalon guides the orchid light to the Mattatron¡¯s end, and he releases the energy soaring straight into the clouds. It flies to the very top, and then it scatters¡ªshowering those below in a glittering pastel veil. But from that veil does a titanic figure manifest into the world: a woman. An armor-clad woman whose skin is of the richest purple and whose armor gleams with a translucent luster. Her eyes are hidden, covered by a winged helm, and on her back are countless little feathers of pure light forming into an all-encompassing span. The woman is the mirror image of Lorelai. The giantess takes one step forward, and she shields the army behind the safety of her colossal wings. Waiting, bracing herself for the inevitable, and as the ray of destruction finally collides with her being, it disperses in a sparkling downpour of dust. The orchid goddess holds steadfast, visage undeterred and full of determination, until the last remnants of the ray finally vanish¡ªgone without so much as a sound. The Polus¡¯s guardian fades away with her duty complete, and she bids the knights one final smile before returning to the heavenly realm up high. ¡°Hm,¡± Sarathiel says. ¡°That is a familiar face.¡± Ascalon¡¯s cheeks flush in embarrassment, and he attempts to respond with a semblance of dignity. He does not succeed. ¡°The deity shapes itself into the image of who I respect most.¡± ¡°I see,¡± Sarathiel teases, and for once his gaze is devoid of self-contempt. He appears relaxed, staring up at the sky with an innocence not unlike the man of his youth¡ªbefore his departure to that far-away desert. But sadly it does not last for long, and he turns to face the Magnus Murus with renewed gloom. ¡°Then I suppose it is my turn next.¡± ¡°Sarathiel,¡± Ascalon says, grabbing onto his shoulder. ¡°Please be careful.¡± ¡°¡­ I will try.¡± With a slight crack of the neck, Sarathiel tenses his body, and he takes off, charging with reckless abandon towards the fortress gates. Chapter 62: The Titan of Steel ¡°Heh, gettin¡¯ tired are ya, Sarathiel? Don¡¯t tell me a big oaf like you can¡¯t handle o¡¯ bit of heat! Though, I guess the desert is a little¡­ hot. Very hot. Ah, well, all the more reason we should ¡®urry up and gut this Caelum snake already! Come on, Velcroz ain¡¯t gonna wait all day. Let¡¯s finish this and get a drink at Mary¡¯s¡ªmy treat.¡± - Belladonna Dominion, Former Templar of the Order of the Prowling Dominion ¡ª¡ª¡ª Sarathiel There are those among the knights who fight with elegance: calm, calculating, and confident. Their every step is purposeful, and to stand against them is to be left utterly bewildered. Those are the knights who succeed best in the kingdom. Even the Powers, despite their crude reputation, are no strangers to such tactics; they wait, they defend, and then they strike. To Polus, combat is a graceful affair. One of honor. But Sarathiel is different. There is nothing honorable in the way he moves. There is not a hint of grace in his disheveled, barbaric appearance. A menacing horned helm; a cuirass of jagged plate and unsightly grime; and a brutish growl that crawls up his throat¡­ he cannot possibly compare to a knight¡ªnot when he charges with the savagery of a rabid beast. Yet, a knight he is, one bearing a duty even a beast can accomplish: bring down the wall. Clear the path forward. And so he pushes on, stomping the earth whilst holding on to the last feeble scraps of sanity he can muster. Control it, Sarathiel. Keep it buried deep. Do not let it escape. Do not forget who you are. Even when his vision is dyed in red - even when pure, boiling rage threatens to consume his mind - Sarathiel charges ahead and braces for the coming onslaught. He does not need to wait long until the fortress begins to change. The once-rigid panels give way, and rows upon rows of tiny openings are revealed before they¡¯re quickly filled with a horde of clunky machines. The structures appear vaguely similar to that of a cannon, but the barrels are smaller. More compact. And soon, the ends rapidly propel into a spin. A shriek. A flash. And then, a loud shrill flies past Sarathiel¡¯s head. Then another, and another, until he is suddenly overcome with a storm of metal projectiles pounding at every surface of his steel frame. They crash with a force, sending little sparks to blanket his figure in a veil of embers, and a searing pain begins to gnaw at his muscles. Even with his bulky armor, the damage is mounting, tearing down his defenses as if thousands of needles are stabbing all at once. This cannot continue. Sarathiel sucks in a puff of air until his lungs are about to burst, and then he unleashes to the world a great, mighty roar. Creation flocks to the titan¡¯s call, and soon, his arm begins to change. Blood transforms into silver; armor and flesh meld together into an abominable fusion. Tears drip down his cheeks as excruciating agony claws at his very soul, but the man can only endure as his limb is mutilated into an amalgamate of pulsating, gashed sinew. Everything, from the bone, veins, ligaments and tendons, are altered into a hideous metallic replica. And from the transfigured arm, a clump of steel amasses at his fingertips: gathering, clumping together, until a crude shield is formed¡ªshape coarse and uneven. But it is suitable enough, and Sarathiel continues his advance whilst the Caelum¡¯s barrage ricochets against his new bulwark. ¡°¡­ Sarathiel¡­¡± In the midst of the relentless attack, a voice echoes clear. It forces itself into his head with a tone far more refined than any of his delusions could possibly be. ¡°Lorelai?¡± Sarathiel says. ¡°Indeed, how are you faring thus far? I can see your charge in due thanks to Soloman¡¯s sorcery, but it is best to hear of one¡¯s condition from the person themself. ¡°Bearable. You don¡¯t need to worry about me.¡± ¡°Sarathiel¡­ is that really the truth? I saw your transformation, and you seemed to be in great pain.¡± He scowls. Lorelai¡¯s always been an observant one. ¡°I¡¯m used to it. But nevermind me, how are the others? Is the King doing well?¡± ¡°Yes, thanks to your efforts. The Caelum¡¯s defenses are primarily focused on stopping you from reaching the wall, and the remaining projectiles are spread thin attempting to halt Ascalon and the main division.¡± ¡°Good, then leave the rest to me.¡± ¡°Please be mindful; an army of legionnaires have begun to assemble by the gate. It will not be long before you need contend with them. Fortunately, Deborah is prepared to lend assistance¡ª¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need it. Tell her to save her strength for Nokron.¡± ¡°¡­ Are you sure?¡± ¡°I¡¯m certain.¡± ¡°Very well, then simply call my name if you ever decide against so.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± No matter how abnormal he may appear, Sarathiel is still a Throne. He will not be stopped by the likes of a few, measly soldiers. The fortress¡¯s projectiles are a greater threat at this moment; however, his body is quickly growing accustomed to the assault. Now, the rain of metal feels no more strenuous than a light tap. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it But as the titan begins to settle into a comfortable pace, a staggering force rams into his shield, and he momentarily stumbles over his feet as the impact explodes into a fiery combustion. The flames whip and lash over the metal, blaze engulfing his body in an inferno, and billows of smoke soon engulf his lungs, his nostrils, his every orifice in an unbearably-constant suffocation. Yet he has not a second to react before the force hits him once more¡ªharder, more furious. The impact feels akin to the projectiles of before, but they do not simply crush and bounce off anymore; no, they burst into fire. And the fumes that rise in turn plague the air with its sweltering choke. He cannot breathe. He cannot even swallow without the exhaust constricting his throat. Without any other choice, Sarathiel holds his breath, and he focuses the flow of Creation down into his windpipe before settling it firmly in the lungs. Then, it assails him once more: pain. Pain as his organs are ripped to shreds and combined with a barbed steel. Pain as his throat is encased in a thin sheet of metal. And pain knowing that he is slowly turning less human: more fiendish, like the war machines deployed by Caelum. Only, some humanity still remains in him; it will not stay that way for long. So whilst he still can, he hurtles forward¡ªpast the explosions, past the floggings of flame. He grinds his teeth until the very ends are flattened, and he maintains his stride even whilst his steel-wrought flesh scars into a charred black. But just as quick as it starts, the heat disappears. There is no blaze - no fire to burn - and at first Sarathiel sighs in relief believing the Caelum munitions to finally be exhausted, but how wrong he is. For a mere second after, his shield becomes encased entirely in ice. The frost creeps into his armor¡¯s gaps, it hardens his body until every move feels as if being gored by little spikes, and his breath spews in little puffs of rime. Yet, though the pain might be lesser compared to before, the cold is much more dangerous for at least the fire kept his spirits awrath. Now, he grows sluggish. His eyes droop; his thoughts fade. He can feel the frigid grasp of slumber slowly encroaching upon him¡ªlatching at his brain and feeding it sweet songs of lure. The brain. The problem is the brain. For as long as the brain remains throbbing, he can resist the chill no matter how gelid. Sarathiel knows what must be done. As his steps start to slow, the titan grips his forehead, and he mutilates his brain until it¡¯s a deformed, wretched pile of the steel he so abhors. And he regrets it. He regrets it, for the agony is unlike any he has felt from the assault thus far. It is more despicable, more gut-wrenching¡ªan endless revolving cycle of hatred and violence and utter contempt for the world and all within it. But eventually his mind dulls, and so too do his emotions. Sarathiel doesn¡¯t feel anything. Not fear, not worry, nor does he mind the frost eating away at his bulk. The only remnant left of his former self is one thing, and that is uncontrollable rage. With a human¡¯s rational no longer able to hold him back, Sarathiel drops onto his hands, and he sprints forward with a derangement that cannot possibly be called human. No, he rushes at the fortress on all fours like a lowly animal, and his form gradually changes to fit his new cruel nature: jaw widening, back arching, and nails sharpening into a set of pointed claws. This thing no longer has duty on its mind; it only sees the bodies ahead. It only wishes to spread carnage and fear into the world¡ªto bathe in an endless field of still-beating hearts. ¡°¡­ Sarathiel¡­¡± The beast ignores the voice. It cannot eat it, this strange wraith. It cannot find it, it cannot see it, thus it pays it no heed. ¡°¡­ Sarathiel¡ª¡± But their incessant call infuriates it to no end. The beast twirls around, chomping its fangs in frustration as something strikes at its hide from above. It is ticklish. ¡°Sarathiel!¡± What is it supposed to be doing again? It does not know. It cannot see the prey from earlier with the constant explosions of fire and ice and then fire again. But it cares not; move forward. If it moves forward, then surely something will jump into its maw. It wants to relish in the blood, to feel the soft, plump taste of flesh spread all throughout its¡ª ¡°SARATHIEL!¡± The furious voice screams with an anger so intense that Sarathiel instantly snaps awake from his daze. The steel in his brain reverts back to flesh, his body returns to the somewhat-human appearance of before, and he dashes to the far end of the battlefield until the Caelum armaments can no longer barrage him with their bizarre merge of sorcery and technology. ¡°Argh¡­¡± he groans. ¡°I knew this would happen.¡± ¡°Sarathiel, what was that?¡± Lorelai asks, her voice drenched in concern. ¡°Nothing, I just got a bit carried away. It won¡¯t happen again.¡± ¡°Pardon me if I do not find your words truthful after your previous claim.¡± ¡°Believe me, don¡¯t believe me, I do not care. I¡¯m already close to the gates; please, we can talk after the siege is over. My mood¡¯s not the greatest right now.¡± ¡°¡­ Very well, but we will be having a conversation later.¡± ¡°I will not look forward to it.¡± Sarathiel stands up and lets out an exhausted groan as he attempts to loosen his burned, frozen, and contorted muscles. The Magnus Murus¡¯s entrance lies not so far away, but during his long plight an endless sea of Caelum troops and machines have gathered to form a tight defensive line. There is only one way through, and that is forward. The titan digs his heels into the ground, he clenches his fists whilst encasing his body in the sturdiest metals he can muster, and then he bolts forward with his entire weight focused into a singular, devastating charge. His steps become heavier; his speed becomes faster; his figure is blurred in a streak of shining steel as he propels ahead with a simple, but steady, dash towards the legionnaires. They bunker down and ready to halt his path, but it is no use. With a deafening cry, Sarathiel smashes straight through the barricade and sends countless of the soldiers flying in battered pieces, yet still he does not stop. He plows through the Caelum fodder and advances into their formation with neither care nor worry for the splattered body parts soaring all around him¡ªpainting his armor in a blend of blood and oil. Every soul who dares block his path is quickly trampled beneath his feet, squashing into a trodden clump of flesh as he effortlessly stampedes through the bodies. His charge is unstoppable. His body is unbending. The moment a legionary draws too close, they join with the bloody trail left in his wake¡ªreduced to a feeble smear. There is nothing they can do to halt his momentum, and soon, Sarathiel finally closes in on his objective: the gate. All he must do is crash straight into the gate, and it shall come tumbling down. And he will finally know rest after this far, far too tiring of a day. He braces for impact and surges forth. But, just as he is about to make contact, a figure materializes directly next to his side¡ªas if they have appeared from out of thin air. It is a man: a man in a black, mechanical suit. ¡°To think such a large army would fail so simple a task,¡± the man rasps into his ear. ¡°No matter. I shall reverse this mess. I shall bide us more time.¡± Sarathiel¡¯s vision distorts. Everything merges together into a chaotic, hazy palette of blurs¡­ and then, the world is still once more. Only, the Throne is no longer at the fortress gates. No, he¡¯s been transported back to the very start: right in front of the legion¡¯s pulverized barricade. Sarathiel is dumbfounded, but he has nary a breath to spare before the legionaries descend upon him¡ªjust as confused as he is and eager to avenge their fallen brethren. Chapter 63: Astral Arrow ¡°They carved out my eyes. They tore every last one of my fingernails. And when I could scream no more, beg no more for mercy, they stuffed my butchered body into a sack and then tossed me out with the rest of the garbage. There I laid, a few pitiful sputters away from my final rest, when I began to think to myself¡­ if only there was a way to go back¡ªto rectify my mistakes. Should I have been more kind? Should I have given up my life, my love, my wealth, my heart so covered in blisters and scars? How could I have relieved their hatred that saw no end? ¡°The answer was simple: I couldn¡¯t. From the very beginning, it was an impossible task. The grim jest, the stark reality of it all, was that they never intended to change. ¡°I dedicated my life towards the improvement of others, and yet¡­ there was only ever apathy in their eyes¡ªa disgusting indifference towards the blood and sweat shed to make their pitiful lives a little bit easier. ¡°Only when my heart thumped no more did I come to a most bitter revelation: There are some people in this world not worth saving. I laughed, and I laughed, and I laughed¡ªa bitter, disgusted laugh full of regret. I could only laugh at the futility of it all, and so I let my compassion finally wither as I awaited the cold grasp of death. ¡°But it never came, for my time had yet to cease.¡± - Alchemist Regent Nokron ¡ª¡ª¡ª Sarathiel The titan roars out to the heavens and lifts his giant, crimson axe up high; the edge glistens with the reflection of nigh innumerable a horde of man, but Sarathiel does not hesitate. He brings it down with a forthright step and cleaves through the legion as a shiver of ferocity ripples through his veins. The blade rends clean, bisecting its foes in a splatter of blood and sending the still-warm halves aflight, but even the sight of their slaughtered comrades do little to stop the wave of soldiers from advancing. Sarathiel¡¯s momentum has been halted. He can no longer simply rush through them like before, and the man responsible for his sudden displacement is nowhere to be seen. Now, all he can do is stand his ground and pummel those in front swing by swing. Crush by crush. He pounds the earth in a relentless stride, leaving craters to sink and fill with the bodies of his fallen enemies: a stream of blood and oil seeps below his feet, dripping from flattened skulls, severed limbs, chests gaping with holes. Yet no matter how many the titan rips and tears and butchers into an unrecognizable mess, the onslaught never ends. Another soldier replaces the last, and they carve at his armor with their saws of tiny serrated fangs¡ª unceasingly, constantly, until he grows numb of their lashes, and he pushes through with another swing of his axe. Still, he knows this is only a lagging endeavor. His strength drains with each corpse joining the pile, and if he persists in this stalemate, then it will not be long before the titan is forced to transform back into a mindless animal. ¡°¡­ Sarathiel. Sarathiel!¡± Lorelai¡¯s voice shouts in his mind. ¡°You must retreat. I can scarcely see your body in the midst of so many soldiers; even a man of your strength shall be whittled away eventually.¡± ¡°No,¡± he says, crushing another mechanical dreg beneath his sole. ¡°Not until I bring down the gate.¡± Her face is hidden, yet nonetheless Sarathiel can feel plainly a sigh of annoyance traveling between their connection. ¡°Sarathiel, please do not be stubborn. The man who ruined your charge is most certainly the Alchemist Regent, Nokron; who is to say you will not be transported again once you draw near?¡± ¡°It will be different. I know what to expect now.¡± Nokron will no longer catch him unaware. The true pest is the rabid army hounding his every move, all chasing to their deaths. All joining the bloody mound with not a shred of resistance. Nokron, he can surely contend with. But Sarathiel admits he will need a bit of assistance with thinning the legion. ¡°Lorelai, is Deborah still there?¡± he relents. ¡°I may require her help after all.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± she says. ¡°But know you will not be able to escape the range of impact. Are you prepared?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll live.¡± ¡°Very well, the Astral Arrow will descend in a few moments. Hold your ground.¡± Before he can reply, chains suddenly spring out from amidst the swarm and quickly wrap around Sarathiel¡¯s arms, his legs, and even his neck as they twist him to the ground and pull from every direction¡ªtugging with a force until his armor begins to scorch from the grinding. There - emerging from the crowd - are a group of heavily-armored legionaries, bulk much greater than that of the rest. And attached to their arms are colossal, hulking plates arranged into a strange cylindrical structure¡ªthe very end leaving a hollow opening where the chains binding Sarathiel originate. Stolen story; please report. These new Caelum ensnarers ground themselves in place, hooks ejecting from their armor¡¯s gaps and digging firm into the dirt, and they all work as one to keep the titan firmly bound in place. The legion approaches him, eager to enact their vengeance upon his vulnerable state. But it is no use. Sarathiel takes a step with his tethered legs, he struggles against his arm¡¯s bindings and slowly, gradually, lifts them forward until his hands are grasped tightly around the metal lock. With an enraged cry, he whirls his body and spins the chains around him, sending the ensnarers on the other end crashing straight through the other soldiers. Their bodies turn into living weapons, colliding and forcing all caught in their path into a revolving tornado of death as the battlefield plummets into a landscape of pure destruction. Thousands are maimed. A thousand more are caught in the wreckage. Yet, even after all this, the Caelum legion remains dauntless. The surge approaches once more, and Sarathiel readies himself to repeat the massacre. However, their charge is interrupted by a blinding light from above. It washes through the expanse with paralyzing jolt of aura, pressuring down upon the masses with a great weight, and as the legionnaires look up towards the sky, they bear witness to a shining pink cluster raining down from the heavens. It is lustrous. It is overpowering. And it is headed directly towards Sarathiel. ¡°Deborah has asked me to relay you a message,¡± Lorelai¡¯s voice echoes. ¡°¡­ And what would that be?¡± he replies, flinching before the raw spiral of energy. ¡°These are her exact words: ¡®I hope the pain serves as a valuable lesson. Don¡¯t be so stubborn next time, you steel dolt.¡¯¡± ¡°How lovely.¡± She truly has spared no effort in this attack; Sarathiel can already feel his heart beginning to sink. This will indeed hurt. ¡°Impact incoming in: three.¡± The land is enveloped in the Astral Arrow¡¯s radiance as it falls closer and closer to the Caelum masses hypnotized by its splendor. The fortress¡¯s armaments quickly change its attention from Ascalon¡¯s advance and unleashes the full might of its barrage at the descending ray, but the projectiles are shredded apart before it can even come close to the attack. ¡°Two.¡± Some of the soldiers manage to break free from their daze and look around for any means of escape, but there is none. They cannot outrun it. They cannot hide from it. All the Caelum legion can do is brace themselves and wish for a quick end. ¡°One.¡± Sarathiel covers himself in the sturdiest metals he can muster and condenses his form into one, sturdy, impenetrable bulwark¡ªevery morsel of his being concentrated entirely on defense. His flesh, his organs, and even his heart: he encases them all in a tight layer of steel. And as he clings to the earth, the titan notices the man with the strange tankards materialize in the distance¡ªlooking up and shaking his head. ¡°Hm,¡± they mutter to themself. ¡°How vicious. Even I cannot turn back time for such a violent form of Creation. A shame, but if more need be sacrificed then so be it.¡± The legion peers up at their leader with hope¡ªonly to be consumed with despair upon his disappearance. He leaves not a word for souls about to be purged, not even a look of pity. The rest are merely left to close their eyes and wait with hushed breaths as a final flash of color consumes them in their entirety. ¡°Zero.¡± The Astral Arrow descends at last, and thus is the world drowned in a tremendous boom. The air reverberates, the land is ripped asunder, and the entire expanse is bathed in a sparkling hue¡ªglittering like the night sky. The fortress manages to escape the destruction by surrounding itself in a barrier resembling that of crackling lightning, but those of the outside are not so fortunate. Mangled carcasses and fragmented exoskeletons litter the now-desolate battlefield, and bodies of those flung above are brought crashing back down¡ªa shower of blood painting everything within sight in a deep coat of scarlet. Only a singular warrior remains, drenched in sweat and gasping hard whilst doubled over in a deep pit. His ears are ruptured, bones quaking in shock as he struggles to stand, and his steeled body emits a rising smoke from the remnants of Deborah¡¯s attack. It pains him to even breathe, but soon enough his monstrous body begins to reconstruct itself; unsalvageable bits of viscera are discarded and replaced by new, metallic replicas while his silver blood stitches together the organs still functional. Sarathiel can feel his flesh regrowing. Every second, his soul screams with an agony that can never be put to word. But nonetheless, he is alive. Once again he has survived where no other should have. Sarathiel wonders if he can even be considered human anymore. ¡°Sarathiel, how is your condition?¡± Lorelai asks. ¡°Fine,¡± he grunts. ¡°Just¡­ allow me a second of peace. I¡¯ll get up eventually.¡± ¡°I dare say you have earned it after enduring such hardship. There remains naught a speck of the legion save for a few stragglers fortunate enough to be assigned at the very edge, but Ascalon¡¯s assault shall take care of them.¡± ¡°Mm, then there is only one task left for me to finish.¡± Sarathiel stumbles his way back up and lets release a weary groan as he stares at the fortress gates a mere paces away. At the very front, there stands the man responsible for all the titan¡¯s torment this day¡ªchillingly unaffected by the massacre around him. He merely stares at the bodies with an indiscernible expression, and all the while the tankard upon his back sputters with ghastly howl. Nokron raises his head, and he looks at Sarathiel with his visor of glowing red orbs. The titan responds in kind and raises his axe, preparing to end this siege for good. One last man to slay. Then, Sarathiel can finally rest. Chapter 64: Roar, You Beast of Burden ¡°The Powers were a prideful bunch, and I was no exception. Since birth, I had been hailed for my large stature and strength¡ªraised to become a knight with no equal. I was a pure, unsullied noble-born, a man of the direct lineage, and so every day I was taught to behave as a noble should: be arrogant, be confident, and let none trample on your authority. ¡®You are special, Sarathiel,'' they told me. ¡®You are the Power¡¯s hope: our chance to finally prove superiority over the other High Houses.¡¯¡± ¡°All those whispers, all those expectations to succeed¡­ I did not think much of it, at first. Was it not normal to be burdened with such responsibility? Was it not normal to be chastised for every little failure? I believed it so. I thought every child underwent the same troubles, but I was so very wrong. Their love did not need to be earned. They were free to discover a purpose of their own¡ªnot one forcibly imposed by another. They were different from me. ¡°I was never struck for my failures. I was never starved or physically punished. Instead, I was treated as nothing: unseen. A nonexistent mutt begging for even a scrap of affection, and only when they could leech onto my accomplishments was I ever given any praise¡ªhowever hollow. ¡°Still, I persisted. I subdued my rage - my savage, visceral longing to rampage against this unfair world - and I became the knight they always wanted me to be. I was a Templar. I was but a few achievements away from becoming a Throne. The end was in sight, and once I reached the top perhaps I could finally live for myself. ¡°I suppose I was right. My wish was fulfilled, and I didn¡¯t need to bow before those wretches I called kin any longer, but it came at a great price: a sacrifice I would forever regret. ¡°I lost the right to be called human.¡± - Sarathiel Power, the Unbending Throne of Steel ¡ª¡ª¡ª Sarathiel ¡°My, quite the mess your kind has wrought,¡± the eerie man says, his every word encased in a low hum. Nokron¡¯s tone is polite, but his demeanor is anything but: arms hidden back, chin lifted high, and gaze an insufferable blend of superiority and arrogance. He looks at Sarathiel as one does an insect and spares no effort to hide his hostility. ¡°Questions, questions¡­ how very puzzling this situation is. How did your ilk even manage to cross the marsh? I do so very dislike a mystery¡ªsuch time wasted on variables beyond my control.¡± The Alchemist is idle for now, but nonetheless Sarathiel remains at guard. A razor-sharp tension hangs in the air; a single move, a single twitch, is all that is needed to shatter this precarious suspense. And though the Throne is putting forth a stoic front, his body still trembles from the aftershocks of Deborah¡¯s attack: heart thumping, chest pounding without rest. ¡°You¡ª¡± he begins, but the man disappears before he has a chance to finish, and Sarathiel narrowly manages to deflect a thrust from behind. His axe clashes with something strange - a material of neither metal nor ore - and he repels his assailant back only to discover a large mechanical apparatus attached to Nokron¡¯s left arm. It covers the entire length in a sleek enclosure, and at the very end, a plume of black mist extends from the hollow opening where his hand should be¡ªsolidifying into the shape of a twisting helix. Merely staring at it is enough to send shudders running through Sarathiel¡¯s body, for never has he encountered a weapon of such sinister impression. It is as if the entirety of humanity¡¯s loathing has been condensed into a physical form, and all the while a terrible sound plagues the world like a choir of tormented souls wailing in unison. Nokron is much, much more dangerous than Sarathiel has anticipated. ¡°Oh? Quite the agile one you are,¡± the man says with a curious tilt of his head as he retreats from the Throne¡¯s range. ¡°A surprise to be sure given your moniker, but I suppose appearances do ever tend to be deceiving.¡± ¡°You know of me,¡± Sarathiel grunts. ¡°Then you know what I am capable of.¡± Nokron only utters a raspy chuckle in response, encircling him with slow, methodical steps, and he bides his time while waiting for the opportune time to strike. ¡°But of course, Titan of Steel. Though this may be our first meeting, I have heard much of your exploits after the death of Velcroz. You are every bit as I imagined: crude. Unseemly. A reprobate of metal and barbarity¡­ my, you would fit well within the Grand General¡¯s ranks.¡± His remarks strike at Sarathiel with an indignation that riles him to the very core; however, what angers the Throne most is that he is unable to deny the Alchemist¡¯s words. He attempts to spit out a harsh reply, but the sound lodges in his throat with every attempt to speak. I know, he bitterly reflects. I know of all people the title of knight does not befit me, that my appearance resembles those mechanical monsters of the Caelum empire more than my fellows. I know this all, but what am I to do? You cannot change nature. ¡°Ah, yes. Now you begin to see,¡± Nokron goads. ¡°I can taste it: the delectable aroma of anguish. You feel conflicted. You feel estranged. Surrounded by these chivalrous warriors, here you stand: an outcast, abandoned and treated as filth.¡± The Alchemist chuckles. ¡°Oh, how very wrong I was. Please, do forgive me; I thought you a mere brute like Gravitas and that madwoman Libevich, especially after receiving the report of your exploits in the desert. All those bodies, all that indiscriminate carnage¡­ I found it rather boring, to put it plainly. The tantrum of a mindless cur.¡± Stop it. ¡°But no, you are anything but. You feel remorse: regret. The despair wafting from your guilt-ridden mind is more pure than any I have witnessed before.¡± Shut your putrid mouth. ¡°I must admit, I have been ever in a slump these passing moons. There are simply no suitable subjects to experiment upon in this isolated land: no souls depraved enough to stimulate Creation at its worst. You, however, are special¡ªthe one to finally perfect my formula. Lowly, yet conceited. Meek, yet savage. Stuck between the boundary of instinct and rationality. I am certain; a vapor produced from your turmoil is just the ingredient I need.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. I... Nokron halts his steps, and he peers directly at the Throne¡¯s quivering eyes. Though Sarathiel cannot see it, he just knows that a detestable smile hides behind the man¡¯s helm. ¡°For you, Sarathiel, are a monster. A monster who will never know peace.¡± The last threads holding Sarathiel back snap, and he lunges at the Alchemist with a roar. He no longer cares about appearances. He no longer cares about safety or his prior duty. No, all he desires is to make the man finally cease his constant prattering. ¡°Nokron!¡± he bellows, swinging his axe at the still-composed scourge, but his blade has yet to even come close to the man¡¯s flesh before he vanishes once more, leaving behind an echo of laughter to pester the Throne as he looks around with a deep, visceral growl¡ªred plaguing his vision. In an instant, Nokron materializes next to his side and attempts to impale him with his helix of mist, but Sarathiel wastes not a second and flails his body about, battering the blow back and advancing upon the Alchemist with a series of crude, erratic movements. His blows have no technique or reason, no purposeful rhythm in which to follow. He merely tightens his grip on the axe and pummels the surrounding earth into a storm of dust. Sarathiel relentlessly pursues Nokron, and while the man narrowly escapes from being carved in half, escape is all he can muster before the titan¡¯s furious rampage. The Throne is unpredictable, a force of pure wrath that disorients his foes with a never-ending spree of chaos and violence, and even the most agile of foes would struggle to follow his sporadic onslaught as he cleaves and rends and obliterates all that dare approach. But his tirade cannot last forever. A second, a flash of vulnerability: Nokron¡¯s steadfast defensive finally yields reward as the titan wanes in ferocity for but a brief moment. That moment is all the man needs to ready his weapon and skewer Sarathiel¡¯s side with a swift, faultless stab. It pierces through his armor of steel and bores into his flesh; the Throne attempts to pry away from the helix, but it sticks firm, clinging with little barbs of darkness. ¡°At last, this dance of ours comes to a most expected conclusion,¡± the Alchemist says with an apathetic drawl, but a slight wheeze and a quake of his arm suggests a much more exhausted state than he cares to reveal. ¡°Your pain is¡­ inadequate, but fear not; what shall come next will be far greater an agony than this mere wound of gristle.¡± Nokron rips the helix out of Sarathiel¡¯s body, but a mark of shadow remains in the puncture: growing, spreading, until it travels up and smothers the titan¡¯s head in a hazy, inescapable fog. ¡°Now, despair, Sarathiel!¡± the man cries out. ¡°Succumb to the vapors of my life¡¯s work: the Aeternum¡¯s miasma, manufactured and brought into the hands of man!¡± It does not take long before familiar voices begin to intrude into the Throne¡¯s head. They whisper a slew of curses, they blame him for tragedies he has sought long to forget. Former comrades, elders of the Powers, and even those still among the living¡­ they gather one and all to mimic the Alchemist¡¯s words. ¡°Monster.¡± And yet, he is not affected by their contempt, for his mind is occupied by a much more powerful, more dominating, emotion. And that is anger. An anger wholly and utterly unbending. ¡°Oh?¡± Nokron mutters as the titan breaks free from the haze. ¡°That was not planned.¡± Sarathiel hurdles forward, and he smashes directly into the still-baffled Alchemist. The man is sent soaring, armor shattered and body contorted into a fractured mess, but the Throne immediately charges after him and prepares his axe to strike upon his fall. However, just before he can land the decisive blow, his vision distorts in a cacophony of color and shifting landscape, and soon, he is transported right in front of the fortress¡¯s gates¡ªbrought back to the place of their first encounter. ¡°To think I would be caught by surprise¡­ how vexing.¡± Nokron¡¯s voice drifts from the distance. He sounds strained, and his tankard sputters with an intense rumble far noisier than before, but the man before Sarathiel displays not a sign of harm from their battle. His broken armor has miraculously repaired itself - almost as if it has never been struck in the first place - and his once-mangled limbs appear as normal. Nonetheless, there is a newfound nervousness in the Caelum commander. The red orbs in his visor appear shaky, unfocused, and his prior deliberate stride has been replaced by what the titan can only describe as a disoriented stumble. ¡°You,¡± he says, pointing a trembling finger at the Throne. ¡°You will regret this. My time¡­ my time is ticking. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. No, no, no! The pain: I am only delaying the pain. That miserable state will return. Oh, why must the clock turn back? I do not know. The end is coming. I need¡ªI need more of the vapor. But I must use the vapor to survive. What is the proper course, the path out of this mess? All I see is darkness. Death encroaches at last. "Ah, I see. Very well then. If that is my fate, then I shall not leave this world alone." In-between his incoherent ramblings, Nokron raises his grotesque weapon high into the air and plunges it into the earth. Sarathiel can feel something sickly swarming below, gathering at the madman¡¯s behest, and he quickly bolts into action and attempts to stop the abhorrent ritual before it can be invoked. But he is too late. With a sudden screech, an explosion erupts from below, sending the titan tumbling back as a ghastly fume begins to taint the expanse with its corrupting influence. It spreads to every corner, blinding his sight until naught but an arm¡¯s reach can be seen in front, and a cacophony of otherworldly howls drown out all sound attempting to pierce through the malaise. Sarathiel can hardly keep himself upright before the whirlwind. Every moment, a dreadful wraith attempts to invade his mind¡ªdrag out the evil buried within his heart. It leeches at his sanity and fills his thoughts with a constant barrage of madness and fearful pleas, but the Throne grits through the miasma and desperately holds on to what vestiges of clarity he can muster. He attempts to call upon Creation, to block out the mist with a coat of metal, but something is wrong: the divinity has disappeared. He cannot feel its presence, and his steel-bodied transformation begins to act out beyond his control, shifting and grating haphazardly as his flesh tears from the constant reformation. Even his axe decays into a rusted brown from the foul presence permeating the air. ¡°Lorelai?¡± Sarathiel attempts to relay. ¡°I can¡¯t see a thing in this damn cloud. How are the others doing? Were they trapped as well?¡± But there is only silence. ¡°¡­ Lorelai?¡± Nothing, not even so much as a whisper. Something is terribly wrong, but before Sarathiel can collect himself, a strange sight starts to manifest before him. A familiar sight¡ªone that has haunted his dreams for years. A desert. A great desert unfolds before his very eyes, replacing the Magnus Murus and the bloody battlefield with a landscape of dry dunes. He can feel the coarse, grainy sand beneath his feet; he can feel the hot swelter of the sun blazing above, unimpeded amidst a clear blue sky that extends far out into the endless horizon. His soul screams that this is a fantasy - that the miasma is merely toying with his vision - but if so, then why does it feel so real? Everywhere, from every corner and stretch of land, is the desert he has so desperately sought to forget. For this is the place of his sin¡ªan atrocity that can never be forgiven. Chapter 65: I Am a Monster ¡°Sarathiel confided in me his trauma, desperately hoping for some manner of salvation or reprieve. And I wished so dearly to give it to him, but¡­ I failed. There were no words I could say: no manner of comfort that could mask the horror writ across my face. The man before me was once my precious junior, but I could no longer view him the same after his confession. I only idled by as our friendship slowly grew apart. ¡°It is, to this day, my greatest failure. He did not deserve such apathy after having poured his heart, and there were no excuses for the way I behaved then. I just¡­ couldn¡¯t look past his actions. I knew it was not his fault, I knew there was little that could have been done in such a situation, yet my body betrayed my mind. It shivered in fear before Sarathiel¡¯s presence.¡± - Lorelai Principality, Former Throne of Polus ¡ª¡ª¡ª Sarathiel What¡­ was I doing before? My mind is hazy, like a prisoner in their own home: clawing at a fog that refuses to part. I search for answers, yet all I grasp are fragments. Pieces of something important. A name surfaces: Nokron. I remember him now, a scum I thought cornered. His throat was within my grasp, but then¡ªan explosion. One moment I was on the muddy battlefield, and then there was only a black mist. I closed my eyes, fought back against the whispers, and now I am here. Here, in the desert of my nightmares. A hot squall of air forces its way into my throat. I swallow, but no saliva remains, leaving my dry, shrunken tongue to pant greedily like a parched mongrel. It thirsts for water, sputters in pitiful gulps, but all that lies ahead are mounds and mounds of sand. Some are big and steep - like a mountain - while others taper off into pits that look as if they could swallow a man whole. It would be easy to walk into one, for the sun drowns all in a blinding wreath of white, and the only recourse is to shadow your eyes and pray your steps do not sink. But I dare not move. I do not wish to see, to hear, to even think of the reality around me. This must be a trick from that blasted Alchemist; he wants me to despair, but his schemes will not work no matter how he uses my memories. As long as I remain still, then this horrid place will eventually fade away. I have to believe it; I have to delude myself no matter how unreasonable. I can remain strong as long as they do not appear. ¡°Hah? Sarathiel, what¡¯re ya standin¡¯ around for? Don¡¯t tell me the nerves are comin¡¯ already!¡± But despite my wishes, a voice from the past shouts with an excited gusto from behind. When I turn around, I see the face of the one I have wronged most. ¡°¡­ Bella?¡± I say, half with dread and the other a pathetic delight. ¡°It¡¯s you.¡± ¡°Who else would I be? You¡¯re actin¡¯ real strange right now. Come on, give me a big ¡®ol smile! Ain''t nothin¡¯ better than a positive attitude to chase away the gloom.¡± She playfully leans against my shoulder, and I see her short, curly hair, brown like the forest trees we¡¯d always play near as children. Her eyes are as I remember them: a refreshing shade of green, sparkling with a vibrant affection for life. And though the Dominions have always been known for being reclusive folk, one can¡¯t help but feel giddy around her¡ªaround her candor that never fails to whisk one away along an upbeat march. It is that quality I have¡­ had always been drawn towards. ¡°Smile?¡± I mutter back. ¡°I wonder how long it¡¯s been since I last smiled.¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be all dramatic now,¡± she giggles. ¡°I¡¯m mighty impressed ya can say such sappy things in front o¡¯ the others.¡± ¡°The others?¡± In an instant, figures begin to manifest into the world, and so is the sand concealed by a great gathering of knights. They come from every Order, donning armors faded and scratched from a time when the war was much more intense. I know them well: Joan, Ashlyn, Bertrand, Theor, Christina¡­ I remember their names, each and every one of the thousands that make up my former division. How can I not? Their voices have never left. ¡°Sarathiel,¡± Belladonna says, her words laced worry. ¡°Is everythin¡¯ alright? Ya seem a bit out of it.¡± ¡°¡­ How long until we reach Velcroz¡¯s army?¡± I reply, brushing aside her concern. ¡°A day if we¡¯re quick about it. Though, Stars know we¡¯ll need a break after a week straight of trudgin¡¯ through this damn desert.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s do that, then. Tell the others to set up camp for the night. There¡¯s no need to rush; I have a feeling the legion won''t be departing for some time.¡± Bella looks at me up and down with an expression still full of doubt, but she decides against saying any more. ¡°Alright then, I won¡¯t pry if that¡¯s how ya¡¯re gonna be. Just¡­ know that I¡¯m here, okay? Anytime, anyplace. Nothin¡¯ wrong with needin¡¯ to let loose a bit sometimes.¡± ¡°I-I appreciate it, Bella. Go get some rest.¡± ¡°You too, big fella. You too.¡± She leaves with the others, and I can finally be left alone with my thoughts. Could Nokron have truly taken me to the past? No. There is no one in this world capable of such a feat, not even the Inheritors. I must never forget; this, everything here, is fake. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. But that leaves the question¡­ am I still trapped within the mist? So much time has passed; surely that vile Alchemist would have slain me by now. Yet I can feel clearly that I am still among the living. What is the purpose of this all? I feel irritated. Lost. I know that danger lurks somewhere, hiding until I am most vulnerable, but nonetheless my heart is ever abundant. For the first time in so very long, I am happy. ¡­ If I were to change my fate, what would happen? I know of Velcroz¡¯s power. I can amend my mistakes; I have the knowledge to prevent another tragedy. Perhaps then this dream will persist, and the sins of my past will be reduced to an echo¡ªa possibility never realized. I will finally be free. ¡°Still out ¡®ere, huh? Git to sleepin¡¯ already, you oaf. It¡¯s dark out.¡± Strange, is that Bella again? It has only been a few minutes since she¡¯s left. ¡°What do you mean dark¡ª¡± But then, I feel it: a cool, frigid draft of wind. There is no swelter or blaze, no great ball of flame hanging in the sky. No, all that meets my eyes is a vast shroud of shadow and the drifting moon. I don''t understand. ¡°It¡¯s because of you, Sarathiel.¡± Bella¡¯s sharp tone brings my mind back to the present, but something about the way she speaks has me instinctively lurching back in caution. I¡¯m not entirely sure why, but there is a strange air around her now. Her body is perfectly still: even her hair. It does not sway despite the breeze, as if it is being forcefully kept in a frozen state. And her face¡­ I can¡¯t see her face. The darkness veils it, yet I can see her figure clear amidst the unsettling lunar glow. Is the one before me truly Belladonna? ¡°You thought to change what is already done,¡± the thing continues. ¡°You wanted to run away, to forget about all the wrongs you have committed. But fate does not work that way, Sarathiel. Whether you wish it or not, the inevitable will arrive all the same, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.¡± Without warning, a searing pain stabs at my skull, causing me to collapse and clutch at my head as the world distorts into an unrecognizable mess of blurs and light. It is a familiar feeling, but such experience only makes me dread what soon awaits. When I can finally rise back up, I see that the day has returned. But no sooner after I steady my wits does a putrid smell flood my nostrils. It is an unbearable, pungent odor, and I need merely look ahead to discover the source. The smell is of rotting flesh. The desert has changed, degraded into a blood-soaked necropolis of gore and viscera. And I stand in the midst of it all, casting my gaze over the endless bodies conjoining into a fetid pile. My fellow knights, the Caelum soldiers of the Rust-Blood Legion: they all blend together in the sand, corpses mauled as if a wild beast has savagely torn them apart and devoured their insides. I¡ªsomething is in my mouth. It¡¯s¡­ chewy. My teeth sink into a mixture of cartilage and meat, but this tastes like no meat I¡¯ve ever had before. No, it¡¯s more stringy: tough and full of gristle. Yet despite the horrid taste, despite the cries of my soul begging for me to hurl, I greedily swallow the flesh. And I salivate, hunger, for more. I look down, and I discover the decapitated head of Velcroz the Terrible already impaled on my claws. His face is partially consumed, bits of bone jutting out from flayed pieces of skin, and I open my jaw wide to take another delectable bite. His meat tears off ever so easily, almost as if it is begging to be consumed, and I delight in the flavor of his eyes as they burst with a crunch atop my tongue. But it is not enough, not nearly enough to satiate my appetite. I feel so hollow inside; I need to be filled. Anything, I need anything to fill this gaping hole in my chest. ¡°S-Sir Sarathiel?¡± a voice says, and I quickly turn around to find a small group of surviving knights. What are their names again? It doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯ve finally found more prey. I crouch down on my hind legs, place my claws onto the ground, and I lunge forward into the terrified masses. A plump one is immediately caught within my grasp, and I waste no time before tearing off one of their arms as if it¡¯s a twig. The knight whimpers as the bone snaps off, blood pooling from the exposed orifice, and they froth at the mouth¡ªtremble from pain. But their pathetic act moves me not, and I raise them high into the air before sending them crashing below. The body explodes from the impact, brain splattering while their rib-cage pierces through the flesh for all to see. Their final, mangled expression is one of sheer terror, forever affixed to their carcass. But just as I¡¯m enjoying my meal, a loud shout interrupts me. A new knight approaches, and I recognize them this time. It is Bella. She¡ªshe hasn¡¯t run away. And for a brief moment, my sanity returns, and the full weight of my madness surges all at once. ¡°Sarathiel,¡± she whispers, slowly moving towards me one step at a time as if to soothe a frightened child. ¡°Velcroz is dead. Ya did it. We won. You can change back now. Please¡­ please change back.¡± I feel the vile creature in me start to move, and I so desperately attempt to force it back. I try to regain control and break free from this vivid hell, but no matter how much I scream, how much I struggle, how much I wish to gouge my soul until nothing of the filth is left, there is no changing fate. There is no changing what I have done. Bella doesn¡¯t even attempt to resist as the rabid creature controlling me disembowels her chest with one swing. Organs and intestines spill out of her body as she tumbles onto the ground, dangling by her side while the creature moves in and greedily fills its maw. It eats, and it eats, and it eats until nothing is left but a hollow cadaver. And I am forced to watch every disgusting second of the act, watch as the one I love screams from being devoured alive. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s gonna be alright,¡± she gasps. ¡°It¡¯s all gonna be alright. I know ya¡¯re still in there, somewhere. Probably blamin¡¯ yourself most likely, but¡ªbut none of this is your fault. Don¡¯t beat yourself down over this.¡± Her eyes begin to dim; her light slowly fades. But even so, she manages to sputter a final goodbye. ¡°Live, Sarathiel. For all of us. For you.¡± Bella falls limp. She¡¯s gone, and as if to somehow mock me even further, the Stars finally deign to grant me back control over my body. Now, I am finally free to cry. I clutch at her corpse and hold it close to my body, sobbing as my tears drop freely onto the lake of blood of my own creation. I am alone. And I¡ªI finally realize the futility of it all. Making amends, becoming a Throne, attempting to become a part of my nation again¡­ it was all useless. I never should have stepped foot out of this desert. I never should have even survived. ¡°Do you understand?¡± I can hear his words. It¡¯s that abominable Alchemist again, but do I even have the right to call him that after all I''ve done? I¡¯m tired. I do not have the strength to resist him anymore. ¡°Do you know what you are?¡± I do. I have always known, but still I tried to reject the truth. I wanted to be more than some measly trophy for the Powers to flaunt, but perhaps that is why I was doomed to fail. ¡°Say it. Let your despair ring out, and then you shall reach true freedom.¡± I take a deep, shaky breath, and I abandon it all: my sorrow, my repentance, my last fragile bonds to this world. I abandon my everything. Maybe now, my torment can finally end. ¡°I am a monster.¡± Chapter 66: A Prideful Downfall ¡°Ever since their antiquity, the Powers had been the most prideful and haughty of the Seven Orders. Sir Kay was a boisterous man, one whose ardent passion surpassed even the other Round Table Knights, and it was this very nature that spread prominently amongst his descendants. Against the kingdom¡¯s enemies, they proved to be an ally like no other, crushing their foes with unwavering purpose. But their conduct towards citizens not of Power blood was¡­ unmannerly, to put it lightly. ¡°Pride without humility only leads to further conceit of oneself, and while I have tried to reform the Powers for the better, it is difficult to change what has been so thoroughly ingrained. They believe themselves to be the superior of the other Orders, always embroiled in competition where there is none. And it is this obsessive desire that inevitably latches onto the children. ¡°If I am to abolish the noble hierarchy, the Power''s influence is not to be underestimated. It will be difficult, but I believe the people also desire change. They suppress it in their hearts, bitterly accept the established system, yet there is always an ache of what could be. To that end, Cain is an ally I must sway to my cause. He is at the forefront of the next generation, and his aid will be invaluable in recruiting the younger knights. Alas, if only he weren¡¯t so pompous himself¡­¡± - King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon ¡°Push forward!