Fragments
A Revolt of the Archers-based Short Story by Kal Ancalas
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Warning: If you've never read the story Revolt of the Archers before, then obviously, you're a neophyte. But you also won't understand this story, in which case I suggest you start reading the latter.
This story can be read as early as Chapter 10, but it is strongly recommended that you read up to Chapter 20 in order to minimize confusion.
Just to avoid confusion, this story begins approximately 20 years before Revolt of the Archers begins, but spans the course of several years.
(Highly) Recommended Songs:
Everybody's Fool by Evanescence
My Immortal by Evanescence (if you must pick between the two, choose this one)
You may want to put these in a playlist on iTunes or Windows Media Player if you can, so that they repeat every so often. If you don't have them, you can download them at w w w . m p 3 r a i d . c o m (no spaces) through the search function (but be sure to delete the files after reading, you wouldn't want the RIAA knocking on your front door anytime soon).
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Author's Note: No long, sarcastic psycho rant here. I'm saving that for the next chapter of Revolt. This is merely just a shortfic that I wrote because:
1.) I was tired of waiting for a decent review that wasn't one line long and/or written in chatspeak.
2.) I needed to procrastinate on my US History/chemistry/algebra/English homework.
3.) I have a slight fever and needed to do something besides being responsible for 90 percent of Kleenex's total sales.
As a side note, this is the first thing I've ever written in second person. I know from personal experience that second person is one of the bitchiest things in the world to write, but I also know from seeing others' stories that it can be an effective tool for expressing emotion when used well, so I'll just give it a shot.
Exactly whose point of view this story is told from may be confusing at first, but if you've read Revolt, you should be able to figure it out within a few paragraphs.
(Note: While this fic is mostly clean, I feel I must inform you all of a certain scene that takes place somewhere near the middle of the second half of the story. It involves two people engaging in an act that can only be described as a word beginning with 's' and ending with 'x'. There's also an 'e' in there somewhere, but I do not wish to provide my poor readers the horror of reconstructing this mysterious word.
Quite frankly, I think it's quite tame compared to most of the stuff you find in certain fandoms these days. I spent a lot of effort trying to make the passage in question as non-provocative as possible. It isn't so much smut as it is a group of verbs and adjectives taken in a questionable connotation. And it's only a paragraph long. Nevertheless, I am sure there is at least one PC-oriented person with sand up their ass that will object to me exposing young readers to this (barely offensive) material.
Let me just say that if you're offended by this, fine, you're offended. So be it. But as an author, I must stress the importance of this passage in the story because I felt this was the best thing that would express the emotion I was looking for. Please don't flame me simply because you thought the word 'heat' was damaging to your brain. For God's sake, I spent five friggin' hours on this stupid piece of crap.
Enjoy, and as always, be sure to comment.
-Kal Ancalas, 9.8.07
They are fragments.
You remember closing your eyes and breathing.
Fresh air fills your nostrils and lungs in a refreshing, invigorating motion. Woodland scents, intermingled with the shouts of children and monsters alike, dance through your mind as the wild, unchained joy of being a child runs through your nerves and veins.
This is your life.
Not anyone else's- not the boy slashing wildly at a passing slime a few feet away or the girl bringing lightning-blue bolts of death upon a group of unfortunate snails nearby.
It is your own, and the very mention of it sends several shivers of elation down the slight elongated curve of your spine.
You are a warrior, the best of the best. Iron spear in hand, you march across the lands of Bera defending the weak and annihilating anyone that is foolish enough to stand in your way.
At least, that's what you tell yourself as you sunder across the plains of Henesys.
With a swift motion of the arm, you lash out. To the average outsider, it is nothing spectacular- a kid swinging a spear around- but to you, it is perfection, a thing of absolute beauty, as the sunlit edge of your spear rips through a passing mushroom.
The wandering fungus' eyes widen for a brief moment before it topples, its cap hitting the ground with a soft thud. You tower over it in triumph, almost as if standing guard over its fallen corpse. It is a kill, your very first kill.