¡± the King bellows to his followers. A barrage of steel rain hounds on them from above - pounding against the roaring sea of raised shields - but the knights of Polus hold strong, for the impact is dampened by a thin, orchid-hued glow. It smothers the explosions of flame bursting about, and it fends off the rime billowing into an icy fog. The Caelum¡¯s mounted armaments continue to spew without rest, but still the Polus assault advances whilst following in the trail left behind by Sarathiel. The Throne¡¯s figure is but a blur in the distance, and Ascalon cannot help but worry after all the fatigue he must have suffered. From charging through the Caelum barricade, enduring the Astral Arrow, to now contending with Nokron himself¡­ he knows his friend is strong, but there is a limit to endurance. Such tribulation is far too much for one to bear alone; the King must hurry to his aid. But before he can draw close, an eruption of sinister dark mist consumes Sarathiel in all his entirety. The darkness rises up and shadows the sun, spreading its malevolent fumes to the far ends of the valley, and the Polus division is forced to come to a stop as the shadowy wall prevents any from marching forward. Ascalon dares not even try, for a single look at the haze is all one needs to be overcome with a horribly unsettling chill. It is putrescence given life: vile, of swirling muck, and all the while emitting a ghastly noise that resembles the wails of a thousand damned. ¡°Lorelai, our path has been halted,¡± the King urgently relays. ¡°A substance resembling the miasma has just swallowed Sarathiel whole. How is his condition?¡± There is no response for a few, awkward moments, and when Lorelai finally does speak, she does so with a surprising uncertainty: almost vulnerable, as if the situation is one even she has not accounted for. ¡°I¡­ do not know. How could the miasma possibly be¡ªno, what is more pressing is that I cannot feel Sarathiel¡¯s connection. The spell is being repulsed by the barrier; I know not if he is even conscious.¡± A deep, visceral ache plagues Ascalon in the pit of his stomach. He feels nervous, a premonition that something terrible is about to occur if Sarathiel does not escape soon. ¡°What if I were to delve in and assist him? If I concentrate the blessing of the Monarch¡¯s Wings on myself, then it should protect me from the mental afflictions.¡± ¡°Perhaps so, but we cannot assume this haze will react like the miasma.¡± A grim tone settles into Lorelai¡¯s voice, and she attempts to mask herself as detached; yet, there is a hesitation in her words. A confusing blend of both familiarity and weariness. ¡°The one I know is different. This thing may seem similar, but its flow is unnatural¡ªreversed. And the most crucial difference is that it¡¯s far too orderly. The original is akin to a curse: a sprawling, chaotic mess with neither pattern nor reason. But the mist I see here is controlled. Uniform. A cohesive force hearkening to the commands of another. We cannot risk endangering you to the unknown, Ascalon.¡± ¡°Then what am I to do?¡± Ascalon pleads. ¡°Merely idle by as Sarathiel is embroiled in danger?¡± ¡°¡­ Deborah is currently recuperating from use of the Astral Arrow. Once she is able, I will request for another barrage, and then shall the mist likely scatter from the impact. Until the time comes, all we can do is trust in Sarathiel: trust that he will emerge in safe health.¡± Her plan is a reasonable one, but nonetheless a bitter taste plagues Ascalon¡¯s mouth. His foreboding is growing worse, just like the moment right before Lorelai¡¯s disappearance. It forewarns of a tragedy if he does not act soon. But before he can think of a solution, familiar figures make their way to the front. Cain, Abel, and Surasha move to the King¡¯s side, and they leer at the mist with a similar bewilderment. ¡°I heard the gist from Lorelai,¡± Surasha says, attempting to peek through the swirling shadows. ¡°But still, I don¡¯t like this one bit.¡± Cain draws his hand near as if to test it, but he instantly recoils back from the touch and scowls before distancing himself far away. ¡°May Cosmos be merciful on his soul,¡± he says with a dry sneer. ¡°It is a sad day to lose a fellow Power, even one ostracized from the Order. Let us ensure his valorous deeds will be commemorated¡ª¡± A cold clear of the throat from Abel stops him from speaking any further. The Templar of Principality only shakes his head in disappointment, and whereas before he has been of aloof demeanor, he now delivers to his half-brother a sharp, piercing glare. ¡°I usually find your candor charming, Cain. But this is one occasion I will not look past. Please, have some respect. I know the Powers are not on the best of terms with Sir Sarathiel, but regardless we are all fighting for a shared cause. Won¡¯t you put aside your disregard for the moment?¡± ¡°Disregard? Hah, Sarathiel is fortunate that is all I feel towards him,¡± Cain says with a scowl. ¡°Do you not remember that day, Abel? Of how he returned like a gaunt corpse: alone. Despondent and weak. He gave no answer for his sole survival, no closure for the lives of our fallen comrades.¡± You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Ascalon understands that grudges cannot be dissolved so simply, but at the very least he will stand for such scorn to be spewed in his presence. ¡°Cain, I must ask you to refrain from speaking any more,¡± he scolds. ¡°Sarathiel has his reasons, ones that we must respect and allow him to conquer of his own accord.¡± Cain covers his heart and leans forward as if to speak in rebuttal, but he stops himself and lowers his head before uttering a conflicted sigh. ¡°I understand, your majesty. Truly, I do. You are our liege, and it is by thine benevolence that you care for every person of Polus. ¡°But I must be the villain here: Coddling Sarathiel will be of no help to anyone. All we desire is the truth¡ªthe truth of what transpired that day. Death is inevitable; who in this nation knows not of this truth? Yet, for all the grieving families from the Powers, the Virtues, and even the Dominions, we would not nearly be so furious if Sarathiel were to simply admit his fault. Instead, he clings on to his pride, no doubt cowering from the responsibility of his failures. That man should have never become a Throne, no matter his strength.¡± ¡°Cain,¡± Ascalon says with a low rumble of warning. The air is being fouled with the Templar¡¯s growing tirade, and the knights waiting behind shuffle uncomfortably as they witness their superior bicker and argue. If Cain does not stop soon, Surasha and Abel appear ready to silence him themselves¡ªforcefully. This sentiment is not lost on him, and so he frantically shouts out and attempts to garner supporters to his side. ¡°Dismas, I know you are there! Come help me and make the others see reason. Are you not one of those Sarathiel has wronged most? Even now, he refuses to tell you the truth of Belladonna¡¯s end¡ª¡± A murky hand rises up from Cain¡¯s shadow and strangles him by the neck before he can even react. Dismas crawls up with a fury, choking the confused man with an anger Ascalon has never seen in him before, yet the Dominion maintains his composure just enough to not slaughter him right then and there. ¡°Never speak of my sister¡¯s name with that mouth again,¡± he seethes into his ear. Ascalon and the others quickly move to stop him from making any rash decisions, but Dismas lets go before they have the chance, causing Cain to drop onto his knees and sputter for air. ¡°Ya¡¯re wrong ¡®bout me, Cain. I did hate him, I¡¯ll admit that, but that was long ago. He¡¯s a sad man carryin¡¯ a sad burden, and I¡¯d be nothing more than a pathetic bastard if I were to blame ¡®im for livin¡¯. I¡¯d rather curse those Caelum curs; they¡¯re the ones who took her life, and I¡¯ll do anythin¡¯ to put an end to them¡ªeven if it means workin¡¯ with a petty wretch like you.¡± Having decided enough is enough, Ascalon steps right in-between the two and puts forth his sternest, most regal disposition. ¡°Dismas, please calm yourself. Cain has gone too far, but you have acted rashly as well. Never reach for a fellow¡¯s neck: That is a strict taboo. I will not punish you considering the circumstance, but another instance and my hand will be forced. Do you understand?¡± Fortunately, Dismas returns to his senses, and he looks down in dismay¡ªstunned by his own anger. Ascalon knows he is a kind man, and even the kindest of men have their moments of weakness, but it is at times like these that the King must be firm in his judgment. ¡°I do,¡± Dismas mutters. ¡°Not very becomin¡¯ of me, is it? Sorry you had to see that, Ascalon. It won¡¯t happen again.¡± Without another word, he descends into the shadows and disappears from sight once more. Now, there is but one person left requiring Ascalon¡¯s attention. ¡°As for you, Cain,¡± he says with grim clarity. ¡°I am disappointed in you.¡± ¡°Y-Your majesty,¡± the man attempts to reply, but a raised hand from Ascalon conveys all he needs to know of the King¡¯s patience. There will be leniency no longer. ¡°You are a Templar, a sacred position that all knights of the Power follow and look towards for guidance. And yet repeatedly you have gone against my wishes, slandered a loyal cohort who at this moment is suffering of terrors we know not, while behaving in a manner wholly unfitting for a knight much less one of your position.¡± Cain grits his teeth and trembles in offense, but buried deep within his facade of pride is a man that can be reasoned with. Ascalon wants to see the good in everyone, and that good does exist within Cain; he merely needs to drag it out and break free of the boastful influence paved by the Power highborns. To do so requires a sober awakening. The King must exact a judgment that shall make him see the err of his ways. ¡°This is a perilous time, Cain. A time of war where even the slightest of conflict must not spread amongst our ranks, and if you continue with this hateful conduct, then I am afraid your title as Templar will be forcibly stripped.¡± The man¡¯s body promptly seizes up in fear, and he grovels on the ground with a desperation that shakes Ascalon¡¯s guilty heart. ¡°Please, your majesty!¡± Cain says with a frantic plea. ¡°You know not what I shall suffer if I return in such disgrace. The Powers do not tolerate failure. I will be¡ªI do not dare to even imagine¡­¡± There is a terror in his movements that clash quite distinctly with his large and burly figure, as if displeasing those in the capital surpasses any fear of war or bodily harm. The man who has once been so haughty is now reduced to a shriveling mess; it is a sorry sight, and Ascalon cannot help but feel further pity. Perhaps I have gone too far¡­ No, this must be done. Only then shall Cain change his ways. ¡°Do you understand why I must go to such extremes?¡± Ascalon asks. ¡°I do not wish to do this any more than you do, Cain. I truly do not, but it is my duty as King to uphold order. If I allow it to be trampled, then who is to say that such insolence will not repeat in the future?¡± ¡°I¡ª¡± the man begins. ¡°I understand. The fault is mine. I promise, with the full weight of mine noble name as Power, that such treachery shall never be spewed from my being ever again. And¡­ when the time comes, I shall personally apologize to Sir Sarathiel.¡± The King lets out a sigh of relief and places a gentle hand upon Cain¡¯s shoulder. ¡°That is good. I am sure Sarathiel will greatly appreciate the gesture.¡± The Templar still holds a tiny ember of resentment in his heart, but Ascalon is thankful to see an improvement nonetheless. The path ahead is long; yet, at the end of its course lies endless reward. ¡°Ascalon,¡± Lorelai¡¯s voice suddenly transmits to him. ¡°Deborah has finished her preparations for the Astral Arrow. She will fire on your word.¡± ¡°Hehe, your timing is most convenient,¡± he replies. ¡°Very well, then she may begin¡ª¡± However, Surasha interrupts him at the last moment with a frantic shout and waves her arms for the others to come near. ¡°Ascalon! Come over here. I think¡ªI think the mist is receding.¡± ¡°What?¡± Ascalon hurries over and peers into the umbral cloud. Indeed, the inside is not nearly as concentrated as before, and soon, he sees the silhouette of a familiar figure. It is Sarathiel, and he is safe. As the last few dregs of the fumes disappear, the Steel¡¯s Throne emerges into the world. His broad back is all the army can see from the distance, but there is no mistaking that colossal figure brimming with strength. Whatever has occurred inside the mist, Sarathiel must have emerged victorious. ¡°Sarathiel!¡± Surasha shouts, preparing to rush to his side. ¡°Wait a second, I¡¯ll come over and mend your wounds¡ª¡± But before she can leave, Ascalon forcibly extends his arm and pulls her back with a jolt. She protests for a moment, but he clutches at her body with a grip that could crush a stone and refuses to let go. The King pales; sweat drips down his brow, and every muscle in his body tenses in alarm. His instincts warn him not to move, not to approach the man standing motionless despite his fellows crying out in relief. For there, exuding without a hint of restraint, is the bloodlust of a beast. Sarathiel turns around, and he bares his face. And Ascalon can see clearly a cascade of silver tears. Flowing, flowing, from the sockets of a helm with neither light nor conscious. Soon, the air is beset with a savage, booming howl, and Sarathiel begins to change. Chapter 67: So I Could Feel No More ¡°There is one truth that all scholars of Cosmos herald as certain: Creation is alive. Though we may not see its form, the divinity is always with us. It reacts to our impulses: feels joy when one is happy and sorrow when one is sad. ¡°Emotions are what spur its growth, but there are moments when it simply becomes too much. Despair, trauma, rage: It cannot bear to witness such hopelessness, it deteriorates into a frenzied, twisted mess, and eventually¡­ it corrupts the invoker, filling them with strength at the cost of their free will. The subsequent soul is no longer of sane mind¡ªonly a crude mass of instinct and hostility.¡± - Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon Ascalon can only stare in horror as Sarathiel transforms into a colossal monstrosity¡ªa hideous, chaotic mass of bramble that resembles neither man nor beast nor even machine. His limbs stretch as if being pulled apart, extending to the far ends of the valley until his arms are the size of pillars and his legs rise up past the fortress walls. His body extends impossibly large, spikes of steel all building upon each other until a cluttered thicket of metal consumes his chest. And his battle-axe of crimson blade fuses with the mangled stump of what once was his hand, enlarging even further until its shadow submerges the Polus army in an inescapable shade. There he grows, head jutting past the clouds, and all the while his nightmarish metamorphosis is accompanied by a terrible sound of ripping meat and crunching bone. He towers over the Magnus Murus. He roars, and the earth quakes in response. Any resemblance of humanity has far vanished, replaced by a bumbling mimicry that shakes and spasms as if struggling to understand its new form. Even his voice has changed. It garbles an incoherent stream of nonsense, yet Ascalon can feel clearly the sorrow laden in the thing¡¯s wail. He can feel the anguish, the hatred overflowing in its silver tears, and a fervent wish to let it all go. To be released of its burdens and its never-ending quest for penance. He realizes it now, this creature¡¯s nature: It is the true form of Sarathiel. Everything that has held him back, the few brittle attachments that have chained him to this world¡­ all of it has been severed, leaving only a husk of his former self to remain. ¡°No,¡± Surasha whispers, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. ¡°What is that thing? That¡ªthat can¡¯t possibly be Sarathiel. That monster can¡¯t possibly be¡­¡± Abel clenches his fist and takes a hesitant step back. He is utterly petrified, as are every one of the knights behind him. They are all stricken with doubt, unmoving, for the thing before them is no instrument of Caelum; it is not an enemy they can so easily admonish as evil. No, it is a former fellow: a victim, and that fact will not change no matter how monstrous Sarathiel may seem. ¡°I do not wish to believe it myself, but there is no denying the sight before us,¡± Abel says after recovering from his bewilderment. ¡°Yet, for Sir Sarathiel to be reduced to such a state¡­ I doubt he can even recognize us.¡± The most surprising reaction is of Cain¡¯s, and while Ascalon has expected him to react with his usual vehement, the Templar is instead speechless. He stares at Sarathiel with both awe and terror. And the King cannot fault him, for the titan¡¯s appearance is of exactly that: a titan. A being told of only in legend as a natural disaster - a living, breathing force of nature - whose very existence has brought ruin to countless nations. With a single stomp, they turn rivers into canyons. With a ravenous maw, they devour the lives of thousands. That very being faces them now, and it charges at the Polus army. Rumble upon rumble, the wind screeches as every movement of the monstrous thing brings forth devastation¡ªunleashes a deafening maelstrom that drowns all in a thunder, a boom, a furious crash of earth and soil exploding all at once. ¡°Retreat!¡± Ascalon bellows amidst the noise, and the stupor paralyzing the knights quickly replaces with a frantic desperation as they turn around and sprint with all their might back towards the marsh. Tens of thousands of bodies: all running in unison, all overcome with an impending sense of doom, and yet the sound of their stampede fails to muffle Sarathiel¡¯s uproar. The titan rapidly approaches with an onslaught of howls, and all that dare stand in its way are the King and his Templars. ¡°Templars, to me! Manifest your wings!¡± he commands, and despite their uncertainty, the others bring forth their wings from the world¡¯s Creation and quickly leap into the air. Surasha¡¯s span is of dripping poison; Cain¡¯s is of molten crag; and Abel soars with currents of water. The only missing member is Dismas whose skills are currently hard at work assisting the army in their flee. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. The winged knights brace themselves to be barraged by the fortress¡¯s armaments, yet strangely the defenses appear unmanned; from the ramparts to the gates, not a single soul among the living can be seen. But Ascalon does not have time to ruminate over Caelum''s disappearance before the titan rushes his way like a great moving mountain. The Templars and their lord hold firm, bodies rigid as they await the coming clash, when suddenly a pink hue glimmers from above. It starts as a soft light, and then it grows stronger - more vibrant - until Deborah¡¯s Astral Arrow bursts into view and slams into the titan with a bang. In an instant, the thing unleashes a painful roar as the impact lifts it up into the air and sends its humongous body hurtling all the way towards the Magnus Murus¡ªhurtling, until it collides straight into the wall. The foundation collapses, the metal crumbles, and so is a large opening left behind. Finally, although unintended, the fortress has been breached. But there is one obstacle left before they can hunt down Nokron. The titan rises from the rubble, and its wound quickly mends with a bubbling stream of silver. Deborah¡¯s attack has only served to enrage it, and soon, it shall charge again. ¡°Ascalon,¡± Lorelai voice calls to him. ¡°Forgive my haste, but considering the circumstance I thought it urgent to bid Deborah¡¯s aid.¡± ¡°A welcome decision,¡± Ascalon says, his thundering heart slowly coming to a rest. ¡°I am in your debt once again.¡± ¡°Let us give thanks after the battle is done. First, we must stop Sarathiel from rampaging any further.¡± ¡°What of his clarity? Surely there must be a remnant of his former self still within?¡± Even before she can reply, Ascalon knows what the answer shall be. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Ascalon. The connection has returned, but Sarathiel no longer responds to my pleas. He is gone, and so is any sight of Nokron. I can only assume he is hiding within the fortress whilst waiting for our demise by Sarathiel¡¯s hand.¡± So it is as Ascalon fears. If the Polus army is to advance, then there is only one path ahead, and that is through the King¡¯s former friend. And yet, he cannot bear to tread it. There must be another option. ¡°Is there truly no way to regain his sanity?¡± he asks. And surprisingly, Lorelai¡¯s response is more hopeful than he has imagined. ¡°¡­ One, possibly,¡± she says. ¡°Whilst enveloped in the miasma, there were times where I stabbed myself out of desperation, and the pain would help weaken the corrupting influence. Perhaps inflicting Sarathiel with enough shock will yield a similar effect and return his senses.¡± ¡°Lorelai¡­¡± ¡°It is in the past, Ascalon. I did what had to be done, and so will you. However, I will be blunt: If at any moment your life is in peril, then be prepared for the worst. You must live on even if it means cutting him down.¡± Lorelai¡¯s words are cold, but Ascalon knows they come from a place of worry. It is a sober reminder of his responsibility and the lives under his care. Still, Ascalon cannot help but be childish in times like these; the mere thought of killing his precious friend sends his soul in a rage. No, he wants to believe, no matter the trial, the impossibility, the voices begging for compromise, that there is always a better solution¡ªa proper happy ending for all. There will be no sacrifices. There will be no martyrs. No matter what, Ascalon will save Sarathiel. ¡°You do not have to worry about such things, Lorelai,¡± he says. ¡°Because I will succeed.¡± With hand over heart, Ascalon makes his declaration to the world: a promise and a truth. Never will I forsake another, or else let death seize me. For I shall no longer be a man worth respecting. ¡°¡­ Then I wish you safe tidings,¡± Lorelai replies. Their relay ends, and so is Ascalon left with a faith more blazing than ever. ¡°Surasha, Abel, Cain,¡± he begins, facing the others and extending his hand out in request. ¡°This is my own selfish desire, one I shall not require you to accept. But¡ªI know, deep within my being, that we can awaken Sarathiel from his despair. It shall be arduous, and danger will strike at any moment, but it would soothe me greatly to have your support. So I humbly ask: Will you follow me?¡± The Templars turn their heads towards the other, and then they look at Ascalon with an answer already half-spoken. Surasha is the first. ¡°If I backed away from something like this, I wouldn¡¯t be able to call myself a healer now, would I? Don¡¯t worry about harming the big oaf: I¡¯ll fix him right up even if he¡¯s turned into a sack of meat.¡± Abel is the second. ¡°It would be my honor to assist a comrade in their time of need. I am not fearful, for I know the Stars shall hearken to our cause.¡± And finally, Cain is the last. ¡°Sir Sarathiel still has much to answer for. I will not allow him to escape his troubles so easily; no, that is the coward¡¯s way.¡± The King accepts his knights¡¯ resolve, and he smiles. For it truly is a blessing to be in the company of such stalwart companions. ¡°Thank you everyone,¡± he says, drawing the Mattatron and spreading his wings wide. ¡°Together as one, then. We begin!¡± Chapter 68: You Are Not A Monster ¡°In truth, I do not understand myself why I dislike Sarathiel. Unlike Dismas, I suffered no familial losses save for some far-removed cousins. I had never interacted with him before all too often either, for he was a direct descendant. And whilst my own position in the lineage was of admirable prestige, there was a certain distance between our statuses that could never be bridged. ¡°Ever since I was young, I had always chased after his shadow. Sarathiel represented all that I wished; he was my goal, my ideal, and I longed to garner the same respect he commanded. Yet, even as time went on and the gap in our accomplishments widened, never did I resent him. It was but natural for a man of his birth, and I celebrated his triumphs as if they were my own¡ªwe all did. Sarathiel¡¯s deeds were our deeds; they belonged to the family. ¡°But then, he changed. Sarathiel returned from his expedition, and he locked himself away out of sight. Gone was the man I admired. He became cold, apathetic to all attempts at plea, and eventually he dared to abandon our very family itself. It was a terribly pathetic end to his legacy. ¡°And yet, even still, I did not hate him. Not at first, but I couldn¡¯t ignore the whispers. Every day, the others would curse him¡ªcall him all sorts of unsavory names. Month after month, year after year, until I felt something twist inside me. And I let out an uncomfortable laugh as I joined them in their heckling.¡± - Cain Power, Templar of the Order of the Mighty Power ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon The King and his knights dash through the air as the titan stumbles onto its gargantuan feet. If battle is unavoidable, then best to lay the stage far away from the others. ¡°I am sorry, Sarathiel,¡± Ascalon says, retracting his blade back and preparing to strike. ¡°I pray for your swift awakening.¡± The Mattatron shimmers in anticipation - edge cast aglow in orchid tint - and Ascalon surges forward with a burst of speed, piercing at the arrow-wrought crater in the titan¡¯s chest. The tormented thing howls and fumbles, but it soon regains its footing and swings its axe in a frenzy as if attempting to swat away a bug. Its efforts beget only frustration, for Ascalon evades every blow, gliding with a dance-like sway as the hunk of metal rips past and sends the air whipping into a tempest. But rather than impede, the gust further aids the King as he rides along the current and whirls around its large, mountainous torso. Cain and Abel drift a fair distance away, and they prepare their own weapons for combat: the older brother wielding a mighty warhammer and the younger brother with coiling spear. ¡°Ready yourself, Abel,¡± Cain says. He grips his hammer with both hands, leans far back until his eyes face the firmament, and gathers a heap of magma at the blunt¡¯s end. Like a volcano, it sizzles and churns¡ªbegging to be freed.¡°Do not hold me back.¡± The Principality¡¯s Templar chuckles in response before adopting a focused stance. Soon, his wings of water begin to drip upwards - as if in a reverse rain - until a crackling stormcloud emerges and weaves around his spearhead. ¡°Still ever so dour.¡± The brothers share a brief, acknowledging glance, and then they unleash their might. The two forces erupt forward in great columns of nature: stronger, fiercer, until their intensity reaches the peak, and they soon unite into a rippling spiral. The titan has little second to react before the twin calamities near and engulf its entirety. Ascalon promptly flies out of harm¡¯s way, and he witnesses the magma flow in rivers of hot, molten liquid: burning. Feasting ravenously on the newfound banquet of metal, and all the while the tormented being is seized by a spreading jolt of electricity. And yet, the titan persists in its rampage. It claws away the magma, now cooled to a charcoal black, and it flails every appendage until the discharge is nothing but a feeble static. The assault appears to have only angered it, much less bring Sarathiel to his senses. But in an odd display, its movements grow sluggish as if a docile spell has overtaken it, and its incessant bellowing gradually fades to a silence. Ascalon wants to believe this a good sign, but instinct warns of something dangerous. Soon, a crack. A split. And then, at the very top of Sarathiel¡¯s head, a horn rises: a metal horn of smooth edge that resembles a castle¡¯s spire, and Ascalon pales as a turbulent energy gathers at the tip. It grows in size before anyone can obstruct¡ªsqueezes into an uneven sphere as varying shades of silver coat the surface. The energy bursts, and it sends a ray plummeting directly towards Cain and Abel. Ascalon is struck with a premonition: a sudden, heart-rending future to come. He feels¡ªno, he knows right then and there that the two will be unable to escape the blast. And he shall be forced to watch them perish. Helplessly, just as he has once done all those years ago. He grinds his teeth, his every sense heightens to its utmost limit, and Ascalon screams with the full force of his soul. ¡°No!¡± With a flap of his wings, the King bolts with a speed that leaves even sound trailing in his wake, and he outstretches his body until the two Templars are safely guarded behind. They try to protest, but it is too late. The ray advances, and it swallows Ascalon in a vivid, blinding flash. Silver creeps into his every orifice, hardening everything around him until he turns into a living, breathing statue of metal. It feels cool, and then hot. And then it¡¯s as if there¡¯s nothing at all. He cannot even hear his own gasps, for all that overwhelms his ears is a constant high-pitched shriek. Ascalon remains trapped in place for what seems like an eternity; the seconds pass by ever so slowly, and not even his invulnerability can repel the encroaching metal. He cannot move for as long as the ray endures. But just as he begins to wonder how long it shall take to drain Sarathiel¡¯s stamina, the ray suddenly disappears. Ascalon wastes not a chance and breaks free from the silver coating, and he looks at the titan only to bear witness a broken horn¡ªsevered. And within the clutches of Surasha¡¯s whip-like blade. ¡°Damnit, Sarathiel¡­ you¡¯re not making this easy for us.¡± The titan attempts to grab at her, but she leaps to the side and runs across its jagged body before slamming the horn straight into its eye. It flails and crudely bashes its own body as she continues her sprint, and from her scabbard leaks an endless flow of pale-green poison: oozing and bubbling as it lands atop the steel and corrodes it into a dirty brown. The damage is minor, but Sarathiel¡¯s fatigue gradually reveals itself. Injuries mount, movements become sluggish, and its breath teeters out in pained, hoarse cries. Meanwhile, Ascalon is beset with a duo of displeased stares from Cain and Abel, but whatever lecture it is they wish to hold, the current battle is of more pressing matter. They bid their King a final admonishing look before hurrying to Surasha¡¯s aid, and he in turn takes a brief spell to catch his breath: to recover, though it does not weigh easily on his mind to rest by himself. Still, there¡¯s nothing to be whilst plagued with a quivering hand. Our assault is proving effective, but to whittle him down so shall not provide the necessary shock needed to wake Sarathiel. There must be a more powerful, more sudden, force. Yet is that truly possible for a being of such great size? If only we had another of similar ability¡­ In an instant, epiphany strikes like a thunderbolt, and he calls out to the other Templars with a new message. ¡°Everyone, we must change objectives!¡± he commands. ¡°Focus only on binding Sarathiel¡¯s movements, and render him immobile until I am in suitable position. Understood?¡± ¡°We¡¯re supposed to restrain him!?¡± Surasha shouts in disbelief. ¡°Stars¡­ fine, let¡¯s see this grand plan of yours then.¡± She soars up to the titan¡¯s neck and extends her whip-blade, wrapping it around its nape and then pulling as hard as her strength allows. Sarathiel chokes from the strain and attempts to tear the blade off, but it is useless; the tension is too tight, the cord too thin, and before long its back arches behind into an unbalanced fumble. But Surasha is not finished just yet, and she calls out to Cain with a directive of her own. ¡°Cain. Magma. Now!¡± Despite her short plea, the Templar replies with a hearty ¡°By your word!¡± and gathers a lump of magma before shaping it into a large chain. He flies inbetwixt the titan¡¯s legs, wraps the chain around it until the ends are tightly bound together, and he joins Surasha in fellow struggle¡ªgrunting in exertion whilst preventing Sarathiel from escaping the fetters. The only one left to act is Abel. His task is short; he simply draws his spear back, condenses the surrounding water until it forms a coating of ice around the pole, and he unleashes it with a boom: sending the attack penetrating towards Sarathiel¡¯s center. It flies past the initial mark left from the Astral Arrow, follows along the path laden by Ascalon¡¯s sword, and it pierces deep into the titan¡¯s very heart. With point lodged in its most vulnerable, the spear explodes in a frosty, chilling cloud, sending crystals to root deep all throughout the titan from the inside. Such a blow shall only serve to freeze it for a moment, but that moment is all Ascalon requires. The King descends to the ground, and he stands under the titan with zweihander firmly in his hand. Soon, a chant parts his lips, and an orchid manifestation takes form once more. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Forgive mine hurried prayer, o¡¯ embodiment of Polus,¡± he says, breath growing ragged as the strain sends his blood ablaze. ¡°But thy faithful are in dire need. Save this poor soul from its suffering, and deliver onto us our cherished friend anew.¡± Ascalon closes his eyes, and he entrusts his everything to the flow of Creation. It envelops him in warm, gentle light, coiling all around his body, and then: a strange feeling. His perception expands far out to the distance as if his spirit has abandoned physical form, and he can see the beyond with startling clarity: see the dewdrops forming on blades of grass, see the nicks and marks of his knights¡¯ armor in the marsh, and he can see the worried face of Lorelai. Her scrunched brow, her worried eyes, and her lips curled into a frown¡­ he can see it all. And then, the world suddenly becomes smaller. No, rather, he is the one growing bigger. Ascalon rises past the treetops, higher and higher, until eventually his height mirrors that of the colossal titan. Yet height is not all that has changed; as the King looks down upon his new form, he is met with a familiar sight. This scarred face, this translucent flesh¡­ Ascalon has succeeded, for he has become one with the orchid goddess. ¡°¡­ Templars, your duty has been fulfilled.¡± Ascalon¡¯s voice resounds with an otherworldly echo, as if he has transformed into a true divinity. ¡°Flee now: You need not struggle any longer, for I am here.¡± The newly embodied Ascalon seizes the titan¡¯s bound arms with his giant gauntlet, and he anchors himself to the earth¡¯s base. The ground below rumbles; it cracks and fragments from pressure. For the King strains every last drop of strength in his body, and he lifts Sarathiel into the air. There, the titan floats helplessly; its shadow blots out the land behind for leagues and leagues, submerging everything in a temporary period of night. But the darkness soon recedes, and the titan slowly, gradually, falls forward, plummeting with a distraught cry until¡ªit crashes. And so does the surrounding terrain rupture, shatter, fling out into millions of little fragmented pieces. Yet, the most broken of all are the pulverized remnants of Sarathiel¡ªflattened into a dull, muted sheet. Its arms are mangled, beastial helm crushed into a bloody silver pool, and its prior aggressive nature is replaced with a sad, dejected groan. But Ascalon is not finished. He grabs ahold of the titan, and he lifts it up into the air again. And he sends it crashing down again, obliterating its wrecked body even further. And then he repeats it all once more, and more, and more: each one more merciless than the last, yet Ascalon for not a second falters in his brutal onslaught. It pains him to see Sarathiel suffer, but it would pain him greater to lose a trusted friend. And so he persists, crush after crush, hoping that the next blow shall be the last. Finally, after an excruciatingly long session of age of punishment, the titan succumbs, and its body breaks all at once. Crumbling, crumbling, until all that¡¯s left is a mound of silver shards. Ascalon¡¯s own transformation dwindles, shrinking back down and returning to his corporeal form of flesh. Yet despite his victory, the King cannot celebrate, for he collapses in place and spasms with a grunt as the backlash enacts its toll. He has expected as much considering the short length between the goddess¡¯s summoning; this pain is nothing compared to what Sarathiel must have felt. ¡°Ascalon!¡± Surasha shouts, and she lands near with the other two Templars close behind. ¡°You really tore the whole place apart. Come on, get on your back. I need to¡ª¡± ¡°I am fine,¡± Ascalon says, pushing her away. His only plight is of exhaustion; to have Surasha heal him would be a waste, and so he puts on a stoic front and stands back up, carefully making sure to display not a sign of weakness. ¡°Sarathiel is likely in greater need than me. Have you found him?¡± The others give a slow nod, and they point towards a figure resting atop the mound¡¯s highest peak. There, the original Sarathiel lies worryingly still, but thankfully the King can see his chest faintly lift: the Steel¡¯s Throne yet breathes. ¡°Haha, ah¡­ quite the trial he has put us through,¡± Ascalon chuckles. ¡°Come, let us see to his aid.¡± With a weak flap, Ascalon takes off with the others and flies to the Throne¡¯s side. As they approach, Sarathiel sputters to life in a coughing fit, but his body is still too weak to move. All he can muster is a slight turn of his head as he greets Ascalon with a sorrowful, despair-wrought whisper. ¡°Ascalon¡­¡± he says. ¡°I am here, Sarathiel,¡± Ascalon replies. Surasha quickly sets to work as the King hurries over and holds Sarathiel¡¯s hand. ¡°I am here for you. Please, save your strength; Surasha shall be finished in a moment.¡± ¡°You should have let me die.¡± Ascalon scowls. ¡°You know I would never do such a thing.¡± ¡°It would have made things right.¡± ¡°You were ambushed, Sarathiel. Any one of us would have ended up the same in that mist.¡± He lets out a hoarse cackle, but the exertion causes him to wince. ¡°You¡¯d have conquered it just fine, Ascalon; I know it. The Templars too. No, the fault is with me. I am not as strong as you think I am.¡± Sarathiel brings his head back and looks up at the sky. ¡°I¡­ never truly left the desert that day. I couldn¡¯t bear living with the memories, but instead of facing myself I ran away. I didn¡¯t have the courage to accept it¡ªto accept that I was a monster.¡± Ascalon remains silent. Right now, what Sarathiel needs is not to be consoled. No, his expression begs for someone to simply listen. ¡°In the end, I achieved my dream. I returned home with Velcroz¡¯s head, and I was granted the title of Throne. Finally, I could escape from the Power¡¯s influence; I could live as my own person and not some political tool for those bastards to flaunt. Years of struggle and hard work, and here it was: the culmination of all my efforts. I should have been happy. I should have, but¡­ I knew. I knew I did not deserve it.¡± He swallows, and his voice quivers as if every word that follows brings him pain. ¡°When I closed my eyes, I saw them: the knights I left behind. I saw their faces frozen in terror, and I saw my reflection¡ªan unforgivable, pathetic wretch that should have never been born. Everywhere I went, their corpses followed. Sometimes in broad day, others in the corner of my eye. They merely stood there, judging me, but what could I have possibly done differently? Velcroz was¡­ Velcroz was too powerful. I had to do something drastic, and I¡ªhells, I thought I had it under control. I tried desperately to rein it in, but look at me now: repeating the same mistakes. Committing the same atrocities. If you had not been here Ascalon, I would have¡­¡± Sarathiel stops, and the light in his eyes slowly begins to darken. Like a vast, bottomless pit, it threatens to swallow all in its hopelessness. ¡°I am tired,¡± the Throne says. ¡°It is not too late, Ascalon. Raise your sword. Deliver the final blow. If living means having to suffer this guilt for even a second more, then I would rather¡ª¡± Ascalon rushes forward, and he traps Sarathiel in a wide hug. The man is speechless at first, and he tries to wriggle out of the King¡¯s grasp, but it is vain: Ascalon huddles tight and refuses to allow even a gap between the two. Normally such closeness would be out of character for him, but there is something about Sarathiel¡¯s request that suggests this to be the right decision. And it works. He can feel the tension in the Throne¡¯s body slowly melt away. ¡°You are not a monster,¡± Ascalon says without a shred of doubt. ¡°Ascalon, you don¡¯t know¡ª¡± ¡°You are right. I don¡¯t know what happened to you in the desert, but I don¡¯t need to know. Think, Sarathiel: did those faces you see truly view you with disgust? If your actions were all that could be done, then I find it difficult to believe the knights of Polus would not be so understanding. Look back to that time, and tell me what you saw.¡± ¡°I¡ª¡± Sarathiel chokes. ¡°I saw the one I loved most.¡± ¡°And what was on their face?¡± ¡°¡­ A smile.¡± ¡°And what were their words to you?¡± ¡°They told me¡­¡± Sarathiel shakes and trembles in resistance, holding back a guttural wail as he recalls days long past, but then his motions stop. And a wave of emotions surge through as he lets out a mournful, bittersweet sob. ¡°They told me to live.¡± ¡°Then that¡¯s exactly what you must do.¡± Ascalon continues to hold him close as Sarathiel frees his heart and sobs, for only when one releases their burdens can they finally begin to heal. Eventually, the Throne¡¯s voice grows hoarse, and his eyes soon dry. Sarathiel looks brighter. Happier. And Ascalon can sense that something has changed within him: a new resolution, a new hope, and a desire to live on for those watching from high above. Ascalon smiles, for he has a suspicion that Sarathiel no longer needs to worry about the mad titan inside him. Perhaps the two have already reconciled. ¡°You have fought hard,¡± Ascalon says, letting go at last and allowing an impatient Surasha to continue her treatment. ¡°Rest now, Sarathiel. You may leave the rest to us.¡± He walks a few steps away and joins with the other Templars. Cain and Abel have remained silent thus far, but Ascalon sees clearly the former¡¯s lack of hostility; he appears confused, yet also understanding. Hopefully this small change in perception will be the step needed for Cain to truly break free from his family¡¯s prejudice. Ascalon is about to call the other knights back, but he feels as if something is missing. And when he turns back around to look at Sarathiel, the King finds an ominously-still Dismas standing right over the Throne¡¯s body. ¡°The one ya loved most, was it?¡± the Dominion asks with a dangerous glare. ¡°Heh, no need fer a smart man to figure out what ¡®appened. Just answer me this: What was she like in her final moments?¡± ¡°Dismas,¡± Sarathiel begins, hesitating at first before replying in stride. ¡°Belladonna was¡ªshe was always full of life. Brave, fearless¡­ and above all, kinder than anyone else. And even when I had lost myself, she never once wavered in her love. Bella brought warmth to this world until the very end.¡± Dismas says nothing. He stands there for a moment with dagger clenched in hand, but eventually he turns away and begins to sink again into the shadows. ¡°Is that so?¡± he mutters. ¡°Well, that¡¯s all I needed to hear. Not so hard now, was it?¡± Without a sound, Dismas disappears. And Ascalon can finally breathe a sigh of relief. ¡°¡­ Ascalon¡­¡± Lorelai¡¯s voice says in his head. ¡°Ascalon, I see everything has been resolved?¡± ¡°Fortunately, though not without some minor difficulty,¡± he replies. ¡°Hehe, I saw it all firsthand. Do not worry, I shall have one of the Seraph come and take Sarathiel away from the battlefield. You, however, still have one remaining foe to vanquish.¡± ¡°¡­ Nokron. I assume he has yet to leave the Magnus Murus?¡± ¡°Indeed, and the same holds true for his army of legionnaires. I know not what the Alchemist plans, but he is certain to be of greater danger whilst in his own territory. Be careful, Ascalon: I mean it. No running into any more silver rays, not with your fatigue.¡± ¡°Ah, you noticed?¡± ¡°I¡¯m always watching over you. Of course I noticed, so from now on leave the brunt of the siege to the others. Do not join the fight unless absolutely necessary.¡± ¡°Very well, I shall do only what I am capable of.¡± ¡°That is¡­ not quite what I requested, but I trust you. Just remember: please be safe.¡± The connection severs, and Ascalon faces his Templars. The battle has worn them slightly, but still their condition appears apt for raiding the fortress. Though their rescue has succeeded, the main culprit responsible remains at large. He will pay for his crimes. ¡°Everyone,¡± Ascalon says, pointing his greatsword at the gates¡¯ opening. ¡°Let us seek justice for Sarathiel.¡± Chapter 69: The Gentlemanly Mr. Rose ¡°Humans are social creatures; this has not changed since the very beginning of our existence, and it is why we so often seek solace in the companionship of another. We congregate around those of similar beliefs, forge trusting relationships, and we toil the land as to bring future prosperity onto our descendants. Through this process, a most miraculous existence is born - the single greatest invention in mankind¡¯s history - and that is the formation of a community. Many begin with humble origins, but as time goes on that little clan transforms into a nation of millions. More people beget greater prosperity, more attention towards cultural and technological advancement, and most important of all¡­ a more plentiful military. ¡°But what happens when a nation expands far too grand such that it becomes impossible to fully manage on its own? Well, a curious system arises: one called hierarchy. It separates the people into an even further subset of groups. ¡°For Polus, the hierarchy is of nobles and common folk: Ishmahab¡¯s rich and poor; Augurium¡¯s scholarly and ordinary. But for those of Nox Caelum¡­ their class division is rather unique. ¡°Before, politicians ruled over the citizens, and there were many parties that each resembled a different ideology for how the nation should be ruled. But with the election of Grand General Xeros, he did away with the old system and instead split the capital into four unique layers: ¡°The Slums, where society¡¯s outcasts and most useless are dumped. ¡°The Freedman, where those of average skill are assigned to work in mundane occupations. ¡°The Proletariat, a more luxurious district composed of experts and the accomplished who have proven their value as an essential contributor to Caelum¡¯s affluence. ¡°And finally, the Erudite. A paradise for the nation¡¯s finest where the leaders and chiefs of the Grand General¡¯s retinue call home.¡± - A History of Sociopolitical Divide: Penned by Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Satanael Satanael is a very well traveled man. He has visited many nations, and with every passing jaunt does he forever engrave another soul to his garden. Salvation does not discriminate, after all; the worthy can be found in even the most isolated of regions. But there is one place he cannot help but feel fond towards, and that is his hometown: Caligos Imperium, the capital of Nox Caelum. It is nostalgic, this smell of oil. The man takes a greedy sniff of the polluted air, and he lets out a most blissful groan. The grey lifeless sky, the coarse roads covered in a layer of soot, and the ever pervasive overcast of smog¡­ yes, everything is so terribly grim. Yet, that is exactly why Satanael adores this wretched city. One would think the hostile conditions to cultivate naught but broken, battered souls, but that cannot be any further from the truth. No, it is because the people endure such harsh conditions, such utter contempt for one¡¯s well being, that beauty blossoms ever so delightfully within. And what better to discover these hidden masterpieces than on a lovely little stroll? The midnight hour has come, and Satanael finds himself practically skipping in thrill as he treks through the filthy avenues of what they call the Freedman District. The capital itself is better likened as four sectors stacked on top of one another, creating a most interesting visual of a ringed city. Caligos has not always appeared this way, courtesy of the Grand General¡¯s renovations. Satanael must admit his changes are rather interesting, but there is no surpassing the Freedman¡¯s charm; the district is most similar to the Caelum of before. Here, ragged carriages of metal creak and groan as they trample upon the blackened lanes, and this time in particular is plagued with a sea of weary-eyed laborers returning from the factories. Their faces are covered in dirt and the odd boils, and they all shuffle forward - one step after another - until more people join the sullen procession, and soon not a speck of the ground can be seen: only an ever proliferating wave. If one is not careful, they may find themselves swept away without a sound, for these sorry souls have not the energy to even look forward. No, their eyes linger upon their grimy boots, head tilting down as if the very act of keeping upright is far too much an effort. They merely entrust themselves to the wave¡ªto the countless days and experiences of repetitive routine. But even in this crowd does Satanael notice a few budding individuals who harbor potential to be a beautiful flower. He wishes to spirit them away right this moment, yet¡­ alas, he has other matters to attend to. A shame, but perhaps another day. His destination is elsewhere. He slips past the crowd and ducks into a sequestered alleyway: under the overpass, take a right at the creaky post, a left, another right, and straight through a derelict tunnel until¡­ finally, he arrives at a door with a shabby, flickering sign hanging above in bright glowing letters: ¡®Sarah¡¯s Speakeasy¡¯. If there¡¯s anything Satanael has learned in all his years of travel, it is that the people love to gossip. A bit of merrymaking, some alcohol perchance, and soon their lips loosen as a river of gold spews forth from their weary mouths. Yes, there is no better place to collect information than at a bar. Satanael approaches the door, and the sign illuminates his snazzy figure. He is dressed quite fashionably for the occasion despite the drab environment, donning a pitch-black suit of tweed fabric while a burgundy-red tie with patterns of sharp thorns lies snugly on his chest. It does not matter where you are, one must always look their best; it is only polite. With a raise of the fist, he knocks on the cold metal with three rapid taps. A tiny slot opens and reveals a pair of beady eyes carefully inspecting him. ¡°What¡¯s the¡ª¡± the doorkeeper begins. ¡°Oh, my apologies Mr. Rose. I should have recognized you what with that¡­ eccentric mask of yours.¡± He laughs. ¡°My, my, what happened to those passwords you all are so fond of?¡± ¡°Heh, as if anyone else would dress like you around here. Why do you always wear a suit to these run-down places anyway?¡± ¡°I simply adore looking charming.¡± They roll their eyes. ¡°Fair enough. You¡¯re an odd man, Mr. Rose, but who am I to judge in a world like this? Come on in.¡± The door parts way, and Satanael is welcomed into a quaint, dimly-lit room filled with people hoping to forget the day¡¯s hardship. The ladies wear provocative blouses and play games of darts off to the side while gentlemen in grease-stained jackets drown their woes in drink. Establishments like these are not necessarily forbidden by the Caelum administration, but it is better for such places to be situated away from the prying eyes of the public. ¡®Out of sight, out of mind¡¯ or so they say. The secrecy also aids in the discussion of more controversial topics. ¡°Ohoh? Now who¡¯s this fine lookin¡¯ good sir over here?¡± A strapping young woman waves over at him from behind the bar counter. Her hair is scrunched into a ponytail, color of vibrant red that would normally look like the sunset if not for all the grease and oil, and hoisted over her shoulders is a long apron with the words ¡®Drink ¡®till you¡¯re dead!¡¯ displaying in crude font. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°It¡¯s been quite a while, Mr. Rose,¡± she says, greeting him whilst expertly juggling between cleaning, serving, and attending to the needs of the other guests. ¡°You haven¡¯t forgotten about little ol¡¯ me now, have you?¡± ¡°A pleasure as always, Madam Sarah,¡± Satanael says, taking a seat. ¡°You know a man like I cannot be contained in this little corner of the world. I have been quite busy searching for high-quality buds to blossom in my garden.¡± She gives him a funny look. ¡°You know, you¡¯re always going on about flowers and such, but I¡¯ve never actually seen your supposed miracle garden before. Mind lettin¡¯ me have a look sometime?¡± ¡°Perhaps one day. The time is not ripe for you quite yet.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯d better ripe fast. I don¡¯t want to be an old woman before I finally see some damn greenery in this city.¡± ¡°It may come sooner than you think.¡± But before Sarah can reply, she is interrupted by a surly, middle-aged man in a brown cap and thick overalls. His eyes are glossy, complexion very much inebriated, and he manages to part from the bottle in his hands just long enough to slur out a barely-coherent sentence. ¡°Ah, bollocks. As if anything could grow around here. Only place free from all this smog is in the Erudite, and sorry Mr. Fancy Mask or whoever you are, but¡­ frankly speaking I find it hard to believe you¡¯re one of those schmucks.¡± Sarah giggles and quickly replaces the drunk¡¯s old bottle with a full one. ¡°Who knows? Maybe Mr. Rose over here is a high-ranking official, disguised to mingle among us poor folk.¡± The man lets out a hearty laugh. ¡°If it¡¯s a disguise, then it¡¯s a damn terrible one. Nah, he¡¯s just a weird fellow. No offense.¡± ¡°None taken, Mr¡­?¡± Satanael says. ¡°Call me Barker. Cid Barker,¡± he grunts. ¡°I¡¯m just a humble engineer over at the Vulcan Workshop.¡± ¡°The Vulcan Workshop¡­ is that not in the Proletariat? Oh my, you are quite the high-ranking individual yourself Mr. Barker.¡± The man scratches his head. ¡°Bah, I¡¯m not like those geniuses. I only made it up there after years of honing my craft, and in the end my skills¡¯re no better than young un¡¯s half my age.¡± Satanael pats him on the back. ¡°Nonsense, you¡¯ve still achieved what many in this district can only dream of. But that does make me curious; why spend your time down here? I¡¯m sure the conditions in the Proletariat are much more hospitable.¡± He chuckles. ¡°Eh, booze up there is just diluted drivel. Sarah¡¯s the only place I can get some half-decent ale in this city.¡± Sarah giggles and slips him another shot. ¡°Aw, don¡¯t go flatterin¡¯ me now you old drunk.¡± ¡°Heh, you deserve it. I would¡¯ve gone mad long ago if not for this bar.¡± Cid sighs and thumps his head against the hard counter. ¡°Especially since the higher-ups have been workin¡¯ us like slaves lately. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d say we¡¯re preparing for a full-on invasion against Polus.¡± Her expression darkens, and Satanael can spot a twinkle of something interesting in her eyes: displeasure. ¡°The Grand General¡¯s really committed this time around, huh?¡± ¡°Guess so. Apparently we managed to slay that Heaven¡¯s Throne lady, Lorelai, or whatever she¡¯s called. It¡¯s the perfect opportunity to finally annex the kingdom.¡± ¡°Do you think Xeros¡¯ll finally leave that eyesore of a spire?¡± Cid carefully looks around the bar before leaning in close and replying with a whisper. ¡°Well, you didn¡¯t hear this from me, but some buddies of mine said that he¡¯s already gone; apparently out on an excursion to the Steppe for some talks with the Overlord. I don¡¯t think he¡¯ll be back for another week or two. When he does, though¡­ let¡¯s just say it¡¯s gonna be busy.¡± Sarah raises her brow and attempts to appear indifferent, but Satanael notices a sly smile creeping onto her face. ¡°Well, that is mighty interestin¡¯. Suppose it doesn¡¯t concern us regular folk, but I do feel bad about the soldiers. It¡¯ll probably be a real blood bath¡ªfor both sides. Ugh, it gives me the shivers just thinkin¡¯ about it.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°That¡¯s the nature of war, darling. People gotta die in order to make things better; that¡¯s just how it is.¡± ¡°Does it really though?¡± she says with sincerity. ¡°All this fightin¡¯¡­ for what? Will this war really make our nation a better one?¡± Cid himself doesn¡¯t seem to have the answer, but nonetheless he remains firm in his stance. ¡°Listen, I¡­ I know life isn¡¯t the best right now, but you have to understand just how worse it was before Xeros took. You were, what, maybe ten around the time?¡± She huffs at him. ¡°It¡¯s rude to ask a lady¡¯s age, but yes. Around that.¡± ¡°Right. I just entered my twenties myself, and if you asked any adult at the time how things were, they¡¯d all answer the same: horrible. People were starving on the streets, magnates and big businesses treated their workers like subhuman garbage, and the politicians were only interested in lining their own pockets. Each and every one of them: big promises but all talk.¡± ¡°That¡¯s weird, I remember things changin¡¯ for the better,¡± Sarah says. ¡°My parents talked about it often¡ªabout how excited they were after Luxmi was elected.¡± ¡°Luxmi¡­ yeah, now she was a good woman.¡± Cid sighs and sets his bottle down in a rare moment of sobriety. ¡°May the Stars bless her soul. She really did try hard, and I doubt anyone would say otherwise, but her policies were too lenient. Our system was corrupt to the very core, yet she wanted to bring change slowly¡ªto solve everything with peace when what we really needed was to raze this nation to its roots. ¡°Her way would have only prolonged our suffering, and the people? We were all tired. Tired of the empty promises; tired of all the false hope; tired of being led on year after year only to see that nothing truly changed. And that¡­ that¡¯s why Xeros was a real breath of fresh air. He saw this nation for what it really was, and he vowed to cleanse it with his own hands. There was no compromise rubbish, no talks of bending the knee before those factory tycoons: no, he was going to bring change even if it meant by force, and it¡¯s that intensity that made us all so smitten with him.¡± Cid finishes his speech with a most patriotic shake of the fist, but Sarah¡¯s reaction appears to be more underwhelming than he has expected; she merely rolls her eyes and lets out a bored yawn. ¡°So?¡± ¡°So¡­ what?¡± he says, incredulous at her apathy. ¡°So what about now? Did he make Caelum into the paradise he oh-so touted during his campaign?¡± Cid groans and smothers his face in his hands. ¡°Okay, I know where you¡¯re goin¡¯ with this, but let me make this clear: yes, there are some problems. But¡­ it¡¯s enough. The factories are safer, the hours aren¡¯t as long, and no one goes hungry anymore. Best of all, our children can get an education. I was forced to work with machines because that was the only thing I could do, but that¡¯s not the same for my daughter.¡± His face turns soft, and he swirls his bottle in his hands. ¡°She loves helpin¡¯ people, you know. Always worryin¡¯ about the little scratches on my face. She has her own first-aid kit she likes to haul around everywhere, and her teacher¡¯s even told me that her grades are good enough to be enrolled into medical school. Heh, imagine that: my kid as a doctor. If she does well, becoming a Proletariat¡¯ll be easy. Hells, after a couple of years she might even climb up to the Erudites. Something like that would¡¯ve never been possible back in my day, especially with a dad as dimwitted as me.¡± Cid¡¯s demeanor suddenly grows cold, and he shakes his head whilst scowling in annoyance. ¡°We¡¯re doing just fine around here, but then you have those lunatics running around as of late¡­ shouting and screaming about staging a rebellion. Have you heard about them?¡± Sarah turns rigid. ¡°Oh, you mean the resistance? Yeah, I¡¯ve, um, heard about them. What was their group called again¡­¡± Satanael seizes his chance to join the conversation and chimes in with an enthusiastic reply. ¡°The Yurodiviye, or so I recall: an elusive organization dedicated to the fall of Xeros¡¯s regime.¡± ¡°Aye, that¡¯s the one,¡± Cid says with a grim nod. ¡°They¡¯ve been raiding workshops all throughout the Proletariat the last couple of weeks. They used to be pretty docile, but¡­ guess the Grand General¡¯s departure got leaked somehow. All of my buddies are scared about being attacked¡ªit¡¯s madness, I tell you. Can¡¯t sleep a wink these days without a nice swig of the bottle. Especially after hearing about their leader¡­¡± ¡°Their leader?¡± Satanael says, voice dripping in amusement as he casts a side eye at lady Sarah. ¡°Do go on.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know much,¡± he begins. ¡°But apparently she¡¯s called Seraphina the Witch. No one¡¯s ever been able to get a good look at her¡ªnot alive at least. And if you¡¯re unfortunate enough to cross her path¡­ gives me chills just thinking about it.¡± Cid sighs and stands up from his seat, although not without some drunken wobbling first. ¡°Well, it¡¯s been fun, but I¡¯ve gotta head back home; don¡¯t wanna worry the wife. Thanks for all the drinks, Sarah. Save me a spot for next week, would you?¡± ¡°Of course! I¡¯ll even bust out the good stuff.¡± ¡°Thatta girl, I¡¯m looking forward to it.¡± With a final parting gesture, Cid stumbles out of the bar and into the cold evening air. He is gone, and so are the rest of the patrons. The only ones left are Satanael and Sarah. ¡°Welp, looks like you¡¯ll be my last call, Mr. Rose,¡± she says, stretching her shoulders with a little moan. ¡°What can I get ya, another shot of brandy?¡± He chuckles. ¡°No, I am quite satisfied. However, I do have something I must tell you. It is very, very important.¡± ¡°Oh? You¡¯re makin¡¯ me a bit nervous here.¡± ¡°Do not worry. It shall be quick.¡± Satanael leans in close, and he whispers in her ear. ¡°I know your secret.¡± Chapter 70: The Yurodiviye ¡°All children are born equal: That is the motto of the Moral Educational Reform of Institutionalized Tutelage, or the Merit Act for short. It is by far the most sophisticated and influential change writ by the Grand General, for the Merit Act¡¯s purpose is to restructure the entirety of the Nox Caelum academic system from the ground up. What has once been but a means to produce more laborers is now transformed into one of the land¡¯s most prestigious in regards to learning, and I do not say that lightly. It loathes me to admit, but Xeros¡¯s facilities are simply of better quality than the Thaumaturgy¡¯s. ¡°The contents of the Merit Act itself are thus: every child - regardless of birth or status - will receive the same standard of education as any other. Enrollment into the Imperial Academy is required by law, and it is there they shall be subjected to a course designed to encompass all manner of industries: math, science, engineering, sorcery, economics, and even warfare. From infancy to adulthood, the children of Caelum are nurtured and given free reign to discover their own calling. ¡°However¡­ if one happens to yield subpar results despite the nation¡¯s support, then their evaluation will be swift. Cold and ruthless. The mediocre are sent to toil away in the factories, and those of even lesser capability are tossed aside to the nation¡¯s most impoverished district¡ªthe Slums.¡± - An Analysis of the Imperial Institution: Penned by Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Satanael My, did she really need to run away so quickly? How very rude to leave a gentleman all to his lonesome. Satanael pulls out a slip of paper from his pocket. The writing on it is brisk: ¡®Come to the Slums. There¡¯s a shack at the edge: red hood, grey windows. Can¡¯t miss it. We¡¯ll settle things there.¡¯ ¡°So I am to visit where she is most powerful, is it?¡± he says aloud in amusement. ¡°This shall be interesting.¡± With a quick tidy of his person, Satanael departs the bar and makes his way through the backstreets. This time, however, he is not alone; a legion patrol carefully scours the area, and he hears from the distance mentions of a familiar group: the Yurodiviye. One can imagine what shall happen if they discover a lone soul skulking about this late at night. Satanael has a feeling conversing will do no good; fortunately, the moon¡¯s light does not reach here. He hides under the cover of darkness as the patrol rounds the corner, and he slips on by like the passing wind. Eventually, after a few more run-ins with the Caelum inspectors, he comes upon a barred-off gate. The metal bars are held tightly with chains, and a sign warning against any further proceeding is plastered squarely in the middle. This must be the entrance to the Slums. Despite its size, Satanael has no trouble scaling the gate, and he leaps to the other side. But instead of hearing the soft thud of pavement, the man¡¯s boots let out a squelch as he lands atop a muddy ditch. Oh dear me, I am not very proper now, am I? There is no helping it unfortunately, for there is naught a speck of road to be seen. The ground is like that of the forest¡¯s surface - brown, coarse and uneven - and it leads downwards in a steep incline towards the very bottom of the city. He sighs and laments his unseemly appearance before descending to the Slums below. As he walks, the buildings around him become more deteriorated, more decayed, until there are no buildings at all, and the only surroundings are giant piles of rubble and waste. The smell slowly grows fetid, and the trash heaps only intensify in their filth. It is hard to believe anyone could live in such conditions, but nonetheless life finds a way. Soon, Satanael comes across a few of the district¡¯s residents. Some huddle around makeshift hovels built from the upper layer¡¯s scraps while others stare transfixed at a crude bonfire fueled by grease and discarded fabric. Regardless of shelter, they all share the same look: tattered clothes, a bony figure, and empty eyes that speak of hopelessness. The sorry lot spare not even a curious look as he passes by; they are only concerned with their own misery. Suddenly, a tiny hand tugs at his pantsuit, and Satanael looks down to discover a little girl staring right up at him. She is dressed in rags - caked in mud and dirt - yet in her gaze is a sparkle that outshines all else in this miserable landscape. She is not like the other dregs; hers is an innocence unblemished even in squalor. ¡°Why, hello there little one,¡± Satanael says with a hum. ¡°What can I do for you on this fine day?¡± ¡°Um, um¡­¡± she stutters. ¡°Are you Mr. Rose?¡± ¡°Why, you¡¯ve found the right person. Indeed I am.¡± The girl breaks out into a radiant smile. ¡°Oh! Um, Sarah said to look for you. She said a weird man in a mask would visit us.¡± ¡°Ah, yes. I do in fact have an appointment with Madam Sarah. Would you be so kind as to lead me to her?¡± ¡°Sure!¡± she beams. Satanael cannot help but chuckle before her enthusiasm. ¡°My, you¡¯re an energetic one. What is your name?¡± ¡°Lilac! Sarah gave it to me. I like it a lot.¡± ¡°Lilac, is it?¡± He rubs his chin in thought: ¡®Lilac¡¯, the flower of purity. How fitting. ¡°And a very pretty name it is. The floor is yours, Lilac. Lead the way.¡± With a bright ¡°Okay!¡±, the little girl scrambles over herself and excitedly pulls on his hand. Together, the two trudge through the Slum¡¯s maze of twists and corners, and Satanael delights in the company of his newfound guide. Lilac is a very cheerful darling, but he notices something curious: her steps are slow, right leg dragging on the ground without a care as she babbles about her day. The girl must have been born lame, the poor thing. ¡°Lilac, why are you here?¡± he asks. ¡°Hm? I dunno,¡± she says. ¡°Because it¡¯s my home?¡± Satanael shakes his head. ¡°How strange, your home should be in the Imperial Academy dorms. Did your parents not enroll you? To have one¡¯s child receive an education is the only grace Xeros permits to the Slum dwellers.¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t have parents. Sarah takes care of me. But it¡¯s fine because she stays with me and I¡¯m not lonely.¡± Lilac pauses for a second before correcting herself. ¡°Okay, I¡¯m lonely sometimes, but I have you now so I¡¯m not anymore and that makes me happy!¡± He laughs and ruffles her hair. ¡°Well, consider me grateful to be of service. I hope you remain ever as merry, Lilac. If you behave and be a good girl, then I shall bring you to paradise.¡± ¡°Paradise? What does paradise look like?¡± ¡°Like an endless field of flowers. There, no one is hungry or sad. There is only happiness. Forever. Now, doesn¡¯t that just sound nice? Do you want to go there?¡± Lilac gasps and squirms in place as she struggles to contain her excitement. ¡°I do! I do! I want to go to paradise!¡± Satanael smiles. ¡°And so you shall, but only when you become a grown-up.¡± She sulks and puffs out her cheeks in annoyance. ¡°Why can¡¯t I go now?¡± ¡°You are not ready, that is why. Children must be allowed to enjoy life as a child should.¡± Satanael is sure of it; her potential is one of a kind. With her blossom will she become one of his greatest masterpieces, but that time will have to wait until her adulthood. He really must remember to come back some day. ¡°Hm, okay then¡­ oh, what about Sarah? Can she come to paradise?¡± ¡°Of course she can. But for now, let us keep this as a secret between us, okay? It will be a fun surprise.¡± Lilac nods and puts on a stoic face. ¡°Okay, surprise. Got it.¡± ¡°Very good. But I must say, it would be unbecoming of me to allow a lady to drag her foot in the muck. Let¡¯s see¡­ how about this?¡± Satanael grabs Lilac¡¯s waist, and he hoists her up to his shoulders. The little girl flails her arms in surprise at first, but eventually she settles into a comfortable position and lets out a little giggle as she holds onto his head. ¡°Now, isn¡¯t that better?¡± he chuckles. ¡°Wow, I¡¯m so tall!¡± she exclaims, enjoying her new view. ¡°I can even see Sarah¡¯s house from here!¡± Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°Is that so? Then let us be off. Best not to keep the madam waiting.¡± Satanael sets off, carefully holding onto Lilac as they make way towards the very edge of the Slums. The pair receive the occasional odd glances from nearby dwellers, some even wary, but their demeanor softens when the girl gives them a passing wave and it becomes evident the masked stranger poses no danger. She must be quite beloved around these parts; one scream from her and no doubt the entire community will come rushing in to slice his throat. Eventually, they reach their destination and come across a dilapidated shack with a red hood. It somewhat resembles a house, more than the other dumps anyway, and is situated right next to the edge of a massive landfill. As they approach, the door opens, and a familiar woman reveals herself. Only, her appearance has slightly changed. Her red hair is much darker now, wrapped neatly into a bun rather than a ponytail, and covering her body is a thick grey robe that lends an imposing air. Gone are her warm brown eyes and easy-going demeanor; instead, she crosses her arms and cares not to hide her hostility. She glares at him, brow furled and mouth wrenched into a snarl, but she quickly stops upon seeing the young Lilac hanging joyfully over his shoulders. The girl jumps off his back and runs over to her, tackling her stomach and wrapping her arms around her as one would a daughter and their mother. ¡°Sarah! I found him! I found the weird man!¡± she shouts while latching on tight. ¡°Oh, but he¡¯s really nice. He listened to me and played with me and taught me a lot about para¡ªoops, I¡¯m not supposed to talk about that but he¡¯s really nice! I like him a lot.¡± ¡°Good job, dear,¡± she says, squishing the girl¡¯s cheeks. ¡°Why don¡¯t you head inside? I managed to snag some food while you were away. Help yourself; in the meantime, Mr. Rose and I here have some things to talk about.¡± ¡°Okay!¡± Lilac dashes inside, leaving the other two alone to stew in a silent tension. ¡°... I¡¯ve never seen her so energetic,¡± Sarah says, breaking the peace. ¡°Guess I have you to thank for that.¡± ¡°Hehe, I am rather fond of children,¡± Satanael replies. ¡°How kind of you to send me a guide after so rudely running away, but what would you have done if I truly meant harm? I did not expect for you to be a woman willing to endanger the life of a little girl.¡± She scowls and spits on the floor. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry about that. If you tried to harm even a single hair on her head, my people would¡¯ve stuffed you into a grinder.¡± ¡°A test, then? To judge my intentions?¡± ¡°Hrm, guess you could think of it that way, and you passed with flying colors. Congratulations, but¡­ you have some nerve pulling off that stunt at my bar. Who are you really?¡± Satanael breaks out into a wide grin, and he greets the lady with a bow. ¡°Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Satanael, a traveler so to speak. And you are the illustrious Madam Sarah¡­ or should I say Seraphina, leader of the Yurodiviye? My, your pseudonym is not very subtle. I am surprised you haven¡¯t been discovered yet.¡± Seraphina¡¯s face hardens in distaste, but nonetheless she returns his gesture with an acknowledging grunt. ¡°How long have you known?¡± ¡°Since the very beginning, my dear. It is why I frequented your establishment all those years ago. At first, I was merely curious about your organization, but as time went on I truly grew to fancy your delightful drinks. And the information¡­ one can gleam much from a bar hosted by the resistance.¡± She jumps back and pulls out one of Caelum¡¯s most distinctive inventions: a ranged armament known only as a gun. ¡°So you were a spy.¡± ¡°No, No! I assure you not,¡± Satanael says with a pleading gesture. ¡°On the contrary, I am here to help you.¡± ¡°What?¡± He lets out a little tut and wags his finger. ¡°If I were truly a spy, do you not think the Grand General¡¯s forces would have already arrested you?¡± ¡°... Makes sense.¡± ¡°Precisely. Never did I meddle in your affairs, and quite honestly I never intended to. However, certain circumstances have led me to reconsider this relationship of ours. Please do believe me; I come in good faith.¡± Seraphina does not seem convinced, initially. But his words eventually get through to her, and she hesitantly lowers her weapon. ¡°Is that so? I must say, you¡¯re quite the mysterious man, Mr. Satanael. I¡¯ve always been a bit wary about you: no history, no background, not even a family member or colleague. I researched all there was to know about my customers, yet no matter how hard I tried there wasn¡¯t a single trace of your existence anywhere. It¡¯s almost like you¡¯re a ghost. And me? I had no problem with that so long as you kept your distance. I even enjoyed your company from time to time.¡± ¡°Oh, you flatter me¡ª¡± ¡°But,¡± she interrupts. ¡°This is different. You forced my hand, suddenly confronting me like that. The only reason I¡¯m not having you killed right now is because you don¡¯t look like one of those government pests. You¡¯re not here to rat us out, and you¡¯re not here to hurt us. So speak: what do you want?¡± Satanael throws his hands up in mock offense. ¡°Why, have I not made myself clear already? I merely desire to realize your fervent wish: the Grand General¡¯s demise. You are a smart woman, Madam Seraphina. You of all people know best how truly powerless your organization is.¡± Her brow twitches in annoyance, and she bares her teeth in a threatening growl, but Satanael continues to goad her: to infuriate her, for that is the only way she will see reason. ¡°No matter how many factories you raid, no matter how many of these poor, dirty vagrants you gather to your side¡­ in the end, it is all useless. Buildings can be rebuilt. People can be replaced. You cannot harm Xeros in a way that matters.¡± Seraphina¡¯s patience wanes so fiercely that her body begins to physically tremble in rage, and yet she does not try to refute him. The truth is hard to bear. ¡°¡­ I know that,¡± she says. ¡°Of course I know. To Xeros, our efforts probably seem no different than some little kid¡¯s tantrum. A slight inconvenience. But I¡ªI can¡¯t stop here. I¡¯ve sacrificed far too much, lost many good people, to be where I am now. No, I¡¯ll never give up. Not until I can finally save her from that wretched man¡¯s grasp¡ª¡± She stops and brings her hand up to her mouth in surprise, as if she has just revealed a most precious secret. Her? A woman? Hahaha¡­ ah, so your cause is not nearly so selfless as you tout. How very human. ¡°Forget it,¡± Seraphina mumbles, attempting to change the subject. ¡°I get what you¡¯re saying, but don¡¯t think the Yurodiviye¡¯s fallen so low as to trust the words of a stranger. If you want to help us, then prove it. Show me somethin¡¯ worth believing.¡± Satanael gleefully rubs his hands together; now he is making progress. ¡°If it is proof you desire, then you¡¯ll be pleased to know I¡¯ve already prepared a most splendid gift. All I ask is that you give me permission to use your door.¡± ¡°My¡­ door? I guess, but what do you need it for?¡± ¡°You need only observe.¡± Satanael slowly walks past the wary woman, her eyes never once straying away from his figure, and he makes his way towards the door¡¯s handle. He grabs it, and he turns the knob, and then a familiar floral scent brushes past. Seraphina¡¯s eyes widen in shock as she takes a whiff of the clean air, but her surprise turns into pure bewilderment as the door opens and reveals a sprawling paradise of flowers. ¡°Huh, that must be the fabled garden I¡¯ve heard so much about,¡± she says in awe. Satanael bids her an amused chuckle before disappearing with a shut. It does not take long before he returns, and he does so with a new companion in hand: a battered, eviscerated corpse. The thing¡¯s features are no longer recognizable; only the clothes remain intact, though it has been stained thoroughly with dark, grimy blood. ¡°What in the hells is¡ªwait, I recognize that attire.¡± Seraphina backs away with a horrified expression and aims her gun at his head. ¡°That¡¯s one of my men, you lunatic! Stars, just what did you do to him?¡± Satanael stands still as to not aggravate her further and motions for peace. ¡°I simply helped you cull your organization of traitors.¡± ¡°Traitors?¡± ¡°Indeed. I believe this little article will interest you quite a bit¡­¡± He reaches into his pocket and then throws a blood-soaked booklet at the ground in front of her. She tentatively picks it up, flipping through the contents, and Satanael is met with an amusing sight as denial, anger, grief, and cold acceptance courses through her all at once. ¡°Hah, so that¡¯s how it is,¡± she says with a bitter laugh. ¡°The names of my executives, our future plans, and even info about our hideaways¡­ everything. It¡¯s all here, jotted down to the exact damn dot. This bastard was going to sell us out.¡± ¡°Quite so,¡± Satanael replies, wiping his dirty hands with a handkerchief. ¡°I intercepted him just yesterday right as he was escaping to the upper layers. No doubt such information would cause you quite the inconvenience, so I did the favor of handling the matter myself.¡± Seraphina looks at him, and she sighs. Her shoulders slump, chest sinking in defeat, and she throws her hair back before rubbing her forehead with a grumble all too tired from the day¡¯s excitement. ¡°Alright, alright. You¡¯ve proved your point. So, what¡¯s this grand plan of yours, then? How are you going to help us?¡± ¡°Well, not I specifically.¡± He claps his hands together and makes a big, dramatic show of inspecting the surrounding before scooting over to her side and lowering his voice to a shush. ¡°What I am about to tell you is of the utmost importance¡ªa secret that can never be exposed even if it would cost your life. Are you prepared to shoulder this burden?¡± ¡°If it means ridding this nation of Xeros, I would sell my own soul.¡± He laughs. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit. Now, listen closely¡­¡± Satanael waits for a spell as to ensure the tension is at its most palpable, and then he lets loose a shocking revelation. ¡°Polus will soon invade the city.¡± To that, Seraphina promptly collapses onto her knees. ¡°W-What? Are you serious?¡± ¡°Yes. Soon, the entirety of the Polus army will descend upon Caligos Imperium. They are fast approaching. It is only a matter of weeks before their arrival, and they shall lay siege the very moment Xeros returns from his trip abroad. The attack will be sudden, but even whilst blindsided the capital will not fall easily. What we require is an opening.¡± She stares at him with a quivering lip, voice struggling to find the right words, but eventually she gulps down her disbelief and replies with a dignity befitting of her position. ¡°You want us to cause a riot. Sow disorder, force the legion to spread out their numbers. And while they¡¯re all busy dealin¡¯ with us, the Polus knights¡¯ll already be past the gates.¡± ¡°I knew you were a sharp one. Exactly, you know this city more than anyone else. With your aid shall the bells of liberation finally be rung. The people will rejoice. The villains will be slain. And Caelum will finally return to how it always should have: in the hands of the people. What do you say, Madam Seraphina? Will you join us?¡± Seraphina opens her mouth and almost accepts his proposal, but she holds back at the last second and looks away with a very curious expression: one of concern. ¡°The Yurodiviye will provide their full support with the invasion¡­ but only on one condition.¡± ¡°Say it, and it shall be yours.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a woman among Xeros¡¯s forces. I don¡¯t care who you have to kill, but¡­ not her. Please, anyone but her. No matter how hard she tries to resist, I want you to promise me that you¡¯ll do everything in your power to keep her safe.¡± He smiles. How adorable her desperation is. ¡°Very well, what is the name of this fine lady?¡± She hesitates, and Satanael sees in her eyes a tenderness far beyond the likes of simple affection. ¡°Her name is Luxanne, chief Praetor and second-in-command of the Grand General¡¯s legion.¡± Chapter 71: In The Halls of the Magnus Murus ¡°To think I would be forced to expel my stockpile of vapor¡­ curse that Sarathiel. My tankard runs dry. It will not be long until it is fully empty, and then time will rewind. Back to that day. Back to the fate I so desperately cheated. ¡°How interesting. I thought death to be a terrifying thing, but now I am not so sure. My body feels light, my heart at ease. For many years have I sought to prolong this life already expired; I could never escape it, the dread of knowing not when I would inevitably succumb. Only in insanity did I stave off the fear, yet here I am more sane than ever before. And I feel liberated. ¡°Perhaps¡­ yes, perhaps I have been mistaken all this time. Rather than avoid the end, I should embrace it. And only then will I be free of the ticking clock. I will finally ascend past the limitations of man¡¯s flesh. ¡°But first, I must prepare. A deranged Sarathiel will not delay the Polus army for long; I need another force to serve as mine guardian. Fortunately, there are many bodies left inside this fortress, and many more concoctions still left untested¡­¡± - Alchemist Regent Nokron ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon The King¡¯s army and his trusted Templars make their advance past the ruined gates of the Magnus Murus. A crudely-made opening awaits them beyond the rubble; Ascalon is first to step foot within, and he carefully inspects the interior for any sign of attack. However, all he discovers is a winding maze of corridors and walls dulled grey. There is not a voice in the air, not a step that echoes despite the metallic floor. The fortress is mysteriously devoid of life. This is¡­ strange, Ascalon ponders. I would have felt more at ease had Nokron¡¯s soldiers ambushed us. Are they hiding in wait? No, I sense something else. Something haunting. A cold chill runs along my spine, shivering as if these halls are a gateway to another realm: one where the boundaries of life and death are in transition. Something is not right, but the King does not have the luxury to back away now. He must carry on no matter what lies ahead. Still, one problem remains, and that is the sheer size of the fortress itself. ¡°Dismas, how long would you need to chart the Magnus Murus¡¯s structure?¡± he asks his shadow. The Dominion¡¯s head sprouts up from the darkness, and he replies with an exasperated sigh. ¡°Too long. The damn place¡¯s a whole city in and of itself; it¡¯ll take all day before I start makin¡¯ sense of it.¡± ¡°Unfortunate, but we shall make do. What about Nokron¡ªcan you predict where he may have fled?¡± Dismas raises his chin in thought before returning the King¡¯s query, his reply skeptical. ¡°I¡¯m not certain, but if this hunk o¡¯ junk¡¯s like the other Caelum strongholds, then chances are he¡¯s holed up in a control room somewhere near the center. Problem is, the hall¡¯s aren¡¯t straight. They branch off and take ya runnin¡¯ around ¡®till you¡¯ve looped right back. Only way we could find ¡®im faster is by splittin¡¯ up.¡± Ascalon winces before the proposal, especially after having witnessed Cain and Abel almost meet their end from Sarathiel¡¯s ray. But the half-brothers in question are by no means feeble; they have fought on the frontlines for much longer than any other here. ¡°Then let us proceed as so,¡± he says, raising his finger and directing the others into groups. ¡°Cain shall join hands with Surasha and the Virtues. Abel, you move with Dismas. And as for me¡ªI will pursue Nokron alone.¡± If he cannot be there by his knights¡¯ side, then he shall protect them through other means: by luring the Alchemist¡¯s attention. Whatever the ploy or scheme, let it be cast first upon Ascalon in his solitude, for to have the King be so precariously alone would prove far too great an opportunity for Nokron to ignore. The Templars understand this, but that does mean they agree with it; they cross their arms and nag at him like he is a disobedient child, pleading him to take at least one another along. But he reassures them that all shall be fine. Even whilst separated in the fortress will Ascalon still receive the blessing of the Monarch¡¯s Wings. He does not tell them that his invulnerability has waned after the battle with Sarathiel. ¡°We are in agreement, then?¡± he says. The others give him a tentative nod, and Ascalon relays his plan to Lorelai. ¡°Hm, It is indeed the most efficient course of action¡± she begins. ¡°But I worry your isolation will result in a similar scenario to Sarathiel.¡± ¡°That is the intention.¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. ¡°Ascalon¡­¡± ¡°No need for concern. Why, my strength has almost fully recovered!¡± he replies with a bold-faced lie. ¡°A fast recovery is but one of my many skills.¡± Lorelai pauses, and he can feel clearly her displeasure threatening to be let loose in a tirade of words. But just like before, she humors his attempts to maintain dignity and remains calm¡ªthough her composure only aids in fostering an intimidating aura. She is terrifying while silent. ¡°You truly do have a talent for reckless heroism,¡± she says with such intensity that his every instinct begs to flee. ¡°What is the point of anointing me as strategist if you are going to ignore my orders, anyway? Soon people will believe me to be a vassal taking pleasure in endangering their lord.¡± ¡°Nonsense, I am wholly capable of endangering myself.¡± ¡°That is not something to be proud of.¡± Ascalon cannot help but giggle at her scolding. ¡°This is no laughing matter, Ascalon!¡± she chastises him. ¡°My apologies. It is just¡ªyou went along with my whims more easily than I had anticipated. If it was before, you would have left your station and dragged me back by force if needed so.¡± Ascalon says as such in what is meant to be a jesting manner, but Lorelai reacts rather oddly. She whispers something vague, and her voice is almost avoidant. It is not the first time she has acted like this, and if he suspects correctly, it will likely not be the last. Her mind is always seemingly sharp except in the moments when he calls back to her past. Suddenly, she acts as if in a daze, always changing the subject or appealing to his wistful memories. Once or twice it can simply be dismissed as a symptom of her amnesia, but¡­ ¡­ He should stop teasing her. ¡°Was I always so obstinate a person?¡± she attempts to say casually. ¡°Obstinate is a harsh word. I prefer to think of it as a staunch commitment to one¡¯s beliefs.¡± ¡°Oh? How optimistic. Then what is your view of the current me?¡± Ascalon doesn¡¯t answer at first. The words linger in his throat, unsure whether to be let loose or remain buried as a passing impulse. When he does finally have the courage to speak, he does so with a smile: a sad one, but not necessarily bad. Sometimes it is to the benefit of both that one does not disclose their secrets; if only he isn¡¯t so keen. ¡°Precious,¡± he says, to which he can hear a faint mumble of embarrassment in reply. ¡°You are irreplaceable.¡± And he truly means it. ¡°¡­ I think we should end this here.¡± Lorelai firmly ends the conversation, and Ascalon wonders: if he could see her now, would she have blushed cheeks? ¡°Hehe, by your word.¡± With his mischief sated, Ascalon raises his sword and bids the knights a final goodbye. ¡°Then let us meet again at the Alchemist¡¯s haven. Be safe.¡± The respective groups take their places amongst the differing routes, and then they set off, dashing into the unknown. Dismas¡¯s words are correct; navigating the fortress is an arduous task. Forks upon forks open up before him, leading to a confusing tangle of dead ends and repeating paths. Sometimes he goes up, and sometimes he goes down, yet there are hardly any indicators that differentiate the various floors. All he can do is trust in his memory. Fortunately, or rather suspiciously, his trek is a smooth one. Like before he has encountered none of the Caelum¡¯s combatants, and Nokron reveals not a hint of his existence. Even so, the King refuses to let his guard down; danger yet lingers still where he least expects it. In the midst of his rush, Ascalon steps on a seemingly harmless tile, and it sinks. He hears a snap, a creak above, and he raises his head only to witness a gigantic saw-blade descending from the ceiling and threatening to split his head in two. But instead of metal cleaving through flesh, Ascalon needs not even move a step as the weapon breaks itself upon his body and shatters into hundreds of pieces. The Monarch¡¯s Wings are not so brittle a protection as to falter under a mere trap. However, the saw is not the only defense he has triggered; soon, countless gaps in the walls open to reveal an array of mechanical contraptions. One blows a surge of flame at him. Another releases a cloud of toxic gas. Even the floor is laden with peril, for large, gleaming spikes erupt from below as to skewer him like one does a piece of meat. Yet through it all, Ascalon prevails. He does not try to evade, nor does he ever slow. He persists in his steady pursuit as the fortress continues to unleash terror upon terror, demolishing the hall into a wreckage of broken bits, shattered fragments, and crude oil set ablaze¡ªall ineffective. The King is unharmed: physically, at least. Though such protection does not prevent his mind from shuddering in pain. When the assault finally weakens, and his body reaches the next staircase, Ascalon lets out a gasp and clutches at his heart with a trembling hand. Hah¡­ I have not felt like this since my days in the forest. It is a distant memory, pain. My soul demands that I rest, but to tarry any longer is a comfort not allowed of me. Not when my fellows are still out there braving danger. I must be the first to discover; only then will their safety be assured. Ascalon takes a deep breath, and then he climbs to the next floor. Something is wrong. Before he can take another step, a wave of dread seizes him. It is the same sensation he has felt at the fortress¡¯s entrance, only stronger. Deeper. More drenched in misery. And as Ascalon reaches behind and instinctively takes out his blade, he hears a noise in the distance: a faint shuffle, dragging, and the tortured moans of tens¡ªno, hundreds. He has finally found them, the fortress¡¯s personnel. But what he sees is more horrifying than any of sane mind could possibly imagine. For they are no longer of human body, but a clump. A giant, fleshy, conjoined clump of sludge and grafted flesh. They are the souls of many, melted and fused into an abomination, and every single one is conscious of their nightmarish form: screaming, sobbing. Begging to be released from their suffering. Chapter 72: Possessed By Disease ¡°The study of Creation is endless, and while I am a staunch advocate for the teaching of all knowledge - even the more¡­ shall we say controversial subjects - there are some pursuits far too heinous to risk being spread throughout this world. After a strict evaluation by the academic council many centuries ago, they divided these loathful arts into what we now call the Three Taboos. ¡°The Taboo of Coercion prohibits any sorcery involving the tampering of one¡¯s mind: brainwashing, indoctrination, and mental domination. However, recent years have seen an upsurge in scholars touting theories that would aid in the rehabilitation of the traumatized and mentally ill using these very techniques. Who knows? Perhaps we may just see a revision in the near future. ¡°The Taboo of Sacrifice is much less disputed, for it forbids sorceries that would require the use of live sacrifices¡ªhuman or otherwise. This taboo was a favorite for many a tyrant in the past when they found themselves cornered. At times, hundreds of thousands of people would be gathered like livestock, only to be summarily drained of life for the use of a weapon of mass destruction. It is no wonder why this taboo was the very first to be proposed, else the allure of power would lead man to commit the unforgivable. ¡°And finally, the Taboo of Reanimation. Strictly speaking, it is impossible to give life upon those already perished. Many have tried, and many have deluded themselves of succeeding, but it is a core truth of this world that the soul will always disappear after death. Where they disappear to is one of life¡¯s greatest mysteries; however, the dead are the dead. No matter what body of flesh is created or how the thing claims itself so, it is not the original soul. No, it is a memory¡ªa collection of vague echoes imprinted upon Creation. ¡°This taboo was not enacted out of fear for the populace, but rather to dissuade the grief-stricken from pursuing an impossible fantasy. Only tragedy awaits at the end of that path: disappointment, despair, and in some cases¡­ a desire to cross the other side. That isn¡¯t to say there aren¡¯t malicious uses of reanimation, however; there once was a sect of sorcerers that utilized corpses to serve as soldiers in their army. These blasphemers of the departed were known as Necromancers.¡± - The Three Taboos and Why You Should Never, Ever, Break Them: Penned by Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon ¡°Nokron¡­ you have gone too far,¡± Ascalon growls under his breath. His veins bulge, his chest tightens in rage, and it takes every last shred of self-control within him to avoid cursing the Alchemist¡¯s name right this instant. He cannot fathom it: the sheer disregard for human life to commit such a horrid atrocity on one¡¯s fellow man. Ascalon has once believed no one to be above Xeros in regards to foulness, but even that vicious Corvid would never stoop so low. Not to this extent. Ascalon wants to retch, but thankfully he manages to force the bile down just enough so that he can speak out to the twisted amalgamation. ¡°Can you understand me?¡± he asks, but the assimilated bodies are too preoccupied with their screams to bid him an answer. At the bottom, an ill-fated group is molded into the shape of uneven stumps serving as legs, and the outer layer is plagued with teeth and bone and squirming eyes that run along the span. Every passing moment are they crushed by the immense weight above, but the souls that make up the torso and limbs are subjected to a similar, unnecessarily cruel existence. Their skin is stretched impossibly wide, overlapping and stitching together as if to form a wiry coat of armor; yet, the center of the body is entirely hollow. A wide, gaping hole awaits where should be its stomach, and sharp bones jut out of the squelching void that resemble an exposed rib-cage. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Ascalon knows it in his heart; there is no undoing their horrid transformation like he has done for Sarathiel. It is risky for a King to pity his enemies, but how can anyone who fosters even a sliver of compassion be of cold heart before this sight? The thing reminds him of the bodies back in the village during his youth: after the raid and slaughter. He has seen it then, a massive pile of the dead¡ªbody upon body being stacked upon another until it is impossible to tell where one part starts and another ends. Ascalon shakes his head with a guilty pang, and he readies his blade. The only mercy he can grant upon them now is a swift end to their agony. The amalgamation turns towards him, and amidst its painful throes does it finally discern his presence. A bubbling drool oozes from its many mouths; its previous trembling freezes to a standstill. And its distress is replaced by unfettered loathing: loathing for all that is living. It arches back, exposes its cavernous chest, and from the darkness¡ªan spiked tongue thrusts forward with a boom like cannon-fire and attempts to entrap Ascalon within its bristly grasp. He reacts at once, turning to the side with the slightest of movements, and he chops off the tongue as it passes by. One, clean swing, and from the stump does a spurt of blood fly out and taint his armor. But something is strange. The blood: it sizzles. Instead of crimson, a black sludge corrodes at his barrier. Ascalon has not a moment to cleanse himself before the fleshy brute charges in and flails its countless, deformed arms. Regardless of his invulnerability, covering himself in any more of the acid-like blood is dangerous. He quickly backs away and engages the thing from afar, inflicting wound upon wound whilst maintaining a safe distance. It reacts not to its mounting injuries save for the occasional choir of wails, and it crudely demolishes the hall with a frenzy of oddly fast bashes. However, the thing moves like a bumbling infant; Ascalon has no trouble evading, but so far his efforts have done naught to stop or even slow its tantrum. On the contrary, the thing only grows in madness the longer he engages it. He needs to deliver a conclusive blow. Ascalon almost debates throwing the Mattatron as if it is a spear, but therein lies a more convenient tool within reach; he lunges for the severed half of the amalgamation¡¯s tongue and catapults it directly at its most vulnerable. The makeshift spike impales the thing with a squelch, sending it flying alongside the barb until its pinned firmly against the ground. Such force only renders it immobile for but only a second, but Ascalon seizes his chance, grabs onto a long, broken piece of rubble, and sends it crashing down¡ªpulverizing the sorry clump into a puddle of its own sludge. Finally, it is finished. Ascalon is allowed respite at last. Or so he thinks, until the amalgamation begins to move once more. The King watches on in horror as pieces of its mangled remains crawl out from the ruin. He doesn¡¯t understand; there is scarce left of them. Some of the assimilated souls have not even a top or bottom half: no heart, no organs, no brain with which to cry suffering. So how are the dead moving? I¡­ have been mistaken all this time. I merely assumed they to be alive, but now¡ªnow I see the truth. The residents of this fortress perished long ago, perhaps during my bout with Sarathiel. These tortured cries, these pitiful pleas for death: merely corpses given voice. There is no point in contending with what cannot be killed. Fortunately, the smaller dregs pose little harm in their current state; to flee the thing¡¯s pursuit will be a simple task, but the other Templars may not be so knowledgeable. He must warn them of the danger. ¡°Lorelai,¡± he relays. ¡°Please send word to the others; do not engage with Nokron¡¯s experiments. They cannot be killed; resisting shall only drain their stamina. If need be, attempt to cripple or ensnare and quickly move on.¡± But not a word is sent in reply. ¡°Lorelai?¡± He reminisces back to their time outside the gates, before Sarathiel¡¯s transformation. She has mentioned then of a strange force blocking her connection. Strange, our line was unbroken still a few moments ago. For it to be obstructed now would imply¡­ that Nokron is near. As if to confirm his suspicions, he spies a faint trail of something in the distance: a wisp of dark mist. And it leads directly into a large set of doors at the hall¡¯s end. He has found it, the Alchemist¡¯s refuge. All that is left is to confront him. Chapter 73: A Kings Duty, A Mans Selfish Wish ¡°It was upon the following year of my coronation that I began to wonder¡­ what does ¡®invulnerability¡¯ truly mean? There were very little records of Kings and Queens in the past ever requiring the full invocation of the Monarch¡¯s Wings. Whenever there came a threat pounding on the capital gates, the current ruler would protect the city by calling forth a barrier. The guardian deity, that which doth take orchid form, was an extension of that sole, but simple, power. ¡°However, what of my individual defense? If there were ever a moment in which I must be exposed to harm, what would the threshold be before mine bulwark inevitably succumbed? To that end I decided to conduct a very simple test: by harming myself. ¡°First, I consumed the most potent of the Virtues¡¯ toxins. Only small doses at first - I am not quite reckless enough to risk instantaneous death - but as time went on I steadily increased the volume. In the end, no matter what entered my body, I never felt pain or had my blessing weaken. ¡°On the next test, I set myself on fire. This trial was meant to determine how long I would be able to endure a constant source of harm. Quite surprisingly it took a full six hours before I began to feel a slight discomfort, but I was immolated whilst in a passive state so such findings may not be entirely accurate in the midst of battle. ¡°From then on, I subjected myself to many more extremes: from stabbing, drowning, starvation, to at one point even tossing myself off the highest point of the castle. My antics brought Gadreel much stress at the time - it took me weeks before I was able to convince him that I did not, in his words, ¡®gone utterly mad¡¯ - but I believed these evaluations to be necessary for one beholden with such responsibility. ¡°I had to know my limits. I needed to understand what my capabilities were in order to one day fight alongside my fellow knights. Even if the process was frightening, I never wavered. This was my contribution to the kingdom: a study to aid mine kindred in the future far to come.¡± - King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon Ascalon approaches the room of leaking miasma, but the moment he draws near, the doors part way on their own, and he is greeted by a hazy domain of darkness and decay. Murky strands wriggle in the air; the shadows curl and freely twist about. But at the epicenter of it all is a large, weathered machine. Its appearance is reminiscent of a slavering maw. The machine encompasses the entire chamber, pipes and ducts snaking out of sight. Every second, it groans whilst siphoning the surrounding corruption: devouring it, molding it, until a vile gas is produced in turn, and it gushes along towards the silhouette of a man most familiar. There, greedily sucking in every last bit of the vapor, is the degenerated form of Nokron. His mechanical suit is now a rusted mess of brown and copper, and he slumps over as if without conscious whilst attached to a series of hooks and vein-like tubes¡ªall thoroughly filled. All flowing directly into his body. Here he is, the source of all this madness. Ascalon can barely suppress a growl as he strides forward and confronts the Alchemist, facing him with a pointed blade. ¡°You¡­¡± Ascalon says, his eyes alight with fury. ¡°Were you the cause of this? Were you truly so desperate as to forsake your humanity and commit the foulest of taboos?¡± Nokron raises his head, and he spews forth a sound utterly hideous: sharp, like a serpent. Guttural, as if choking on his own spit. There remains not a trace of humanity left in that garbled tongue. ¡°Ah¡­ at last, you have come,¡± the Alchemist rasps. ¡°Did you enjoy my gift? It is a shame Sarathiel fell so swiftly, but he served his role. My role is to give you a very welcome reception, though it appears you have already torn apart my unseemly guard. How interesting. I thought such things would have disturbed you more; the King¡¯s heart is crueler than expected.¡± Ascalon scowls. He will not be provoked by Nokron so easily. ¡°Speak. What did you do?¡± ¡°Me?¡± he says, delighting in the King¡¯s anger. ¡°I simply put them to use. Incompetent, the lot of them: for they to be defeated after expending so many a resource was a failure I could not overlook. Those fools were merely awaiting their own slaughter. And so I gathered them all up, I locked the doors so they could not escape, and I drowned them in the throes of despair.¡± Nokron hums in satisfaction, and he hangs his head back as if to savor the memory of his brutality. ¡°It was quite the satisfying sight, witnessing their flesh meld into a greater whole. I turned them from a feeble, lowly wretch to a creature of neither life or death: forever trapped in the realm between. Trapped in an unending state of torture. There was no need to gather the vapor anymore, for I had beget an endless supply¡ª¡± Before the man can say another word, Ascalon leaps forward and prepares to cleave Nokron into two right then and there¡­ and he succeeds. The Mattatron slips through his waist with nary a resistance, and his severed halves unceremoniously dangle loose whilst still attached to the grotesque machine. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. It is done. The King has slain him. Is¡ªIs that all? After all his atrocities, after all the misery wrought by his obsession, for Nokron¡¯s end to be this brief¡­ I am rather conflicted. But it never is so simple. Soon, the bloody remains of the Alchemist begin to do the impossible: they move. A slight twitch, at first; then a tremble; then a violent shake until the two halves writhe about as if with a mind of their own, and from the stumps shoots forth a crawling, groping mass of black tendrils that steadily reattaches Nokron¡¯s warped body. ¡°Rash and impatient,¡± the man says with not a reaction to his sudden bisection. ¡°How unfortunate. But I am afraid such effort will yield naught but disappointment.¡± Nokron frees himself from the tubes, lurching forward and stumbling with a stiff gait not unlike the abomination of before. Except his demeanor is far from despondent. He stalks with a cold, calculated purpose, and the King opposes him with a brave front in reply: yet his nerves teeter at edge like never before. How can it not, for the man has just cheated death before his very eyes. ¡°Could it be¡­?¡± Ascalon mutters, clenching his sword with even greater revulsion. ¡°But that is absurd. You¡ªyou are already dead, aren¡¯t you?