Your first kill in a lifetime of death and destruction.
Of course, your childish mind knows nothing of these matters as you finally tear your attention from the dead mushroom long enough to invoke your wrath upon a slime, iron spike impaling its viscous form. It squeals briefly before it deflates and crumples like a forgotten balloon, apparently dead.
Another mark on the slate that is your life, the one you have chosen and consigned yourself to. The feeling is strange- it seems a strange fusion of elation and apprehension- but for the moment, you don't care.
You are a warrior, a spearman, a Dragon Knight, and in that one frame of time, that is all that matters.
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"Power Strike!"
The cry of your voice empowers you as you slam into the Zombie Mushroom with all the strength you can muster, an explosion of crimson-stained energy bursting through the air at your command. The undead fungus crumples at your feet, immobile as its soul returns back to the depths of the underworld where it belongs.
You shake your head, dirt-laced locks of auburn barely lapping at the sides of your neck, and survey the grounds of the Ant Tunnel with self-satisfaction. Only a fraction of an hour has passed since your arrival, and yet the stone tunnels are already littered with fresh (and in the case of the zombie mushrooms, not-so-fresh) corpses of monsters.
The acrid, leaden smell of blood stains the air, but you take no notice- it has become a part of the life you now lead. Wake up at five, eat a quick snack. Pace yourself all the way from Henesys to the Ant Tunnel, seeing how many Stone Golems you can annoy on the way without being beaten to a bloody pulp. Then, the real fun begins.
It's all second nature, in a way. Power Strike, Slash Blast, Iron Body- they are now as firmly ingrained in your mind as commonplace words such as "hello" and "yes". Actually, you can't even remember the last time you said hello to somebody on the street, but you can remember exactly how many monsters you've slaughtered with a motion of your arms and a cry of your voice.
The cavern is eerily empty, save for the noise of skittering monsters in the shadows of the cave, knowing full well not to face you while training. Not that it matters- you always hunt them down.
Every time.
For that matter, other people don't even come down to you any more. They used to, but a few well-aimed Slash Blasts later, the place was suddenly empty and the cavern left all to yourself. No matter how hard they try, other warriors, bowmen, magicians, and thieves simply cannot get a good hit in- the blade of your spear is nowhere and everywhere at the same time as you whirl it through the air in deadly arcs of destruction.
Battle is a thing elevated to the status of art, you tell yourself, as the bladed edge of your weapon sends another enemy into the depths of purgatory. It's a part of all of us, a part of life as much as a part of death.
You close your eyes, and using your sharpened senses of hearing and touch, realize a lizard-like Evil Eye is hiding in wait behind a small crag of stone, its fangs bared as it prepares to spring.
However, you are much quicker, faster, and stronger, and that is key to survival, you tell yourself. The world is a story of destruction and nothing more. Eat, only to be eaten. It is an unspoken postulate of life that ultimately rules over everything you do, whether you realize it or not.
You abruptly lash out with the several foot-long weapon, ready to deal fate into the hands of another monster.
The Evil Eye gives a shriek of pain and topples to the now-bloodstained ground, yet your lance slices through nothing except thin air. You raise your gaze upwards to see another being- a human, to be exact. Probably the same age you are, give or take a year. A low-rimmed hat is decked on top of his head and a flexible layer of mail coats his small figure. The limbs of a polished bow gleam in the cavern's dim light, and a pair of oaken shafts now protrude from the skull of the unfortunate victim.
"What are you doing here?" you growl, in the politest voice a pissed-off twelve year-old can muster.
"I would assume it to be obvious that I'm training." The reply is blunt and business-like, totally different from the mouth of the child it comes from. "Is that such a heinous crime?"
"If you're in my area, then yes."