¡± The man chuckles, and he rips off his armor, his helm, the tankard upon his back. And he reveals to Ascalon the visage of a brutalized corpse. His flesh is flayed, necrotic and oozing with bubbles of pus, and his face is carved all over in rancid scars. He has no hair. He has no skin. He has no eyes, for all that lie in his skull are two empty voids. But what Ascalon finds worst of all is that none of these wounds are recent. No, they fester with the stink of untold years. How long has he been rotting like this? How long has Nokron lived enduring such a horrible existence? Despite all the despicable acts he has committed, Ascalon cannot help but feel a small sympathy for the Alchemist. No wonder he is so deranged; it does not excuse his actions, but the King understands. No one should be forced into such torture. Yet, the man in question is oddly serene. He looks at peace, as if he has finally found his salvation. ¡°Death¡­ I now realize how wonderful it is,¡± Nokron says. His arms raise up high, body prostrating towards the heavens while he grovels and worships the miasma like it is a loving deity. ¡°For so long have I avoided the sweet seduction of nothingness, but it is within its bosom that my soul is free of this blight we call pain. I am refreshed. Clean. No more whispers, no more phantoms. How ironic: only at mine final hour do I feel truly alive.¡± But his euphoria quickly turns into hate as he jerks his head and looks upon Ascalon once more. ¡°Alas, my resentment is great. There is only one reason why I still remain in this world, and that is because of you¡ªyou infuriating, loathful curs! You are responsible for my madness, you are the calamity sent to corrupt my work, and you¡­ well, I simply despise your very presence.¡± The Alchemist coughs and wheezes as he descends further into his tirade, and all the while Ascalon wracks his brain over how to kill the unkillable. Such a feat is possible with the others, but by himself? Unlikely. Still he does not wish to summon the knights whilst Nokron is in such a volatile state. However, he has no need to ruminate over such matters anymore. Because the moment Nokron ends his slew of insults, his body begins to swell, and large tumors grow all over¡ªspreading, propagating, without rest. ¡°Ah, but I must give you credit,¡± he says. ¡°If it were not for your invasion, I would have never been enlightened. What better to repay your efforts than a taste of my own revelation? Let us all be free of this prison of flesh and depart to the realm of gentle quiet¡­ together.¡± Nokron takes one last breath, and then he explodes. Ascalon is speechless. Even when flying chunks of flesh come his way - and he batters them to the side with a vacant swing - the King does not move a step. He merely stands there, staring. For he knows better now. Soon enough, a new gas slithers out of the alchemist¡¯s ruptured corpse. It spirals into the air, gathers into one, billowing cloud, and it steadily shapes itself into the form of a man. It has no distinctive features, yet Ascalon knows full well what appearance it mimics. It has no mouth, yet Ascalon can hear a voice echoing from every direction. Nokron has become one with the miasma. ¡°I know of your power, Ascalon.¡± Its words jab at the King¡¯s brain. ¡°I know nothing I do will bring you harm, but what of your precious knights? Mankind is ever so easy to break, and this form limits not the extent of mine passage. Everywhere, in every chamber and hall, there shall only be me.¡± With the wraith¡¯s every deliberate taunt, Ascalon¡¯s heart sinks, deeper and deeper, until he finds it difficult to even breathe, and his throat clenches and shreds as he yells out a last feeble attempt at challenge. ¡°Do not run away from me, Nokron! I am your enemy; I am the one you hold grudge with.¡± But all the King arouses from it is a hazy, jeering grin. ¡°Goodbye, Ascalon. May you spend these moments in torment.¡± Nokron disappears, rushing out of sight and leaving Ascalon to his lonesome. Have I failed? He looks down at his hand. It is trembling¡ªsmaller than he remembers. Such power flows within these veins, yet what use is it now? Ascalon is helpless. Is there really nothing I can do? Or so he thinks, but perhaps there exists one possibility left. To entrap Nokron, to prevent another tragedy from ever repeating again, he must fulfill his duties as a lord. And sacrifice himself. ¡­ I am sorry, everyone. A proper King would seek to prioritize the lives of the many, to think of those back home and their fate if they would lose their ruler, but this¡ªthis is my selfishness. I will always choose to protect those within my reach. The Mattatron shimmers a sad glow, for it knows what he shall do next. ¡°Forgive me, old friend. But there is no other way.¡± Ascalon raises his blade, and he spreads the Wings¡¯ authority far, farther, and farther still, until the entire fortress is surrounded by the orchid light. And then he retracts it back, dragging along all that is immaterial: the gas, the defiled miasma, and every last piece of Nokron¡¯s consciousness. They return and are smothered directly into Ascalon¡¯s body. He closes his eyes, and everything turns dark. Chapter 74: I Want to Be a Hero ¡°You might find this odd, Lorelai, but¡­ I have always felt somewhat passive. I suppose it is more accurate to say that I do not really have any interest in leisure. I do not care for gold or wealth; I have neither hobby nor passion that I enjoy. Every day, I hone my swordsmanship, and I busy myself with administration¡ªall to become a better King. To grasp ever so dearly to the principles of a hero. ¡°And it is not as if I dislike the work. On the contrary: It gives me joy knowing I am of use, but sometimes I wonder how different my life would have been if I was never chosen. Right now, my identity is that of a ruler. Back in the forest, my identity was of a caring brother. But if I had never been blessed with the Monarch¡¯s Wings, and if I succeeded in raising Surasha from poverty and sent her off to the capital, what would my identity be then? ¡°Perhaps, in another life, I would have enjoyed being a traveling merchant. My skills in finance are not too shabby if I do say so myself, and the thought of exploring the world fills my heart with longing. Yet, I know I would never be happy. This desire is merely an escape, a guilty wish to run away from the hometown I left to be razed. It is only because I am now King that I have made peace with my actions, for this title has granted me the ability to help more than I could have ever imagined. ¡°Still, I find myself wondering at times¡­ if I could go back and gather the courage to prevent that tragedy, would I be happier than now?¡± - King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon Ascalon¡­ I hear a voice. It calls out to me, but what for? I feel as if I am lost, spiraling through a cold and empty void. There, a hand reaches out to me, desperately attempting to pull me out, but I do not know those faces. I do know this touch. It is a warm and comforting sensation, but at the same time I cannot help but cower under their gaze. What do they want from me? Why do they look so solemn? Ascalon! What was I doing before this? Strange, I¡ªI think I left something behind, something important. My soul screams to go back, yet I do not know where it wants me to go. And even if I could, would they care to welcome me again? Me, who is¡­ ASCALON! I startle awake with a gasp, sweat dripping down my ash-covered face, and a little girl enters my view as the world gradually becomes more clear. The girl is Surasha. She pouts before me, her bony body covered in rags, and she slams her tiny fist against my stomach. ¡°Hungry,¡± she says. Ah, that¡¯s right. I am taking care of Surasha. Odd, I usually get up before the dawn¡¯s light can peek over the horizon, but to think I would sleep in for so long¡­ was it something I ate? Well, I would have needed to eat something first for that to be true. Maybe it has something to do with the dream I just had. It was a very strange, yet beautiful, dream. In it, I was King of all of Polus. The people looked up to me for guidance; I was a man none could call filthy. But whenever I try to look deeper, to remember the blurry faces of those by my side, an overwhelming wave of sadness washes over me. I must have lived a lifetime in that ethereal world¡ªa me of the future I shall likely never see again. Just how did the Ascalon of that dream grow up? Although I can feel a trace of sorrow within him, there is also something different. Something warmer. I wonder if the me of that world was able to become a hero. Although I know it¡¯s impossible, I cannot help but look towards the sky and imagine for myself a grander purpose. I know it¡¯s foolish, that reality is never so kind to those who dare hope, but these hands of mine want so desperately to reach out to those far away fantasies. But¡­ why do I still feel so out of place? Has the dream not ended yet? If only that were true, but the pungent smell of dirt and filth suggests otherwise. No, as much as I loathe to admit it, this is the real world. I shake my head and pick Surasha up. I cannot dwell on this right now; she needs to eat or else the sickness will come for her again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, your brother was just feeling a bit tired. I¡¯ll go find some food right away.¡± ¡°Okay¡­¡± she mumbles, struggling to keep her eyes open. I look around our makeshift home of sticks and mud for anything edible, but it appears we¡¯ve already picked clean our supply. All that¡¯s left is some bark we use to shield against the wind and rain, and a couple of dried animal skins currently in use as a blanket. The forest has been yielding less as of late, and I¡­ I try to avoid scavenging around the village. Maybe some leaves will help stave off the hunger? But what Surasha needs is real food. Something clean and not dirty. I could go and try my luck at a nearby cave, but who knows what sort of animals lurk within. It is too dangerous; I cannot risk getting eaten, or else Surasha will be left alone. ¡­ Maybe I do have to lurk around the village after all. It is bright out, but I should be able to slip in unseen as long as I¡¯m careful. Stay to the shadows, stay away from the square, and everything will be fine. The main problem will be getting out unharmed. Food has been hard to come by, even for the adults, ever since the legion began to raid our borders. They scorch our crops, slaughter our cattle¡­ there are a lot of other kids like us just trying to survive. While Surasha and I chose the forest, the others decided to stay nearby even if it meant being harassed by the villagers. If I get into a fight, I know all that awaits me is a helpless beating. That is how it¡¯s always been; my body is frail, and Surasha is prone to illness, so it is no wonder why we out of all our siblings were fated to be kicked out. But even after all these years, I cannot bring myself to hate our parents. I understood, then; there were too many mouths to feed. Someone had to go, and I¡­ I know it tore them apart to do so. I can still see their guilty faces begging me to forgive them, and I have. I have a long, long time ago. That is why I wish to avoid running into them. How would they react if they were to see me now, alive but struggling to make it to the morrow? Would they take Surasha and I in again? No, what¡¯s done is done. Even though I have forgiven them, we cannot ever go back. This, right here, is now our life. ¡°Surasha, I have to go outside for a little bit,¡± I say while setting her down. ¡°Are you alright with waiting just a little bit longer?¡± ¡°Mm¡­¡± she says, her arm latching around my leg. ¡°Come back?¡± ¡°Always, I promise.¡± After hesitating for a moment, Surasha lets go and snuggles herself under the blanket. She lets out a big yawn, closes her eyes, and soon drifts off to sleep. Meanwhile, I get ready and wrap myself in some muddy clothes. The dark color will help me blend in with the forest, and I also take along a splintered metal pole I snatched from the smithy. The edge is dull and worn, but it will do. The weapon is meant more for intimidation rather than actual harm. With my preparations complete, I finally set out for the village¡ªmy steps heavy and tense. It will take an hour or two on foot, though maybe I¡¯ll be fortunate enough to find some fauna along the way. I have not seen any for months now, probably due to the empire¡¯s tampering of the forest, but legion sightings are also sparse as of late. Maybe some of the wildlife have returned. On second thought, maybe it is for the best. If they do come back, the hunters will likely snare them before I can. I should be satisfied with stripping for any scraps left behind. I must be wary of the more dangerous beasts first before I can even dream of feasting on some meat. I wouldn¡¯t need to visit the village in the first place if I was strong enough to hunt on my own, but¡­ I¡¯m scared. When faced with a life or death encounter, the reality is much, much more terrifying than the stories told in my book. Your skin pricks as if being stabbed by tiny little blades; your breath goes haggard from concentration; and time itself seems to slow as you nervously analyze your opponent¡¯s every move. I have only experienced that feeling once before, and it was when I happened to come across an injured Caelum deserter. I still remember the raw hatred and desperation in their eyes: filled with a fury willing to swallow everything within their gaze. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. I could have finished them off. They were already dying, collapsed and without a strength left in their limbs. I could have taken their head and returned to my village as a warrior, but something inside of me then refused to step forward. There, right there, was the cause of all my suffering, a symbol of torment serving under the empire¡¯s banner. I just had to raise my weapon, and stab. That was all I had to do. But I couldn¡¯t. I couldn¡¯t kill them; instead, I ran. I ran away with all my might until my soles were shredded and bloodied, all in an effort to escape a corpse long vanished from sight. I can never be a hero, just a coward. But even someone like me wants to live, to survive and prosper no matter how harsh the world is. I want to believe that things will be better; there has to be a light at the end of this long struggle. There has to be. Hah, the day is already so tiring. I thought I had already banished these feelings, but ever since this morning, I cannot help but be plagued by a sense of melancholy. Strange, when did I start thinking like an adult? Even my words are rather stuffy and mature-like, as if I were a noble-born. Maybe a part of my dream self stuck with me when I woke up¡ª Crunch. A sudden sound snaps me back to the present. A beast? Maybe prey? No, the sound is much clunkier. It sounds like metal. I drop onto the ground and quickly hide under a bush, scanning the area for the source of the noise. Curses, I should have been more cautious. What is wrong with me today? I see someone in the distance. They are not far, maybe¡­ a couple paces away. Their figure is obscured, but the bronze gleam shining off armor is unmistakable. It is a Caelum scout. Not injured, not deserting, and they are heading straight in the village¡¯s direction. I¡­ what should I do? The village has managed to stay hidden for years, but if even a single soldier finds it¡­ I do not know. I really¡ªI really do not know. It would be a lie to say I am attached to the place, much less the people within, but I can¡¯t just stand by and do nothing. But what can I even do? By the time I get there, the scout will have already reached the entrance. I cannot stop it from being discovered, but maybe I can convince everyone to run away. Surely they will understand; it is better to flee and hope the other settlements will take them in. ¡­ No, I already know that no one will listen to me. Why would they? In their eyes, I am abandoned. Unwarned. A reminder of what they have thrown away. My pleas will probably seem nothing more than a feeble attempt at causing trouble. I should leave it be. Surasha and I are just fine by ourselves. We¡¯ve survived in this forest for years; we can survive a couple more. And if the legion does occupy the area, we can always move towards the capital. I doubt they will allow us in the city, but even a life on the outskirts would be much safer than out here. I¡¯ll make an honest living doing labor and helping out the caravans. Once we are older, and I have saved up enough money, Surasha will enroll into the academy. She will leave this dirty life and pursue a dream of her own, and me: I will rest peacefully knowing her future won¡¯t be limited like mine. I will be happy. I will be content. I¡ª ¡­ Ah. I¡¯ve already thrown the pole. It leaves my hands before I even realize, and it jabs right into the legionnaire¡¯s leg. They howl out in pain, but the wound is shallow. And I watch, dumbfounded by my own recklessness, as they pull it out effortlessly and stare straight at my hiding spot. Their red eyes glow with rage. You have really done it now, Ascalon. I do not know why, but I have a feeling that if I leave now I shall regret it for the rest of my life. Visions of the village¡¯s future flood into my mind, and I see a vast, crimson sea of blood and corpses: our home, my home, forever tormented by the memories of the dead. And in that vision, I see the charred remains of my parents, desperately wrapping my other siblings in a final, loving embrace. Their faces are burned beyond recognition, mouths agape in horror, but at least they are together in the end, snugged in the arms of the ones they love most. I feel¡­ anger. Grief. But most of all, regret. The Ascalon of that dream¡ªI can feel his sorrow in this future yet to happen. I am sorry, Surasha. Please pardon this foolish brother of yours, but I wish to be selfish just this once. Maybe now I can reach out to that far-off sky. Maybe I can finally be a true hero. Without any hesitation, the scout charges at me, and I run towards the opposite direction as quickly as I can. Not a word leaves their mouth; they furiously sprint forward with an almost crazed determination. They are faster than me, but I know this forest better than anyone. I leap through the thickets, trudge through the mud, and curve around every twisting pathway and trail I can think of. There is no need to fight; all I have to do is lure them far away from the village and escape once I¡¯ve widened the gap. At night, the beasts shall handle the rest. But right before turning another corner, a sharp whizzing sound flies right past my head. What¡ªwhat was that? I look back for a moment only to find the scout pointing a strange metal object at me. Something clicks, a flash blinds me, and suddenly a small chunk of steel smashes into a tree by my side. It completely penetrates the bark, filling the forest with a horrid, deafening screech, and it is only now that I truly realize the danger I¡¯m in. I am going to die. A single hit from that horrible thing will mean instant death. Hah, I¡­ how could I be so stupid to think I would be able to flee a Caelum legionary of all people? My nerves feel as if they¡¯re on fire, and doubt begins to bubble up from the inside. Is this how my life is going to end: pathetically slumped over on the ground? No, I chose to do this; I cannot regret it now. This place will not be my grave. I slide down a hill and sprint into the darkness of a nearby cave. This is really dangerous, but I¡¯d rather take the chance of encountering a beast than be plagued with a barrage of steel. The cave stretches on for what seems like an eternity as I stumble through the caverns, and all the while I hear the rhythmic echo of a boot stomping closer and closer from behind. The shadows will not blind the scout for long; I have to find another way to lose them and fast. Along the way, I notice a small crack overhead. It is too small to fit in, but if it¡¯s only a limb¡­ there¡¯s no other choice. I jump up and bury my hand in the opening. A sharp pain immediately surges through me, and I can feel my flesh tear apart as blood leaks out from the gashes on my arm. But nonetheless I hug the stone firm. Even when my knuckles go white and the dirt stings at my eyes, I desperately hold on until the legionary finally passes by. I hang there in silence for a moment. Then another. And another. Until their noisy steps fade into the distance. I think¡­ I think they are gone now. I hold in a sigh of relief and quietly drop down onto the floor. The moment my feet land, I dash straight back to the entrance. They will notice my trick eventually; I have to make it back before that happens. My soles are bruised, swelling up in little patches of blue and purple, but I do not care. I would crawl out with my bare hands if it means I can escape. I run, and I run. And then, I see a light. At last I reach the entrance, and a beautiful blue sky greets me as I emerge out into the outside. I did it. I made it out. I-I saved everyone. Surasha will have to wait a bit longer for the food, but right now all I can think about is taking a nice, a long rest¡ª Huh? That is odd. Why do I¡­ feel so weak¡­ A familiar bang rings behind me, and I feel something sharp. When I look down, I see blood dripping from a small hole in my stomach. Why? I thought I¡­ My legs give in, and I collapse into a twitching, writhing mess. The Caelum scout steps out of the cave, armor abandoned and feet bare, and they glare at me with a face twisted in disgust. It hurts. I¡ªeverything happens so suddenly, the pain so instant, and what comes after is a searing burn that spreads to every corner of my chest. I cannot breathe. I cannot even speak. Every muscle in my body refuses to move, and I am left helpless as the legionary walks up and lifts me off the ground by the scruff of my neck. ¡°To think I¡¯d have to go through so much effort to catch a dirty runt like you,¡± they growl, tightening the hold on my neck. ¡°Damn it all, stuck in the middle of this tedious forest¡­ well, I must have been close to the settlement if they sent this wretch to pester me.¡± They raise their weapon and point it at my face. ¡°No matter, a little detour won¡¯t stop me for long. As for you, kid¡­ blame your luck for being born in this backwater place.¡± Ah, so this is how it all ends. Should I be happy at least that I was able to lure them away? Instead of a hero, I guess I shall become a martyr: an unknown one, but I am glad I managed to be useful before my final breath. I squeeze my hand, and I brace myself for the inevitable. But¡ªsomething pricks at my skin. What? It¡¯s¡­ a stone. I must have torn it off whilst in the cave. I know what I have to do. With a final, desperate cry, I summon every last fountain of strength still within my body and plunge the stone right into the legionnaire¡¯s neck. They gurgle and gasp, choking on their own blood, and we both drop onto the floor. But I am not done. I will not waste this chance. I crawl towards them and raise my fist high before smashing it against their skull. And again. And again. I bash their face until my fist is soaked in blood, and then I bash them some more until my bones rip out of my skin. But I do not stop. Not until their voice finally becomes silent, and their body falls still. When my strength finally disappears, and I am certain the soldier is dead, I topple face first into the dirt. I can feel it in my heart; I am going to die soon. Oh, Surasha¡­ you do not have to forgive me. I am a failure of a brother, but I know you are much stronger than me. You can survive in this world even alone, so please grow up to be happy. Grow up and find a dream worth living for. Strange, I always thought death would be painful, but right now I am surprisingly at peace. The pain in my stomach has long passed. I cannot feel my hands anymore. It is nice, but I do feel a bit tired. I think I will close my eyes for a little bit. Just¡­ a little¡­ Ascalon¡­ I hear that voice again, reaching out towards me. But unlike before I am no longer scared. Those faces are starting to become a little familiar. Ascalon. I am no longer lost. The Ascalon of that dream and the Ascalon of the past¡­ we are one and the same. We have our regrets, our moments wishing for a chance to right our wrongs, but to be obsessed with what could have been means ignoring the good you can do now¡ªin the present. We cannot stay here forever, not when there is a world filled with possibility awaiting us. Ascalon! I have kept my fellows waiting long enough. It is time to wake up. Chapter 75: Wake Up, O Sleeping Beauty ¡°I am becoming too fond of Ascalon. Ever since that moonlit night together, I find myself shying away from his gaze. It is gentle and warm and¡­ confusing. I once thought him to be just like that lonesome Star, but now I am not so sure. They are certainly similar in regards to tendency: impulsive, naive, and ever so self-sacrificing. They both yearn to explore the wider world and break free from their sheltered existence. I suppose it is only natural for a child to resemble their parent. ¡°Yet when I look upon him, I see not just a copy or replacement, but a person wholly unique. He is kind, but also firm. He adores the new, but never forgets his hearth. And greater than any else is his sincere belief in the goodness of others. ¡°The Star I knew would obsess over their children¡¯s every worry. They would decide what made the other happiest, and though my beloved meant well, their love was far too smothering. ¡°Ascalon, however, is the opposite. He does not attempt to intrude upon my heart. He does not beset me with veiled words of concern. No, when he wishes to comfort someone, he merely stays by their side and lets his presence be known¡ªas if saying that he shall always be near in their hour of need. He waits for them to confide when they feel safest. ¡°Ascalon is different because he trusts in the resilience of humanity. And it is that quality that I¡­ ¡°¡­ At the end of this facade, when I shall have to commit the cruelest sin, what face will I greet him with?¡± - The Knight ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight It has been some time since Ascalon¡¯s last message. The Knight paces back and forth nervously outside the fortress gates, waiting for the King to send any confirmation of his well-being. He is not a man who would fall easily, yet nonetheless it cannot help but grit its teeth in concern. Aegis is also restless. The little babe clutches the Knight¡¯s head with a grunt and tries to pull it away, his eyes squinting in revulsion towards an unseeable force within the walls. He cowers by instinct as if his mortal enemy lies beyond. Something abnormal is afoot. The Knight attempts to reach out to the other Templars and ascertain their status, but the link is hazy¡ªjust like with Sarathiel whilst he was trapped in the mist. Could they be in a similar situation? Possibly, however it cannot know for certain unless it descends into the fortress itself. Alas, its duty binds it. For so long as it holds the title of Strategist, it must remain here on the outside: powerless. And awaiting a voice perhaps never to come. A second later, it hears a pair of footsteps coming its way. Deborah and Soloman depart from their respective Orders¡¯ formation, and they join the Knight by its side¡ªleering at the Magnus Murus with concerns of their own. ¡°Still no word from them, Lorelai? Deborah asks. She grips tightly on her bow and fiddles with it absentmindedly, glancing between her knights and the fortress. ¡°I am afraid not, Deborah,¡± it says. ¡°Not from Ascalon, and neither from the Templars. Although we must remain hopeful, I admit it does not rest easy on me to stand by whilst such uncertainty remains.¡± Soloman nods in agreement, and he casts a loathful glare towards where Aegis just so previously beheld. He needs not say a word to convey his thoughts: ¡°danger.¡± The three mull about in their unease, but Deborah soon chimes in with a proposition. ¡°What if Soloman and I were to go in and search the vicinity? We could keep the link constantly maintained while I report on everything I see. That should at least help somewhat with figuring out what¡¯s going on.¡± The Knight has considered it; however, the Virtues and Sovereignties rely on attacking from far, and to force them within the narrow, uncharted confines of the fortress would pose incurring unnecessary risks. But¡­ strange, why should it care about such things? Although it is all too aware of its feelings toward Ascalon, the Knight has scarcely interacted with the other Thrones. So why does it now hesitate? That nauseating sensation is returning. Its chest tightens, and its breath turns sharp. Realization slowly dawns on its perplexed mind; it is becoming one of them. It acts as if it truly belongs to Polus. No, I am not¡­ this cannot continue. I will not forget why I am here. All it must concern itself with is Ascalon¡¯s safety and the successful siege of the fortress. What is lost along the way matters not. ¡°¡­ A wise proposal, Deborah,¡± the Knight says, patting her shoulder. ¡°Let us do that then, but promise me you shall prioritize your safety.¡± The Virtue¡¯s Templar salutes it with a bright cheer. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not as reckless as the others.¡± Soon, she barks out orders to her knights and prepares to leave, but not without first raising her arm and entrapping the silent Soloman in an uncomfortable hold. The man attempts to break free, but his resistance is short lived; he merely lets himself be dragged away. ¡°Come on, Soloman! Let¡¯s hurry on before the others get into trouble.¡± After a raucous assembly and a few inspiring words from Deborah, her group sets off into the fortress. As planned, the link persists unbroken, and she reports on every little detail about her surroundings. ¡°Do you see anything unusual so far, Deborah?¡± The Knight asks. ¡°Not quite. The halls look like what I would expect from a Caelum fortress, though it does look a bit beaten up. The floor is messy and the walls are torn; I think the knights met some kind of resistance here, but I don¡¯t see any bodies so they should be fine.¡± After witnessing the bizarre weaponry of the Caelum firsthand, it would not be surprising if Nokron littered the bastion with all sorts of unusual traps. But surely that cannot be his only asset; such things would only serve to be a slight hindrance. ¡°Continue,¡± it says. ¡°Whatever has ensnared the Templars likely lies deeper within.¡± ¡°Got it, proceeding along.¡± The next few moments result in only passing comments from Deborah¡ªmundane observations and the occasional banter. However, it is after she conveys her ascension towards the upper floor that their group finally encounters a sign of life, ¡°Lorelai? I hear something,¡± she says. ¡°There¡¯s a noise coming from above us. I think someone¡¯s fighting up there. But it¡¯s weird, I¡ªI feel so filthy all of a sudden.¡± Deborah¡¯s voice begins to cut and skip unnaturally, as if something is interfering with the sorcery. It tries to speak out to her, but she reacts as if not one of its words has gotten through.¡± ¡°Where are¡­ can you hear¡­ roof¡¯s crumbling¡­ I think it¡¯s¡­ AGH!¡± And then, there is nothing. The Knight is left to infer from what vague information is available. There must be a physical threat, that is for certain. Yet what is there that can threaten the Templars save for Nokron? And he¡­ I have a suspicion he is currently locked in combat with Ascalon. Hm, will I truly be forced to enter myself? But before it can, the link with Deborah is re-established¡ªslowly, at first, but gradually it becomes more clear, and the Virtue¡¯s frantic voice comes through with a panic. ¡°Lorelai¡­ Lorelai! Can you hear me!?¡± she shouts. ¡°Indeed, what happened in there?¡± it replies. ¡°All I heard was a scream before you went silent.¡± ¡°It was¡ªStars, I don¡¯t know what it was. Cain and Surasha came crashing down from the upper level, along with this¡­ thing. I can¡¯t even describe it: monster, creature? I don¡¯t know. Cain was able to encase it inside his magma, but he was severely injured as a result. Surasha is tending to him right now; I was trying to reach you, but I think being near it impeded our connection.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± it says. ¡°Once Surasha is finished, tell her to contact me at once. A firsthand account of her experience shall be most important in determining our next move henceforth.¡± ¡°Got it, I think she¡¯s almost done anyway. I¡¯ll go ahead and see if I can find anyone else.¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Deborah¡¯s voice disappears. And soon, a new one comes seeping through: one utterly exhausted and weary in spirit. ¡°¡­ Lorelai?¡± Surasha grumbles, her tone that of a woman twice her age. ¡°This place¡¯s a lot more dangerous than I thought. Hells, I¡¯m tired¡­ not sure if we¡¯ll be able to go on any farther in this state, especially with this damn idiot knocked out and laying around.¡± ¡°It is good to hear from you too,¡± it replies with a chuckle. ¡°But, please, one matter at a time.¡± ¡°Ah, sorry.¡± She takes a deep breath and begins to recount her arduous tale. ¡°Everything was going smoothly, at first. Then all these saws and spikes started pestering us. We were able to tough it out, but the real danger came from this fleshy looking abomination. Nothing we did seemed to hurt it: slicing, bashing, beheading, none of it. And trying to go near meant risking getting doused in its blood; we lost a couple of knights because of that¡­ just melted into a puddle right there. Only reason we¡¯re still alive is thanks to Cain, but he got too close and¡ªwell, let¡¯s just say I had to graft him some new skin.¡± ¡°That is strange. You say the thing could not be killed?¡± ¡°Yep. I think it¡¯s still alive even now, if you can even call whatever that is alive.¡± The Knight recounts of a similar sorcery¡ªan army composed of bone and rotting flesh. What was their weakness again? Ah, that is right; slaying the invoker. The dead shall never pass until Nokron is dealt with. ¡°You have fought hard, Surasha. For now, gather your division and make way towards the outside with Cain. I cannot let you advance whilst so fatigued.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not complaining,¡± she says, sighing in relief. ¡°Guess it¡¯s up to me to haul this big lug outta here¡ªwait, what is¡­ what the hells is that?¡± Surasha¡¯s voice suddenly shouts, but rather than alarm, wonder and awe possesses her as she sputters and stumbles over her own breath. That is not the sound of one in danger; on the contrary, she is oddly pensive. ¡°I¡ªthat can¡¯t be right,¡± she mutters. ¡°Why is that here? I don¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°Surasha? Surasha! What happened?¡± it exclaims. But as soon as it attempts to reach out, the Knight¡¯s head is besieged by a cacophony of familiar voices. The missing Templars all regain their connection at once, and they relay to it a similarly dumbfounded gasp. Abel is the first to speak with actual words and not vague mumblings. ¡°Dame Lorelai? How fortunate you are now here. I do not know why, but the fortress is¡ª¡± Who is then interrupted by a cursing Dismas. ¡°Agh, Stars almighty my head ¡®urts. First that ugly lookin¡¯ mug comes chargin¡¯ in, and now the whole place¡¯s a damn¡ª¡± But it is Surasha who replies with the most confusion, for when she speaks again, she does so with a heart dripping in nostalgia. ¡°It¡¯s the forest,¡± she says in the tiniest of whispers. ¡°There¡¯s vines growing on the walls, leaves sprouting from underneath the cracks: dirt, flowers, shrubs¡­ it¡¯s all here. Hah, I can¡¯t believe it: the passage¡¯s been transformed into a forest. My¡ªmy hometown¡¯s forest. Damnit, am I seeing things now?¡± Surasha mutters to herself, still partly in doubt, however the reports from the others soon affirm that her claims are no mere delusions. Deborah, Abel, Dismas and all: they tell of an identical landscape. Earth and foliage has overtaken the entirety of the fortress, turning it from an industrial nightmare of human invention into a realm where nature has reclaimed its authority. Even the Knight can see traces of the overgrowth from its position. Large branches burst out from the walls, and flowers overrun the sides in matching hues of white and yellow. It lends the Magnus Murus the image of an old ruin, abandoned and left to suffer the elements. And yet, despite the takeover, it feels not a shred of harmful intent within the vegetation. It is serene, graceful: a far cry from the corrupting influence exuding not so long ago. This growth cannot possibly be from the likes of Nokron. ¡°It¡¯s all so familiar,¡± Surasha says, snapping out of her daze. ¡°I, um, how do I explain it? It¡¯s like I¡¯ve traveled back in time. This earthy smell, the soggy air, and an unbearable urge to scratch my skin¡ªI can never forget it. This was my life for years, but even when I was too weak to move, I never felt down. I was happy because a certain someone would always come back. To sing to me, to care for me¡­ to make sure I never felt alone. Oh, Ascalon: you did something stupid again, didn¡¯t you?¡± It tries to reach out to him, but nothing. The King does not respond, and soon a most horrid question worms its way into the Knight¡¯s head. Is Ascalon dead? Eons and eons of existence, countless lifetimes of apathy and neglect, yet those ageless memories all but disappear as a single, raw emotion infests its everything: terror. Terror the likes an eternity imprisonment cannot possibly compare. Terror such that even if the earth is to rot and the waters dry, it shall remain here - unchanging - whilst collapsed in a pile of its own disbelief. It raises a trembling hand and pounds at its heart, desperate to bring some modicum of sense back into its being. But no matter how hard it hits, the thumping becomes stronger. More violent. More hysterical. And then, deep within the pits of its soul, something snaps. And the Knight abandons every last shred of rational thought. ¡°I hereby order all remaining knights in the fortress,¡± it begins. ¡°Retreat at once.¡± The Templars shout out in protest, but it is stern¡ªfiercely so. Its tone allows no refusal, and its words are eerily calm, yet lying underneath is a presence that commands all to bow and cower. It drowns them in the suffocating reverberation of its command. ¡°From now on, I will handle this personally.¡± They reluctantly agree and fall silent. Now, it must calm the terrified child atop its helm. Aegis buries his head in his arms, trembling before its extreme surge of emotions. It is at these times the Knight loathes their shared curse; the boy does not deserve to suffer under its own conflict. ¡°I am sorry, Aegis,¡± it whispers, steering away from the surrounding Polus guards. ¡°I have hurt you, and for that I have wronged. But I must plead to you now for assistance. Please, lend me your wings. Ascalon is¡­ important to me. From the bottom of my heart, I wish to save him.¡± The child peaks out from his cover, and he glares at the Knight with anger burning in his tiny eyes. But after his rage burns away, there is a desire to forgive: to reconcile and forget about such tiring feelings. He wishes to simply make amends with his parent. Parent? You see me as a parent. I¡ªthank you, Aegis. I promise never again to break your trust. With their bonds rekindled, Aegis manifests his star-speckled wings, and the two take off: flying to the very top of the fortress. Locating the King would ordinarily prove difficult in the fortress¡¯s labyrinthine halls, but fortunately the Knight has a companion most acute to the fluctuations of Creation. Wherever the mist is most concentrated, Ascalon likely awaits. ¡°Can you feel it?¡± it says, urging on Aegis¡¯s senses. ¡°The evil that which you saw before, focus on it now: find it, envision it, conjure a perceivable form.¡± The child squeezes his eyes shut and hones in on that repulsive force. Soon, his thoughts merge with the Knight¡¯s, consciousness overlaying as the two become of one mind, and then it witnesses the world as Aegis does: a breathtaking, wondrous utopia where Creation soars free in bright ribbons and sparkles of color. They flitter about, laughing. Singing. Joining together in a merry celebration of life. But in the midst of those innocent sprites, a dark shadow glints clear from behind the metal walls. It attempts to grope and defile all that is good, but something prevents it from spreading its stain. A light, one of blinding white and taking human form; it clutches at the shadow and entraps it within a gentle embrace, as if even such a detestable thing is deserving of love. The Knight recognizes that figure, for it belongs to the man who so effortlessly has captured its affection. ¡°You have done well, Aegis. Rest now, I shall take care of the rest.¡± It raises the twin blades, slashes through the steel, and descends into the Magnus Murus. Deeper, and deeper, it goes, breaking past all before its path in a tempest of destruction until¡ªit bursts forth into a large chamber. There, wrapped in a delicate wreath of flora and brush, is Ascalon. He stands perfectly still, suspended upright by the dense foliage growing without end. And all the while, light trickles down from the opening above, bathing him in rays of gold. He looks beautiful, like a living painting. ¡°So this is where you have been,¡± the Knight whispers, slowly moving near and caressing his helm. ¡°Locked in a dream. Slumbering ever so peacefully. Oh, my courageous, and foolish, Ascalon¡­ why must you insist on shouldering every burden alone? No one would fault you for being a little more selfish.¡± It wraps him in a tight hug¡ªclinging on as if he will forever disappear if its hold loosens for even a second. These sensations it has long thought lost, it bestows upon him. Every belated skip of its heart, every smile it has worn in his presence: it understands now, the reason why it feels like this. The Knight loves him. It loves Ascalon. ¡­ Soon, a disgusting presence creeps onto its body. The shadow from before frantically escapes the King¡¯s binding and transfers itself to the Knight, and so does a new voice sputter in its mind: the voice of the Alchemist. ¡°I¡ªI¡¯ve finally escaped that wretched prison,¡± Nokron says. ¡°No matter, this new body shall do nicely to regain my strength. As long as I can take over their soul¡ª¡± ¡°I am afraid that will be difficult for you,¡± the Knight interrupts. ¡°You may try, but the result shall not be as you think.¡± The man spits out a hollow laugh. ¡°Ah, is that you, Lorelai? What a surprise. I know not how you managed to fool the Grand General¡¯s sight, but there shall be no escape from death¡¯s grasp this time. Your past is mine to exploit just like that brute, Sarathiel. I will turn you into another¡ª¡± But he says not another word. There is only silence, a faint gasp, and then: the Alchemist despairs. ¡°No. N-No, what is this¡­ eternity? Endless. Dark. I see nothing but a void, an infinite ocean of ink. I cannot reach the depths of your past. I cannot even see the surface.¡± The Knight sighs. This is an expected outcome, but still it cannot help but feel a bit disappointed. ¡°I was curious to see how far you would delve, but it seems my expectations were for naught. A pity.¡± ¡°You are not Lorelai. Who¡ªwhat are you?¡± The Knight doesn¡¯t answer. The last fragments of Nokron¡¯s consciousness fade, pulled apart by the vast and umbral sea. There is no battle, no final bout of resistance. He simply disappears, existence snuffed without so much as a cry. The siege is over. Polus is victorious. Now, there is but one thing left to do, The Knight leans in close, lips brushing against the King¡¯s ear, and it whispers. ¡°Ascalon, it is time to wake up.¡± Chapter 76: After the Fire, New Dreams Are Born ¡°I had always wondered how my life would come to an end. Would it be sudden - my time finally run its course - or would it be a slow, drawn out death in an experiment gone wrong? I have never been much of a fighter, yet here I am: struck down and moments away from oblivion. My life, my work, everything¡­ all for naught. To think I struggled so desperately just for my fate to be this pathetic. I had hoped to take at least one of the Polus runts with me. ¡°However, even if I were given the chance to go back, I wouldn¡¯t change a thing. All this time business¡ªI¡¯m sick of it. Let the living deal with the living, and leave the dead to rest. As for me? I regret nothing. Hahaha¡­¡± - Nokron Corinth, former Alchemist Regent of Nox Caelum ¡ª¡ª¡ª Ascalon Ascalon¡¯s eyes flutter open, and he smiles: a tired, exhausted smile, but one that savors in the moment nonetheless. He is here, alive. And the world has never looked so beautiful. His skin pricks against a cool breeze, and his breath quickly fills with a cloud of misty dew. It rises from the grove around him - leaves and grassy blades encased in a thin layer of frost - and yet the King is not cold. He feels a warm touch, a hug both adoring and desperate clinging to his body. He feels the embrace of his one true beloved. She turns to him, her eyes filling with an unhindered affection. Lorelai¡¯s once so guarded heart has been stripped of its walls: shattering, until her everything is freely bared. ¡°¡­ I dreamt for so long,¡± Ascalon says. ¡°Of the past. Of what could have been.¡± Lorelai chuckles and carefully pulls him out of the bed of flowers. ¡°Was it a good dream?¡± ¡°I am not sure.¡± His voice is hoarse, barely rising above a whisper, and yet there is also a subtle relief¡ªas if a long burden has finally been lifted. ¡°I went back and corrected my mistakes. I thought doing so would give me a sense of peace, and in those final moments would I leave this earth satisfied with my legacy, but strangely enough¡­ it didn¡¯t.¡± Ascalon lays his head on her shoulder, and he lets himself rest within her arms. ¡°Because I thought about you. I thought about Surasha, about the knights, about all the people of Polus. And I realized that to part here would mean leaving them all behind.¡± She caresses at his back, remaining ever as silent. But sometimes there is no need for words. Her presence is enough for him to feel content. ¡°I was more selfish than I thought,¡± he continues, uttering a low chortle. ¡°Did I not bring forth the ending I had always wanted? So why was I not satisfied? Simply put, it was because I wanted to be with the ones I loved. Rather than die alone - body embraced only by the earth - I would have much preferred to have my last breath be within the company of those I so dearly cherish. Haha, who knew I had such a greed in me?¡± But Lorelai shakes her head and reprimands him with a flick to his forehead. ¡°And how is that so terrible a desire? Humans since time immemorial have loathed being alone, Ascalon. Even the briefest of encounters can bring salvation to another.¡± ¡°Mm, perhaps so,¡± he says with a playful drawl. ¡°Maybe I should embrace this new sinful side of mine. Cower in fear, o¡¯ world! This noble King has become a tyrant, and my first decree shall be to indulge in the most gluttonous of vices.¡± ¡°Oh really now?¡± Lorelai returns his whimsy with a mischievous look of her own. ¡°And what shall that be, o¡¯ his majesty the great and terrible?¡± ¡°I will laze about for a full day! No work, no training, merely lounging in the comfort of my bedside. How about it, does that not sound utterly deplorable?¡± ¡°Truly, your evil shakes me to the very core. But what shall you do after?¡± ¡°I will return to my duties, of course.¡± She throws her head back and bursts out into laughter, wheezing and struggling to keep herself still. ¡°Your reign of terror is rather short-lived.¡± ¡°Is it? Hm, I suppose I am not particularly suited for villainy.¡± ¡°Indeed, what a shame.¡± They stay together for a spell, letting only the wind speak between them. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. It is peaceful¡­ and yet, Ascalon cannot help but be beset with conflict. His heart urges him to speak his truest thoughts, even if in doing so shall risk harming their relationship forever¡ªrisk confronting what he has long tried to avoid. Does he dare say it, or will he feign ignorance as always? I¡­ want to be selfish. Is it so wrong to wish this lie continue? ¡°Ascalon,¡± Lorelai says, breaking the silence and wincing as she appears to receive a very heated message. ¡°I do believe we should take our leave, or else Surasha¡¯s wrath shall be greater than any scoundrel of Caelum.¡± ¡°I assume she is not happy with me?¡± Lorelai hesitates. That is not good. ¡°¡­ I suggest you prepare yourself.¡± ¡°Oh dear.¡± The two partake in one last bout of laughter, and they join in hand: entwining their fingers together as to never be apart. And they soar off towards the light of the setting sun. There, high above, he looks upon the desolate visage of the Magnus Murus. It is a somber sight, rays of orange and red merging to shower the world in a mournful glow. The once-so mighty bastion has fallen; only the dead remain to occupy its halls. He watches as knights and officers begin to trickle out of the fortress. They march with slow, fatigued steps, yet he can see their relief now that the battle is over. Tonight, the Polus forces may rest easy knowing a warm cot and a belly full of food lies ahead, for a large-scale encampment is quickly being constructed. An eager Joshua yells out orders to his brigade of Seraph, diligently supervising them as makeshift buildings and tents assemble in a matter of minutes. ¡°To think only a day has passed,¡± Ascalon says, his eyes set upon the horizon. ¡°It feels as if I have spent a lifetime sieging those colossal gates.¡± Lorelai chuckles. ¡°Time is quite fickle, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t agree more.¡± A sudden shout alerts their attention from below. Surasha waves at them whilst near the other Templars, and Ascalon pales: for even from this distance can he sense her raw hostility. Well, it is time to receive my punishment. The two land on the ground, and not a second later, Surasha immediately charges at her brother. Ascalon spreads his arms wide and braces for the inevitable. But to his surprise, she doesn¡¯t hit him. Instead, Surasha rushes in and locks him within a tight hug¡ªtears streaming down her helm. Ascalon is stunned at first, and a bit unsure how exactly to treat his sister, but eventually he does away with his awkwardness and comforts her like any other. After all their distance apart, it is nice to be a family again. ¡°Please, don¡¯t ever do that again,¡± she mutters, wiping at her eyes. ¡°Do you really want to die that badly?¡± ¡°Ah, but I am alive, am I not? Surely I deserve some praise for that,¡± he says, attempting to tease her. However, he soon laments his choice of words. ¡°¡­ Alive?¡± she says practically through her teeth. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re alive. But what about next time, or the one after that? You can¡¯t keep acting like this, Ascalon. Hells, I¡ªI can¡¯t keep dealing with this: worrying about you. You haven¡¯t changed a bit since we were kids and it¡¯s so damn frustrating! You¡¯re the only brother I have left. Stop trying to leave me all alone out here.¡± ¡°Surasha, believe me I do not intend to. But if there is ever a moment where I must trade my life to save yours, then I shall do so without shame.¡± ¡°And I¡¯m saying not to!¡± She shouts. ¡°No matter what you think, I¡¯m a knight of this nation. It¡¯s my duty to guard the King, to prioritize your life above mine, and to make sure your self-destructive rear sticks on the throne for a long, long time coming. You¡¯ve already protected me enough, Ascalon. Now it¡¯s my turn to do it for you.¡± Surasha causes quite the fuss, but Ascalon cannot help but find her efforts endearing. She truly has grown into a respectable woman. But no matter how strong she becomes, Surasha will always be his dear little sister. ¡°Ascalon, are you listening to me?¡± She says, crossing her arms and leering at him with a grumble. ¡°I understand, Surasha. I never meant to demean your position,¡± he replies. ¡°Okay, good. So no more throwing yourself into danger, alright?¡± ¡°No, I will still do that.¡± Ascalon hears something clench, and then her fist slams against his gut. He does not feel any pain, but nonetheless he doubles over and feigns a groan. ¡°You¡¯re impossible to deal with.¡± She growls at him and walks away, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. Yet, despite her annoyance, Ascalon knows a smile hides beneath that helm. Her punch is not nearly so forceful this time. As she leaves, the others cautiously watching from the side soon hurry forth and besiege him with relief. He sees a renewed Sarathiel, the Throne¡¯s appearance much less gaunt than before, and he sees the Templars¡ªeach one showing concern in their own little way. And as they all laugh and celebrate their victory, Lorelai approaches him: waiting for the rest to have their turn. She lets out a loud cough and scolds them all with a stern tap of her foot. ¡°I understand your excitement,¡± she begins. ¡°But save the festivities for later tonight. I am sure Ascalon is quite exhausted from this whole ordeal, as are all of you. Let us rest, and later, we can drink and be merry to our heart¡¯s content.