"Really? I wasn't aware that this was your area- or anyone else's, for that matter." The bowman shrugs, his tone farce. "Unless, of course, you're a real estate developer annexing this land for future development, which I doubt you want given the volume of traffic and proximity to monsters…"
Sheesh. He's a damn comedian, too. Trying to resist the overwhelming urge to run over there and teach him a lesson, you keep your tone as temperate and as even as possible. "Let's see if your battle skills are as sharp as your sarcasm, kid." Ironic, considering he's only a year younger than you are, and you're twelve, but you don't think of that now. As more monsters venture out from the shadows, you clutch your spear in hand and ready an attack. "Slash Blast!"
The spear rends through the enemies like butter, its trail barely visible in the cavern's twilight, and the corpses of several monsters lie inert at your feet. "Beat that."
He merely shrugs and fixes his gaze upon you, his eyes a deadly cobalt-blue, and nocks a pair of arrows to the string of his bow. "Double Shot!"
The arrows spring forth from his fist like light, ripping through a pair of mushrooms with inhuman speed, so fast that you can't even see the shafts as they fly through the air; you can only see the monsters falling backward as though struck by lightning. Undeterred, the projectiles continue on, impaling a row of lizards where they stand like a grotesque shish kebab.
With lightning precision, he draws three arrows from his quiver and fires them across the seemingly-empty cavern in rapid succession. There are dim sounds of flesh being pierced as the arrows strike their targets, targets he can't even see but knows are there.
For the first time in your life, you can sense the staggering power that stands before you. You know that this bowman is unlike the rest; his abilities have been sharpened to that of someone twice his age, and he will snipe down the monsters faster than you can draw your own weapon with a flick of his wrist.
For the first time in your life, you fear.
He brushes some errant hair from his eyes; his lightning gaze cuts into you like a knife. "You seem to need more training, though, so I'll leave you alone." His tone is biting, yet soft, and it teeters almost on the edge of pity.
Anger and indignation slowly melts into a pit of forlorn despair before boiling into one thing: a frenzied desire to be better. To train harder, to kill or be killed. The burning sensation of animosity conflicting with the desperate need for guidance.
After what seems like decades, you hold out your hand.
"My name's Keiga Seles." The words tumble out a little too quickly, as if you are ashamed of them.
The bowman's gaze lingers on you for a few uncomfortable moments, and then you feel warm fingers grasp your own and begin to shake.
"My name's Rathias Gardner."
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As the days, weeks, months and years pass by, it all seems a indistinguishable mess in your mind. Years from now, you look back upon those halcyon days untainted by love, sacrifice, and death, but childhood memories seem to elude you.
You only remember fragments.
You remember Rathias inviting you over for a play date- well, monster slaughterfest would be a more appropriate term. He was 12, and you 13.
You remember the sight of Rathias' house. He and his family lived in a modest cottage on the outskirts of Henesys. The roof was glazed and tiled, the walls neat and whitewashed.
You silently walk in, your footsteps echoing across the hardwood floors as your eyes take in the sight. The home is small, but comfortable. Small pictures and other decorative trinkets line the walls. A fireplace rests in the west corner of the living room, a sofa in the east. The kitchen doubles as a dining room, and upstairs isn't much more grand.
You remember both of Rathias' parents are bowmen. You know they might have been famous at one point, but you don't seem to remember Mr. or Mrs. Gardner launching into heroic tales of gallantry that day.
Just fragments.
You remember Rathias had a sister. She was three at the time, you believe. She was one of the most beautiful things you had ever laid eyes upon, so perfect and untarnished by the world. She had wide chocolate-colored eyes that seemed to glimmer in the light, and a luxurious head of light brown hair that dipped near her waist.
"I don't think she'll ever cut her hair." Rathias says, his eyes staring at his sister with a mixture of amusement and brotherly affection. "She starts raising hell whenever anyone gets within ten yards of her with scissors."
You don't remember her name. You do know it started with the letter 'A', something along the lines of Ariel or Adrienne or whatever cute girls are typically named, a name which you once knew and no longer do.
You know that once upon a happier time, Rathias Gardner had a younger sister.
You remember her voice. "Kai-ga." she says innocently, her three year-old tongue slipping over your name. "Are you a warrior?"
Before you can articulate a reply, Rathias pulls you away. "Don't." he warns, in a tone of mock fear. "Talk to her and she'll start spouting off like a machine gun. If you're not careful, she'll be asking you where babies come from or something…"
"Where do babies come from, anyway?" you ask curiously.
Rathias' face goes slack for a moment before he wordlessly shoves you out the door, and the next thing you know, you're beating down creepy-crawlies in the Ant Tunnel, 5,000 mesos hanging over who can reach the coveted first job advancement first.
You remember that when she was four, Rathias Gardner's younger sister died of pneumonia.
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He never talked about her for the rest of his life. It was as if she had never existed from that point on, and gradually, her name, her identity, slips from your memories like melting ice.
He didn't write about her death in his diary. You know, because you've read it, and post AB 2180, there is no mention about his sister whatsoever.
You try to breach the subject several times, but the words seem to die in your mouth, leaving a bitter taste behind. On those rare, painful occasions when you do mention her as an afterthought, his face goes rigid before he pretends not to have heard.
Rathias Gardner is a master of apathy, of showing only the emotions he wants to show.
The days following your inauguration as Spearman at last are rather hazy and indifferent. You remember moving from the Ant Tunnel to the Dangerous Valleys of Perion to hunt fire boars, and then, gradually, Copper Drakes.
Fragments.
You remember being fourteen years old, and being level 40. You remember the helm of tempered mithril on your head, the plates of armor draped across your body, and the twin-pronged spear that rested across your back, ready to strike down monsters at a moment's notice.
You remember Rathias, wearing a Dark Distinction on top of his amber hair, its sleek look granting him an almost invulnerable-like appearance. He wears a black-shaded Piette coat, its buckles glinting in the sunlight, and a pair of matching pants. A cape of deep blue rests across his back, as does his quiver. The metallic handle and limbs of a Vaulter 2000 bow rest clutched in his palm.
You remember charging first into the fray with a roar of "Slash Blast!" The strike arte quickly forms a group of glittering crimson orbs that immediately coalesce into a single burst of energy. The spear flashes through the air with deadly speed before the bodies of several fire boars lie motionless around you.
The follow-up power of the technique suffuses you, and your palm glowing with orange energy, you thrust the lance forward. "Final Attack!"
The satisfying release of pent-up energy washes over you as the spear charges forward, striking a Copper Drake with an explosion-like impact. It hangs, impaled, for a moment upon the spear before its bloodied body drops to the ground.
You quickly kneel over the beast's body and pull a small field dagger from your belt, cutting aside the leathery patch of scales and skin on the belly, and expose the quivering muscle inside. Ignoring the fierce stench, you carefully eviscerate the dragon's insides, pulling several taut strings from its chest.
"These should last you a while." you call to Rathias, who is silently sniping away at the unfortunate boars with Double Shot and Arrow Bomb in quick succession.
"Thanks." he mutters, his voice barely intelligible through the heat and dust. Wiping sweat from your forehead, you decide to take a rest and briefly seat yourself underneath the shade of a cliff, enjoying the brief respite from the heat as you quaff down a bottle of water.
Rathias does not enjoy that luxury, his cobalt-blue eyes darting across the landscape for any signs of life. Woe to the monster that dares stick its head out, for in the next minute, an arrow is neatly sent through its skull.
His determination and drive rivals that of yours as he brings down countless hordes of monsters in hopes of reaching another level or two with each passing day. His training regimen is even more strenuous than yours, unbelievable as it may seem- he trains nine hours every day. You, only seven or eight. Clearly, he must have some sort of motivation to keep up his current drive- anyone else would easily have died of exhaustion under such harsh conditions.
You like to think he fights for the memory of his sister, watching her big brother from the skies above. She is eternally in his thoughts as he unleashes more and more arrows, each one hitting its mark with a dull thud as blood stains the dusty grounds of Perion.