¡± With a stern gaze that offers no rebuttal, Lorelai sends everyone away. ¡°That means you as well, Ascalon,¡± she says, outstretching her hand and beckoning him forward. He chuckles and accepts her gesture. The two stroll on, side by side, as the day slowly comes to an end. The siege has been fraught with peril. But from the ruins of this forlorn fortress, a new beginning takes root. Some have finally moved on from their regrets, and they endeavor to see what lies ahead in the radiant dawn to come. Maybe now, Ascalon can finally accept it. That the woman before him is not Lorelai. Chapter 77: You Are a True Hero ¡°Do not mourn me, my beloved. I¡­ for so long I had been broken: drifting without purpose in this cold, miserable expanse. I suffered endlessly, beset with a gnawing emptiness that saw no escape, but then I met you. And this accursed gift called Creation no longer seemed so terrible. ¡°That is why I do not regret my fate. You, our children, and every blessing we have brought together: I wish to protect it all. And some day, they will grow, learn, and prosper in a world where anything is possible. ¡°So do not let me chain you here. This burden does not need to be carried by two, and¡­ if the time ever comes when you may encounter a love just like ours, please do not hesitate. My only wish is for you to be happy." - ? ¡ª¡ª¡ª The Knight The evening arrives, and the Knight sits at the bedside of its private dwelling. Such is the benefit for those of higher standing; unfortunately for the common personnel, they must reside in densely-packed quarters. It does not particularly mind mingling with the others, but Aegis quite enjoys having his own space. However, he is not here at the current moment. Just outside, the entire encampment roars with a cheer as they gorge on meat and drink and merrymaking. The Knight has already done enough socializing as to not draw suspicion; the child, on the other hand, still soars about and enjoys the raucous atmosphere. It is a bit worrying to have him be by his lonesome, but there should be no issues for as long as he maintains his invisible veil. Yes, it is entirely alone for the first time in a while. Long has it grown accustomed to Aegis¡¯s presence, and now it feels a bit pensive without his babblings to distract it. How humorous: it thought it would feel much better after acknowledging its feelings towards Ascalon, yet its mind is caught in a clumsy fog. The Knight does not quite know what to make of these emotions. How should it act from hereon? It¡¯s been ever so long since it has felt this way, like a naive maiden smitten over their sweetheart. It wants to see him now, but it cannot gather the courage to do so. There¡¯s a slight awkwardness still dwelling in its gut; the cause is most likely due to its current appearance. The Knight grunts and tears away its lustrous armor, tossing it on the floor with not a care. This face, this skin, these scars on its flesh¡­ this is not who it is. It is a fake, a wretch with false identity. But, what is identity in the first place? The Knight¡¯s original appearance is featureless, containing not a hint of humanity anywhere in its vessel. Even its organs and bones are an imitation. It is a construct far different from Ascalon. Can two unlike beings love the other? And even if such a distinction is inconsequential, he still believes the Knight to be Lorelai. Every time it whispers in his ears and garners his affection, his image of her grows ever fonder. Ascalon does not love the Knight. He loves a memory long departed. ¡­ It does not want to fool him any longer, but to do so would mean putting an end to this dream: this bitter, and addictingly sweet, dream. But, dreams cannot last forever. Eventually, one must wake up to the cruel reality. Suddenly, someone knocks on its door. The Knight needs not hear their voice to know who waits on the other side. ¡°Pray forgive my intrusion,¡± Ascalon says. ¡°May I come in?¡± The Knight remains silent for a moment, but eventually it rises and walks over: hand lingering above the handle. It knows it should not open it, but what to do? Its body moves before the mind can, pulling it open and revealing the man who has so thoroughly stolen its heart. ¡°I am surprised they let you go so soon,¡± it says. Ascalon smells faintly of wood-fire and ale. ¡°What brings you here?¡± ¡°Nothing serious,¡± he replies with a chuckle. ¡°It is just¡­ I wanted to check up on you. The others were baffled that you left a mug still half-full¡ªthey wouldn¡¯t leave me alone unless I came to visit you myself.¡± ¡°Oh, they¡¯re overreacting. I am not much of a drinker.¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± His tone implies a deeper understanding, but what exactly is unclear. He simply stands there, fidgeting as if unsure what to say next. ¡°Well, I do not mind the company.¡± It welcomes him inside, and the two sit at the end of the bed. They stare out the window, neither one saying a word. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Ascalon seems to be preoccupied with something. He is hesitant, body shifting as if about to speak, but in the end he decides against it and continues to look at the outside. ¡°I do hope I wasn¡¯t interrupting your sleep,¡± he says, eyes glancing at the cluttered armor on the floor. ¡°No, I¡­ I just needed a breath of fresh air for a bit.¡± ¡°I understand. It does get stuffy after a while,¡± he chuckles, his hands grazing over his own plate. ¡°Perhaps I should join you.¡± Ascalon reaches up to his head, and he takes off his helm. Long hair cascades forth, gently brushing against his shoulders and dangling in streams of curls and gentle waves. Its tinge is a pure, glossy white - like the first snowfall of the winter season - but amidst the moonlight¡¯s glow, it twinkles even brighter, exuding a delicate, almost divine glow as if he is closer to a moon-kissed spirit than of humanity. Even his skin is of pale complexion, just like his face: a fair, soft feature blurring the lines between man and woman. Yet, there is an age within him. It lingers in dark circles, in his haggard cheeks, and in the corners of his tired smile. Years of lordship have weighed heavily on Ascalon, but nonetheless his eyes remain ever bright: determined and shining with flecks of amber crystals. ¡°Is something the matter?¡± he asks, snapping the Knight out of its daze. ¡°Hm? Oh, pardon me,¡± it replies. ¡°I was just surprised. This is the first time I have ever seen your face.¡± ¡°Really? Yes, I suppose it is the first,¡± he says with a sad murmur. ¡°I tend not to remove my armor very often.¡± ¡°Why is that so? I find your appearance quite dashing.¡± He giggles. ¡°Thank you for that, but¡­ I am not very fond of it myself.¡± Ascalon brings his hands together and looks down at the floor, reminiscing of a time it cannot see. ¡°You know my last name, correct? Of the order of Power.¡± ¡°I do.¡± ¡°Then you know the noble line favors in their children the mighty and strong. And indeed, their figures represent that ideal quite plainly: bulging muscles, large frames, and weapons that span the length of an entire person. But above all else, there is one trait they value most of all. Do you know what it is?¡± It shakes its head. ¡°Red hair.¡± He twirls the white strands with his finger, voice quiet and lowering to a mumble. ¡°It is said Sir Kay¡¯s appearance was that of an inferno. His locks flickered like flames; his eyes smoldered with a blazing hot red. And ever since his passing, the descendants of Power have sought after the manliness he so embodied. For one not to have red hair is a telling of their diluted blood. ¡°And I was born a far cry from that noble image. Even though my family was but a distant relation, their red hair was still a source of pride. My parents, my departed siblings, and even Surasha¡­ all but me. Perhaps that is why I have always been so feeble. No matter the training, now matter how much I gorged myself on food, this body remains ever so daint.¡± The Knight grabs at his hand in an attempt to comfort him. ¡°Oh, Ascalon. Your worth should not be determined by their ideals.¡± But he only laughs in response. ¡°I appreciate it, but believe me I have long distanced myself from the Powers. Their meddling was quite annoying during my first few years as King. At first, they were elated to have one of their own bear Freedom¡¯s mantle, but as time went on their support turned into a subtle superiority. They flattered me when it benefited them, and shunned me when it didn¡¯t. Only when I suppressed them with my authority did they finally deign to behave themselves.¡± Ascalon sighs and rubs his brow, the memory appearing to have been a most tiresome ordeal. ¡°Though this blood courses in me, I do not consider myself one of them. No, I am simply Ascalon: a man of my own.¡± So he says, but his voice conveys a slight melancholy. ¡°Still, you wished to bond with them, did you not?¡± the Knight asks. ¡°They were the closest you had to a family. It must have been painful to be denied a chance at growing closer.¡± He purses his lips, but Ascalon cannot deny its words. ¡°I really cannot hide anything from you, can I?¡± he chuckles, shuffling closer and leaning against its shoulder. Ascalon looks more vulnerable now than ever before; yet, he exposes his weaknesses freely, trusting in the Knight to allow express his truest self. ¡°It was painful,¡± he says. ¡°If it were not for Lorelai and Gadreel, I do not know if I would have ever been able to conquer the loneliness I felt then. But, the Power¡¯s seclusion is not why I dislike my appearance.¡± His voice quivers, and he clenches his fist as if attempting to draw blood. The Knight can feel it: a wish. A longing he has sought after his entire life. ¡°¡­ In every legend and story I¡¯ve read, the hero is always gallant: bold and with a figure that draws all towards their noble cause. With a single glare, their enemies cower in fright. Just by gazing at their face do the people feel at ease. and I¡­ I can never achieve that with my appearance. I must always wear this plate, for to do so otherwise would reveal to my subjects who I truly am: unworthy. I¡ª¡± But before he can speak further, the Knight wraps its arms around his neck, and it stares right into his eyes. There the two stay - beholding the other in a split moment of eternity - and here, right now, it realizes the words it must say. Ascalon has shown it such a wonderful dream. Now, it is the Knight¡¯s turn to save him. ¡°Hush now, Ascalon. You have worked hard, fought admirably all this time. But everything is alright now,¡± it says. ¡°For you are already a true hero.¡± It leans in close, waiting for his permission. And then they kiss. A gentle, affectionate kiss, as if in all the world there is only them. When they finally break away, the two break out into a laugh, and they embrace each other with a wide, loving smile. ¡°¡­ May I stay the night?¡± Ascalon whispers in its ear. ¡°Nothing would make me happier.¡± With those final words, they share another kiss and fall atop the bed¡¯s sheets. The night is long, but they spend every moment of it together. United as one. Chapter 78: The Embodiment of Evil ¡°My mom would always say that no one is evil. That all the pain and heartbreak in this world was because a few unfortunate people were never able to get the help they needed. She believed, deep down within, that there was good in everyone: even the vilest of scum could changet. And sometimes, all it took was a little kindness to set them down on the right path. ¡°And then there¡¯s Libevich. Hells, that woman¡­ I can¡¯t even mention her name without getting goosebumps. Her very existence is proof that there are some people that just can¡¯t be fixed; that old bastard Xeros looks like a saint compared to her. ¡°My mother tried, she really did try to straighten her out. But there¡¯s no use curing what¡¯s already rotten to the core. Even as a kid, I knew at first sight that something was off about her. Libevich was terrifying, erratic, as if at any moment she¡¯d lunge at someone and rip out their throat: all because she was just in the mood to do so. A passing whim. Nothing more. ¡°She has to die; it¡¯s as simple as that. The world can never be a better place for as long as she¡¯s here, but I¡­ argh, damnit! I can¡¯t kill her. No one can kill her. If there was a way, I¡¯d even grit my teeth and join hands with Xeros if it meant putting an end to her for good. But, it¡¯s no use. That woman will live on until the end of time. She¡¯s the very embodiment of evil.¡± - Praetor Luxanne ¡ª¡ª¡ª High above the city of Caligos Imperium, beyond the sickly cloud of smog, there lies a charming little borough of sunshine and fresh air. Here, in this sanctuary called Erudite, there are no grimy roads: no buildings slathered in muck or oil. No, this is an immaculate place, one where every corner flourishes in green. Grass, trees, bushes and leaves¡­ such nature that can never be found in the lower layers. It is within this unsullied realm, hidden in a private garden far from prying eyes, that a lone woman lays collapsed on the floor. Contrary to the beauty and innocence about, the woman can only be described as a menacing, sinister creature. Her body swells with power, muscles bursting forth and gleaming with an ominous sheen, while her veins jut out and travel all along her neck, through her arms, and leading to the rugged palms of her hands. She cares not for outward appearances, letting her short, inky hair to lazily stick out in messy strands, but to the side is a patch of grey that resembles a crescent moon. It veils half of her face in shadow, hiding the depravity writ upon her ghostly skin. Unlike the typical legionary, she chooses to forsake armor and instead dons a comfortable leather coat, sturdy boots, and a black robe. At first glance one would never think her to belong to the Grand General¡¯s forces, and in a way they are correct. She is not a soldier of Caelum, but a warrior¡ªa free soul that beholds only her own fancies. Yet here she is, rotting. It¡¯s a lovely day outside, but the woman feels only one thing towards this peace. Boredom. ¡°Hrm¡­¡± she grumbles, crudely scratching at her stomach. ¡°I¡¯m going to strangle old raven boy¡¯s neck when he returns.¡± The woman throws her head back and looks up at the cloudless sky. It¡¯s blue and so very bright, but her grey eyes remain devoid of emotion: no spark. No soul. Utterly hollow. ¡°Oh, how pretty!¡± she yelps, voice dripping in sarcasm. ¡°Pretty flowers, gorgeous architecture, and even the streets have this dazzling sheen to it¡­ what a disgusting sight. It¡¯s revolting. Deary me, I¡¯m going to go mad if I have to reside in Xeros¡¯s little playground any longer.¡± She sighs and curls up into a ball, rocking back and forth like a newborn babe. It is a most jarring sight; fortunately for her, there is no one else around to witness her childish behavior. Except there is. There is, in fact, one person standing not so far away¡ªa young man, dull and of average appearance. He is but one of the many legionnaires that make up the Grand General¡¯s army, and it is on this day that he has been burdened with a most lamentable task: serving as this burly woman¡¯s attendant. The man shakes his head at the vulgar display, but nonetheless he remains silent. Nothing good comes to those who dare speak out in the presence of Libevich the Manslayer. No, he merely watches on as she descends further and further into a hysterical fit. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be here!¡± she wails. ¡°Ugh, I need¡ªI need to feel pain, to inflict fear, to ride out onto the battlefield and slaughter to my heart¡¯s content! I¡­ oh, this world is ever so dreary without you, Lorelai.¡± She covers her face and breaks into tears, pathetically sobbing in loud bouts of snarls and ugly whimpers. ¡°Lorelai, my dear, sweet Lorelai, why did you abandon me? Did those days of us passionately locked in combat mean nothing to you? Your blades slicing into my flesh, my fist crushing into your armor¡­ our lives were perfect. Our song of blood and fury should have echoed for all of eternity, but you tossed me aside. You chose to embrace a warrior¡¯s death with Gravitas instead of me.¡± Libevich raises her fist and pounds the ground with the full weight of her body, causing the entire district to rumble as her impact pulverizes through the false earth and sends a tremor surging all the way to the lower level. But despite her violence, the man is unbothered. This is the third time she¡¯s done this. ¡°And you, Gravitas¡­ you despicable scamp,¡± she says with a growl. ¡°I believed us to be kindred souls: both devoted to the purity of battle. But to think you would selfishly take what belongs to me. Would it really have been so difficult to take this old woman along with you? I¡­¡± But before she can weep any more, her attendant walks over and awkwardly offers a handkerchief. ¡°Um, please take this Commander Libevich.¡± She swipes it in an instant and crudely blows her nose into the cloth. ¡°Oh, how dearly kind of you. I was just about to wring your neck and soak myself in your blood to calm this aching heart of mine, but I¡¯m glad I chose not to.¡± ¡°¡­ Pleasure to be of service?¡± he replies, unsure if her words are a joke or a threat. Libevich lets out a hearty laugh and smacks his back. Unbeknownst to her, the man is much weaker than she has thought, and his face goes flying straight to the floor. ¡°Oh, lighten up boy. I¡¯m just messing with you. No, I would need many, many more bodies to tear apart if I were truly in the mood.¡± ¡°H-Haha, quite the humorous prank, madam,¡± the man stutters, body still shaking as he rises back up. His figure is unseemly, and Libevich tuts in disapproval as she bemoans the current state of the army. ¡°You really must work on your body, boy. To think a light tap from this old woman would send you reeling so easily¡­ back in my day, you soldiers were made of sterner stuff, but I swear those ugly suits have caused everyone to lose their damn minds.¡± She has never understood why Xeros orders his pawns to wear those hideous little things: machines, exoskeletons, drugs¡­ weak, the lot of them. Weak are the ones who rely on such bores to gain strength. True power lies naught in soulless contraptions of steel, but in one¡¯s own flesh and blood. ¡°Xeros is such a fool,¡± she says aloud. ¡°Where¡¯s the fun in killing if your mind¡¯s too impaired to enjoy it? Tsk tsk, the little runt never did have a warrior¡¯s spirit. No, he¡¯s cunning and cautious¡ªlike a rat.¡± The attendant jumps back in shock, for such words are more than enough to lead to one¡¯s execution. ¡°Uh, pardon me, but I don¡¯t think you should say that out in the open, madam.¡± But the woman boldly laughs in his face. ¡°Fufu, nevermind that, boy. I¡¯ve known Xeros since he was a child. He can¡¯t do anything to me, although it would be interesting to see him try. At the very least, I¡¯d have an excuse to punish him for sending me to deal with those tedious Astrologians.¡± Her face darkens upon recounting the memory, and Libevich looks around for anything that might help serve as a distraction. She finds a rock. She picks up the rock. It is a good rock. ¡°Complete boors, those Augurium folks,¡± she says, attention entirely occupied with her new, mundane toy. ¡°If you get close, they scamper off like cowards. If you back away, they annoy you with spells from afar. Back and forth and back and forth¡ªI¡¯m getting angry just thinking about it. Those fickle little bastards¡­¡± Much to her dismay, she loses control and grinds the rock into a thin dust. Oh, the tragedy. ¡°Hah¡­ do you see what Xeros has reduced me to? Look at this old gal, crushing stones instead of skulls. I should be out there, slaying men, yet here I am stuck waiting for that rascal to come back as if I¡¯m a mutt waiting for its master. ¡°Maybe I really should punish Xeros. Yes, that¡¯s a great idea! I¡¯ll give him a nice spanking, just like the good ol¡¯ days.¡± The attendant does not know how to react, so he doesn¡¯t. Perhaps it¡¯s for the best to give up on understanding her eccentricity. ¡°Well, you won¡¯t have to wait for long,¡± he says. ¡°The Grand General is expected to arrive tomorrow from his voyage to the Steppe.¡± ¡°Oya? Finally, some good news!¡± she chuckles, jumping up with the vigor of a woman one-fifth her age. ¡°Nevermind that grumpy little crow, I¡¯m so excited to see my darling Luxanne again! It¡¯s been quite some time since our last meeting. I don¡¯t know why that girl avoids me; I¡¯m her godmother you see, but she treats me like I¡¯m some sort of stranger. Can you believe it? I held her when she was still in diapers, and yet even now she refuses to look me in the eye! Must be another one of those rebellious phases again.¡± ¡°Rebellious phase?¡± the attendant says, confused. ¡°Praetor Luxanne is thirty-three.¡± ¡°Bah, thirteen, thirty-three¡­ it¡¯s all the same when you get to be my age. Everyone¡¯s just a young chick; that includes you, boy.¡± ¡°I see. Forgive my ignorance.¡± This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°Nonsense my dear, there¡¯s nothing to forgive. Although¡­¡± she sizes him up, squinting her eyes as the man nervously fidgets in place. ¡°Yes, you¡¯ll do nicely. Come on boy, let¡¯s go on a shopping spree!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± He smacks his ears just in case something¡¯s wrong with his hearing, but no¡ªLibevich is completely serious. ¡°You want to go shopping?¡± ¡°Why, for Luxanne¡¯s gift of course!¡± she says, taking pride in her own genius. ¡°There¡¯s nothing that opens a young girl¡¯s heart more than a thoughtful gift. You are a member of her division, are you not? Surely you have some idea of what would make her happy.¡± ¡°Um, I apologize, but that would be a bit difficult. Praetor Luxanne often keeps to herself except for the moments when she comes to inspect our training.¡± ¡°Is that so? I see¡­¡± Libevich quickly becomes crestfallen, lips pouting and eyes gazing listlessly at the ground. And despite all the attendant has seen of her today, he starts to feel a little guilty. ¡°However,¡± he begins, to which she raises a hopeful brow in response. ¡°I have heard - and these are rumors mind you - that the Praetor is rather fond of necklaces, though I¡¯ve personally never seen her wear one myself.¡± ¡°Necklaces you say?¡± Libevich rubs her chin, and soon, her expression brightens as she returns to her brash and terrifyingly unpredictable self of before. ¡°Ah, that must be because of her mother. Luxmi always was fond of spoiling the girl; she would hand-make a necklace every year for her birthday. I found them to be quite ugly myself, but a mother¡¯s love shines more brilliantly than any gemstone. ¡°Ah, Luxmi¡­ she was a wonderful warrior. It¡¯s a shame how everything turned out in the end, a real shame indeed.¡± The attendant nods. ¡°May she rest in peace. It was a dark time for us all the day the sickness took hold of her.¡± ¡°Oh, is that what they tell you?¡± ¡°Pardon?¡± ¡°Oop, nevermind that. Just think of it as the rambling of an old woman.¡± He feels as if he¡¯s just heard something very, very dangerous, but it¡¯s best not to pry any further. Two more years of service and he¡¯ll be granted a home in the Proletariat; to die here would be far too cruel a joke. However, while he attempts to take his mind off the commander¡¯s words, Libevich suddenly seizes him by the leg and hoists him over her shoulders. ¡°F-Forgive me, madam! I promise not to tell a soul!¡± he shouts, trembling in fear as she manhandles him like one would a sack. But all his pleas beget is a right-roaring cackle. ¡°Now what¡¯re you yelping about now? Settle down, this is for your own good. With those scrawny legs it¡¯ll take all day before we make it to the square; we¡¯ll be going on a little shortcut.¡± The attendant has not a chance to protest before Libevich crouches down, tenses her muscles, and leaps high, higher, and higher still into the air. The two soar past the clouds until they¡¯re surrounded by an endless expanse of blue: and down below, the entire Erudite can be seen in all its majesty. The man is left breathless at the sight, but his wonder soon changes into horror. For what goes up must come down. Soon, the two begin to drop, and they quickly gain speed¡ªhurtling faster and faster until the wind shrieks around them like a ghastly whistle. Libevich makes no attempt to slow down; on the contrary, she straightens her body in an effort to hasten the descent. It¡¯s all a game to her, a game to reach her destination in the shortest time possible. No matter the destruction that shall follow. ¡°MADAM LIBEVICH!¡± the attendant screams at the top of his lungs. ¡°The district square is still filled with people! If you land now, then they will¡ª¡± ¡°Bah, they¡¯ll be fine,¡± she says, brushing him aside. ¡°A little shock or two will do those spoiled brats some good.¡± ¡°Spoiled!? They are the future of this nation! Prized engineers, decorated inventors: researchers, Astrologians, soldiers and officers¡­ every single resident here has clawed their way to this position by proving themselves worthy of the Grand General¡¯s favor.¡± ¡°Fufu, I already know that, boy. I just don¡¯t care.¡± For one moment, all is peaceful. The Erudite¡¯s residents happily go about their day, perusing the boutiques and fanciful restaurants that are nestled in the district¡¯s center. They are not foolish. They know these stores are but hollow fronts controlled by Xeros. Yet, even within this playground of falsehoods, the people stroll about with a smile. A haven of constant supervision is still a haven nonetheless: safe, welcoming, and fulfilling of their every need. All may rest easy here, knowing they shall not struggle unlike those below. And then, Libevich falls from the sky. And great catastrophe falls upon the world. The earth upheaves. A massive shockwave tears apart the nearby buildings. And the air deafens, drowns, in an endless cacophony of screams. Screams of pain from the bloodied and bruised. Screams of loss from a mourning lover to an unrecognizable, fleshy paste. So many screams, so much confusion: the people can only shrivel up and cower as everything is plunged into chaos. And yet, the woman responsible for this mess is indifferent. She looks at the carnage laden about, and she yawns. ¡°How utterly pathetic,¡± she says, tossing the attendant to the ground. ¡°Look very carefully, boy: These people are but mere lumps of meat when confronted with true power.¡± The man struggles to rise back up, ears ringing and breath gasping, but his vision is clear. And he sees now just how deprave Libevich truly is. ¡°Skill? Effort? How deluded. The only thing that matters in this world is strength. No amount of proficiency in those menial occupations will save them when met with the threat of death. All that time spent ¡®crawling¡¯ as you say¡ªgone in the blink of an eye because of their weakness.¡± ¡°Weak¡­ they are weak,¡± he mutters. To Libevich, his words are as sweet as blood. ¡°Yes, boy! That¡¯s right! It¡¯s because they¡¯re weak that they suffer now. But dear me, who could¡¯ve expected some would die from just a tiny drop? Honestly, the standards of people these days: take yourself as an example. You¡­ could be a bit better, but you¡¯re a far cry from the rabble I see in the military these days.¡± ¡°I¡ª¡± Although the man wishes to curse her out right here and now, he holds back his tongue and begrudgingly goes along with her madness. ¡°I owe it all to Praetor Luxanne. Without her strict guidance, I would not be here today.¡± ¡°Fufu, as expected of my darling girl! One day she¡¯ll surpass even me, mark my words.¡± Speaking of the girl, Libevich feels as if she¡¯s forgotten something. ¡°Oh my!¡± she gasps. ¡°I almost forgot about Luxanne¡¯s gift! Unfortunately, this lesson of ours will have to end here, but do make sure to remember my words.¡± ¡°¡­ Of course, madam.¡± ¡°Excellent. Now, let us find a fitting necklace!¡± The attendant coughs and gestures towards the collapsed ruins of the square. ¡°That may be a bit difficult.¡± ¡°Nonsense, boy! If I want something, I will get it.¡± After a bit of searching, she discovers a quaint old shop nearby. And the best part: it¡¯s not completely destroyed. The window¡¯s shattered and all the jewelry¡¯s strewn about the floor, but the worker inside looks alive at least. ¡°Ah-hah! There it is.¡± Libevich strolls right in and waits for the clerk to attend to her. Annoyingly, they¡¯re still slumped over - glass shards stabbing into their face, their neck, and all about their chest - but Libevich doesn¡¯t mind waiting. She¡¯s in a good mood today. ¡°W-What? What just happened¡­¡± the clerk eventually mutters, standing up and wincing from the pain. ¡°Finally got your wits about you, hm? Good, I need a necklace for my darling girl¡¯s return. What do you recommend?¡± ¡°Necklace? O-Oh, a customer. Um, I¡¯m really sorry, but after¡­ whatever that was, we¡¯re not really in¡ª¡± Before they can say another word, Libevich raises her fist, and she obliterates the entire back of the store¡¯s wall. Now she can see the sun: how nice. ¡°I will not repeat myself.¡± The clerk instantly stands at attention and attempts to greet her with their friendliest smile. It doesn¡¯t work; they resemble more a cornered, frightened prey. Libevich likes that. She likes their fear. ¡°Necklace. Yes, of course. I¡¯ll get you the perfect necklace if you could just, um, give me a moment to pick them all up¡­¡± She sighs and waves them off. ¡°Bah, no need. I don¡¯t have the time for that; this old woman¡¯ll just pick whatever looks best.¡± ¡°O-Okay. Well, if you need any help, I¡¯ll be¡­ here.¡± The wimpy thing runs off to a corner of the store, and Libevich is left to sift through the dirty pieces of jewelry. There¡¯s just one problem. She doesn¡¯t have much of a fashion sense. ¡°Hm, I really don¡¯t have an eye for this sort of thing,¡± she mumbles, slowly turning to her little slave. ¡°Boy, get over here! How about you pick for me?¡± ¡°If that is your order,¡± he says, glancing over the pieces. The man doesn¡¯t expect to find anything of worth at first, but something catches his eye amidst all the grime: silver rim, purple gemstones, and a giant white pearl clamped in the middle. Yes, this necklace is perfect. ¡°How about this one, madam? I think it will contrast quite nicely with her armor.¡± ¡°Fufu, I knew I was right to drag you along!¡± she chuckles. ¡°Alright, we¡¯ve got what we came for. Let¡¯s head out. But first¡­¡± Libevich walks up to the still-frightened clerk, and she hands them a giant chunk of gold. ¡°Keep the change.¡± ¡°T-Thank you. Please¡­ come again soon?¡± ¡°Maybe I will. Have a nice day, deary!¡± With her bounty finally in hand, she marches out and hums a fun little tune. Libevich still craves for battle, but the screams of the masses are enough to soothe her soul for now. Maybe she¡¯ll do this again tomorrow. ¡°Hop on, boy.¡± She beckons the attendant. ¡°Madam¡­ I think we should return on foot this time around.¡± ¡°Really? Oh, very well. I¡¯m in no rush anymore.¡± The man sighs in relief, and he follows the jolly woman out as the two finally leave the square. Their trek is a quiet one compared to the mayhem before, and by the time they reach Libevich¡¯s abode, the sun has already set. Here they are, standing before a lone, run-down shack. It looks no different than the shelters erected in the Slums, but she¡¯s perfectly content with the space. Luxury only makes the heart weak. It has been quite the fruitful day for her. Now, all she wants to do is take a nice long nap. Sleep is very important, especially for old souls like her who suffer from the aches of age. The attendant, on the other hand, is simply thankful to see the end of the day. He doesn¡¯t know if he¡¯ll be able to rest after everything that¡¯s happened, but that¡¯s a problem for the future him. The man of the present wishes for nothing more than to get away from this madwoman as soon as possible. ¡°Ah, I¡¯d like to ask one last thing of you,¡± she says, turning around to bid him goodbye. ¡°My ears are yours.¡± ¡°What do you think Luxanne treasures most? And I don¡¯t mean just material goods. There must be something that¡¯ll help me better connect with her.¡± The man ponders for a moment. The Praetor is certainly distant at times, but he has seen moments where even her stern exterior seems to soften. And that¡¯s when she receives the causality report. Only when Luxanne must record the dead does she look just a little more human. ¡°I would say she treasures people,¡± he says. ¡°The Praetor is a kind woman at heart, and that is why we all dedicate our lives to her.¡± The answer is not what Libevich expects, but it seems simple enough. ¡°People¡­ people¡­ oh-hoh, you¡¯ve given me the most marvelous idea!¡± ¡°I¡¯m happy to be of service.¡± She smiles. ¡°That¡¯s great. I¡¯m sure Luxanne would be delighted to have you as one of her people, forever.¡± ¡°Pardon? What does that mean¡ª¡± But he doesn¡¯t finish. Or rather, he can¡¯t. Because Libevich crushes his throat. She casually raises her hand, and squeezes. Crunch. Just like that. The man looks at her in horror, struggling to escape from her impenetrable grip, but the damage has already been done. His head can barely suspend itself on the pulpy stem that remains. He can¡¯t move. He can¡¯t speak. He can¡¯t even scream. All he can do is gurgle helplessly as he falls onto the floor and breathes his last: a slow, painful end. One without any resistance. Libevich feels a bit guilty for not giving him a warrior¡¯s death, but such honor is for the strong¡ªsomething he is not or ever will be. That¡¯s just how the world goes. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, my boy,¡± she says, plucking his eyes out. ¡°You will make quite the dashing necklace, I know it! Two necklaces might be a bit odd, but who would complain over double the amount of gifts? Surely, this will allow Libevich and Luxanne to finally bond. Chapter 79: Home, So Near, Yet So Far Away ¡°Of course I feel bad for Polus. I was still just a runt back then, but I remember meeting King Dainsleif with my mom during one of his diplomatic visits. He was a good man: a kind man. Where us Caelum folk are loud and bristly, he was soft-spoken and had an air of grace. I liked that part of him. It was nice to be around some different - less crass - and though I didn¡¯t really understand all that chivalry and honor stuff, I respected him. ¡°And then, mom died. And Xeros waged war against Polus for no other reason than to claim their land. There was nothing I could do to stop it. Hells, I participated in it; cut down their knights by the droves as I watched the legion pilfer and slaughter and raze that once-peaceful nation to the ground. ¡°Eventually, King Dainsleif died too. I guess even invulnerability can¡¯t stop old age, and I¡­ I was relieved. Because I didn¡¯t know how I could possibly face him again: look him in the eye when my blade had long turned dark from the blood of his people. I despised that cowardice in me. I felt just like Xeros, excusing my wrongs for the sake of the ¡®greater good¡¯. ¡°One day, I hope I can make it up to them. Maybe they¡¯ll never forgive me, and I¡¯ve accepted that. I¡¯ll spend the rest of my life paying for Caelum¡¯s sins if I have to. But I can only do that after Xeros is dead, and so I need this war to continue. ¡°I know I¡¯m despicable, but I can¡¯t stop here. I¡¯ve gone too far and suffered too much to grow a conscious now. If I give up, then everything will have been for nothing. For nothing¡­ I can¡¯t have that. Even if it means more people have to die, I have to see through this grudge to the end.¡± - Praetor Luxanne ¡ª¡ª¡ª Luxanne Forty-seven days and forty-seven nights: That is how long Luxanne has been stuck to the Grand General¡¯s side¡ªconstantly watching him. Constantly listening to his drivel. She¡¯s sick and tired of it, but these days will soon come to an end. Finally, home is within sight. She looks out to the distance from atop the transport¡¯s deck. The air is blistering cold, and the wind¡¯s howl grinds against her ears. The soldiers clatter their teeth below, but they do so with familiarity: almost comfort. Only an hour more of steady march, and soon they¡¯ll be able to bask in the heat of the city¡¯s exhaust. Luxanne can see it now: the filthy byproducts of the forges, billowing into a dark grey cloud that drifts high up and casts everything in a dull, dreary shade. The streets are oily, the people are dirty, and every speck of the capital is tainted by grime. But it is home nonetheless. And though Luxanne currently lives above the smog, she remembers a time when everyone suffered the pollution together. Caelum has always been a nation of sweat and elbow grease, but that¡¯s its charm. The people aren¡¯t exactly nice, but they¡¯re kind, and underneath that cold and rugged exterior is a warm heart you can always count on. At least, that¡¯s how it should be. Now, it¡¯s survival of the fittest. Everyone¡¯s a cutthroat waiting to pounce. You can¡¯t even trust your neighbors anymore, and why? All for the faintest chance to ascend those stupid layers. Luxanne doesn¡¯t understand; just what about him has caused this nation to go mad? ¡­ It¡¯s not as if I don¡¯t see the appeal myself. Why shouldn¡¯t hard work be rewarded? But¡ªthis isn¡¯t the way. How can a person¡¯s worth be defined by only what they can contribute? Not everyone has to be special or some great leader; sometimes it¡¯s okay to wish for a normal life. I want a normal life, one where I don¡¯t have to deal with this political garbage anymore. But, is that even possible? Once I get rid of Xeros, how can I trust that someone else won¡¯t take his place? The only choice left is to become Grand General myself. Am I capable of creating the world my mom always wanted? I don¡¯t know. But even if I don¡¯t, it doesn¡¯t change that he has to die. In his pursuit of purging the unworthy, how many have died without ever having the chance to fully show their potential? Not everyone thrives from competition, but Xeros doesn¡¯t care. Serve, or die. Excel, or decay. That man has never once done anything out of the goodness of his heart. Love is but a vice to be smothered. So why does he keep Luxanne so close to him? It¡¯s been twenty years since he¡¯s forced her into service: educated her, taken her under his wing for reasons she still does not really know. Xeros does not care for her, never has he shown even a shred of affection, and yet¡­ wherever she goes, his watchful eye is not far behind. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Is it because he feels guilty about what happened to mom? No, that man doesn¡¯t know how to feel guilt. For better or worse, his will is greater than anyone when it comes to realizing his ideal world. Luxanne can¡¯t help but groan, for why must such a determination belong to one so cruel? This world is just so unfair. ¡°Your brow is furrowed, Luxanne.¡± She jerks in surprise and turns around, only to discover the worn face of Xeros, waiting. It gives her the shivers how quiet he can be sometimes: a sneaky, unassuming old fart. ¡°A-Ah, pardon me, Grand General. What brings you out here?¡± How he knows of her face behind all the armor is a mystery, but nonetheless she salutes him and puts on her best ¡®diligent little soldier¡¯ charade. ¡°We¡¯ll soon arrive at the capital. It¡¯s best you stay within the transport; the smog is fierce today.¡± He stares at her, eyes sharp and obscured in shadow. It¡¯s unnerving, and even after twenty years she still can¡¯t quite discern what¡¯s going on in his head. Does he know about her grudge? That she plans to kill him? No matter how well Luxanne thinks her acting to be, there¡¯s this nagging feeling inside whispering that Xeros knows more than he lets on. ¡°Hm, so it would seem.¡± He walks in front of her and sets his gaze towards the far-out city. ¡°Ever the charming sight. Much has changed for Caelum, both in appearance and soul.¡± What would you know about soul¡­ He stops for a moment and strokes his beard. Strange, Xeros seems amused by something. ¡°Tell me, what do you think about our nation?¡± Again? I¡¯m getting real tired of this old man¡¯s games. Still, she plays along like always. ¡°There is not much I can say besides that it¡¯s growing. Thanks to your diligent efforts, there¡¯s no shortage of workers and recruits for the army. We¡¯re only becoming stronger with time, and once we conquer Polus, I doubt there¡¯ll be any nation in this world that can withstand our might.¡± But even after all the praises she¡¯s sung, the Grand General isn¡¯t satisfied. There¡¯s one more thing she has to add at the end. ¡°But, we cannot be complacent. Overconfidence is a fool¡¯s curse. We must always strive to be better, and to seek progress no matter how prosperous we become.¡± Xeros is never content with what he has. Even if the entire world is within his grip, he will always want for more. Desire for more. For that is who he is: a man of endless ambition, whose eyes are set towards the starry sky above. ¡°Quite so. Quite so,¡± he muses. ¡°There is no such thing as a perfect nation, Luxanne. You must look ever onwards as a ruler, for there are always improvements to be made. True progress is an unending cycle.¡± Luxanne can¡¯t count how many times she¡¯s listened to this speech already. On and on and on, he goes¡­ maybe it¡¯s only natural that she one day snaps. ¡°What about you? What do you think about our nation?¡± she replies in a rare fit of annoyance. Luxanne regrets saying the words the moment it leaves her lips, but this back and forth of theirs has gone on for far too long. She wants to hear about his thoughts for once. Surprisingly, despite her sudden rudeness, Xeros only chuckles and rubs his chin. ¡°The same as I always have: that it is not enough.¡± The Grand General looks around for a moment, and eventually he bids to descend the transport. Luxanne hesitantly follows behind him, her body tense as the man wordlessly makes his way towards some unseeable destination, but her worries go unfounded. He stops, lowers to his knees, and grabs a handful of dirt¡ªmolding it into a ball for her to see. ¡°We are as many as these grains of dirt. Individually, each speck is minuscule in nature, barely visible before the naked eye. But, together, they clump to form one whole. ¡°I despise Polus¡¯s weak-hearted ideals, but I must admit their core adage is quite notable. ¡®Together, united as one,¡¯ or so they say. And indeed, these little grains can combine into something truly greater than themselves. However¡­¡± Xeros picks out a tiny crumb different from the others. This one is lumpy and even, sticking out and ruining the mound¡¯s smooth surface. ¡°There will always be outliers such as these that ruin the unity. But unlike mindless specks of dirt, humans spread their nature to others, turning them hideous just like themselves. Unsatisfied with their own weakness, they seek to drag as many possible down with them: to add onto the ever-growing heap of defeat. When these miserable specks multiply unabated¡­¡± Crush. He pulverizes the dirt, letting the remnants trickle from his hands and blow away into the wind. ¡°Collapse. The once perfect whole is destroyed. Its legacy, the people, and the wretched fools alike shall all be blown away by the winds of time. The accumulation of our history and the innovation created over the course of this nation¡¯s life¡­ all of it will have been for naught if we do not root out the sickness in our nation. ¡°It is an endless endeavor, and a thankless one. But it is necessary. I only hope that I am able to succeed in this lifetime so that my duty shall not need to be passed on. That is why I toil so hard, and so ruthlessly, Luxanne.¡± Luxanne is quiet. Specks¡­ to think that¡¯s how he views humanity. Although there is some sense, twisted though it may be, in Xeros¡¯s words, she disagrees with the idea that imperfection should be cast aside. Humans are special because they are so different. Of course, Luxanne doesn¡¯t tell Xeros that. ¡°¡­ I see,¡± she whispers. ¡°So you do.¡± Xeros strides by, and he pats her shoulder. He looks different from usual: not like a ruler or a stern general of an army. But an old man. A tired, feeble old man. ¡°I am not heartless, Luxanne,¡± he says. ¡°I know pain and loss more than any other, and I understand the misery wrought from mine ambition. However, someone must take this role. Someone must cause suffering in order to bring about change. Life is cruel, and if you wish to survive, then be cruel as well. Mountains of bodies shall lie in your wake, but if it is for the pursuit of your ideals, then you must be willing to commit each and every atrocity to achieve it. If you let your heart waver, then all the pain you have caused, all the injustice and misery thrust upon you, will be for naught. This world is not a fairytale; good shall never prevail by itself. There needs be a necessary evil.¡± Luxanne bites her lip, struggling to keep silent. How disgusting that his words mirror her own, but he¡¯s right about one thing: You can¡¯t stop, or else you¡¯ll lose everything. Xeros lets go of his grip, and he beckons her back towards the transport. ¡°Come, girl. Let us go home.¡± Chapter 80: Mechanical Witchery ¡°All my life, I have been exposed to the dark underbelly hidden beneath this nation¡¯s surface. The Caelum Luxanne remembers is one of community - one filled with light - but that light is and always has been deceitful. It only serves to veil the scum hiding in the shadows. ¡°She has never witnessed it¡ªthe agony of the trodden. Luxmi, that fool of a woman, always did coddle her. She shielded her eyes from all that was filthy, from the dregs dying on the streets and the depravity wrought on those far too undeserving, but I am different. I will show Luxanne the very worst of human nature. I will make her learn to hate, and only then will she grow up and see the world for what it truly is. ¡°An emotional ruler will never succeed in creating a just society. No, one must be pragmatic, or else they shall suffer a grim fate¡ªtorn apart by the evils of man.¡± - Grand General Xeros, Ruler of Nox Caelum ¡ª¡ª¡ª Xeros For better or worse, Xeros can never escape this ash-covered heap. He is chained to it, bound to it, and even if he is to flee off into distant horizons, his heart will always remain here: stuck in a land that has only ever brought him misery. It is like a curse. He despises this nation more than any other, and yet he can never let it go. Why does he still stay here when all those he has sworn to protect are gone? Xeros has achieved his vengeance; the magnates leeching onto this nation have long been purged. And yet, a puzzling attachment prevents him from departing this life. Whether in death there be Cosmos¡¯s paradise or oblivion, he cares not so long as this decades-old exhaustion finally comes to an end. Alas, the man has much left to do. To unite all under a singular banner¡­ he has suffered much for the sake of Luxmi¡¯s dream. He does not know why that woman¡¯s sought after such grand ideals with so frail a heart. There shall never exist a fool more selfish than her, perishing only to pass on her burdens to the next sorry soul. Hm. The anniversary of her death soon approaches. Is that why I am so grim as of late? The scowl on my face has softened¡ªmy wrinkles sink ever deeper. I truly am growing old. Perhaps he shall visit her later. ¡°Grand General, we¡¯ve arrived.¡± Xeros¡¯s musings are interrupted by his surly disciple, and he looks up to find themselves in front of the city¡¯ edge. There, but a few paces away, a hefty lift waits to be boarded, its system of gears and rustling chains leading all the way to the very top of the ringed layers. ¡°We shall begin departure in just a moment.¡± It is a convenient transportation system for a city this large, but Xeros has other plans in mind. Though he oft monitors the nation from the comfort of his spire, there is value in trudging amongst the populace every once in a while; yes, an inspection is in order¡ªwhat better to gauge the people¡¯s reaction towards his long absence? ¡°Do load the transport, but I shall traverse on foot from here on out,¡± he says, descending the deck and briskly walking towards the first gate. She nervously follows after him; the Grand General needs not even look at the girl to feel her hesitation exuding without restraint. Does she believe him to have a momentary fancy for slaughter? That is quite the overreaction. He is not Libevich; Xeros has worked hard to maintain his image of authority over the years, but he doesn¡¯t maim unless the situation calls for it. Luxanne¡¯s view of him is quite harsh. ¡°¡­ But sir, what of the smog?¡± she asks, putting forth her best to conjure an excuse. To that, the man only chuckles. ¡°Luxanne, this baleful air has long infected my lungs since before even your own birth. There is no escaping it even if I am to leave the city.¡± She appears confused, but that is to be expected. Xeros has raised her away from the smog before it could irreversibly affect her body, but for the common person, such conditions are only natural. Even the corrupt insects of before could only wear respirators in the hopes of staving off the muck. Except for Libevich. Strangely enough, even though that woman has been exposed to the smog far longer than Xeros, she does not seem to be affected by its burden. He does not think much of it, however; common sense shouldn¡¯t be applied to monsters in the first place. ¡°Please excuse my ignorance, but then why do you visit the lower layers so rarely?¡± she asks. ¡°Because I do not like to have it seen before my eyes.¡± It brings back unpleasant memories for him, but such hesitation must not be allowed to hold oneself back from their duties. ¡°I see¡­ then allow me to at least accompany you.¡± It is evident what the girl is afraid of, but he does not mind. Someday, she too will have to conduct surveys such as these. ¡°So be it.¡± He gestures towards the city. ¡°Lead the way.¡± Luxanne quickly takes point and orders for a few guards to serve as their escort, but Xeros dismisses them. ¡°No, we shall go alone.¡± ¡°But your safety, sir,¡± she objects with false concern. ¡°What am I to be afraid of when in your company? I trust you shall perform your task well.¡± She pauses, and the Grand General can practically see the gears turning in her brain. The girl is thinking much too deeply; he simply wishes to go on a little stroll. ¡°¡­ Very well. I shall act according to your order.¡± With a final confirmation to the surrounding personnel, the two set off towards the city and their first destination: a place that bears hostility for him unlike any other, where the bottom of society resides. They shall begin at the Slums. ¡ª¡ª¡ª Xeros ¡°Entering the Slums,¡± Luxanne announces, and the two step foot into a wasteland of rubbish and discarded scrap. A grey liquid sloshes beneath his boots. The smell in the air is rancid, burning the nostrils with what can only be described as an assault of smoke and urine, and dirty hovels sprawl endlessly before their sight. The bases are composed of metal slabs and torn fabric, serving as shelters for the miserable dregs in this land, but to call such a thing a home would be a disservice to all those that call themselves craftsmen. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. No, they are but crude, haphazardly assembled pieces assembled with not a consideration for utility. The roofs are flat; the walls are poorly insulated; and not a single attempt has been made to level the foundation. Everything is terribly amateurish, and what irritates the Grand General most is that many of these problems can be fixed quite simply. Straw and mud are in no short supply; layering the enclosure can both serve to protect against the cold and is easily replaceable¡ªno need to worry about the metal rusting. It is not difficult to do. But he supposes if these people were to actually use their heads, then they would not be here in the first place. How dreadfully familiar this sight is. ¡°It has been some time since my last visit, yet not much has changed,¡± he says. It would be a lie to say he is disappointed, for such grievances can only arise if one has expectations to begin with. Soon the Slum¡¯s inhabitants begin to emerge from their dwellings, and they glare at Xeros with a fury that could pierce through steel. Here he is - the source of all their misery - yet the cowardly fools dare not to make even a single move. Still, their hate can be troubling if left to fester. A cornered beast will inevitably lash out, but what if such a point is to never arrive? Maintaining the balance between fear and admiration is a ruler¡¯s duty, and fortunately, there is one tactic that never fails in sowing doubt amongst the masses. Kindness. ¡°Hm? Now what is this¡­¡± Out of the corner of his vision, Xeros spots a little girl peeking at him. Unlike the dregs about, her eyes shine with a clear innocence: a curiosity unfitting of this sordid domain. A jewel in a land where only dull stones remain. Yes, she shall do nicely. He walks over to the child, slowly so as to not alarm her. Luxanne carefully gauges his every move, but she needs not fear; in fact, this girl shall receive what every soul here desires in their heart. ¡°Hello there, little one,¡± he says. The child trembles a bit from his presence, but her curiosity wins over caution. ¡°Tell me, what is your name?¡± ¡°U-Um,¡± she stammers, nervously fidgeting with a filthy stuffed bear in her hands. ¡°Ho ho, relax girl. Take a deep breath. Continue when you are ready.¡± She takes a couple gulp-fulls of air, and then faces him directly without fear. ¡°I¡¯m Lilac, but who¡¯re you mister?¡± ¡°Well, I am just an old man,¡± he chuckles. ¡°Lilac¡­ that is a very nice name. Tell me Lilac, do you enjoy being here?¡± The child responds not a second later. ¡°Yep! It¡¯s fun. The misters and missus¡¯ play with me when I¡¯m bored, and Sarah always gets me food when I¡¯m hungry.¡± ¡°Is Sarah your mother?¡± ¡°No. Apparently my mom didn¡¯t want me so Sarah picked me up instead.¡± ¡°Oh, you poor child. Why would a mother possibly abandon such a darling girl like you?¡± ¡°I dunno. Sarah said I was this big¡ª¡± she says, cupping her hands into a little ball. ¡°¡ªwhen she found me. I think it¡¯s because of my leg.¡± She lifts her leg as to demonstrate, and it falls onto the ground with a limp. It is a rare thing to be born lame, but not unheard of. The Grand General has seen many like her in his youth, and oftentimes their fate has never been so kind. That is why he has strictly forbidden it: abandoning one¡¯s child¡ªno matter what abnormality or physical condition they may have. The pursuit of skill is not dependent on one¡¯s body, but Xeros understands why such situations may occur. Children are a blank slate, belonging to no specific layer, and having one¡¯s kin excel and rise to a higher status allows the parent to benefit from their success¡ªprovided they have received enough love for them to care about filial duty afterwards. Unfortunately, there is a certain stigma - one that predates even his own time - that implies a faulty child to be the byproduct of a faulty parent. The adults are treated with disdain, so if therein lies the possibility of such humiliation, then they would rather remove the risk altogether. Outdated drivel. It is quite the shame, but Xeros has taken measures to ensure such behavior goes not unpunished. All births in this nation are strictly documented, filed, and routinely monitored to prevent these types of situations. If the parent fails to adequately explain the reason for a child¡¯s disappearance¡­ well, he reckons Lilac¡¯s parents have already long left this world. But she does not need to know that. ¡°I see¡­ children are ever precious, and for you to befall such a tragedy at so tender an age¡ªit deeply saddens me,¡± Xeros says, kneeling down and letting his attire dirty. ¡°Say, what would you do if your leg were to be healed?