At least, that's what you want to think- in reality, Rathias' thoughts and motives are impossible to read. You've known that from three years of his company.
Above you, he shouts, "Final Attack!"
There is a blazing burst of orange-white light that momentarily eclipses the sun in its wake, a scream of pain, and then a large explosion. The impact shakes pebbles onto your head from the cliff above; it is as though somebody fired the equivalent of ten Arrow Bombs into the valley at once.
You seize ahold of a rope and pull yourselves up to the ledge. The smoking remains of several drakes and boars are scattered across the blackened stone, the smell of burning flesh in the air. You turn your attention to Rathias, hunched over the ground as his bow lies forgotten on the stone. As you approach, you force yourself to hold down the gag reflex; there is a scorch mark running up the length of his arm, the flesh burned a ghastly white. Clear fluid oozes from the wound, a foul odor accompanying it.
"What the bloody hell happened?!" you scream at him, examining the injury against your will.
"Damned if I know, Keiga." Rathias grunts, turning his face away. "I lost concentration for a moment. That's all."
Without speaking, you pull a handkerchief from your pocket and roughly staunch the wound. Rathias' face winces briefly in pain. "I'll take you home. You need to rest-"
"No!" Rathias snaps, jerking his arm away. "Just bring me to Perion. I'll rest there." He turns away and plucks his bow from the ground, sliding it into his quiver, and climbs painstakingly down the rope, shuffling himself down an inch at a time as he clings to the rope with one hand and his feet.
You stare in flabbergasted wonder at him- even after he practically gets his arm blown up, the little bastard still wants to put in his nine hours of training? At this rate, he'll catch up to you in no time.
There is a soft thud as Rathias drops from the rope and alights himself on his feet, setting off towards the dungeon exit at a brisk pace. Reluctantly, you follow him- you'd like to squeeze in an extra hour of training, but leaving a one-armed bowman by himself in the middle of drake country isn't such a great idea, either.
The gate of Perion is within sight now, and with a sigh of relief you heave yourself across it. Without pausing, Rathias walks towards the local apothecary, but a sudden shout changes your life forever.
"Hey, Ratty!"
You see Rathias freeze, his face going as pale as his arm, and standing in the doorway of the potion shop is possibly the most beautiful creature you've ever seen (except perhaps Rathias' sister, but everyone looks so adorable when they're three years old).
About half of her long, blonde hair is bound up in a ponytail that hangs behind her back to her waist, shining in the sunlight. The rest of her hair dangles in bangs from her head to her shoulders, lending her a look that is cute and elegant at the same time. She wears a white-colored Piettra coat and skirt, the ivory shades of her dress standing out in your eyes. A Red Viper is slung across her back, the fangs of the bow glinting in the sun. Crescent-shaped studs of sapphire dangle from her ears.
"Hey, Annie." Rathias' tone is listless, his voice somewhat wry. "What, may I ask, are you doing in the city of Perion this time of year?"
"I would've asked you the same thing." she replies coolly, barely casting a glance at his arm. "Still practicing Final Attack, I see."
"So I am." Rathias replies, in the same placid tone. Your eyes rest only on her, however.
"Ratty, if you keep on at the pace you're going, you'll end up committing suicide." she says, in a falsely sweet tone. "And we wouldn't want that, would we?"
Rathias forces a smile. "No, we wouldn't." he replies, his face painstakingly arranged in an expression of modest amusement. "Not especially when there are several daunting, fair maidens such as yourself to keep me company…"
The girl's smile immediately becomes sour. "Oh, boo," she mutters, waving her hand airily at him before her eyes fall onto you, and you can hear your heart screaming in your ribcage.
"Who's that?" she asked curiously, waving a beautiful hand in your direction.
Rathias' eyes flicker towards you before they come back towards the girl. "That…" he says, carefully, "…is an acquaintance of mine."
"Your acquaintance is pretty hot." she giggles, at which Rathias rolls his eyes and your cheeks flush a deep cherry-red.
She pretends not to notice your reaction. "I should really be going then. See you some time, Ratty." she says as she walks past Rathias' cool stare. "And you, too." she whispers, as she passes you.
Your eyes follow her until she disappears into the dungeon, at which point you round on your companion. "Who's that?" you demand, pointing a finger in the direction she just left.
"That was my classmate in Henesys, Arianna Castelia." Rathias says, folding his arms across his chest. "She is possibly the most troublesome vixen this world has ever seen."
"She's beautiful." you say, not really listening, and Rathias slaps his uninjured hand to his forehead in exasperation before retreating into the apothecary.
As his footsteps fade from your hearing, you can only stare into the distance where Arianna has left, her beautiful body and her voice still beckoning to your fourteen-year old senses.
All fragments.
-----
That day, you make inquiries, ask a few people, and you discover that Arianna Castelia is a resident of Henesys, that she lives on 801 Victoria Lane just a few blocks away from Rathias' house. Every morning, you make it a habit to hang outside her door for a few minutes before heading off to Perion with Rathias.
You never knock on the door, and she never answers.
The time flows from there, and you and Rathias quickly graduate from the scorched valleys of Perion to the lush woods of Henesys, where you can content yourselves with shooting and stabbing at the Stone Golems that frequently inhabit the Henesys dungeon.
Nothing has changed much, you think. Rathias has traded in his Piette and Vaulter 2000 for a Kismet robe and an Olympus, and you can now strut around in your Shouldermail with your brand-new Serpent's Tongue, but you are still the same.
Just two Final Attack prodigies trying to make a name for themselves in the chaotic world of Bera.
"Double Shot!" Rathias commands, sending two spectral arrows flying from his bow into the head of a nearby Stone Golem, where it instantly crumbles to rubble. Drawing back the string for a second release, he commands, "Final Attack!"
The burst of volatile energy forms in his hands before shooting forward with a brilliant flash of light, and there is a loud explosion as the rubble of several golems is violently strewn about the landscape.
Truthfully, Rathias doesn't need Final Attack. His accuracy, dexterity, and technique are sharpened to the point that he can inflict several times the damage that anyone else his level could with a single strike arte. Yet still, he practices that forbidden technique, going where only Athena Pierce herself has gone in the realms of bow mastery, in a single-minded frenzy to become the greatest bowman upon Bera.
You still don't know Rathias' reasons for pushing himself so far. He may only be fifteen, but he starts to act like somebody twice his age the more you see him these days, subjecting himself to the most intense of routines.
Charging forward, you bellow, "Power Strike!", driving the crimson blade of your lance through the nearest golem. The impact rattles the bones in your hand as the stone cracks from sheer force, rending it into several inert pieces. Rushing forward with pent-up energy, you raise the spear over your head and roar, "Final Attack!"
The spear glows orange with energy, and a gust of wind rushes into your face as an explosive noise rocks your ears. When the dust clears, the golem is no more, reduced to several pebbles and stones scattered about the grass.
Above you, Rathias shouts, "Final Attack!"
You can see orange sparks flying from his arms and bow as he readies the technique, a look of determination in his lightning-blue eyes, and then suddenly, the ground explodes underneath him.
Rathias flies limply through the air like a rag doll, his body spinning like a corkscrew until it hit's the grass with a thud, his face and arms bloody. His arm and even part of his shoulder has taken the brunt of the recoil, the fabric of his robe burnt away. The flesh is burned a garish white, and you are forcibly reminded of the previous episode when Rathias' Final Attack misfired.
"I see what Arianna meant," you mutter, while pouring potion on his arm to soothe the wound as much as you can, "you are going to kill yourself someday."
Rathias winces briefly as the potion's antiseptic properties soak through his burnt limb; with a magnificent effort, he sits up and spits dirt from his mouth. "Just a minor setback." he grunts, reaching for his bow.