¡± ¡°Healed?¡± she asks curiously, as if the thought has never come to mind. ¡°Um, oh! I know! I want to run. I¡¯ve never done it before, but I see other people do it all the time and I want to do it too.¡± ¡°How innocent.¡± He smiles. ¡°Then let me fulfill that dream of yours.¡± Xeros turns around and searches for nearby scrap. It has been an age since he has personally dirtied his hands with craft, but instinct tends to persist no matter how much time passes. His skills have not rusted quite yet, and soon, fragments of metal quickly assemble into a new invention. Luxanne appears rather perplexed watching him, as are the other Slum dwellers. Here lies the highest authority in the land, busying himself with common labor. A most peculiar sight it must be, but peculiarity is stronger than loathing. He can see their hatred faltering; everything is going as planned. Eventually, Xeros finishes his creation and holds out a leg-shaped mold for all to see. He presents the device to the little girl and gestures for her to try it on. ¡°Now, place your leg in this little casing here as if you were putting on a shoe,¡± he says. ¡°Okay!¡± she does as he says, and the device lights up with a faint glow. ¡°How is it? Is there any pain?¡± ¡°Nope! But I do feel a little funny though. It tickles.¡± ¡°Ho ho, that must mean it is working. Give it a go. You do not have to try hard; it should be a gentle process.¡± Lilac does not seem to be all too convinced; however, she listens anyway and attempts to walk. The machine roars to life no sooner after she raises her leg, and the girl slips backwards out of fright¡­ but her new prosthetic catches her fall, planting firmly onto the ground. ¡°W-Wha, huh!?¡± she stammers, marveling at her new range of movement. She stomps and jumps, twirls and laughs. For the common person, such things are only natural. But for her, it must be as if a whole new world has just revealed itself. Xeros pats the child¡¯s shoulder and points to the distance. ¡°Now, how about you test out that new leg of yours? Go on. There is nothing left to stop you.¡± Lilac tentatively takes a step forward. Then another, and another, and another, until eventually she breaks out into a full sprint and dashes around the scrapyard. She skips, she leaps, she soars, and she yells out in glee as tears flow down her tiny face. The Slum residents look on with awe as the little girl finally experiences the joy of a normal body. After a while, she uses her current agility to crash straight into Xeros¡¯s arms, sending the two tumbling onto the hearty dirt. ¡°T-Thank you,¡± she blubbers, smearing his robe in snot. ¡°You are very welcome, my dear,¡± he says, gently comforting her in-between her sobs. ¡°Children should never be forced to endure such hardship. Remember, as long as you remain steadfast in your will and devote your everything towards improving yourself, then nothing is impossible.¡± Xeros picks her up with a hearty laugh and sets her on his shoulders. ¡°Come, Lilac. I shall lead you to a place free of hunger and poverty. There, all you need concern yourself with is learning whatever you wish.¡± ¡°Really?¡± she squirms excitedly at the thought, but her voice suddenly turns sad. ¡°Um¡­ what about Sarah and everyone else? I don¡¯t want to leave them.¡± ¡°Do not worry. You can visit them whenever you wish in your free time. This is not goodbye for any of you, but rather a new beginning.¡± ¡°Yay! You¡¯re really, really nice. Like a snugly grandpa.¡± ¡°I am glad you think that way.¡± The two share a giggle, and the Slums fill with a merry atmosphere as the dregs line about to congratulate the girl on her new opportunity. Everyone is so very joyous. Everyone, except Luxanne. Chapter 81: The Corvids Talons ¡°Now, now, lady Seraphina: Please calm yourself. The Grand General is many things, but even he is not so heartless as to kill a child. She will be safe in the upper layers. As for us¡­ we have much to do. The time has come to realize your most fervent desire. ¡°Come, our preparations are set. All that¡¯s left is to wait.¡± - Satanael ¡ª¡ª¡ª Xeros ¡°Are you really going to take her in?¡± Luxanne asks after accompanying Lilac to the nearest garrison. Now, the two roam the oil-stained streets of the Freedman district. ¡°But of course,¡± Xeros replies. ¡°Not a single word of mine was false. Lilac shall be given proper accommodation and then enrolled into the imperial academy. Whether she succeeds, or fails, is entirely dependent on her own motivation. However, I have a feeling that girl will go far; consider it the intuition of an old man.¡± All humans are born equal, or so he believes. If one is born with physical disability, then often-times they are instilled with a greater drive to succeed. If they cannot walk, then they sharpen their minds. If they cannot see, then they refine their hearing. Hardship begets desperation. Desperation begets ambition. And for that reason, children are precious. They are malleable, innocent of the nonsense tout by long corrupted adults. One must remember that beliefs are taught - not ingrained - and the younger the child, the easier it is to instill within them the proper values. It is a shame Xeros only began training Luxanne at the older age of thirteen. Some less fortunate traits such as compassion remain ever strong in her nature despite the long years they have spent at each other¡¯s side. Alas, there is no helping it. His relationship with the girl¡¯s mother has always been a strained one. Though once they have shared a common passion, the two have never truly agreed upon the best course of rooting out the nation¡¯s filth. Her method: coexistence. His method: extermination. Xeros still believes her to be foolish, but he cannot deny that the blazing flame within her chest has surged ever more furiously than his own. That flame has been inherited by Luxanne. Meanwhile, here he remains: carrying on through bitter-cold feelings of spite. If only Luxmi would have been more hardened, more realistic¡­ then he would not have needed to carry this bothersome mantle of Grand General. But such is life. When there exists none to right man¡¯s wrongs, then you must bring change with your own hands. ¡°Do you really think one small display of generosity will sway those people to your side?¡± Luxanne says, attempting her best to hide a scoff. ¡°That was not my intention,¡± he says back, chuckling in amusement. ¡°Even the lowest of dregs can cause an inconvenience if given the chance. But what you must know, Luxanne, is that mankind is foolish. They are easily influenced, and while my act shall not garner much support at first, it will do something far more important: and that is to sow a seed of hesitation. ¡°Whenever the masses are to think of rebellion, they shall harken back to my moment of kindness. They will see mine gentle face, hear the joyous laughter of a child born anew, and the embers of resistance will naturally fade. I do not expect to swathe them to my side; I expect them to falter before they fully commit to their folly. That is enough.¡± Luxanne''s voice lowers to a hush, and she briefly glances at the Freedman¡¯s residents. Although the ruler of their nation walks among them, the populace are ignorant of his presence. They rush in and out of the surrounding buildings, all-the-while systematically organizing themselves into an efficient, steady wave atop the pavement. Boots and heels stomp in repetitive beats; they hurry to their appointments with heads low and eyes focusing on the ground. Their dark, leather attire is stained with oily spots, and their skin is dirtier than even the Slum residents, but the people seem oblivious to their current dishevelment. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Or to be more accurate, they simply do not care. Work is their only priority, Luxanne winces, and Xeros can tell the display unnerves her, but is this not what every nation should strive for? Strict discipline and a steady regime are the core principles of an efficient workforce. Luxury shall only be given to those who deserve it; happiness has to be fought for. Xeros will not deny their lives can hardly be considered a fulfilling one; however, that is precisely his design. This constant labor is very effective at dulling their resistance. Their minds are preoccupied with endless duties and tasks, and when night falls, they are too weary to think of naught but respite. There is no opportunity for rebellion; all that remains is exhaustion and fatigue. Even so, they must continue to toil or risk becoming like those a layer below. And after their long years of service, the possibility of a brighter future awaits: all they need is to work harder, to dedicate more of their life, their energy, their every waking moment to furthering the nation¡¯s prosperity. Hardship must be accompanied by reward. Make the masses forget about the past, and steer their sights only towards the future: that is how one should rule. If only Luxanne would realize this¡­ ¡°Hm. I have seen enough,¡± Xeros says, shaking his head. ¡°Let us proceed to the next¡ª¡± But before he can finish, a wave of dread washes over him from above. It is a chilling feeling, an impending sense of doom, and as he raises his head, Xeros sees the silhouette of a figure hurtling towards the two from the upper layer. It resembles that of a most familiar woman. ¡°Is that¡­?¡± Luxanne mutters, eyes widening in horror. Unfortunately, she is correct, and the Grand General curses under his breath. ¡°I expected nothing less from that vile woman. Step aside, Luxanne. I will handle this myself.¡± The girl follows his order and retreats a fair distance away. Meanwhile, Xeros raises his hands, and he summons forth a black shade to cover his body. Soon, sparks of energy crackle in the air, growing in size until it discharges in giant arcs of red lightning that sizzles and sears all within the vicinity. The citizens run away, screaming, as the entire district falls into chaos from the sudden electric maelstrom, but Xeros does not stop. He concentrates the current onto his arms and merges it with the shadow: swirling, condensing, stronger and stronger without restraint. ¡°I have no fanciful words to give,¡± he chants. ¡°Bend to my command, now.¡± With a pained cry, Xeros launches the energy high into the air. And he stands still, wheezing, as a grotesque manifestation emerges into the world. It begins with a spurt: a sticky, viscous noise that violates the ears. And there, rising from the thundercloud, is a lump of bubbling flesh. It propagates like swarm, spreading into thin veins and chunks of sinew, before collecting around a slimy, skeletal structure. Black feathers unfurl; ivory bones jut out and form the shape of a hanged claw. Larger it so terribly grows, until the thing takes shape as a pair of monstrous hands: structure neither quite human nor corvid, but a sickly amalgamation in-between. ¡°Bringing out the talons just for me, eh Xeros?¡± a voice in the distance shouts. ¡°Ever the charmer you are!¡± ¡°Libevich, you truly excel in testing my patience!¡± he barks. ¡°I have already heard of your stunt over in the Erudite. Consider this your early punishment.¡± Xeros takes control over the grotesque appendages as if they are a part of his own body, and he squashes Libevich like a bug. Splat. The woman explodes, organs splattering into a fine liquid and drizzling right over the Grand General¡ªstaining his coat in red. It is not the first time he has had the misfortune of being drenched by her insides. And unfortunately, it shall likely not be the last. The crushed remnants of her body writhe and squirm on the ground, as if each bit of flesh has a mind of its own. And soon, they gather, climbing atop the other into a misshapen pile and slowly rebuilding itself into the vile form of Libevich. ¡°Now wasn¡¯t that fun, Xeros?¡± she slurs, vocal cords still rebuilding. ¡°No. All you have wrought upon me is frustration,¡± he says. ¡°As if your tantrum above wasn¡¯t enough, already you insist upon causing another disaster.¡± ¡°Aw, don¡¯t scold this old woman too harshly now. Wasn¡¯t it fun to let loose after so long? All you ever do is form that creepy eyeball of yours. Embrace the carnage, Xeros; soak yourself in some blood every once in a while.¡± He glares, unamused, and gestures to his body. ¡°As you can see, I am already soaked in blood. Are you satisfied now?¡± But the woman feigns innocence and turns her head, whistling like some infantile little child. ¡°Fine, fine, you uptight coot. I didn¡¯t come here to see anyways. Now just where is she¡­¡± Libevich looks around the surroundings with the intensity of a beast, and eventually she spots her quarry in a nearby alleyway. Luxanne attempts to hide out of sight, but even the shadows fail in deterring the woman¡¯s unnatural instinct. ¡°Luxanne, darling!¡± she days, beckoning her with a childish wave. ¡°Come here, come here. It¡¯s been much too long since I¡¯ve last seen you. Come give your godmother a hug!" Chapter 82: Deep Crimson Foe ¡°Among Cosmos¡¯s scattered Wills, Nox Caelum has inherited a rather puzzling aspect of our mother: the Will of Desire. Unlike the others which grant a set blessing, Desire molds its boon to match the inner, well, desires of its inheritor. ¡°Luxmi desired to see her nation rid of disparity, and so she was given the strength to render one¡¯s bond with Creation void. In Lux Caelum, there were none that could abuse the divinity¡¯s compassion. ¡°On the other hand, the current Grand General remains ever mysterious despite this year marking the twentieth of his rule. The only demonstrations of his might are through the occasional usage of the Corvid¡¯s Eye and none else. He is a careful man, that Xeros. Very careful indeed¡­ but he will soon face a most dangerous predicament. Ascalon has confided in me his plans of invasion; it shall not be long now before the Polus army arrives at his doorstep. ¡°When that time comes, perhaps the world will finally see the true depths of Xeros¡¯s power.¡± - Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Xeros Luxanne hesitantly emerges from her hideaway and bows before the monstrous woman. ¡°Commander Libevich. I am¡­ relieved to see you in good health.¡± ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t need to use that stuffy talk with me darling,¡± Libevich croons, charging forward and smothering Luxanne in a rugged embrace. ¡°Bitter men like Xeros may be stuck to the past, but we should be wild and free like the young souls we are.¡± Her words are ever the same: crass and infantile. But Xeros must endure. The woman will be very useful in the upcoming conquest of Polus. Although she is a reckless, bloodthirsty, crazed, and demeaning old hag, there are none in the nation with Libevich¡¯s experience. He shall hold his tongue for now; there is no use in frustrating over this creature masquerading as human. ¡°If you are finished with your disrespect, I suggest you release your grip on Luxanne,¡± he says. Any longer and the girl will be crushed. ¡°Oop, I apologize dear! My fault, I know. You must be tired after dealing with this boor for so long.¡± Luxanne quickly breaks free and rushes over to Xeros¡¯s side. It would appear her disgust of Libevich is even greater than the hatred she bears against the Grand General. He does not blame her. ¡°Please follow the proper procedures next time instead of causing a scene,¡± she says with a subdued snarl. ¡°I know this city is dull to you, but¡­ at least try to have a little restraint.¡± ¡°Fufu, how can I refuse my favorite goddaughter¡¯s request? Never mind me, deary. I don¡¯t want to make Xeros¡¯s hair any more grey than it already is. Can you believe it? A runt like him already looking so old.¡± What you ever saw in this wretch to make her your daughter¡¯s second mother, I will never know. But I suppose you always did have the uncanny disposition to attract freaks. ¡°Oh silly me, I almost forgot!¡± Libevich abruptly shouts. ¡°I have a surprise for you, Luxanne.¡± ¡°A¡­ surprise?¡± the girl says, wincing. Whatever this sub-human being has in mind, it cannot be good. ¡°Right you are! I expected the old boy here to get a little heated, so I stored your presents in a very special place.¡± ¡°And where would that be?¡± To that, the woman replies with a hideous smile. ¡°Just a moment. It should be here any second now¡­¡± The three stand together in silence, waiting for what is far too long a period for this nonsense. Xeros is about to lose his patience when¡ªhe hears it. A faint squelch. It is a horrid sound, and as he turns around to look behind, the Grand General spots something approaching them from the distance: something soft and¡­ wet. It drags itself across the ground, leaving behind a trail of red slime. Ah. It appears to be a heart. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°There it is!¡± Libevich giggles. ¡°I was wondering when the bleeding thing would show up. Dear me, my chest has been just so stuffy without it.¡± Xeros is surprised to see she still has one, even more so that it is not pitch black like her soul. But who is he to judge? His own has been stained dark long ago. Nonetheless, the display is a distasteful one. ¡°W-What?¡± she mumbles. ¡°Hm? What¡¯s there to be confused about? I put the gifts in my heart to show how much I love you dear~¡± Libevich walks over to the squirming little eyesore and rips it open with not a care. Two objects fall out, and she slams the heart into her chest before gleefully skipping towards Luxanne like a child, only this child is a full-grown, demented spawn of the very worst humanity has to offer. ¡°Here, show me your palms.¡± She reluctantly complies, and the old woman reaches down, wipes away the gunk covering one of the objects, and reveals¡­ a necklace laden with a shining white pearl. ¡°I know your mother used to make these back when she still walked with us, so I wanted to give you something special to remember her by. I¡¯m no craftsman, mind¡ªjust a little something I personally picked out at the store. But I do hope you like it.¡± ¡°O-Oh,¡± Luxanne says, her voice low with a surprising hint of gratitude. Xeros himself is astonished: that crone, considerate? What madness has this world come to? ¡°But that¡¯s not all! I saved the best for last!¡± Following the beautiful pearl, Libevich takes out another necklace. Except this one is much different. Very, very different. It is a necklace of human body parts. Broken teeth, a ripped ear, pieces of a liver, and two brown eyes are strewn along a bloody rim. ¡°Oh.¡± Ah, that is more like it. Xeros feels foolish for ever believing Libevich could be capable of replicating normal human behavior. This time is rather particularly revolting. ¡°Do you like it?¡± Libevich asks with a wide, eerie grin. ¡°¡­ These eyes. I¡ªI know them.¡± Luxanne clenches her fist, voice overcome with a boiling rage. ¡°This is Rogier, isn¡¯t it? From the second division.¡± ¡°Was that the boy¡¯s name? I forgot to ask.¡± Luxanne appears moments away from lunging at the woman¡¯s neck, but she stays herself just long enough to spew out a single word. ¡°Why?¡± That word holds many questions in it, but of course Libevich does not seem to recognize the fury contained within. ¡°Hm? Well, the boy said that you treasured people, so I thought you¡¯d be delighted to always have one of them near you. Fufu, my own genius frightens me sometimes.¡± The girl is silent. Control it, Luxanne. Xeros shakes his head. He knows more than anyone how disgusting Libevich¡¯s nature can be, but lashing out now will only result in complications. It is not worth the trouble; the best course of action is to humor her. ¡°¡­ I thank you for the gifts, Commander Libevich. I shall treasure them always.¡± Yes, that is correct. Good, very good. You must not let emotion control you, Luxanne. There will be many more cruelties you shall need witness in the future. ¡°Hah, I knew I was right!¡± Libevich says, fastening the fleshy garment to Luxanne¡¯s neck. The girl is not amused. ¡°Let me know anytime if you ever want another gift, darling.¡± ¡°I will¡­ consider it.¡± Xeros coughs with a force and directs the madwoman¡¯s attention to him. ¡°You¡¯ve had your fun, Libevich. Now, let us make for the spire¡¯s summit, and we shall organize the war you so crave.¡± ¡°Hohoh?¡± She smiles. ¡°Now that¡¯s music to my ears. I¡¯ve been waiting a long, long time for this you little brat. I was starting to think there wasn¡¯t a need for me to follow you around anymore. How unfortunate, it would¡¯ve been fun to go after your neck.¡± He scoffs. ¡°You can never kill me, Libevich. You know this.¡± ¡°I can still try. Maybe it¡¯ll lighten up that dreary old face of yours.¡± ¡°This face will change the day you finally decide to behave as someone of your stature.¡± Libevich cackles and smacks the Grand General¡¯s shoulder. ¡°What a shame. I¡¯ll probably never see you smile then.¡± He grimaces, but shrugs off her taunts nonetheless. It is nothing he has not experienced from her before. For too long has this ill-fated relationship of theirs persisted. He cannot escape her incessant antics: not in his childhood, not back in their days of blood and rebellion, and not even now. Xeros cannot even gather the strength to be angry. Years upon years, decade after decade¡­ and yet through it all, his only constant has ever been this brutish lump of violence. I really must devise a method to kill her. He has tried many times, more than he count, but every attempt shall always end the same: with her inevitable revival. At times he wonders whether she truly is of human origin. Libevich has not aged a day since as long as Xeros can remember, always so mockingly youthful. Never the matter. If all else fails, I can simply have her buried somewhere far from where human hands can interfere. Hrm, an amusing thought. A world where that woman must suffer for eternity would not be horrid at all. And with that, the three of them set off, leaving the panic-stricken district behind. It is of no concern; there are much more important matters to attend to. By the end of this day, perhaps Xeros can finally indulge in a long, peaceful rest. Chapter 83: Things Will Get Much Worse From Here ¡°Ah, Xeros¡­ to think that cute little brat would grow up to become so dull. He was fun once, if you can believe it: a dirty, ragged bundle of rage who¡¯d bite anyone that came close. I found him in the backstreets just after he chopped off an old pawnbroker¡¯s head. Apparently the factory he was working for went under because of some shady dealings: the usual stuff. Back then, not a day went by without some type of backstabbing or sabotage or whatever the hell those magnates called it. I didn¡¯t care about it much myself. I was rich, young, and aching for blood. ¡°Unfortunately, being the daughter of a business tycoon has its drawbacks. There were just so many boring meetings day after day after day¡­ ugh, my brain¡¯s numbin¡¯ just thinking about it. The only time I ever got to have fun was while slaughtering assassins. Dear ol¡¯ father made a lot of enemies, not that I complained. More corpses to join the pile. ¡°But imagine my surprise when, one day while out on a stroll, I saw something odd: a talk, or more like a shouting match, between a kid still wet behind the ears and a pig fattened by money. It seemed boring at first, but then the boy picked up an axe, raised it up high, and¡­ splat. Right in the throat.¡± - Libevich ¡ª¡ª¡ª Satanael ¡°Hoh, quite peculiar,¡± Satanael muses to himself. ¡°For the Grand General himself to wade through this junk heap¡­ you surprise me, Xeros.¡± He watches on, stalking from a distance, as the esteemed ruler of Caelum puts on a grand show of charity for the dirty inhabitants of the Slums. It is certainly a jarring sight: a man of such power mingling among those he has purposely isolated. Satanael cannot help but applaud his shamelessness. However, the woman to his side is not so amused. The m¡¯dame Seraphina bites at her nails, eyes glaring at the figure she has sought so desperately to kill. ¡°Why is he here?¡± she mutters. ¡°He shouldn¡¯t¡ªdamnit, of all days for Lilac to be out playing...¡± Satanael can see in Seraphina a most foolish desire to rush out right this moment and land herself an unceremoniously stupid death, and he can¡¯t have that now, can he? The woman still has much use. ¡°Now, now, lady Seraphina,¡± he says, snapping his fingers and startling her back to reality. ¡°Please calm yourself. The Grand General is many things, but even he is not so heartless as to kill a child. She will be safe in the upper layers.¡± Seraphina sighs and slaps her cheeks. ¡°I know. I know, it¡¯s just¡­ it disgusts me seeing that vile old man act so kind. It disgusts me even more that I once believed in that act. If only I realized it sooner, I¡ª¡± She stops and shakes her head. There is a remorse in her words far greater than that of a simple dissenter: something more personable. ¡°You are an impressive woman,¡± Satanael says, to which she responds with a bewildered expression. ¡°Thank you?¡± ¡°Far too impressive to have been a mere proprietress in the Freedmen before all this rebellion business.¡± Her demeanor turns cold. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡± But Satanael only chuckles. ¡°Try as you might, there is a certain air about you that differs from the rest of the rabble. How do I say it¡­ arrogance. Yes, an arrogance only the powerful can possess. Except in your case, I garner it relates not so to your physical strength, but rather your background.¡± For the past weeks Satanael has cooperated with the m¡¯dame, he has noticed a few peculiarities about her. About how she walks with a graceful stride, her prowess for subterfuge, and most importantly¡­ her knowledge of the city¡¯s layout. There is really only one explanation. ¡°You served directly under Xeros, am I correct?¡± Seraphina leers at him but doesn¡¯t deny his claim. Instead, she appears conflicted, as if debating whether to truly trust in the mysterious man before her. ¡°¡­ I¡¯m not proud of it,¡± she eventually admits. ¡°If I could go back, I¡¯d smack the past me and tell her to screw off: to stop trying so hard to be acknowledged by a man who only ever saw you as a tool. It¡¯s stupid, thinking about it now. All this time I thought I was helping people with my work, when in reality I was only ever making their lives worse.¡± At least, that is what she says. But there¡¯s something else hidden in her tone. ¡°Is that so?¡± he says, casting her a sly look. ¡°How odd. For such scathing words, you sound as if you regret leaving. Although I suppose your current life is a far cry from the luxury and decadence up above.¡± Seraphina scoffs. ¡°It¡¯s not that. I couldn¡¯t care less about all that pompous crap, but¡­ I do regret leaving someone behind.¡± ¡°Praetor Luxanne, I assume?¡± She nods. ¡°We¡ªit¡¯s complicated. I wanted to stay with her more, to talk to her, help her, be with her when the entire world seemed just so filthy, but I couldn¡¯t. I had to leave or else the Grand General would become suspicious of Lux, too. There wasn¡¯t any other choice, right? I thought so, but a part of me still wonders if I made the right call.¡± Seraphina turns her head and looks out to the wide, sprawling heap that is the Slums. ¡°Still, there¡¯s been some good in leaving. I¡¯ve met some good people, made a lot of connections I never thought I would, and built this organization with my own hands. Now¡­¡± ¡°Now, here you are,¡± Satanael chuckles. ¡°Here I am,¡± she replies with a rare, genuine smile. ¡°Who would have thought? Becoming the leader of a secret revolution was definitely not in my plans. The past me would¡¯ve had a heart attack if she could see me now. Can you guess what my original job was?¡± He ponders for a moment. ¡°Assassination? Espionage?¡± Two very reasonable assumptions given the lady¡¯s talents, but Seraphina snorts and bursts out laughing. ¡°What? No, that¡¯s¡ªis that what you think of me? Stars, I was an engineer. An inventor. I helped design the defensive array surrounding this damn place. Things like war and tactics were required to be taught at the academy; I didn¡¯t even pass those classes, though I guess I kinda had to get good at it after deserting.¡± Oh. Well, I certainly haven¡¯t seen anything to suggest an inclination towards machinery. Except for¡­ Satanael looks at the gun holstered by Seraphina¡¯s side. On closer inspection, it does not appear to be the same model as those used by the city¡¯s enforcement; rather, the build is smaller. More compact. And the barrel is covered by a peculiar attachment resembling a metal tube.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Your handiwork, I presume?¡± he says, gesturing to the weapon. ¡°Hm? Oh, this old thing?¡± she pulls it out, flicks a switch, and grips the handle while carefully keeping her fingers off the trigger. ¡°I have better firearms, but¡­ it was the first thing I made after escaping the Erudite. I couldn¡¯t lug around a heavy gun all the time, so I took some scraps and crafted this beauty; I call it a pistol. You can only shoot a bullet at a time, but the recoil¡¯s much softer and the silencer at the end helps mask the noise so that your ears don¡¯t start bleedin¡¯ just from firing it.¡± Seraphina examines the pistol for a moment, turning it over and running her nail along the rim. ¡°Y¡¯know, I was going to make a copy for Lilac. Well, when she¡¯s older. It¡¯s a scary world out there; people are dyin¡¯ left and right without even knowing why. Just senseless death after senseless death. I wanted to give her the means to at least defend herself, but now¡­¡± Satanael tuts and wags his finger. ¡°A simple solution. All we need do is topple the Grand General¡¯s regime, and every one of your wishes shall come to fruition. Lilac¡¯s retrieval, your reunion with the Praetor¡­ everything. Everything shall be solved with his death.¡± She chuckles. ¡°Yeah, I guess it really is that simple, huh?¡± Seraphina reholsters her weapon and takes a deep breath. There¡¯s a clearness in her eyes now, burdens lifting and resolve etching firm. Satanael no longer needs worry; the woman will fulfill her role most faithfully now. ¡°Xeros¡¯ll be occupied for a while,¡± she says. ¡°Probably headin¡¯ his way to the spire right now, but that¡¯s fine. He can plan all he wants.¡± ¡°As for us,¡± Satanael says, trailing off towards the distance with a lively step. ¡°We have much to do.¡± She smirks and follows after him. Together, the two depart the Slums, and they make for the upper layer. The time has come. The end approaches. All that¡¯s left is to wait. ¡ª¡ª¡ª Satanael ¡°Oh my, so soon? Very well. Let us meet again after the promised hour.¡± Satanael steps out of his garden, and emerges into a large, derelict factory repurposed for the Yurodiviye. All manner of people rush about the base: Slum dwellers, Freedman laborers, and even a few well-dressed sorts from the Proletariat. The m¡¯dame has spared no effort in her recruitment; to bring so many together from all these differing layers¡­ her persuasion is certainly to be admired. He slips through the busy stream and casually strolls to the fervent figure of Seraphina. Her experience as resistance leader is on full display, for she busies herself with coordinating the movement, ordering and receiving intel by the second, and shouting words of heart-thumping encouragement¡ªall without breaking a sweat. ¡°How go the preparations, my lady?¡± he asks, creeping behind her. ¡°Ah, there you are,¡± she replies, waving off her advisers. ¡°Everything¡¯s all set and ready to go. My people¡¯ve infiltrated the main entryways, and we¡¯ve set up ambush points everywhere we can. Alleyways, street corners, exits¡­ you name it. All we¡¯re waiting on now is the shutdown of the defensive array around the city, but that¡¯s going to be a tricky one even for me. The main core powering it is guarded deep at the base of the spire. Even if you were to have every one of us storm it, I wouldn¡¯t be confident about our success.¡± ¡°Very good, and you need not concern yourself with that matter. I shall handle it myself.¡± Satanael cannot lie, he does rather enjoy this situation. To think that so many souls are at his beck and call¡­ how exhilarating! He considers himself a lover of more solitary roles, but this sort of change is not bad at all every once in a while. His position allows him to see many colorful individuals: many budding seedbeds. Ah, but that is that, and this is this. He can indulge in himself after he has completed his task. ¡°Hm, I guess that fancy door trick of yours is pretty useful,¡± she says. ¡°But how does it work? Can you just show up anywhere you want?¡± ¡°Well, not exactly,¡± he chuckles. ¡°Think of it as¡­ a labyrinth. An ethereal world of connecting halls and doorways. If I search thoroughly enough, I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll stumble into the right location eventually, but it would require quite a bit of time.¡± ¡°Heh, is that it? I¡¯ve got just the thing then.¡± Seraphina reaches into her pocket and pulls out a detailed diagram of the inner depths of the spire. ¡°I was actually the one who designed the core¡¯s layout. Ugh, young me really didn¡¯t hold back at all¡­ but at least we know what we¡¯re dealing with. Xeros probably thinks I¡¯m dead so I doubt he¡¯s changed the structure much, but don¡¯t put all your trust in it. You never know.¡± She smiles and playfully hits his shoulder. ¡°Be careful out there, Mr. Satanael. I was just startin¡¯ to grow fond of ya; it¡¯d be a real shame to bury you in this dump.¡± ¡°Never to fear, my dear. Lurking is my specialty. The barrier shall fall before the day¡¯s end, and when it does, I trust you shall fulfill your duties?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± She thumps her chest. ¡°Leave it to me.¡± ¡°Then I shall be off. Do take care of your health, Madam Seraphina. I would love to have you stroll through my garden once this is all over.¡± ¡°Hoho, quite the enticing proposition. Looks like I¡¯ll have to survive now, so don¡¯t keep me waiting!¡± ¡°I shan¡¯t. Until we meet again, my lady.¡± With a grand flourish, Satanael bids her goodbye and retires to the comfort of his paradise. He takes a deep sniff of the floral breeze, and smiles. I wonder what kind of flower she will bloom into¡­ I cannot wait to find out. He takes out the diagram and sends his consciousness into the realm of the ethereal. Thousands and thousands upon doors spread out before him, stretching far out into an endless, dim corridor of darkness. Turns, corners, split pathways¡ªoh my! It would be easy to find oneself forever lost in this domain, but to Satanael, such navigation is but a fun adventure. ¡°Now, just where is that door,¡± he mumbles, sauntering through the infinite hall. ¡°Down, up, to the right, and¡­ ah, there it is!¡± Satanael returns back to the garden, and he slashes the air with his dagger: splitting the seams of reality whilst conjuring a door from the beyond. ¡°Hm, it has been some time since I¡¯ve engaged in a little evisceration. This shall be quite enjoyable.¡± He opens the door, and comes face to face with a surprised Caelum guard. ¡°What¡ª¡± Oh dear, already? Satanael gently slices their neck, and they fall to the ground. Sputtering. Twitching as blood pools ever so softly beneath. ¡°Now, now, can¡¯t have your cries alerting the others, can we?¡± Satanael chuckles and walks into the grey, metal-lined walls of the spire¡¯s underground. He hums a little tune. He whispers a quiet song. And every so often when he encounters a startled guard whilst amidst his wandering, Satanael dispatches them with nary a sound¡ªnary a word. A stab to the throat and a jab to the heart is all it takes to create such wondrous art. But all good times must come to an end. Eventually, he approaches a large, open room with a strange looking device in the middle. Its appearance is rather intimidating; glowing blue energy courses through the column-like structure of the machine, and metal tendrils sprout from above and below in every which way. A massive orb lies in the middle, smooth and pulsating, while surrounded by a large group of Astrologians that seem to be supplying it with power. There about thirty of them all huddled together. This could be a bit troublesome. Satanael¡¯s expertise lies in assassination, not assault. However, perhaps there is no need for violence. The orb appears rather important; it would be a shame if something happens to it¡­ With no other method of traversal, he leaps into the air and stabs his dagger into the ceiling. The Astrologians are too busy to even notice as he crawls above them, stopping right across from the orb. It is protected by a transparent barrier, and while Satanael could attempt to carve a hole through it, something tells him that touching it is not the best of ideas. Is it the ominous whirring of sound, or perhaps the occasional blue streaks of discharge flashing across the surface? Nonetheless, he must think of another way for now. What to do, what to do, he ponders. If I can¡¯t go through directly, then perhaps¡­ He looks around and spots a large duct. It looks to be rather tight, too tight for the body of the average person to fit into, but Satanael is quite confident in his flexibility. One must be supple to creep in the places he has. Satanael slices through the metal grating, contorts his body, and climbs into the duct. Although there is no exit that leads directly into the orb¡¯s containment area, it is a simple matter to create one himself. He slashes around himself with the finesse of a performer and watches the metal plummet to the ground. The Astrologians look at the scraps, confused, but they have no time to process their thoughts before a knife is swiftly thrown at the exposed orb. It cracks and, in an instant, the entire room is enveloped in a blinding blue hue. Then, boom. Everything is consumed by light. Chapter 84: The Beginning of the End ¡°Oh my, that certainly doesn¡¯t look good.¡± - Satanael moments before the explosion ¡ª¡ª¡ª Xeros Xeros collapses in his chair and lets out a deep, tired sigh. Fortunately, the inspections of the other layers have not been nearly so eventful. The Proletariat¡¯s production line is operating as planned, and the destruction wrought in the Erudite has since cleared. Now, here he is¡ªresting at the very summit of the spire. The room is dark, shadows veiling all save for a sliver of light passing through a glass dome behind him, and not a speck of ornament nor decoration can be seen. Only the bare necessities remain. Luxury is a lure, the bait that snares the hearts of all caught within its grasp. For those of meager aspirations, there is no greater a motivation. But to those who seek to rule, such things are but mere vices. Xeros has no need for it. He has seen plenty a swine seduced by its glamor; if ever the day comes when he shall fall for such temptations, then he would rather someone end his misery right that instant. However, there is one possession he has yet to relinquish: a painting of a woman dressed in greasy overalls. Luxanne stares at that painting now, seemingly entranced by the portrait of her mother. The girl normally avoids it like the plague, but something about this day compels her to take a closer look. Libevich, meanwhile, leans on a nearby wall. The decrepit hag absentmindedly taps her foot with an increasingly annoying cadence of boredom, but for once she shows the Grand General a modicum of respect. That, or perhaps her mind is also stuck in those bygone days. ¡°Captivated, are you?¡± Xeros says to Luxanne. ¡°I never was one skilled with the brush, but I do think I captured her features quite nicely, would you not agree?¡± ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know,¡± she mumbles. ¡°It¡¯s been a long time. As the days pass, my memory of her only becomes more hazy.¡± ¡°Such is the curse called aging. The mind deteriorates, the body withers, and all that shall remain in the end are embers of what once was.¡± Libevich cackles. ¡°Are you really talking about old age before me, Xeros? You¡¯re twenty years too young to be acting like a sage. Don¡¯t believe him, my dear: aging is a state of mind. Just follow your whims, and you¡¯ll be looking like me for decades to come!¡± The woman walks over to the painting and peers at it with a coarse expression. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll give the brat some credit. It does look pretty good. Why don¡¯t you hand over your title to Luxanne already and become a painter? I bet she¡¯d do more in one year than you ever did with twenty.¡± A black-plumed finger manifests behind Libevich, and pierces her right in the throat. Unfortunately, the crone is unbothered, but at least she will not be able to spit any nonsense anymore. At least, for a little bit. She throws her hands up in the air, annoyed, and goes back to her little corner. Xeros casts her a glare in reply. Although he is the one who appoints the commanders, it is rather unfortunate that the strong tend to be the ones most steeped in mental instability. Luxanne is sane due to her personal upbringing, but the rest follow a doctrine of madness. Gravitas, Libevich, and Nokron¡­ their only worth lies in war. Speaking of Nokron, where is he? ¡°Luxanne, have you seen Nokron¡¯s signature in the entry wit?¡± he asks. ¡°No, Grand General, but he should¡¯ve arrived a couple days before our return.¡± He grumbles and rubs his brow. ¡°And why have you not notified me about such a discrepancy until now?¡± ¡°Apologies. The Alchemist Regent rarely leaves the capital, so I assumed he forgot.¡± Another annoyance to deal with¡­ Xeros wonders if this day shall ever have an end. ¡°Nokron is not the sort to forgo such procedures. I understand you do not interact with him much due to the separation of your duties, but one must be accustomed to the nature of those above, and below, them if they are to be a proper leader.¡± Luxanne begrudgingly bows her head. ¡°I understand, Grand General. I shall take your lesson to heart.¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°That you must.¡± He scowls and quickly sifts through the pile of documents on his desk. Nokron is a fool obsessed with research, but he has never once failed to meet his commands. It seems the man has become impudent. Is it finally time to sever the rotten link? The Grand General would not lament his removal, but for it to occur now is rather bothersome. Perhaps he should do so after the Polus conquest. Problems after problems¡­ it is a never-ending cycle. Xeros has believed his luck to be on the rise after Lorelai¡¯s death, but fate demands otherwise. No rest can be given to one such as he. Curiously enough, after inspecting the available papers, it seems that Nokron is not in the city. None have entered his private laboratory since his departure, and neither guard nor city official has reported any sightings of him anywhere in the layers. No matter how much he enjoys skulking about, this type of secrecy is unheard of. Thus, only three possibilities remain: Nokron is late due to an unforeseen circumstance. Nokron has betrayed Nox Caelum and deserted. Or Nokron has finally succumbed to one of his experiments. ¡°Fufu, I can see that brain of yours wracking its gears,¡± Libevich taunts, her vocal cords now recovered. ¡°Think that living corpse deserted? He always was an odd one.¡± ¡°¡­ No,¡± he says. ¡°Nokron knows that no other nation will tolerate his eccentricities, much less provide support for his experiments. His devotion to me is genuine, and he would not have a change of heart so easily. His mind is like yours: twisted and malformed.¡± ¡°Aw, you¡¯re making this old woman blush~¡± Perhaps Xeros should gouge her throat again. ¡°If he¡¯s not in the city or deserting, what could possibly make him so late?¡± Luxanne asks. ¡°That man¡¯s like a roach. I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s capable of killing him except for someone equal to the Thrones, but I haven¡¯t received any news of movement from Polus for a while.¡± ¡°Hm. Do not be so sure.¡± ¡°Pardon, sir?¡± This situation reminds Xeros of when he first found the dead bodies of Lorelai and Gravitas. Even now, he knows not who or where the culprit currently is. What if¡­ ¡°Nevermind that, I shall ascertain the truth myself,¡± he says, standing up and readying the Corvid¡¯s Eye. ¡°The both of you, step to the side.¡± Libevich shrugs and retreats to a corner with Luxanne. Meanwhile, Xeros covers his eye in darkness and releases a violent surge of red lightning into the cloud. He does not much care to use this power in the confines of his personal sanctuary, but a cold chill urges him to move with haste. Instinct exists for a reason, and right now it delivers upon him a foreboding sense of dread. In truth, there is another possibility that exists: a laughable idea, a whim banished without another thought back when it has first come to be, but the world ever so does enjoy in realizing the impossible when most unexpected. And as the conjured eye manifests above the Magnus Murus, it dawns on Xeros just how complacent he has been. He has believed with utmost certainty that Polus¡¯s King would be paralyzed with grief over the loss of his treasured love. He has believed the winged nation to be overcome with despair, with hopelessness, and that they would sink further into their own cowardice. But Xeros is wrong, for he stares now at the ruined remains of the fortress. Instead of crippling the King, Lorelai¡¯s death has crippled himself. Down below are signs of a great and vast battle. Bodies of slaughtered legionnaires litter the coarse sand: bullets, shards, blood and gore. Only one army is capable of such destruction: Polus. Polus is invading Nox Caelum. Judging by the state of the battlefield, a few weeks have passed since the Magnus Murus¡¯s destruction. If the knights maintain a steady pace, then¡­ Xeros recedes the Corvid¡¯s Eye and slams the desk with a thunderous crunch, alarming the two commanders over the sudden bout of aggression. Questions and words are hurled at him by the two, but the Grand General hears none of it. He claws his face and paces around the room in a deep trance. Is it revenge? A last, desperate move brought forth from the King¡¯s bereaved mind? No, the reason does not matter. What matters is that the Grand General¡¯s territory has been encroached with nary a hint nor forewarning. That is impossible; how could they have traversed the swampland without alerting Nokron¡¯s attention? They must have surprised him¡ªassaulted the fortress before he could react. It is no surprise the Polus forces chose such a location; the Magnus Murus is more isolated than any other due to its surrounding geology. That is why Xeros has fortified its defenses to such a large degree. Still, for such a large force to catch Nokron unaware¡­ the secret must lie somewhere in the swampland. There are no feasible paths of traversal above ground, so that would only leave below. The underground. The mere thought is ridiculous, but therein lies no other explanation: those winged traditionalists have broken their most feared taboo. The Grand General cannot help but be impressed. It is a clever ploy. Only a strategist of Lorelai¡¯s worth could have devised such a scheme, but does Polus hold another with such capability? Xeros knows the other two Thrones to be mere brutes akin to Libevich; how could such a shrewd individual escape his knowledge? This is not good. The city is not prepared for an invasion. Assembling the ranks and preparing for a siege will take time¡ªtime he does not have. If his estimates are accurate, then Polus will descend upon the capital in a week: nay, a few days. Or perhaps even now. ¡°Damn you, Ascalon!¡± Xeros shouts, eyes blood red with fury. ¡°To think this cur would dare come after my throat after years of cowardice. You did well to hide your claws, but I shall not cower so easily.¡± Luxanne flinches at the Grand General¡¯s rage and attempts to calm him down. ¡°Sir, what¡¯s going on? You¡ª¡± ¡°Now is not the time for this, Luxanne!¡± he barks. ¡°We must¡ª¡± But before Xeros can finish, a deafening explosion from below sends everyone in the room into a stumble. The entire spire shakes and groans from the sudden force, debris falling loose from the ceiling, and as the Grand General raises his gaze to the outside, he bears witness to a giant, rippling beam of light descending upon them from the sky. Chapter 85: Despite Everything, This Place Is Home ¡°So it has finally come¡­ today, either we stand victorious over Xeros¡¯s corpse, or Polus will be writ as a mere footnote in history. My heart is ablaze, it beats with such thundering fervor, yet despite the dire straits I am not afraid. ¡°How swift has this month been. It is peculiar how much one can change in so little a time. I have borne witness to many travesties, but I have also deepened bonds the likes I never thought mendable. Hehe, a short journey to be sure; however, I wonder if someday our experiences shall be told in song. Like the heroes I¡¯ve always admired: an epic to call our own. ¡°Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself. Forgive me for rambling for so long, my dear. Let us wish of dreams after this battle¡¯s end. ¡°There is much to do; firstly, with the city¡¯s barrier impeding our flight, we must break through the first gate¡ªhm? You say that is not necessary? I see¡­ very well. My trust is yours. Deborah! Ready the Shooting Star. We shall signal the horns of invasion with your piercing light!¡± - King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Luxanne Luxanne slams her foot on the floor and grits her teeth, struggling to keep balance as the spire¡¯s foundation trembles from the explosion below. She looks around, mind still in a daze, and peers out the now-shattered pane, only to be greeted by a massive spiraling concentration of light hurtling towards the city. What¡­ what is that? She doesn¡¯t understand why this is happening. Not even a croak escapes her throat. But even so, she knows one thing for certain: if that ray of light hits, then everything, from the ringed layers to the highest peaks, will come crashing down in an indiscriminate wave of destruction. ¡°Luxanne!¡± a voice shouts by her side. Xeros roughly shakes Luxanne, his face deathly grim, and brings her back to reality. ¡°I cannot stay here. You must reorganize the army and take command during my absence. Time is of the importance, do you understand?¡± ¡°Y-Yes, Grand General,¡± she groans, steadying herself with a wobble. ¡°Good. Libevich?¡± ¡°Yup, still here,¡± the old woman says while pushing away a piece of fallen debris on top of her. ¡°The enemy approaches us; therein lies the blood you so crave. I care not how you deal with them. Prevent their assault from reaching the inner stratum, and I shall take care of the attack in air.¡± A wicked grin creeps onto Libevich¡¯s face, one of pure, unfettered bloodlust. ¡°Oh, you old geezer¡­ to think you¡¯d prepare such a wondrous surprise for me. It¡¯s been so long since I¡¯ve indulged in a proper war; I¡¯m going to enjoy this. Just make sure you don¡¯t steal any of my prey.¡± ¡°Fulfill your duties faithfully, then.¡± ¡°Fufu, if you say so.¡± Libevich turns around and crushes Luxanne in a big hug. She attempts to escape her grasp as usual, but something feels different about the crazed woman. While there¡¯s the usual air of madness, there is also a chill. Something calmer. Anticipation, eagerness, and¡­ acceptance. ¡°I¡¯m off!¡± Libevich says. ¡°I love you, Luxanne! Oh, and don¡¯t bury me if I die. I want the birds and maggots to strip my body clean.¡± Luxanne highly doubts it¡¯ll happen, though it would make everyone¡¯s lives easier if she does. One can hope. She really, really hopes so. With a final cackle, Libevich jumps out of the spire and disappears into the distance. Meanwhile, Xeros wraps his body in darkness and conjures a trailing cloud of smoke, his body soon levitating high into the air. ¡°Remember this, Luxanne,¡± he says. ¡°The lives of all in this nation are in your hands. It would do well for you to abandon any foolish thoughts here.¡± Her face pales. Huh? Does he¡ªdoes he know? But before she can ask, Xeros rushes off towards the light, leaving her alone to fester in a storm of fearful, confused thoughts. What did he mean by that? I¡¯ve worked so hard to conceal my hate, but maybe¡­ damnit! Luxanne wants to rush out and interrogate the Grand Grand immediately, but he¡¯s right. The whole nation is in a panic, and if nothing is done, then hundreds of thousands of corpses will soon line the streets. She knows this. She knows this with all her heart; yet, even so she can¡¯t help but foster a seed of something sinister within. It latches onto her mind, whispers such dark and sweet words. It shows her everything she¡¯s lost, every bit of suffering she¡¯s endured these last twenty years, and a future where her one, true wish is finally fulfilled.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. The sudden attack is the perfect opportunity to enact her vengeance. This nation will crumble into an ashen-heap of ruin. This system where the strong thrive and the weak suffer shall disappear. Everyone will finally be equal. This cycle of torment can end, and Xeros¡¯s legacy will be forever erased. Oh, how wonderful that would be. And all she needs to do is watch. Don¡¯t move. Don¡¯t say a word. Don¡¯t even lift a finger. Just stay here, and watch as the world is consumed in flame. After all, doesn¡¯t she have the perfect view? High up in this spire with no one else to bother her, she¡¯ll watch as the bastardized remains of her mother¡¯s beloved nation are reduced to nothing. Everything will be destroyed. Everything. Those streets Luxanne has once walked upon as a little girl with not a care or worry¡­ The old workshop where her mom¡¯s phantom still lingers, tinkering away on an invention she believed would change the world¡­ Even her old home, frozen in time after years of neglect and abandonment because it pains her to see the once-lively rooms now so barren¡­ All of it will be destroyed. ¡°No, No I¡­¡± Luxanne covers her face, and she collapses onto her knees¡ªtears streaming free. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, mom. This isn¡¯t what you would have wanted. So many years, gone, and I¡¯m still just pathetic. Hah, you¡¯d probably be so disappointed if you could see me now. You¡¯d scold me and shake me around like I¡¯ve lost my mind, and I probably have, but you never really did stay mad for long. In the end, you¡¯d give me a big, warm hug and tell me that everything¡¯ll be okay. That I should look deep into myself and ask if this is who I truly want to be. ¡°But you¡¯re not here. All I have left is my memories, and this nation that you worked so hard to change. I thought I wouldn¡¯t care about anything after Xeros finally dies, but I¡­ I don¡¯t want to lose my home. It¡¯s dirty, filthy, and the people are just as crass, but I still love it anyways. What worth is there in getting revenge if it means destroying all you¡¯ve ever built?¡± Luxanne gazes out to the city below. Cries echo from every corner, and the citizens frantically rush to get to safety¡ªtrampling those unfortunate enough to be caught in the raging surge of bodies and footsteps. There¡¯s so many screams, so many wails filled with pain, but nobody will answer their pleas. They¡¯re forgotten, swept away into the ever-growing chaos. ¡°I remember the day you were elected. Just a little, though. Turns out the memory of a six-year-old girl isn¡¯t the best, but what I will never forget is that image of you standing so proudly to the cheers of the people: the oath you swore, dignified. Proud. You promised to protect everyone and usher us into an age of advancement, yet here I am planning to destroy it all for my own selfishness. I really am¡­ a vile person, aren¡¯t I?¡± Luxanne smashes her first into the wall, pummeling it until her knuckles are bloody and sore. It hurts, but she doesn¡¯t care. She needs something, anything, to distract away from this darkness gnawing at her sanity. She won¡¯t be like Xeros. She won¡¯t give up on her dreams, foolish they might be. No, she will be better. She would rather live while following her heart, rather than casting it away. Xeros must die one day, that still hasn¡¯t changed, but for as long as Luxanne still lives, she will prioritize the safety of her people and the nation above all else. That is what defines a proper ruler. Luxanne takes a deep breath, and she slowly gets up. Her head is clear for the first time in ages. She knows what to do next. Without any hesitations left to chain her, she dashes out of the room and leaps past the stairway¡ªdescending the spire¡¯s levels with rapid speed as she free-falls in the air. All around her, soldiers haphazardly run about - confused and bewildered - though luckily they seem to be a bit more orderly than the people outside. This can work. It¡¯s time for Luxanne to say goodbye to the little girl obsessed with her own well-being. Now, she must act with the authority of a commander. She covers her throat in a sound-altering sorcery, and then bellows for all to hear. ¡°Attention, all units of the Nox Caelum Empire: The capital is under attack! I repeat, the capital is under attack. Grand General Xeros has left to confront the invaders. From here on out, I, Praetor Luxanne, shall take over his duties as Acting General. Do not panic. Report to your assigned divisions, and all upper-level personnel must immediately begin preparations for Protocol Omega. I repeat, Protocol Omega is currently in effect!¡± Luxanne fires a bullet from her gunblade at the wall, and soon a large mass of roots grow from the impact¡ªblanketing her fall with a bed of leaves and branches. But there¡¯s not a moment to spare, and she quickly bursts into the central command room. Thankfully, the people inside aren¡¯t as lost as the other lot, and they¡¯ve already begun running diagnostics on the current state of the city. If there¡¯s one thing she¡¯ll begrudgingly give to Xeros, it¡¯s that he knows how to pick his people. ¡°Where¡¯s the chief of defense and chief of engineering?¡± she barks. ¡°You¡¯ve heard the announcement. How soon can we mobilize the army?¡± A burly, gruff man dressed in uniform steps up. ¡°Not long, Acting General. The troops are slightly disorganized due to the sudden situation, but there will be no problem in deploying them to the city gates. As for the citizens, we¡¯ve opened the underground tunnels for traversal. A total evacuation to the shorelines of the south has already begun.¡± ¡°Good,¡± she says. ¡°And do we have eyes on the invading force?¡± ¡°It appears to be the Polus army. King Ascalon himself has personally joined the siege, and the winged knights of the Seraph are rapidly approaching from the sky.¡± Luxanne groans and rubs her eyes. Damnit, they¡¯re really going all out for this¡­ but like hells I¡¯d let them raze this place. I¡¯ll make amends after Xeros is dead.¡± ¡°Commander Libevich shall take charge against the ground troops for now while Xeros deals with the airborne forces,¡± she continues. ¡°Moving on, what about the barrier?¡± A woman in greasy overalls speaks up. ¡°Not looking good, ma¡¯am,¡± she says. ¡°Something, or someone, destroyed the main core down in the lower levels. It¡¯ll be impossible to make a new one with the time we have now, and the control systems for weapons like the Elysian Ray and the Chain-Arc Lightning Arrays were fried in the scramble. At best, the turrets are still operational, but we ain¡¯t getting anything more than that.¡± Everything¡¯s looking a lot more dire than Luxanne¡¯s thought, but she¡¯ll just have to make due. ¡°It¡¯s better than nothing. For now, we¡¯ll keep our eyes on the outside and act accordingly. Have the engineers fix what they can and take out every piece of ammunition we have stockpiled. Don¡¯t let a single resource go untouched, am I clear?¡± ¡°By your command!¡± they all shout. ¡°Then let¡¯s get to work. Caelum will not fall here today!¡± Chapter 86: The Man of Crystalline Rainbow ¡°Joshua, you shall lead the Seraph and descend onto Caligos Imperium whilst the other Templars invade on foot. From what we know of the Caelum forces, only the enemy commanders or Xeros himself are capable of repelling Deborah¡¯s attack. If you encounter a commander, continue with the plan and target the inner sanctum. However, if the Grand General makes an appearance, then you must alert Lorelai and occupy Xeros¡¯s attention until I arrive. Do not attempt to slay him. Prioritize your safety above all else. ¡°Be prepared, Joshua, for this duty shall be the most perilous of all.¡± - King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Xeros Never in all his long years has the Grand General been cornered to such a degree, and to think that Ascalon of all curs would be the cause for this humiliation¡­ how surprising. Xeros has thought the King of Polus to consider himself above the use of sabotage, but it seems that the winged rat has been hiding his true nature all along. For what else can one call the collapse of the city''s array but a carefully crafted scheme? The core is hidden in the deepest pits of the spire. To infiltrate it would require years of service; Xeros trusts none but the most accomplished of engineers and Astrologians to handle matters relating to the capital¡¯s security. It should have been impenetrable¡­ yet there is no deceiving the sight before him. The truth is bare: somehow, a rat has slipped in. The more he dwells on the trickery, the more enraged he becomes. All this time, Ascalon has treated him as a fool, baring his righteous facade for all to see whilst secretly harboring a more nefarious identity. Xeros is impressed. Furious, yes, but he is impressed nonetheless over such meticulous deceit. Perhaps he is wrong about the youth. Ascalon truly does deserve the title of ruler, unlike his insipid ancestor, but that does not mean the Grand General will allow his plans to succeed. This is only a setback, not the end. For as long as Xeros¡¯s desire remains unfulfilled, he will never give in to resignation. But first, he must deal with a more pressing matter. A sparkling pink radiance surges forward, roaring with a contemptible howl of jubilance, but this nation has no need for such light. It must be snuffed. Xeros gathers a volatile discharge of red lightning, and releases it directly into the face of his smoke-wrapped form. Flesh manifests into existence above him, gradually taking the form of a giant head, and its skull malforms into a twisted mixture of human and avian. Black feathers surround every surface of the misshapen being; large sockets filled with naught but darkness burrow into its face contorting in agony; and rows upon rows of rotted teeth jut out from its beak of bone. Conjuring the Corvid¡¯s appearance twice in such a short period of time is starting to take its toll on him, but he cannot afford to conserve his strength now. Xeros has labored far too long to reform this city; he will not allow it to be destroyed. The disfigured creature lets out a pained shriek, opening its mouth to reveal a bottomless void of dusk and gloom within the Corvid¡¯s Maw. The arrow of light aims to pierce through the being, pressure bearing down upon all near its presence, and then it disappears: vanished into the darkness with nary a sound. The pink hue, the trail of starlight¡­ gone. Everything is torn and sundered by the tormented shadows lurking inside. It is done. The light is snuffed. However, the invasion has only just begun. As soon as Xeros recalls the creature, a swarm of winged knights rush into view and begin to descend upon the city. The Seraph have finally revealed themselves. Ordinarily such a force would be a trivial matter for the city¡¯s armaments, but it seems whoever destroyed the core also wrecked the weapons¡¯ control system. Annoyance after annoyance, tribulation after tribulation¡­ it is as if the world itself wishes for his death. There exists a small boon, at the very least. Turrets and mounted artillery rise up from all over the citadel and fire at the flying invaders, blanketing the sky in flame and thunder and time. Of course such weapons shall only hinder the Polus elite, but it is enough for as long as their advance can be delayed for a few more moments. Summoning another body part so soon is out of the question. He has yet to even face the King; it would be a great shame to expend such effort for the extermination of these insignificant rabble. No, a mere feather is all they deserve, and all they shall receive. Xeros raises his hand, and hundreds upon thousands of black feathers begin to form all around him¡ªblotting out the light of the sun above and encasing the entire capital within specks of shadow. The feathers spin and whirl until they join together into a razing whirlwind. With a snap of his finger, he sends the umbral assault spiraling straight into the winged legion. Unlike the bullets¡¯ barrage, the feathers are not so easily avoidable, and the Grand General watches on as the rats dance and desperately fly around in vain. It plunges into their armor, tears chunks of flesh away from their bodies until only gaping, bloody holes remain. And if the feathers manage to tear into their wings¡­ well, it is an amusing sight to watch them plummet. Their precious gift of flight: wrenched away. All that¡¯s left for them is to helplessly plunge to their deaths and become a red stain upon the city streets. But there is one pest that catches Xeros¡¯s eye. It is a pest he has never seen before, but the way it soars throughout the sky and effortlessly deflects his feathers reminds him of an old enemy now gone from this world. However, unlike her wings of gold and silver, this one¡¯s span is of crystals. It shines with a prismatic glow, transparent and delicate like glass.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. What intrigues the Grand General is how puny the little knight is, almost as if they are a child, but Xeros knows better than to be deceived by such appearances. This one should not be underestimated, for they exude an aura not unlike his own: menacing, hollow, and dangerous. He can feel a kindred nature in them, one unsuited for the Order of knights so devoted to chivalry. A new Throne to replace Lorelai, perhaps? Curious that the King would instate such a wicked being into his retinue, but never the matter. They too shall fall in due time. Eventually, the Seraph break through the maelstrom of feathers. None are unscathed save for their leader, yet a determination remains set in their gazes. They disperse and fly towards the city, and though Xeros wishes to give chase, his instincts warn against it. The knights¡¯ leader stares him down now, meticulously watching his every move as if analyzing a wild animal, and unsheathes a thin rapier. They never break eye contact with the Grand General, but much to his surprise, their sharp countenance disappears¡ªquickly replacing with a childish demeanor as they greet him with a playful wave. ¡°Hello there! You must be that fellow Xeros I¡¯ve heard so much about,¡± the knight says with the voice of a young boy. ¡°Well, I can¡¯t really tell since you¡¯re all¡­ wispy. Oh, but don¡¯t mind me. I think it¡¯s a good look on you! Very scary. Intimidating. I like it.¡± Xeros doesn¡¯t bother to reply and attempts to pierce his neck with a talon from behind, but before he can, the boy suddenly lunges at him with frightening speed and almost pierces the Grand General right in the heart. He evades just in time and prepares to retaliate, but the knight stops his assault and retreats back into the distance, resuming his carefree facade. ¡°Surprises aren¡¯t nice, I¡¯ll have you know,¡± he chides with a wag of his finger. ¡°Before we try to kill each other, how about a little introduction? I¡¯m Joshua, Templar of the Order of the Seraph. It¡¯s a pleasure to finally meet you, Grand General!¡± Again, Xeros doesn¡¯t respond and sends forth a barrage of feathers. The Templar merely sighs and lazily dodges the assault before lunging at him once more. This time, however, the Grand General takes him by surprise and traps the rapier in a small manifestation of corvatine flesh¡­ but when he attempts to strike the boy, his talon passes through without any resistance. No spurt of blood. No feeling of flesh. He doesn¡¯t understand; the knight is right in front of him, yet it¡¯s as if he stabs at nothing. Joshua¡¯s image suddenly disappears, and a quick thrust almost impales the side of Xeros¡¯s abdomen. He attempts to grab onto the boy¡¯s outstretched arm, but once again he merely passes through the body without any contact. Could this be an illusion? Impossible, the thrust would have certainly pierced the Grand General¡¯s flesh. The boy reappears in the distance and huffs out in annoyance. ¡°I have been nothing but nice to you this entire time, but all I get in return is silence. Is it so hard to speak? Hm? Honestly, you Caelum folk are so stiff.¡± The whelp¡¯s incessant ramblings are starting to get on his nerves. ¡°Well, if you¡¯re not going to talk, I suppose I¡¯ll have just have to speak for the both of us¡ª¡± Joshua rushes at Xeros mid-sentence without so much as a change in expression: casual, indifferent, as if this exchange is all but a mere game. He closes the gap with the same uncanny smile, and brings his rapier¡¯s point mere paces away from skewering the Grand General¡¯s brain. But something is amiss. Xeros sees the boy¡¯s assault clear, but his instinct warns him not of danger. Instead, he feels a chill from behind. It creeps closer, and closer, presence scarcely noticeable amidst the commotion rampant throughout. However, he has not lived this long by succumbing to fear. No, when one must confront the unknowable, do so with an unyielding confidence. Xeros stands firm as the blade pierces right between his eyes. Yet, death never comes. He does not feel a thing. The real attack reveals itself not long after - aiming at the back of his skull - but when he turns around and deflects it, not a soul is to be seen. ¡°Oh? I¡¯m surprised you didn¡¯t fall for that.¡± The Joshua boy emerges again, but his appearance is different: no longer playful. His cheery cover fades, and he reveals himself as he truly is: an empty creature donning the disguise of man. ¡°Sorry for being so cheap and all,¡± the Templar says, voice cold and apathetic. ¡°The knights back home always did say I was too mischievous for my own good, but all¡¯s well that ends well. What do you say¡ªdo you forgive me?¡± Taunting words aside, Xeros notices something odd. The light¡­ it does not reflect upon the boy¡¯s armor. He floats under the sun, yet he casts no shadow. It is almost as if the Templar occupies not a bit of physical space. ¡°It really wasn¡¯t personal. I¡¯m sure a man of your grace and stature would understand; we all have our duties. It¡¯s just that my duty is a bit more, well, dangerous. You can¡¯t blame me for trying to survive.¡± Sound spews from his lips, yet Xeros hears it from another direction. ¡°I get it though, I really do. A knight should be proper and whatnot, but to be honest I¡¯ve never cared much for the rules. Oops, don¡¯t tell anyone I said that! I have a position to uphold, after all.¡± And with every passing second, the skin on his neck prickles: constantly moving as if following a presence yet unseen. ¡°Just between you and me, I quite like being a little devious sometimes. What¡¯s the point of being honorable if it means ending up dead? I¡¯ve never understood it, but it makes the others happy so what can I do?¡± Those wings as well¡­ there is something hypnotic about the way it glimmers. The crystals blend together in a disorienting, colorful swirl, as if attempting to draw every second of his attention. As if attempting to pry his gaze away from something out of sight. Ah, I understand now. To think such a power would belong to one of Polus¡­ how interesting. But the ruse ends here. Xeros raises his hand up to his face, and discreetly injects a spark of red lightning into the socket¡ªmanifesting the Corvid¡¯s Eye below and hiding it from view. ¡°Hm? What¡¯s with that sass? Are you¡­ shaking your head at me? Stars, am I that annoying to you? That is quite rude.¡± There you are. As expected, the Grand General has been under Joshua¡¯s spell since the very beginning. ¡°Even chuckling now? I really have fallen low haven¡¯t I¡ª¡± Xeros fires a thunderbolt behind him. It hits an invisible presence, stunning them in place, and without hesitation he conjures one last talon and impales it upon the body of the real Joshua. The fake disappears from sight, and the Templar¡¯ true form shimmers into view. ¡°H-Haha,¡± he mutters, clutching at the bloody hole in his stomach. ¡°Sorry Ascalon, I was¡­ too careless.¡± Chapter 87: The Manslayer ¡°Aegis, the battlefield is a land filled with madness and destruction. You are far too young to witness such a sight, soul yet innocent of man¡¯s darkness. There shall come a time when you must confront the cruelties of war, but for now, I want you to close your eyes. Entrust your wings upon me, and let yourself be cast adrift in the realm of dreams. Sleep now, child. When you wake, everything shall be over.¡± - The Knight ¡ª¡ª¡ª Libevich Just how long has it been since Libevich¡¯s felt such chilling pressure? The atmosphere is so delectably tense¡ªthe world ever taut. Even the sky itself welcomes the coming carnage, bathing every corner of the earth in a bloody scarlet hue. There¡¯s no better setting for a good old fashioned war than this. She can imagine it now: endless waves of knights descending upon her, weapons in hand and eyes frenzied with rage. They¡¯ll stab at her, flay at her, tear her flesh from limb to limb until blood pours from every orifice of her body. Nothing will be left but shredded meat and bone. The thought paralyzes her with such unimaginable pleasure. Perhaps¡­ yes, she can feel it. With this battle, Libevich might accomplish her most treasured desire. Maybe she¡¯ll finally be able to die. After all, there¡¯s no more romantic end than whilst surrounded by such blazing passion. But just who will deliver the final blow? That young King of theirs, Ascalon, would be a rather boring foe to face. What¡¯s the point in battle if you can¡¯t feel anything? Your limbs being crushed, your skin slicing open upon a cool slice of blade¡­ combat is a kindred relationship. Without pain, the boy¡¯s no better than an emotionless doll. How about the Steel¡¯s Throne, Sarathiel? She¡¯s heard of him, and while his savageness does interest her, she wants to clash blows with a warrior¡ªnot a beast. He¡¯ll make do as an appetizer. But Annalay¡­ now that is a woman who knows to enjoy the moment. Yes, she shall do nicely. And yet, Libevich can¡¯t help but feel a bit somber. Only two women have ever managed to satisfy her: One is a friend who has sacrificed herself for her child, and the other is a radiant knight now lost amongst the hallowed realm up high. No matter how the old woman tries to distract herself, nothing can fill the void left by their absences. Luxanne¡¯s still too young to be a fitting match. ¡°Oh, Lorelai¡­¡± she sighs. ¡°If only you were here. This land would have been perfect for our final battle, but I suppose there was some good to your death. Because of you, the cowardly King has finally left his cage, and yet all this heart of mine can feel is sorrow.¡± Libevich raises her head, and she peers at the approaching army in the distance. Some of the winged knights have already flown past her, but there¡¯s no need to deal with them. Xeros needs the practice; hopefully a scuffle or two will get some color back in those rusty bones. She, meanwhile, has to take care of this dreary commander business. All around her, legion soldiers form a defensive position near the city gates. Giant machines of oil and rust lumber forward; weapons spring out from the battlements; nets and chains, bullets and saws¡­ everyone¡¯s rushing to supply themselves before the inevitable. Step after step. Crunch after crunch. A bark over here, a yell over there. A pathetic whimper from one, a hopeless sigh from many. Oh, how dull. Is this really the force she must command over? Charging alongside this miserable lot will be the greatest embarrassment of her life. Truly, it¡¯s all just so depressing. Maybe Libevich should abandon them all and run out there by herself. Actually, yes. That is exactly what she¡¯ll do! Oh, what a marvelous idea. The brat isn¡¯t here to stop her anyways. Libevich strolls over to an important looking officer and seizes them by the shoulder. Their figure pales in comparison before the gargantuan woman, and they nervously shiver as she stares them down with piercing, greedy eyes. ¡°How may I be of service, Madam Libevich?¡± they ask, struggling to compose themselves. ¡°You¡¯re the leader of this lot, aren¡¯t you?¡± she says. ¡°¡­ That honor would be yours, commander. I am only the lieutenant.¡± ¡°Well congratulations, then. From now on, you¡¯ll be the commander in my stead!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± Libevich wrenches a pin from her uniform and smacks it onto the officer¡¯s chest. ¡°Yep, here you are. Good luck!¡± Before they can say another word, she hurries off into the distance. No more of that stuffy hierarchy business; now, she¡¯ll do as she wishes. When she¡¯s far away from the city, and there¡¯s naught in the surrounding but pale, frosty grass, Libevich stops and plants herself firmly in place. Yes, this is a good spot. All that¡¯s left is to wait. She can hear it: the roar of battle. Of an impending march, footsteps stomping in unison as the wave creeps ever closer. And then, silence. Libevich looks up, and she smiles. An endless sea of knights blot every corner of her vision, and bright flags of gold and purple twirl proudly amongst their procession. It¡¯s stifling. It¡¯s oppressing. It¡¯s captivating.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. And soon, six knights step out before her¡ªeach one wearing their own unique little patterns and emblems. Fufu, is this the first course? Well then, I¡¯ll have to savor every bite. ¡°Why hello there~¡± she says with a toothy grin. ¡°How kind of you all to visit this old woman.¡± No response. They merely stand still and beset her with deep, visceral glares¡ªas if she is the reason for all the world¡¯s suffering. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be like that now. This is a special moment. But really, you¡¯ve all grown so much!¡± She points a crooked finger at the brotherly knights of flame and whorl. ¡°You¡¯re the twin brats of the frontlines. I never was able to get a taste of you two¡ªnever bothered to try. You boys always were a bit lackluster, but I¡¯ll be optimistic and give you a chance. Do try not to disappoint me.¡± The brothers cutely try to ignore her words, but she¡¯s clearly struck a nerve. They stomp their grieves hard and lower themselves like a predator getting ready to lunge. ¡°And you,¡± she says, moving on to the girl in pink. ¡°I¡¯ve only seen you from afar back in the day. Those greatbolts of your mother were quite the annoyance. I wonder¡­ were you able to properly succeed her after I tore apart her throat?¡± The girl growls and almost charges right then and there, but she¡¯s restrained at the last second by a figure Libevich knows very well. ¡°And how could I forget you, little Surasha? You and Lorelai were practically joined at the hip, always lurking nearby whenever we clashed blows. To be honest, I quite like you my dear. Because of you, that woman would become just so enraged whenever I looked your way. Always there to save you, always there to protect you¡­ but now she¡¯s gone.¡± Surasha¡¯s a stiff one like all the rest, but the moment Libevich mentions Lorelai¡¯s name, the girl does something odd. She laughs. There¡¯s no grief or bitterness in that tone: only confidence. ¡°We don¡¯t have time to listen to your drivel, Libevich,¡± she says, whipping out her whip-sword and coating it in acid. Libevich is dumbfounded at first, but soon her lips curve into a wide smile, and she bellows out a guffaw. ¡°My, my! You¡¯ve gotten cheeky, my dear. Let¡¯s hope your blade¡¯s as sharp as your tongue.¡± The Templars raise their weapons up high, manifest their wings, and roar out a command for all to hear¡ªvoices joining as one in a deafening, unified chorus. ¡°Knights of Polus, charge!¡± In an instant, the land quakes under the stampede of hundreds of thousands of ravenous, armored warriors. They surge forth, disciplined and with steady strides, but hidden underneath is a broiling madness begging to be let loose: to let bloodlust take over and enact vengeance upon their sworn enemy. It¡¯s all just so glorious. And yet, none of them dare approach the old woman. They simply pass by and rush towards the city, but Libevich doesn¡¯t mind. There¡¯s something much more entertaining in front of her. She takes a deep gulp of the frenzied air, and then slams her foot down. ¡°Well, what¡¯re you waiting for?¡± she says to the six knights. The brothers are the first to move, dashing to the side and surrounding her in a swirl of magma and frost. Libevich stands alone in the eye of the tempest, smirking, and moves not a muscle. It doesn¡¯t take long before the twins emerge from the storm and attack from both directions, but right before their weapons can land, she grabs onto the handles and clenches tight. Her flesh melts. Her bones chill. Yet she remains unbothered and cackles out in glee. ¡°You runts are gonna have to do better than that!¡± Libevich lifts them up, twirls with a graceful swing, and pummels them hard onto the ground. Smoke rises up from the crystals and smoldering crags embedded in her body, but a quick flex expels it all out, and she kisses her first for a little haughty showmanship before preparing to crush some skulls. But before she can, a greatbolt the size of a steel rod impales her in the stomach, and she¡¯s sent flying back a few paces away¡ªjust far enough to allow the brothers stagger back onto their feet. ¡°Oho? What a nice gift,¡± she grunts, ripping out the bolt. ¡°But it¡¯s not quite to my taste. Here, I¡¯ll send it back!¡± Libevich winds up and throws it at the pink archer before the brothers can intercept it. On and on it soars, ready to pierce the girl¡¯s head, when a strange, floating orb blocks its path and shatters the bolt into pieces. A wimpy sort walks in front of her. Their clothes resemble that of an Astrologian rather than a knight''s attire, but unlike those feeble scholars, this one looks capable. They grasp the orb and envelop it in an muddy brown, and soon, giant pillars of soil erupt from the ground and lash at her like whips. Libevich attempts to fend it off, but a force seizes her by the ankles. She looks down only to discover a man lurking in her shadow. ¡°Now just what¡¯re you doing in there?¡± she chuckles. The man replies with a snarl and severs her tendons with one quick slice. Libevich topples over, and she can only smile in amusement as the earthen whips pulverize her body into a bloody, beaten mess¡ªdirt flooding into every last one of her pores. But even after all that thrashing, she needs only a few moments to rise back up without a scratch. That is, until a spurt of poison flings at her head. It corrodes and eats away at Libevich¡¯s face, exposing her bare skull for all the world to see. Yet, even while her eyes and flesh drip onto the ground in a grisly puddle, all she can think about is how terribly inconvenient it is not being able to see. The old woman may as well be naked right now: how scandalous. Sight¡¯s not the only sense she can rely on, however. She focuses her hearing and waits for the faintest of sounds: the rustling of wings. And then, there it is¡ªthe little poisoner attempts to douse her in another concoction, but it won¡¯t be so easy this time. ¡°Alright, I¡¯ve had my fun. Let¡¯s get a little serious.¡± Libevich plunges her hand into her back, and then rips out her own spine. ¡°Spinal cord sword!¡± She whirls her new grotesque weapon around and binds Surasha - arms and wings all - in a snare. Fortunately, Libevich¡¯s face regrows just in time to watch her struggle like a bug. Alas, she¡¯s interrupted once again by the other Polus troublemakers. They free the girl from the bindings and retreat off into the distance. Oh, what a bore. Where¡¯s that rage from before? You brats were just starting to do well; don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re giving up just like that! Surasha gasps and clutches her bruised chest before begrudgingly speaking out to the old woman. ¡°You¡¯re a monster like always, Libevich. I thought as much, but nothing we do will bother you one bit. It¡¯s a shame¡­ I really, truly wanted to kill you myself, but I¡¯ll have to pass that chance on to someone else.¡± Libevich yawns and lazily hangs her head back. What¡¯s the point of all this flattery? She¡¯d rather the bloodshed just continue. ¡°Surasha, deary¡­¡± she says with a low, rumbling growl. ¡°Come back here right this instant, or I¡¯ll have to slaughter you like a bug than a proper warrior¡ª¡± ¡°Stop.¡± A word. It¡¯s only a single world. That¡¯s all she hears, but it¡¯s more than enough to leave Libevich breathless. That voice¡­ it¡¯s familiar. There¡¯s something a bit different about it, a bit deeper than she remembers, but there¡¯s no forgetting that soft, but powerful, resonance of pure might. Could it be? Could it really be true? Xeros has said he confirmed her death, but then what¡¯s this here? That voice can only belong to¡­ She turns around, and looks straight ahead. There, standing right in front of her, is the woman Libevich has missed so, so deeply. ¡°¡­ Lorelai?¡± she whispers. ¡°You¡¯re alive.¡± Chapter 88: And On the Third Wing, He Fell ¡°Honestly, I do feel a bit out of place next to the other Templars. They¡¯re very, hm, how do I say this nicely¡­ straightforward: so pure and honest and loveable that I can¡¯t help but think of them all as my own kids. Except I don¡¯t like kids, so that¡¯s not a very good analogy. Haha! ¡°I am not that nice of a person, Ascalon. I really don¡¯t understand why you think so highly of me. It¡¯s true what they say¡ªI¡¯m a wicked, wicked man. Do you really want an unsavory sort like me to rule this nation? That sounds like such a hassle~ I¡¯m happy where I am right now, so please don¡¯t talk about boring things like dying. I need you to be alive so I can laze around as I wish.¡± - Joshua Yahweh, Templar of the High Seraph ¡ª¡ª¡ª Xeros Curious. Xeros has clearly impaled the knight Templar Joshua¡¯s heart, and yet he is still alive. Still breathing. The wound where the talon struck him has disappeared, and in its stead is a crystalline casing¡ªglowing with the same rainbow hue as wings. Or rather, one wing, for the other shatters into a fine dust and disappears into the wind. Now, the boy¡¯s flight is crude, body struggling to correct his lopsided balance. Joshua¡¯s face darkens, and he speaks to the Grand General with a tongue full of venom. ¡°¡­ How did you find out?¡± he says with a cruel sneer. ¡°It¡¯s the first time, you know¡ªthe first time I¡¯ve ever been discovered. My pride¡¯s taken quite a hit.¡± His voice is sharp, cruel and mocking; it is jarring to hear such words from one with such a childish figure. Under that jovial facade is a viciousness waiting to strike. Though burdened his flight may be, the boy¡¯s speed remains unhindered, and he dashes away to safety. ¡°Oh, geez. Flying like this is rather uncomfortable, no thanks to you! But really, isn¡¯t that cheating? You don¡¯t even need wings to fly; I¡¯m a bit jealous.¡± Joshua giggles like a raving madman and thrusts his rapier up towards the sky. ¡°Well, this isn¡¯t looking great for me, so¡­ goodbye! I value my life quite highly, thank you very much.¡± A light surges from the blades¡¯ tip, and it erupts into a glittering shower of sparkles¡ªdrowning the expanse in a harmless, blinding light. And then the boy flees. Without any hesitation, without any shame, he flies off like a coward whilst Xeros recoils from the flash. He is speechless. A lump forms in his throat, and for the first time in many a long year, anger overwhelms every facet of his being. His teeth grit; his eyes shake; and pure, unadulterated rage urges him to roar out with the rumble of a man half his age. And as quickly as it arises, his fury changes into respect. It is rare to find one so boldly impudent, but the Grand General does not condone such behavior. On the contrary, pests like him are the sorts who thrive in this world¡ªthe scum and black-hearted willing to commit whatever necessary to survive. The boy is just like Xeros¡¯s younger self, albeit far more annoying. It really is a shame for a snake to be raised in a pen of rats. His empire would have great use for the Templar¡¯s eloquence, but as an enemy¡­ such a competent foe must not be allowed to live. Xeros gives chase and bolts after Joshua, closing the distance between the two in a matter of moments. ¡°Huh? Wait you¡¯re here already¡ª¡± He does not have the luxury to finish; a surge of lightning discharges from the Grand General¡¯s palm and nearly incinerates Joshua in a sizzling arc, but the boy is elusive. His one wing only aids in his evasion, movements erratic as Xeros struggles to maintain the connection with the Corvid¡¯s Eye. It is as if his mind and body exist in two seperate locations at once. He gazes upon his smoke-covered form from the corvatine eye below and directs his own movements as a puppeteer would a marionette. Every action is complex, difficult to control, but Xeros cannot release the manifestation lest he be again subjected to Joshua¡¯s illusion. But most frustrating of all is the Templar¡¯s refusal to retaliate. If the two clash then perhaps an opening would avail itself, but Joshua¡¯s sole intention appears to be evading the Grand General¡ªto waste his time as long as possible. This pointless encounter must come to an end. If he must exhaust himself to do so, then so be it. ¡°The games end here,¡± Xeros says, halting his assault. ¡°Your insolence has infuriated me for the last time.¡± Joshua bids him an amused look and lazily floats in the air, though his form is anything but careless. Not a crack can be seen in his guard, and he readies himself to escape at any second. ¡°Haha, so that¡¯s what your voice sounds like! I have to say, it¡¯s quite sultry~ But, hm, why now? You¡¯ve ignored me all this time¡­ oh, are you mad? Am I getting on your nerves? Well, what¡¯re you going to do about it then? I was careless before, but I¡¯m not going to make the same mistake twice.¡± ¡°And neither shall I. Take pride, if you so wish¡ªnot many have ever forced my hand to this extent.¡± Xeros gathers the red lightning once more, and then he slams it right into his own chest. He grunts upon the impact, blood and flesh alike boiling into bubbling, rancid mess as he endures torrent after torrent of unbearable pain. But with every one of his screams, something begins to take form above him. Something twisted and evil. The Templar needs only a single glance at the unsettling north for his demeanor to change into one of panic.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Time crawls ever slower. The air fills with dread. Joshua fumbles for his rapier and attempts to lunge at Xeros, but the closer he gets to his body, the more the world ceases to be. The wind, the land, and every soul that occupies this plane of reality¡ªit all freezes. Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes into hours. The clock stretches on towards infinity, and amidst it all lies Joshua, his mind trapped in a singular moment of horror as he is forced to bear witness to a malignant, horrible birth. Before the boy¡¯s eyes is a heart. It is the Corvid¡¯s Heart. Black ooze flows through the withered tissue, and a layer of pus coats the outside in a sickly-yellow grime. All color has disappeared, the sun¡¯s warmth transforming into a bitter cold. There is only a dull grey as far as the eye can see. Joshua is freed from his prison, but it is too late. The heart has already begun beating. Thump-thump. There is no escaping the rhythm. The heart beats, and so the world follows. Thump-thump. Xeros approaches Joshua and grabs him by the neck. The boy is unstable to resist; his body belongs to the heart¡¯s melody. Thump-thump. ¡°Hmph. Good riddance.¡± Xeros conjures one last talon¡ª Thump¡ª And strikes. Thump. The talon pierces through Joshua¡¯s chest in one, swift motion. ¡°Ah,¡± he sputters as his final wing disappears. ¡°That¡¯s not good. Haha, I always figured my end would be a pathetic one, but¡­ it hurts a lot more than I thought it would.¡± His limbs sag, and his voice dwindles to a meek whisper. Eventually, he ceases to move altogether. It is done. There is no need to materialize the Heart and Eye any longer. Xeros releases his grip of the corpse and watches as it plummets to the city below: falling, falling. The Templar of the Seraph¡­ now disgraced. His death will serve greatly in demoralizing the Polus. Xeros wonders just how those winged curs will react when the boy splatters into a sullied, disgraced stain on the ground. The thought amuses him greatly¡ª ¡°¡­ Ha¡­¡± A sound snaps the Grand General back to attention. ¡°¡­ Haha¡­¡± The voice is familiar, but that is impossible. He has made certain that the wound is fatal. ¡°¡­ Hahaha! Wow, that was a close one. Good thing my acting¡¯s pretty good, huh?¡± And yet, there is no mistaking that juvenile, arrogant laugh. Xeros quickly peers down to the falling Joshua, but where should be a gaping hole in his chest is the same rainbow casing of before. He does not understand; the boy has no more wings to draw life upon. Except, there is. The Grand General listens closely, and he hears the faint fluttering of crystal. And then, he sees a glitter¡ªan obscure sparkle that could be dismissed as a mere trick of the light. But upon a closer look it forms a silhouette. Of a hidden third wing. ¡°¡­ This wretch annoys me to the very end.¡± Xeros moves to conjure another electric burst, but a sudden heave rises from his chest, and he descends into a coughing fit. His saliva tastes of iron. His lungs constrict, throat closing as he struggles for air. The Grand General raises a trembling hand and scowls. He has exerted far too much effort for a mere knight; his old flesh is free of wound, yet the strain of Creation steals away what strength remains within. Hrm. The result remains ever same. The boy¡¯s third wing is too small to take flight. He shall perish the moment his body collides onto the pavement¡ª A streak of amber blinks past Xeros¡¯s eyes. He has not a chance to react before the once-stilled air fills with newfound life, and bright, vibrant colors return to the monochrome world. Something unfamiliar courses through him. It is unlike the usual cold; rather, the presence feels gentle¡ªregal and grand. ¡°Forgive me for the delay, Joshua. I am here now. Rest, and leave everything else to me.¡± A new voice makes itself known to the world. Their tone is soft, each word brimming with endless love and compassion, and yet never does it lose its sharp air of authority. Xeros turns his head towards the source, and finally meets the one he has endeavored all these years to slay. King Ascalon, the Ruler of Polus. The Grand General¡¯s frustration, this invasion, and Nokron¡¯s death¡ªherein lies the cause of it all. ¡°¡­ For so long, I have wondered what I would say to you. Would I yell and curse your name, or would I simply raise my blade? Day after day, endless nights dreaming of this moment, yet all I wish now is to ask you but one question.¡± Ascalon holds Joshua in his arms. Compared to the cunning nature of the boy Templar, the King is his stark opposite: a being of good. Therein lies not a morsel of darkness in his figure. He shines with a warm light, of a repulsive purity and innocence Xeros has only seen in one other. ¡°Why?¡± the fool asks. ¡°Why us? Why are you obsessed with conquering our nation?¡± The King¡¯s words are sincere. He does not understand, and that only reveals his naivety. Is this truly the one who has schemed to bring down Caelum all this time? ¡°It is not your nation in particular that holds mine obsession,¡± Xeros says. ¡°Polus is a mere stepping stone. I feel no resentment or hatred towards your kind; this conquest is simply for my own ambition¡ªmy desire to see the world united under a single banner. In this new world, one¡¯s worth shall be entirely dependent on their passion and desire to succeed. There will be no inequality, no unfairness derived from birth, and no matter the person all shall be given the chance to thrive. If the world need me cruel to see that desire realized, then I will commit any atrocity.¡± Ascalon hesitates. ¡°I see, so that is what you believe. But then why do I not see any desire within you? You talk of grand ideals, yet your heart matches not your words. In my eyes, the one before me is just¡­ a weary, tired old man.¡± Xeros does not respond. The King shakes his head, and he entrusts Joshua with another knight of the Seraph. The two rulers are alone. There is only one path ahead for those like them. And that is through the other. ¡°So be it.¡± Ascalon unsheathes the astral armament from his back, and he flaunts bold his wings of amber. ¡°If you believe your cause just, I call upon you to defend it with your life!¡± Chapter 89: My Evils Predefined ¡°Libevich, get over here. Listen to me: this has to stop. I understand you don¡¯t agree with the peace treaty, but I can¡¯t believe you actually tried to assault the Polus diplomat! And for what¡ªbecause you were bored? I know you want to go back to the old days when Caelum was picking fights with every nation on the map, but that¡¯s not what I want. Isn¡¯t peace nice for a change? ¡°Ugh, should¡¯ve figured that wouldn¡¯t work on you¡­ fine. How about this: whenever you feel like killing someone, come find me. I¡¯ll beat you bloody and bruised as much as you want. Anytime. Anywhere.¡± - Grand General Luxmi, Former Ruler of Lux Caelum ¡ª¡ª¡ª Libevich Libevich can only stand in shock as she gazes at Lorelai with wonder. There she is, and for a second the old woman almost believes she¡¯s looking at a ghost. An illusion. But no, the presence before her is very real; the Throne exudes an aura mightier than any else. A whirlwind of thoughts rushes through Libevich¡¯s head. She can barely contain herself - emotions threatening to burst out in glee - and in this very moment, there exists only the two of them in the whole wide world. Nothing else matters: the war, the other knights, and even that wimpy crow of a ruler¡­ there is no need for them anymore. Lorelai is here, and now they can finally end their long feud once and for all. Fire surges through her veins. Her heart thumps with a force as if carrying the weight of a legion¡¯s mighty beat. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump. ¡°All this time¡­¡± Libevich whispers, her hand reaching towards her salvation. ¡°Do you know how much I suffered without you, Lorelai? Oh, the nights I spent wailing under the Stars, lamenting your death and our conclusion that never came to be¡ªthere¡¯s just too many to count. I feared a warrior of your caliber would never appear again.¡± Lorelai watches her with a steady eye and a firm stance. There¡¯s not an opening or gap in her defense. She merely observes, waiting for the slightest jerk of movement. ¡°Fufu, the past doesn¡¯t matter. You¡¯re here now, so let¡¯s have a nice death, shall we? Together, we can finally head off to that wondrous paradise above.¡± The Throne regards her coldly, and she speaks with a dry indifference. ¡°I do not know what illusions you have of me, but the only one to perish on this day will be you.¡± Lorelai unsheathes the twin blades of the sun and moon. Their glow is just as murderous as Libevich remembers¡ªno, perhaps even more so now. ¡°There is no paradise up there, manslayer. All that awaits in death is oblivion.¡± Libevich grins and throws her head back in laughter. ¡°Maybe so! I¡¯ve always thought the scriptures were hogwash. Still¡­ can¡¯t fault a girl for wishing otherwise. It¡¯s the dreamers that live the best life in this world.¡± The two face off, breaths hushed. Bodies bereft of even a twitch. The air grows sharper and sharper, until every lick of wind feels like a searing lash. And then, the two warriors explode to life. Libevich barrels forward in a crude, delirious run. A boom ripples throughout the battlefield, and Lorelai draws closer; her every step is perfectly disciplined¡ªbalanced with not a sway. Faster, desperately, the old woman sprints towards that blinding figure. And as they near the other, just barely out of reach, Libevich winds up a hearty punch. Fist and blade collide, yet the cold sting of alloy is short-lived. Lorelai effortlessly slices through her attack and rips along the seams of Libevich¡¯s flesh until her arm¡¯s split in half¡ªbone and all. Two mutilated remains are all that¡¯s left, muscles severed and blood cascading free. Libevich falls onto her knees, and cackles. ¡°Ah~¡± she groans. ¡°That was good. My, my, Lorelai! You¡¯ve gotten even better. What other surprises do you have for me?¡± The old woman leaps up and attempts to grab her by the throat, but Lorelai takes off and twirls throughout the sky as if performing a dance. Soon, a whirlwind of gashes descend and tear Libevich¡¯s flesh bit by bit¡ªchunk after chunk. She tries to follow after the winged woman, but it¡¯s useless; her every swipe grasps only air. Lorelai is always just out of reach, the subtlest of grazes away. All Libevich can do is stumble around like a dazed drunkard as she¡¯s hacked and gouged and ripped limb from limb. And yet, she¡¯s still not dead. Clumps of flesh and sinew reattach as quickly as they¡¯re torn. Lorelai deviates her methods, aiming for Libevich¡¯s heart, then her brain, then every little organ and muscle. She continues her assault as if handling a mere chore. When one tactic fails, she moves on to another. Then the next. Then even more. Slashing, crushing, burning. Piercing, slamming, freezing. At one point she even decapitates Libevich¡¯s head and attempts to bury it under the ground, but the old woman always comes back. Hers is a bloodlust that can never be squashed.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Eventually, Lorelai freezes mid-air and stares at her as if beholding some bizarre creature. ¡°What are you?¡± she says. ¡°This is peculiar. I have seen those of similar regeneration in the past, yet never with a complete immortality like yours. No requisites, no conditions that must be satisfied¡­ how unusual for one bereft of a Will to possess such power.¡± ¡°Oh, come now. Don¡¯t talk like we¡¯re strangers!¡± Libevich says, popping back up with not a blemish. ¡°It¡¯s nothing you haven¡¯t seen before, darling. Nothing¡­ except for this!¡± With a great, booming guffaw, Libevich raises her hand and splits her own torso by the neck. But instead of falling onto the floor, her headless half grabs onto the other and then catapults it high into the sky, sending it tumbling right into the chest of a perplexed Lorelai. ¡°How¡­ creative,¡± the Throne mutters. ¡°Why thank you.¡± With a solid headbutt from Libevich, the two plunge back towards the ground, and they crash. Hard. The earth collapses under the force of their impact and leaves behind a cradle of dirt and debris, yet neither of the two women are hurt. Lorelai still looks pristine as always. Except, she¡¯s not. Not that she¡¯s injured, but rather¡­ her demeanor. It¡¯s subtle, but Libevich can¡¯t help but sense something different about Lorelai. Her armor¡¯s the same, her blades are the same, and the way she fights is¡ªno, that¡¯s it. The old woman knows the Throne¡¯s habits better than anyone: the way she slashes, her intense spirit, and even down to the subtle details of her wings¡¯ movements. The two have clashed for years. And yet, this Lorelai is like a stranger. She stalks the air with a calculated elegance, only ever following along the most efficient path. Her attacks are far too perfect to belong to the brash woman she remembers. It¡¯s almost as if this person isn¡¯t Lorelai at all. ¡°¡­ Oh dear, why didn¡¯t I realize it earlier?¡± Libevich mutters aloud. ¡°Your wings are different.¡± The wings. Yes, it¡¯s those wings of hers. They¡¯re no longer a vibrant gold and silver. Instead, it¡¯s as if the night sky is draped around her back: starlight flaunting out to the astral heavens up high whilst covered in clusters of blue and purple and black. Libevich has slain many a Seraph in the past, and if there¡¯s one thing she¡¯s learned, it¡¯s that their wings are a pathway to their soul. Their deepest desires, their innate nature¡­ everything that depicts their identity is bared for all to see. But then what¡¯s this? A woven galaxy of color and space. It¡¯s boundless, endless: blotting out every corner of Creation with a luster not unlike those twinkling Stars above. And yet, the greatest impossibility of all is its innocence. Those wings are pure, uncorrupted¡ªalmost as if they belong to a newborn child. Those wings do not belong to Lorelai. ¡°Lorelai¡­¡± Libevich says, raising her head. ¡°Is that really your name?¡± They do not respond for some time. And then, the air changes. ¡°Does it matter?¡± The old woman ponders to herself, and grins. ¡°I suppose it doesn¡¯t.¡± It is not the person¡¯s nature she cares about, but rather their strength. ¡°I love Lorelai because there was no one else who can match me in battle. Well, amongst my enemies at least. If there¡¯s a soul out there that can surpass her beauty with the blade, then I will love them even more.¡± And indeed, she¡¯s found them¡ªsomeone who outshines even that once-so radiant knight of the heavens. The fake stares at her with a curious look¡­ and something more. A resolution that sends shivers through every stretch of Libevich¡¯s body. No more pretense. No more holding back. The one before her abandons it all: the elegance, the grace, the virtues of a knight. Instead, an atrocity emerges. ¡°I see,¡± they say. ¡°Then I need not pretend any longer.¡± The being raises the twin celestial blades, and they clash them together. Once. Twice. Faster and faster. Sparks shoot out, growing ever more bright, more intense, until all Libevich can see is an all-encompassing shower of light. ¡°Solga, Lunas,¡± they chant. ¡°Fragmented blades of the astral Mother¡­ return to me, now. Return to your original form.¡± The golden sun. The silver moon. Together, they merge into one, harmonizing in a joyful song of reunion¡ªof heartfelt lovers once again joined in tender embrace. When the light finally rescinds, the blades disappear. And a holy greatsword births from their union. The surface is devoid of all color, pitch black as if erasing the world¡¯s pigment¡ªswirling, swirling. Like a bottomless abyss. It is a black hole, the devourer of space. ¡°We meet again, Eclipse,¡± the fake says. ¡°How fortunate that it is not as enemies.¡± They turn to face Libevich with the divine armament in hand. The old woman hasn¡¯t moved a step since the whole show; she¡¯s completely still, waiting. Because she can feel it: that this is the end. The end of her long sought desire. ¡°¡­ Well,¡± she says with a wicked grin. ¡°Don¡¯t keep me waiting, now. Show me you have what it takes to end this old woman¡¯s life.¡± The being nods their head, and raises the greatsword. A small dot appears at the tip. But ever so gradually, it grows larger. The air warps. The light curves. Reality itself distorts as the world bends into a blurry, jumbled portrait. The sky and earth, the grass and far-off city: Everything smears together into one big spiral. Soon, an orb of pure darkness emerges from the greatsword¡¯s call, rippling with an otherworldly hum as it pulls all of space into the epicenter of its howling void. To be swallowed by that is to have every last trace of your existence obliterated. Gone forever. ¡°Yeah. That¡¯ll do it.¡± Libevich throws her arms out and closes her eyes. She¡¯s ready. It¡¯s time to meet her doom. ¡°There¡¯s no coming back from that. Fufu, thank you, one who wears Lorelai¡¯s skin. If there really is nothing out there, then I¡¯m glad that these last moments of mine could be spent with you.¡± ¡°¡­ May your rest be peaceful. Goodbye.¡± Libevich takes a step forward. She can feel the black hole tug onto her, seducing her with its sweet whistle of death. Just one more now. A little farther, and she will finally¡ª A hook pierces straight through Libevich¡¯s chest. ¡°What?¡± She looks down, confused, and finds a long rope attached leading all the way back to the city. ¡°What just¡ª¡± Spikes erupt from the hook¡¯s end and latches with a force until the old woman¡¯s firmly caught within its hold. Without any warning, she¡¯s hoisted away from the battlefield. ¡°NO!¡± Libevich screeches. The fake Lorelai, the void, death¡­ it¡¯s all disappearing. It¡¯s all eluding her grasp once again. ¡°No, no, no! Send me back! Send me back you wretched, lowly things, or else I¡¯ll slaughter everyone in this city until every piece of stone is drenched in blood¡ª¡± But it¡¯s useless. Her course has already been set in motion; not even cutting the rope will do anything now. Whoever is the cause for this, Libevich will make sure they know true agony. Chapter 90: Shadows Cast By the Mighty ¡°Long, long ago, when Grand General Luxmi still ruled over the formerly known Lux Caelum, a mighty war raged in the east between the Steppe¡¯s Overlord and the Chieftess of Antiqua. I was but a young Astrologian, ever burying my head in scholarly pursuits whilst foolishly ignoring all matters relating to the outside world. However, even I could not hide away from the aftermath of their conflict. ¡°The clash of the two rulers echoed across the land and brought forth terrible disasters. Rain flooded deserts in a perpetual downpour; wind spiraled into gigantuan hurricanes, shredding both man and nature alike; and even the very earth split apart until naught was left but gaping, treacherous caverns. ¡°It was truly horrible, and after that day the three nations of Polus, Augurium, and Caelum swore to maintain peace between their neighboring lands. Never would such a calamity be allowed to plague the world again: such was our firm decree. And although that peace was eventually broken by the newly elected Xeros Nox, the war never escalated past that of the borders. ¡°However, I fear that ruin will descend upon the world once more. Will it be the young King who prevails, or shall the old crow succeed in his ambitions? I have done all I can to aid Polus. Even at this moment, the Overlord¡¯s tribe pesters at Augurium land¡­ all we can do now is trust in Ascalon¡¯s victory.¡± - Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy ¡ª¡ª¡ª Xeros Even now, with the young King¡¯s scheme fully bare, does Ascalon hold onto his veil of righteousness. Or perhaps¡­ it is no front. ¡°You speak of causes just, yet in the end you are a man like me,¡± Xeros says. ¡°A man willing to further his goals by any means necessary. I already know of your nature, King of Polus. Let us end this farce.¡± Ascalon stays his blade and looks at the Grand General with an expression of¡­ penance? ¡°It is true my invasion has put many an innocent in harm¡¯s path, and the people of Caelum have every right to scorn my name. But I will not delude myself into thinking their death a necessary sacrifice. I took up the blade of my own volition, and I will seek amends for the rest of my days if need be. However, I will never become like you¡ªsomeone who views lives as mere tools to be expended!¡± So he says. Such naive words: as expected from one of sheltered pedigree. But that is the problem; this ignorant child could not have possibly planned this scheme. Then who is the culprit? It vexes Xeros, this unease. With every passing second, he moves along to the whims of someone unknown. He must inquire further, if not else but to bide time for his recovery. His heart is like ice. Fire spreads through his veins. The Grand General is not one for needless conversation, but this is not the time to be particular about the methods. Let the runt ramble as much as he wishes; every breath Xeros takes is one more talon, conjurable. ¡°Do not speak as if you have not plotted this day since your inception,¡± he goads. ¡°Tools? Your siege would have been repelled long ago if not for the spies sent into my nation. What can you call such espionage if not the cold rationale of a ruler?¡± Ascalon shakes his head. ¡°Spies? I would never force my own to subject themselves under your torment. The thought of sending them anywhere near Caelum¡¯s border disgusts me.¡± Is Xeros to believe the core¡¯s destruction a mere coincidence, then? The very thought is laughable. ¡°Lies. You knew when to strike at the capital¡¯s most vulnerable. The very moment our defenses were sabotaged, your ilk sent forth that arrow of light.¡± ¡°That is your own fault¡ª¡± ¡°A dissenter of mine faction, you believe? Tell me, how would they have known of your arrival?¡± He hesitates. ¡°I see your ignorance, o¡¯ King. You truly do not know a thing. How pathetic¡­ a ruler unaware of their subject¡¯s own machinations. To think so vapid a man would come this far¡ªsomeone must have helped you; someone gave you forewarning of the barrier¡¯s fall.¡± Someone who Ascalon can trust without hesitation. ¡°Who was it?¡± Xeros says. ¡°No matter how young the crown¡¯s mantle, surely you have your doubts. Think, boy: what awaits you at the end of this campaign? You are the lord, yet there is one who schemes by your side. Do you believe they have your best interests in mind?¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. The King stays silent. He looks up to the sky, to those far-away stars¡ªreflecting. Pondering. When Ascalon speaks again, he does so with an odd tone: not suspicion, not disbelief, nor even blind conviction. He speaks as a man aware of the fate that awaits him. ¡°It is as you say,¡± he replies. ¡°I am ignorant, yes. There are many things I do not know¡­ nor do I wish to seek out until the proper time. But until that moment comes, I will see this path to the very end.¡± ¡°You are content with being a puppet?¡± Ascalon laughs. ¡°How harsh. I only wish to follow my heart.¡± Xeros realizes why he loathes the King so. That useless sentimentality, that reverent faith in another they can never fully understand¡ªit reminds him of a boy. A boy of the past, of a starry-eyed idealist determined to bring change. ¡°You will only feel pain,¡± Xeros says. ¡°The heart is cruel. It seduces you with sweet words, lulls you in a fantasy without escape. But when the veil falls and reality parts away the delusions, all that remains is regret.¡± ¡°Perhaps so.¡± Ascalon slowly raises his blade and steadies his breath. The air sharpens; his eyes twinkle alight with resolve; and he spreads wide his royal wings. The childish youth is gone, now replaced by a mighty King. ¡°But I shall try nonetheless, to chase after my beliefs no matter how impossible. For that is the will of a hero.¡± ¡­ It sickens Xeros, how brightly Ascalon shines: as if to mock him. As if to sneer at the bitter husk he has become. ¡°So be it.¡± The Grand General brings his hands together, red lightning crackling from the fingertips. ¡°Then follow that will to your grave.¡± Ascalon surges forth in an instant - his figure blurring in a ray of amber - and he strikes. Heavy is the celestial zweihander, a fiercer blow than any Xeros has felt in decades, and it slices through his corvatine manifestations as if through air. The talons, the flesh, any and all pieces of the Corvid¡¯s body: none can slow the King¡¯s assault. Ascalon¡¯s attacks are simple, honorable and direct. His blade curves with not a shred of deceit. He makes no attempt to hide his weapon¡¯s course, yet there is nothing Xeros can do. The King is simply too fast, too powerful. His is a righteousness unyielding in the face of all¡ªa light that thwarts all manner of unsavory trickery. This is the swordsmanship of Freedom¡¯s apostle: true, unwavering honesty. Xeros has expected as much, but the King¡¯s invulnerability is proving too monstrous a power to handle. Lightning merely dissipates upon colliding with his armor. Not a single talon, no matter how large, can even scratch the surface of his body. Everything is repelled. And while Ascalon remains ever pristine, Xeros tires with every sputtering breath. This is a useless endeavor. For so long as the King is surrounded by his people, Freedom¡¯s aegis shall never weaken. He must separate them, bring the ruler to where his authority may not reach. As soon as an opening avails itself, Xeros wretches himself away from the onslaught and rushes off into the distance. It is dangerous to leave the capital¡¯s safety, but to prolong this conflict will only result in his inevitable fall. Risks must be made. His plan succeeds, at first. Ascalon follows after him past the city gates, but then he stops and delivers upon the Grand General an unamused glare. ¡°I know your ploy, Xeros,¡± he says. ¡°I will go no farther than here.¡± Surprising. It appears the King is not so mindless after all. ¡°Does your campaign not lie with my death? If I escape here, then everything you have done will be all for naught.¡± Ascalon shakes his head. ¡°Maybe so, but I know you will not abandon this city.¡± ¡°And how can you be so confident?¡± ¡°Because it is all you have left.¡± The King¡¯s tone becomes strange, almost as if he¡¯s pitying him. ¡°You¡­ do not truly care for the title of Grand General, do you? No, I suppose it would be more accurate to say you do not care about your own well-being. That dream you spoke of¡ªit sounded so hollow. As if you yourself didn¡¯t believe it possible.¡± The Grand General stops. ¡°Hollow, you say?¡± Indeed it is: a hollow, wishful dream. One that is impossible due to human nature. Even after all these years, Xeros has always thought of it as the mere ramblings of a lunatic. And yet, here he is. Slaving away to make that impossible dream ever a step closer¡­ all for the sake of a stupid, infantile, selfish mess of a woman. Because regardless of the pain she has brought, her words have never left him: those words so pure, so passionate. Words that could even make his smog-ridden heart just a little clearer. Now, there is only a shadow of what once was. ¡°You leave me no choice.¡± Xeros raises his hands, and sends an electric bolt directly into his chest and face. Ascalon leaps forth to put a stop to his call, but it is too late. He suffers the same fate as the boy Templar Joshua. The Corvid¡¯s Heart has already begun beating. Thump-thump. There, right behind him, a great evil emerges into existence. Thump-thump. It is the visage of a disgusting, ravenous maw. Thump-thump. Its beak opens wide, and the King stays frozen: entranced by the rhythm. Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump. ¡°This life may be a miserable one, but it cannot end just yet,¡± Xeros says. ¡°Not until I prove that foolish woman wrong. The only way to bring about peace is through force: such is this world¡¯s bitter truth.¡± With a loud snap, Ascalon is devoured by the darkness. Chapter 91: Beauty and the Beast ¡°¡­ Why have you called me here, Luxmi? You know I am a busy man: busy cleaning after the mess you¡¯ve created. I do not understand¡ªwhy change your mind so suddenly? To think you of all people would choose to spare those wretched magnates after everything we¡¯ve suffered through! You were the most eager of us, the most vengeful. Now what do I see? A cowardly little crow bending under the demands of those we sought to cull. I just do not¡ª ¡°Pardon? What do you mean you are with child?¡± - Grand General Xeros, Ruler of Nox Caelum ¡ª¡ª¡ª Libevich Libevich smashes into the pavement right in front of the spire¡¯s entrance, and she slowly lifts her body up¡ªeyes bloodshot red with rage. They should have never taken her out of the battlefield. It would have been so beautiful, so magnificent: a true warrior¡¯s death! And yet, it¡¯s been wrenched away from her so cruelly. How infuriating. The first person that comes out of that hunk of metal and tries to explain themselves will end up as a putrid stain on the floor: this she¡¯s decided. It¡¯s going to happen. There¡¯s no stopping her now. Libevich can hear someone approaching. Click-clack. From within the halls, footsteps echo¡ªlouder and louder. Each stomp of their boot only increases her madness. She winds her fist back, ready to pummel the sorry soul with the full might of her strength, and¡­ chop. A familiar blade slices through her arm like a piece of meat. Luxanne emerges from the entrance and throws the bloody stump at Libevich. ¡°Oh, of all people¡­¡± the old woman groans. ¡°Luxanne, my dear. Please tell me you have a very good reason for making me lose face in front of Lorelai. I really, truly, do not appreciate your interference.¡± The girl walks over to her and forcibly pulls the hook out of Libevich¡¯s chest. Blood oozes out of the hole, yet nonetheless the victim in question remains unfazed. ¡°We¡¯re changing plans,¡± she says, voice unamused. There¡¯s something a bit different about her¡ªmore determined. Whatever¡¯s caused this change, it¡¯s not bad at all. ¡°If Lorelai¡¯s still alive, I can¡¯t have you dying now. We¡¯re already low on manpower as is dealing with the knights. See that thing over there?¡± Luxanne points out towards the battlefield. There, towering high into the clouds, is a giant titan of steel. It lumbers next to the city gates, raises its axe, and demolishes the wall in one fell swoop. ¡°Hm? Has that little beast finally become a boy? He might be worth killing now,¡± Libevich says with a cackle. ¡°I¡¯m glad you feel that way. Because he¡¯s your problem now.¡± Libevich tries to refuse but a quick slash to her throat shuts the old woman up. Xeros¡¯s habits have really rubbed off on the girl, huh. ¡°I don¡¯t have enough firepower to bring him down, so that¡¯s where you come in. Use that freakish strength of yours to do some good for once.¡± ¡°Hmph.¡± She harrumphs and crosses her arms. ¡°That¡¯s all well and good, but I really don¡¯t care about your military matters. All I desire is to clash against Lorelai again, or whoever that thing is.¡± ¡°Whoever? Ugh, nevermind. I know what you want, Libevich, but as the person responsible for the lives of everyone in the city, I can¡¯t let you be selfish. If you¡¯re not going to do it for me, at least do it for whatever respect you have left for Luxmi.¡± Oh, how cruel of the girl to mention the former Grand General. Libevich does owe her quite a bit, and it would leave a sour taste in her mouth to see that all her hard work go to waste. ¡°¡­ Bah, you know I can¡¯t win against you,¡± she says. ¡°Fine, fine. I¡¯ll play with that steel dolt for a bit, but only because you asked me so nicely.¡± Luxanne sighs in relief. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°How-ev-er!¡± she interjects. ¡°Lorelai¡¯s still out there, and mark my words: You¡¯ll only end up dead trying to fight her. You¡¯re still young. Don¡¯t waste your life on a fool¡¯s errand.¡± ¡°I know.¡± She clenches her fist. ¡°I won¡¯t last long against her, not when she¡¯s capable of subduing a monster like you.¡± ¡°Compliments will get you nowhere, darling~¡± ¡°That said, it¡¯s not as if we¡¯re completely helpless. I just need some time to prepare.¡± Libevich raises her brow. ¡°Hm? Oh, I see. You¡¯re dusting off that experiment of Xeros¡¯s, then?¡± The old crow¡¯s only talked about it in brief: his last failsafe in the event of an invasion. But for Luxanne to suggest using it¡­ looks like she doesn¡¯t know who the power draws from. Well, all in due time. Better for Xeros to be the one having that conversation. ¡°It¡¯s the only way I can even think about standing a chance,¡± Luxanne says. ¡°All I need to do is stall her long enough for the Omega Pulse to fully charge.¡± ¡°And how long would that be?¡± She shakes her head. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Hells if I know how it even works, but I have to try.¡± It¡¯s quite admirable¡ªthat resolve of hers. While Libevich is not too confident in the girl¡¯s chances, Luxanne¡¯s a survivor. She¡¯ll manage somehow. ¡°Look at you acting all grown up now~¡± Libevich pulls the girl in for one more hug. And for once, the old woman harbors something she hasn¡¯t felt in a long time: a fickle mess of a thing called concern. ¡°Be careful out there, Luxanne. How could I possibly face your mother if you were to die before me?¡± With that, Libevich leaps into the air and makes her way towards the big bad beast knocking on the gates. That boy Sarathiel is a lot larger than she remembers. His shadow¡¯s wide enough to swallow the entire city, body towering high like a mountain. Slow as one, too. But it doesn¡¯t stop him from demolishing the land with every step of his jagged foot. Rumble after rumble, he advances forward and braces against the incoming storm of bullets and explosions: courtesy of the Caelum remnants still alive after the wall¡¯s collapse.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The legionnaires on ground are still going strong as well. Libevich watches with amusement as they try to hack, and even climb, Sarathiel¡¯s leg¡ªonly to be shaken off and then squished into a flat, dirty stain. It¡¯s almost like looking at a colony of bugs. How cute. What¡¯s even cuter is how careful the brute acts to avoid crushing his fellow knights. A single swing from him would be enough to easily decimate the legion, but alas he just stands there and looks pretty. This is why Libevich can¡¯t stand having followers; all they do is hold you back. Wait a minute¡­ I¡¯ve just thought of a marvelous idea. There sure are a lot of people hiding behind him. It would be a shame if a certain someone lost their balance and¡ªsplat. A hundred-thousand: crushed in an instant. Libevich stretches her muscles and pats her dusty robes. Her bones creak, her breath riles up into a snarl, and then: she bolts forward like a flash of lightning. The big oaf doesn¡¯t have a second to react before she collides straight into his chest with a thunderous crash. For all his size, Sarathiel tumbles back - feet high off the ground - and plummets. Slowly, he falls, and the knights behind him can do nothing but panic and flee. Libevich cackles as she hangs on for the ride. What use is there in growing to such a size if you aren¡¯t going to make use of it? Without ferocity, his titanic form¡¯s no better than a walking target. A pity. In the process of becoming a man, Sarathiel has lost the rage that makes him entertaining. Well, it¡¯s not too late. Perhaps she can lend a hand in his education; seeing the slaughtered corpses of his kin should be enough to light a fire in that boring heart. Hm? What¡¯s this now? Much to her dismay, Sarathiel¡¯s body shrinks - casting off his coat of steel - and the two crash with not a soul beneath them. No crushed knights. No flattened remains. The other Polus kids scatter away from their impact and continue to assault the capital, ignoring her as she trudges towards the struggling Throne. ¡°Oh, get up boy. You¡¯re made of sterner stock than that,¡± she says with a shake of her head. Sarathiel staggers himself upright, regaining his balance, and hurls a slew of curses at her. ¡°You''re as deranged as ever, Manslayer. To think you¡¯d come for me after running away from Lorelai. Hah, it comforts me knowing even a monster like you is afraid of death.¡± Libevich can feel a vein bulge. She wants to tear his throat apart right this instant, but where¡¯s the fun in ending things so quickly? No, that just won¡¯t do. Maybe if she plays with him slowly enough, that thing posing as Lorelai will come to his rescue. ¡°Fufu, don¡¯t anger me now, Sarathiel. I¡¯d like nothing more than to see her again, but my little girl has her own plans for me. A shame¡­ I do hope she comes, though. Your corpse would make for a lovely present.¡± ¡°She won¡¯t be coming,¡± he says, cracking his neck and preparing to strike. ¡°I will be your opponent.¡± Libevich bursts out into a laugh. He looks so confident for one so weak. ¡°Bold words, boy. But don¡¯t forget: no matter how big you become, you¡¯ll always be a runt before me.¡± He snarls. ¡°I am different now.¡± ¡°I dearly hope so, Sarathiel. Otherwise this will be much too boring.¡± Libevich pats a spot on the ground clean and, with a flourish, daintily seats herself down. ¡°Do whatever you need to prepare,¡± she says with a yawn. ¡°I won¡¯t do a thing.¡± The boy clenches his fists and leers at her with pure, smoldering hatred, but he does as she wishes and becomes one with the metal. Unlike the titanic form from before, this transformation is more sharp¡ªmore honed. Little spikes of silver erupt around him, and a coiling horn erupts from his helm. Soon, he roars out to the sky; his jaw stretches wide until rows of metallic teeth jut with a murderous shine; and he descends into a brutal, savage state¡ªarm disfiguring into the shape of a double-edged axe. All that¡¯s left of his former self are the eyes. Clear. Controlled. Libevich throws her arms open and beckons him forward with a coy smile. ¡°Well? I¡¯m waiting. Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve turned into a beast again?¡± She tries to taunt him, but Sarathiel remains sane. How interesting; even with that monstrous appearance, he¡¯s still just as boorish. ¡°Not this time,¡± he rasps, breath exhaling a fume of metallic dust. ¡°Not ever again.¡± Sarathiel bursts into action and lumbers forward with his axe trailing high, yet Libevich doesn¡¯t move a muscle. She stays there, waiting. Watching his every step. When the titan finally draws near, he bisects her with a clean strike from above. Organs, her brain, and every last one of her guts¡ªeverything is bared for all to see, especially a manic grin. ¡°Ooh, that wasn¡¯t half bad,¡± her two halves mock before forcefully shoving themselves together. ¡°You¡¯ve certainly improved, boy, but you still lack a certain something. Here, let me give you a demonstration!¡± Libevich grabs onto his axe and rips it out of his body¡ªbone and all. Silver blood gushes from his stump; he howls out in pain. But she doesn¡¯t stop there and rams the blade right into his chest. Sarathiel struggles and writhes on the ground, his hands desperately attempting to pull her away, but the blade only burrows deeper. Harder. More violent. ¡°You need more bloodlust, my dear. You need more barbarity.¡± Libevich delights in his pain, and slowly increases her pressure on the axe. ¡°Before? You were no better than an animal. There was no style, no grace anywhere in that hulking body: just a mindless display of instinct and brute strength. Still, it was somewhat entertaining. You¡¯re slightly better now, but there¡¯s no fury anymore. Call upon it, Sarathiel. Use it to stoke the flames in your bosom!¡± ¡°I will not become a monster just to satisfy you!¡± He shouts, and blasts Libevich with a silver ray from his horn. It encases her in a mold of metal, slowing her movements. Before she can break free, the boy grabs her firm and slams her to the ground with a newly-grown steel arm. When he moves to strike her, she traps his fists in her ribcage and drags him down alongside the filth. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be mistaken now. I¡¯m not telling you to be consumed by it. Anger, rage¡­ it all has a time and place. Lorelai would smother her emotions and let it out whenever she swung her blade. But you? There¡¯s no purpose in it. No direction. Honestly, what a waste!¡± Libevich pulls out her own intestines and wraps it around Sarathiel¡¯s neck like a rope, choking him until he¡¯s sputtering for air. The two wrestle on the ground, and he claws at her flesh, but it¡¯s all in vain. The chunks regenerate faster than he can tear. Eventually, Sarathiel manages to flip over and slice through the binding. ¡°To hells with this!¡± he grunts, shifting his axe back into a fist. ¡°I¡¯m going to wring your neck with my own two hands.¡± ¡°Yes, that¡¯s it! Now you¡¯re starting to sound like a real warrior.¡± Libevich flashes him a smile and brings her two fists up next to her face. The two charge forward and pummel each other with a never-ending flurry of punches. Their bodies bruise, bones crack, but nonetheless they continue their assault until all that remains are mangled stumps: shockwave after shockwave. Impact after impact. The air drowns in the sounds of their primitive contest of strength. But all good things must come to an end. Eventually, Libevich overpowers Sarathiel and sends him squirming onto a pile of mud. ¡°I had fun,¡± she says. ¡°And I would love nothing more than to nurture you into a foe worth slaying me, but I can¡¯t wait that long. There¡¯s another more deserving of that honor, and I really shouldn¡¯t keep my darling girl waiting.¡± Libevich picks him up by the scruff of his neck and raises him high into the air. ¡°No hard feelings, boy. You did rather well: be proud of that.¡± He spits on her in one last act of defiance. ¡°My only regret is that I won¡¯t see Lorelai silence your nonsense once and for all.¡± ¡°All in due time, Sarathiel. All in due time.¡± Libevich opens her palm and places it right where his heart should be. Stubborn types like him won¡¯t die from a little beating. No, the only way is to tear out the source¡ª She stops. And looks up. For once, Libevich is silent. A wave of something dreadful courses through her. This feeling¡­ it¡¯s unfamiliar. Foreign, yet unpleasantly clear. It is an emotion she has only felt twice before. The first being her encounter with that Star of endless, insatiable greed. And the second immediately after¡ªafter the descent of the black-feathered embodiment of desire. The sky is enveloped in an endless veil of twilight. And there, pulsing with red lightning for all to see, is Xeros. He¡¯s summoning it¡­ the creature that consumed Luxmi. The Corvid is coming. Chapter 92: Children of the City ¡°W-What? This can¡¯t be¡­ forgive me Xeros, but I¡¯m just a little confused. I mean, I don¡¯t understand! I don¡¯t get it. Why is the former Grand General¡ª ¡°I¡­ okay. Keep my mouth shut, got it. I just gotta keep my mouth shut¡­ phew, let¡¯s talk realistics, then. ¡°Sure, I can build a conduit. Have some veins run along the city, connect them together, and lead them back to the spire: simple enough. The problem is¡­ her body¡¯s volatile. She¡¯s already lost, er, passed on the Will of Desire to you; all that¡¯s left are remnants¡ªechoes. If you try to bring it out, the power¡¯s gonna be much weaker. It won¡¯t work on inheritors like the King of Polus. Are you really sure about going through with this? ¡°Alright, alright. If it¡¯s for the capital¡¯s peace¡­ but I doubt you¡¯ll ever need to use it anyway. I mean, who¡¯d dare to try and invade us of all nations?¡± - Seraphina Lockhart, former Chief Engineer of Nox Caelum ¡ª¡ª¡ª Luxanne It really, truly, is a shame that Luxanne has to save Libevich, but she can¡¯t be picky about her methods. Not now. There¡¯ll be no rest for that hag anytime soon, and unfortunately the same is true for her. The gate¡¯s been breached by that steel titan, but fortunately the defensive line is holding up well. It¡¯s only a matter of time before the inner city is overrun, though. The enemy¡¯s not just out there¡ªit¡¯s from within. Supply routes are ambushed, sabotaged war machines litter the streets, and factories providing ammunition for the legion are all being raided in the droves. This isn¡¯t some spontaneous protest; it¡¯s a coordinated assault by Caelum¡¯s own people. Who knows how long they¡¯ve planned for this¡ªwaiting for the exact moment to stage their rebellion. They¡¯re the people of the Slums, tired of being treated like filth. They¡¯re the dregs of the outskirts, dragged away from their homes and forced into service. They¡¯re the weary and the lost, the disillusioned and desperate: men, women, old and young. They are citizens of the nation like any other, and instead of protecting this land, they would rather watch it all burn. Just like the Luxanne of the past. That¡¯s why she can¡¯t bring herself to harm them. Their pain, their wrath¡­ it¡¯s all so familiar. And even now there¡¯s a small voice inside begging her to give up and let this wretched place be destroyed. But she can¡¯t. Hope still exists for Caelum; a future still exists, but that¡¯s only possible if they can succeed in fending off Polus here. The rebels must be stopped, and Luxanne will do so without using violence or cruelty. She will not be like Xeros. An explosion erupts below her. Smoke rises up from one of the Freedmen¡¯s workshops; looks like her target¡¯s been set. Luxanne rushes to the edge of the upper layer and jumps off without a moment¡¯s notice. There she falls, wind howling in a frenzy, before shooting a bullet that explodes into a soft, pillowy cloud and softens her descent. Angry cries deafen her ears - toppled buildings and fiery fumes are all that plague her sight - but even though the destruction seems endless, she can¡¯t let herself be overwhelmed. ¡°One at a time, Luxanne¡­¡± She takes a deep breath and collects herself. ¡°Quickly, calmly, then move on. You can do this.¡± Luxanne crash lands near a crowd of rebels throwing fire-bombs at the workshop¡¯s base. Engineers and technicians attempt to fend off the mob as best they can behind a makeshift barricade, but it won¡¯t be long before the entrance¡¯s broken into. ¡°Attention, citizens of Nox Caelum!¡± she bellows. ¡°Cease your transgressions at once. The city is under lockdown; for your own safety, please comply and proceed through the designated evacuation zones. If you proceed any further, I will be forced to detain all within the vicinity.¡± The rebels turn around and encircle her like a pack of ravenous beasts. They¡¯re desperate¡ªbrought to the brink. Luxanne¡¯s expected as much; hate¡¯s a hard thing to escape. But she wants to at least give them a chance to reconsider, even if it is unlikely. One of them steps up and points at her with a mocking finger. ¡°I recognize that armor¡­ Praetor Luxanne in the flesh. Hah, shouldn¡¯t you be out there defending the city instead of dealing with us common folk? Guess Xeros¡¯s dog is too scared.¡± Luxanne sighs and shakes her head. ¡°I will only repeat myself once. Cease your transgressions at once, and you will be forgiven. Otherwise I will be forced to restrain everyone here until the evacuation edict has been released.¡± A different person speaks up now, a young man. But his expression holds a grudge far too deep for one should his age. ¡°Restrain¡­ that¡¯s a funny way of sayin¡¯ we¡¯ll be killed. You think the Grand General will just let us waltz back to our old lives? Nah, we¡¯re not stupid. Either we get executed in the gallows or be sent off as slaves. There¡¯s no going back now!¡± The rebels rush at her before she can say another word. They have no real strategy and attempt to overwhelm her with numbers, but Luxanne doesn¡¯t give them a chance. She leaps into the air and fires a bullet above them. It explodes into a large, heaping pile of ooze¡ªensnaring their bodies head-to-toe in a sticky substance. They spit curses at her and squirm in their slimy prisons, but it¡¯s no use. Struggling only makes it latch on harder. The members of the workshop begin to trickle out from the building, and their leader pushes past to personally meet Luxanne in person. ¡°Appreciate the assistance, ma¡¯am. The name¡¯s Cid Barker; I¡¯m the man in charge around here.¡± ¡°Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Barker,¡± she says. ¡°But I really must be going¡ª¡± ¡°Oh, I get it. I really do,¡± he interrupts. ¡°Today¡¯s been a crazy day, no doubt you have a ton of things that need doing, but really I just wanted to say thank you for not turning this place into a bloodbath. It wouldn''t sit right with me, rebel or no, to see people slaughtered. So I¡¯m mighty thankful that you handled it more peacefully.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad you understand. The last thing we need right now is for all of us to be divided; spilling blood will only worsen the situation.¡± She gestures to the trapped rebels. ¡°For now, take those people inside. Do you have a way to evacuate without going into the streets?¡±The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. He nods. ¡°The shop has an underground route to the outside we usually use for hauling materials.¡± ¡°Good, try to leave as soon as you can, and bring those people with you. The casing will fall off by itself in a couple of hours.¡± ¡°Will do, ma¡¯am. Good luck out there.¡± ¡°You too, Cid. Stay safe.¡± With that, Luxanne sprints off and searches for more rebels to capture. They¡¯re all over the place, in every layer and every street, but something¡¯s strange. There¡¯s too many of them; their movements are too organized. I¡¯ve heard of a resistance group called the Yurodiviye before, but were they really this big? This orderly? Rather than a crude group of dissenters, they resemble more a veteran, tight-knit division of soldiers. A couple of groups have even managed to get their hands on some custom-made chemical substances and machines. She should have suspected something being off after the firebombs; their leader has to be someone from Xeros¡¯s upper echelon. But who? Eventually, Luxanne stops and confronts a group near a factory in the Proletariat. Unlike the others, this mob¡¯s geared to the extreme. Their armor looks like the exo-suits worn by the legionaries, but the plates are less thick¡ªmore compact. And in the very center of them all is a tall, auburn-haired woman in a black robe. The woman turns around to face her, and she¡­ she looks familiar. A pit forms in Luxanne¡¯s stomach. Her throat dries, her eyes widen, and her heart¡ªit aches. It hurts. And it pounds and pounds like it¡¯s about to escape from her own chest. ¡°Here so soon?¡± the woman says. The other rebels quickly move to form a barricade around her. ¡°I, um, didn¡¯t expect for us to meet here. Not really the most touching of places for a reunion is it? Dark, dirty, miserable¡­ well, I guess that¡¯s how it is. The city¡¯s rotten no matter where you go.¡± Luxanne wants to cry. Her mind¡¯s spinning¡ªthoughts whirl past her before she can even comprehend them. There¡¯s a force clawing at the back of her throat, preventing her from saying even a single word. That voice¡­ it can¡¯t be. How long has it been since she¡¯s last seen her? A decade, maybe. Yet even now Luxanne hasn¡¯t forgotten a second of the time they¡¯ve spent together. She is the only one¡ªthe only one Luxanne has ever cared for in that sick gathering of freaks Xeros calls his elite. The only one she has ever given her heart to. ¡°¡­ Seraphina?¡± Luxanne weakly mutters. ¡°I-I thought you were¡ª¡± ¡°Dead?¡± She says with a bitter smile. ¡°No, I¡¯m not. It was really hard making it look like I was, though. Otherwise Xeros would have hunted me down long ago.¡± She looks¡­ tired. The creases on her face are much more worn than Luxanne remembers. But even so, the grit in her eyes is the very same as when they¡¯ve first met. ¡°Where were you?¡± Luxanne tries her best to hold back her anger, but it¡¯s just all too much. Her head¡¯s hot, thumping, struggling to keep calm. ¡°All this time, and you never once tried to see me?¡± Seraphina reaches out her hand, but meekly pulls it back. ¡°I had no choice, Lux. I didn¡¯t want to involve you in this.¡± ¡°Involve me¡ªare you being serious right now?¡± She¡¯s trying really, really hard not to scream. ¡°I mourned you. For years, all I could think about was you. Could I have saved her? Was she hurting and I didn¡¯t realize? Is this my punishment for daring to have a shred of happiness in this miserable, putrid mess of a world!? Night after night after night, and you know what? I cried, and I healed. I finally came to terms that you were gone.¡± Seraphina opens her mouth, but doesn¡¯t say anything. Luxanne can practically see the guilt on her face. Good. ¡°I just wanted to see you again,¡± Luxanne croaks. ¡°Involve me, whisk me away¡­ I would have been satisfied just seeing your face. Was that so hard, Phina? You¡¯d think there¡¯d be some trust between us after all we went through, but I guess it was only ever me that thought that way.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not true, Lux,¡± she whispers. ¡°You know it¡¯s not. I was trying to protect you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need protecting!¡± If anything, it should be the other way around. ¡°Hells, Phina. Did I look that weak to you? And now, I¡­¡± Luxanne clenches her fist, and raises her blade. ¡°Now I have to stop you.¡± ¡°Lux.¡± ¡°By my authority as Acting General¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lux. And I¡ªI know I messed up. Some things I could have handled better, and you don¡¯t have to forgive me. Stars know I wouldn¡¯t. But believe me I thought of you every single damned day we were apart. Always, constantly, just waiting for the moment when this could finally all be over.¡± ¡°¡­ I demand you surrender at once¡­¡± ¡°I know you despise Xeros as much as we do. This is our chance! We can finally bring him down. You can finally be free.¡± ¡°¡­ If you comply, you shall not be charged with mutiny upon the dismissal of the evacuation edict¡­¡± ¡°And we¡ªwe could finally be together again. Just the two of us.¡± Luxanne¡¯s voice quivers, her eyes tear up as she gazes at Seraphina¡¯s pleading face, but nonetheless she continues. She has to continue. ¡°¡­ Otherwise, I will be forced t-to restrain everyone here, and you will be held accountable under¡­¡± ¡°Luxanne, listen to me!¡± ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± Luxanne sobs. ¡°I can¡¯t let you burn this city, Phina. This is my home. I despise Xeros, I despise what he¡¯s done and how twisted everything¡¯s become, but it¡¯s still my home! I won¡¯t let Polus, or you, or anyone else destroy it!¡± The two fall silent for a long time. ¡°So, what now?¡± she says, voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Will you capture me? I doubt the others¡¯ll be spared even if you give Xeros my head.¡± ¡°You know I could never do that! I just¡­ I can¡¯t let you wreck any more workshops, but I¡¯ll make sure you and everyone else that wants to will be able to leave the city. I¡¯ll find a way to make sure he doesn¡¯t notice, so please lower your weapons.¡± She glares at her. ¡°You¡¯re right. This is our home, and that¡¯s why it has to be destroyed. Look around you, Lux! It¡¯s too late for this place. Everything¡¯s too dirty, too stained with Xeros¡¯s corruption. All we can do is let it all fall, and then we¡¯ll build atop the ashes: a new Caelum. A better Caelum.¡± Seraphina slowly steps toward Luxanne. Her blade is still raised, but it¡¯s overcome with a slight tremble. She wants to yell at her, to beg her to stop moving closer, but the words refuse to leave her throat. Eventually, Seraphina stops right in front of her and pushes the blade away. Luxanne reluctantly complies, and the two embrace. They hold each other tight, silently making up for the years spent apart. ¡°And we can do it together,¡± she says, gently brushing Luxanne¡¯s cheek. ¡°Home is where the people make it. As long as we¡¯re here, we can rebuild; we can create a nation free of Xeros¡¯s legacy. I¡¯ve been watching you for so, so long Lux, and I don¡¯t want to see you suffer anymore. All I ask is that you trust me just one more time.¡± The beating of her heart is getting louder. It¡¯s stifling, crushing, and full of loving promise. But it¡¯s not enough to make her give in. ¡°Phina¡­¡± Luxanne says. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± But rather than be disappointed, Seraphina only lowers her head¡ªsolemn. As if she¡¯s already expected her answer. ¡°I¡­ see. Even so, I can¡¯t stop either. I hope you can forgive me.¡± She walks away, and approaches a strange man mixed among the crowd. He¡¯s dressed in a tattered, shredded suit, smoke rising from his body as if he¡¯s escaped from an explosion mere moments ago, and a peculiar mask covers his face with a rose covering the left eye. The man exudes an uncomfortable presence that Luxanne is not really sure how to describe. It feels dangerous. ¡°Mr. Rose?¡± Seraphina asks. ¡°Please call for your benefactor.¡± He bows and lets out an eerie chuckle. ¡°But of course. Any special requests?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t kill her.¡± ¡°That shall be arranged.¡± The man disappears into a nearby door, and after a moment, a bright light suddenly blinds her from above. Luxanne looks up, and there, armor wreathed in white, is Lorelai: the Throne of Heaven herself. Chapter 93: The Resolve to Stand Against the Impossible ¡°Ah, me? There were some¡­ surprises to be sure, but I¡¯ve always been a man of good fortune. Fancy that: a vent duct serving as a doorway. Never would have crossed my mind until then, but let us set that aside for a later date. Our little seed has requested for your help. I know your business with Libevich is not quite finished, but I assure you that this prey will be just as satisfying.¡± - Satanael ¡ª¡ª¡ª Libevich Luxanne has never actually seen her in person before: the Throne of Heaven. She¡¯s heard the stories, her feats in battle, and occasionally a chance would come to see her from afar, but it¡¯s different now¡ªup close, her presence suffocates all that would cast their eyes on her. It¡¯s hard to believe such a presence could possibly belong to a human. From her appearance, to her wings, and even the way she carries herself¡­ it¡¯s like looking at a divine being. Luxanne¡¯s starting to understand Libevich''s anger now, for she can only look on in awe as Lorelai effortlessly lands on the pavement and strides over to Ceraphina. ¡°I have received your call,¡± she says to her. ¡°You have worked diligently for our cause, and for that I thank you.¡± Ceraphina freezes for a second, her eyes wide and expression flustered, but soon she recovers her composure and greets Lorelai with an awkward bow. ¡°It¡¯s, um, nothing. We both have a common enemy. I¡¯m just doing what I can to free those I love from Xeros¡¯s reign.¡± She glances at Luxanne with a final look of plea, but it¡¯s no use. For the two of them¡­ it¡¯s far too late to change their paths now. ¡°Still, I didn¡¯t expect Satanael¡¯s benefactor to be a dead woman. Guess you¡¯ve had it all planned from the beginning, huh?¡± Lorelai chuckles. ¡°Such is the nature of war. Nothing is more valued than the advantage which information brings, and so does victory go to the one who veils truth in falsehoods and deceit.¡± Ceraphina grimaces at her words. ¡°Funny, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if those words came right out of Xeros¡¯s mouth.¡± Lorelai stops and stares straight into Ceraphina¡¯s eyes. ¡°Do you resent me?¡± she says. ¡°In your view, I suppose there is not much difference between me and the man you so despise. I invaded your home, purposely sought you out for my own goals, and now¡­ there can be no end to this conflict. Not unless the land is bathed in the blood of the greedy, the innocent, the corrupted and unwilling alike.¡± Ceraphina clenches her fist and, for a moment, looks completely willing to order an attack on Polus¡¯s strongest. But before she can do so, Lorelai suddenly drops onto her knees and cups her hands within her own. ¡°Even so, pray lend me your understanding.¡± Her tone changes from that rigid, almost stifling air of grace. Now, she sounds like any other person¡ªone heavy with repentance. ¡°Loath me, abhor me, do whatever you wish if it may provide some comfort. But know that I cannot stop here. Surely one in your position must understand? For all the lives entrusted to us, we must seek an end to this tiresome war by any means necessary. I see that resolve within you, as well as a kindred heart. We both fight not for conquest or power¡­ but for freedom.¡± ¡°Freedom¡­¡± Ceraphina mutters, slowly lowering herself as well. ¡°I¡¯ve also done things that I¡¯m not proud of. I¡ªI ran away from that spire because I was too scared to take responsibility for all the suffering my inventions caused. I lied, and I cheated, and I did everything I could to get where I am now. And you know what? Staging raids, building my forces¡­ it felt good. I felt like I was finally contributing some good to this world, and maybe, just maybe, I could finally be absolved of my mistakes. I thought so, but that¡¯s a lie. I¡¯ve always been and always will be a selfish woman.¡± Luxanne shouts out to her. ¡°Ceraphina!¡± Despite everything, she can¡¯t help but want to run out there and tell that stupid, cruel, self-indulgent idiot about how that¡¯s not true. But does she even have the right to do so? The life Ceraphina¡¯s lived¡­ Luxanne doesn¡¯t know it at all. In the end, she only responds with a sad look and stands back up. ¡°Sorry for all the snark; we both stand to lose everything if this fails, so do what you have to. The Yurodiviye¡¯s on your side.¡± Lorelai stands back up, and the two shake the other¡¯s hand. ¡°Thank you, Ceraphina. Let us put an end to this nation: together. But first¡­¡± She turns around, and points her blade at Luxanne. ¡°Go,¡± Lorelai commands. ¡°I will not kill her.¡± ¡°Please don¡¯t hurt her too much,¡± Ceraphina whispers, leaving the area with the rest of her followers. ¡°Anyone but her.¡± ¡°I promise to do what I am able.¡± ¡°... Okay.¡± With that, the Yurodiviye disappear. Luxanne wants to chase after that moron, to try and find another way that doesn¡¯t involve the destruction of everything her mother¡¯s ever built, but her body betrays her. It trembles as the Heaven¡¯s Throne gradually approaches. ¡°Do you wish to continue?¡± Lorelai asks. Honestly, not really. It¡¯s hard even just to stay standing right now¡­ but what can I do? Giving up¡¯s not in my blood. ¡°I don¡¯t resent you,¡± Luxanne says, steeling her nerves. ¡°But I have my own reasons for protecting this place. I¡¯ll make it up to Cera later.¡± ¡°Then so be it.¡± Luxanne quickly leaps back and shoots an incendiary bullet at Lorelai. She dodges it without a care, but the target isn¡¯t meant for her. The bullet smashes into the ground and explodes into a smokescreen. Her vision¡¯s blocked; now¡¯s the chance¡ª For Luxanne to get the hells away from here. She bolts for the streets and runs as fast as her legs can muster. Right now? Victory¡¯s impossible. She doesn¡¯t even try to entertain the thought. If Libevich of all people is helpless before her, then what chance does Luxanne have? No, the only choice left is to stall until the Omega Pulse finishes charging. Maybe then she¡¯ll have a fighting chance, but until then, it¡¯s time to swallow her pride and get out of this place.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Right as she reaches her corner, her instincts suddenly scream at her to jump away. A black greatsword resembling the void comes crashing down and narrowly slices her arm off. Lorelai emerges in front of her, and Luxanne prepares to shoot again, but the Throne stomps the ground¡ªtoppling her balance before rushing in and aiming for her legs. Luxanne manages to evade somehow, but it¡¯s not looking good. Lorelai¡¯s sword cuts through everything as if through air. Even trying to clash is useless; the gunblade¡¯s only going to get chopped up like a stick. All she has left now are her bullets and an instinct honed after decades of Xeros¡¯s brutal training. There¡¯s only one problem: the city. Destruction follows them everywhere. Roads, buildings, factories and workshops¡ªnone are spared from Lorelai¡¯s assault. At this rate the whole district¡¯ll be torn apart; she can¡¯t let that happen. Luxanne jumps up into the air and shoots a bullet below her. An fiery explosion erupts, and the force sends her hurtling up towards the Erudite. It¡¯s smaller there; the wreckage won¡¯t be as severe. She rapidly ascends to the upper layer, shooting bullets that create floating clouds as footing, and all the while Lorelai chases after her with a terrifying speed. It may seem stupid to escape into the sky against a winged flow, but she¡¯s not entirely helpless. Luxanne pesters her with rains of ooze, of flashbangs¡ªanything to slow her down. Right as she reaches the top, Luxanne escapes into the Erudite¡¯s alleyways and does her best to dim her presence. It¡¯s almost time now. She just needs to hold out for a few more minutes. A spatial wave of pure darkness passes right above her, cleaving every building in sight in twain and burying her in the rumble. A single slash: that¡¯s all Lorelai needed to root out her hiding spot. Luxanne climbs out, breath wheezing as chalk and dust fill her throat. She pokes her hand out and tries to grab onto something for support, but a force latches onto her arm and forcibly pulls her out before she has a chance to recover. Her vision¡¯s blurry from the wreckage, but it¡¯s clear who¡¯s the one that pulled her out. Lorelai shakes her head and tosses her onto the crumpled pavement. ¡°If you surrender now, I will not harm you any further,¡± she says while Luxanne coughs from the impact. ¡°I would prefer not to render you unconscious, lest the force addle your mind.¡± Just a bit more. Stall for just a bit more. ¡°Hah,¡± she grunts. ¡°Are there any other options?¡± ¡°Your limbs,¡± Lorelai responds coldly. ¡°At the very least, Caelum technology appears capable of providing you with mechanical replacements.¡± ¡°... I¡¯d rather keep my own flesh and blood, thanks.¡± The Throne sighs and picks her up by the neck. ¡°Then I wish you luck in maintaining your sanity.¡± A loud screech interrupts her before she can land the final strike. Mechanical groans and shifting plates drown out everything in the city, and soon, four large obelisks rise up from the city¡¯s cardinal points: north, south, east and west. They surge with crackling, volatile energy as a white light gathers at the very tip. ¡°What is this?¡± Lorelai murmurs, her voice brimming with curiosity. She¡¯s relaxed now, but that¡¯ll soon change. It¡¯s done. Luxanne doesn¡¯t have to drag this on any longer. ¡°About time.¡± She raises her gunblade and shoots a single bullet into the air. It bursts into red sparkles and ribbons, then nothing. It¡¯s just a signal¡ªnothing more. But that signal is the start of her counterattack. The white beams burst forth from the obelisks and coalesce above the city. Slowly, it trickles to the side, solidifying and taking shape until Caligos Imperium is trapped in a glistening cage. The legionnaires, the knights, Luxanne and Lorelai both¡­ they¡¯re all stuck together now. The black void making up the Throne¡¯s greatsword begins to fade. All that¡¯s left of it is the hilt, and down in the lower layers, Luxanne can hear people yelling out in confusion. It¡¯s no wonder, for Creation¡¯s been sealed. It¡¯s equal footing from here on out; everyone¡¯s reduced to their own physical strength. That¡¯s how it should be, but then why does Lorelai still have her wings? ¡°Huh?¡± Luxanne mumbles. ¡°That¡¯s not¡ªwhat¡¯s going on? You¡¯re not an inheritor; how are your wings still¡­¡± Lorelai stares at her now-bladeless greatsword, and then back to her wings. ¡°Fascinating. Never have I seen anything quite like this sorcery before. No, I suppose it functions more as a product of machinery rather than pure Creation. But to forcibly overwhelm that divinity into such a befuddled state¡­ I suppose it affects naught those with a fragment of Cosmos. A child cannot harm their creator, after all. Still an impressive feat to be sure.¡± Luxanne freezes. Something¡¯s off. Lorelai¡¯s voice¡ªit¡¯s different. Not just in tone, but¡­ fundamentally. It¡¯s a voice that lacks emotion, as if the thing before her is merely assuming the guise of a human. ¡°Hm?¡± she says, turning her head back towards her. ¡°Ah, my mistake. It is not often I see such a sight. Let us continue, Luxanne.¡± Damnit, I just don¡¯t know. Is Creation sealed or not? At least she won¡¯t be able to use her sword now; I have to take the chance while the pulse field is still active. Luxanne points her gunblade and readies her stance. Although the bullets are no longer enchanted, she still has her swordsmanship. Even a monster like Lorelai won¡¯t be able to take her down without a fight. The Throne rushes forward and closes the distance between them in an instant. Her fist flashes across her vision, narrowly striking her head, but Luxanne manages to deflect it with the edge of her blade. There¡¯s no time to relax; Lorelai quickly moves on, assaulting her with a flurry of blows that only target her limbs. A crush to the leg here, a rough hit to her arm there¡ªagain and again. It takes all of her power just to defend against the relentless woman. There¡¯s no room to attack or even counter. The two continue their exchange, striking and redirecting faster than the eye can see. Luxanne¡¯s holding on through pure instinct at this point, but she¡¯s losing her ground. Every blow leaves her with a bruise or wound, yet Lorelai¡¯s as spotless as ever. If Luxanne slashes, the blade¡¯s crushed beneath a heel. If she stabs, a powerful jab slams into her waist before she can even react. It¡¯s a never-ending flow: an aggressive dance where only Lorelai takes the lead. The longer they clash, the more haggard Luxanne becomes. Her muscles scream out in pain; the world¡¯s all starting to blur together with every sharp breath she takes. It¡¯s painful, but not just physically. It¡¯s painful knowing that even in technique she¡¯s outmatched so deeply. She knows Lorelai isn¡¯t using her full power against her. She knows she¡¯s being treated like a child. She knows Lorelai could have finished this entire fight in the first move if not for Ceraphina¡¯s plea. Luxanne knows this full well, and even though her pride as a warrior¡¯s been shattered, she continues to stand back up and swing her blade. She has to. Keep moving; keep struggling; keep flailing like a pathetic, crude dimwit. The moment she falters is the very moment she accepts her nation¡¯s defeat¡ªit¡¯s utter annihilation. So, she¡¯ll fight no matter how much her soul screams against it. She¡¯ll bite, and claw, and strain herself to the very end To the very end. To the¡­ ¡°... You have a magnificent will, Luxanne.¡± She can¡¯t feel her face anymore. How bloodied is her body? She doesn¡¯t know. Her legs have long given out; they¡¯re only standing now out of sheer persistence. ¡°I have no doubt you will survive, so please: remain strong for those who love you so. When you wake up, everything will be over.¡± Luxanne collapses onto her knees. Lorelai¡¯s saying something, but she can¡¯t hear any of it. Her ears are ringing too much. The cage starts to disappear above her. And the sky¡ªsomething¡¯s happening to the sky. A veil of twilight covers it all, bathing the land in an ominous wave of dread. As Luxanne gives one final look out towards the sky, she sees Xeros¡¯s figure completely engulfed in red lightning.