You force him back onto the ground. "It's always a minor setback, Rathias! Always a lack of concentration! Why the hell do you even bother? You'll be dead before you become a Ranger at this rate! Why are you even pushing yourself this far?" The questions fly from your mouth like machine gun bullets, and you make no move to stop yourself.
His iridescent pupils flash briefly, and Rathias seizes ahold of your arm with surprising strength, using the uninjured fingers of his left hand. "I practice Final Attack for the same reasons you do, Keiga. So I can become Bera's greatest bowmaster."
"I'm not killing myself with every bloody strike arte I cast!" you roar, trying to keep him on the ground. Despite your immense strength as a spearman, Rathias, surprisingly, has enough power in his left arm to put up a good fight.
He finally gives up, his body slumping against the soft grass of Golem's Temple. "Maybe." he whispers, his cobalt-blue eyes staring up into the sky. "But that's because you're a warrior, Keiga. You have more endurance and stamina than I do. That's the whole reason why warriors invented Final Attack in the first place-"
You stay silent, loosening your vicegrip on his arm. Your fingers leave brilliant marks of crimson on his wrist.
"-and I can't reach the top if I don't master it." Rathias is speaking more to himself than to you now, his voice rather pensive. "I have to, no matter the cost. If Athena could do it, then there's no reason I shouldn't be able to."
"Athena is an elf, mate," you mutter, "and her ancestors practically invented archery. You're just a lowly human, and your tolerance for unstable magic isn't as good-"
For some reason, Rathias seems to take umbrage at the comment, and with a surprising burst of strength he pushes you off him and staggers to his feet, his bow slung over his back as he resolutely marches off towards Henesys.
You dimly remember that at the time, Rathias was beginning to grow a ponytail.
-----
You remember visiting Perion.
The dry coolness of the night suffuses you as your footsteps echo across the dusty ground, the large Holy Spear you recently acquired bouncing against your back rhythmically in time to your steps. Henesys may be your temporary retreat, but Perion is your home.
You climb the ropes that serve as the lone means of transporting yourself up the cliffs that make up the city, and soon find yourself in front of the great door of the Perion Guard Academy. It is here that you first learned the arts of a spearman, learned the intricacies of Final Attack, and continue to attend and hone your fighting abilities when summer ends and term begins.
You push open the doors and wince as a storm of greeting reaches your ears. By now, you've amassed quite a reputation for your proficiency with Final Attack, and everyone- teachers and students alike- seem to fawn over you. It's a rather dubious fact that any of the girls enrolled in the academy would probably give a fortune to sleep with you, but for once in your life, you honestly don't care.
All you can remember is the sound of her beautiful voice, the drift of her beautiful hair, and the door you see every morning but never open.
The scent of food permeates the air, and you realize that it's dinner time- quickly, you direct yourself towards the dining hall. Your eyes scan the long rows of tables in the dining hall and you seat yourself in your usual position, between your two classmates and your only friends in the world save for Rathias Gardner.
"So, what'd you do over the summer, Keiga?"
Avelyn Blade's voice reaches your ears as you turn towards her. It's also a rather dubious fact for her that any of the boys in the school would give a fortune to sleep with her, but like any strong-willed girl, she brushes them all off like flies at a picnic. Strangely enough, during the years that you've known her, you've never really thought of her as a female- just another person determined to become a top-tier warrior, and who also happens to have extremely long hair.
"Not much, besides training my ass off." you mutter, as you help yourself to bread. "How'd it go with Wolfie?"
Rafael Wolfen is Avelyn's so-called "unofficial boyfriend", despite the fact that the two have been meeting each other practically every other day and have even shared kisses on more than one occasion, some of which you were unfortunate enough to bear witness to. Rafael is the last person one would except Avelyn to fall in love with- he's a magician, a priest, and although you've heard stories about his magical abilities, his financial state is rather poor. Given that Avelyn comes from a very well-to-do family in Perion, you can imagine the problems that would cause.
"Stop calling him that." she snaps, slapping you on the back. "We talked about plans for the future."
"Ready the rice cannons, then," Dracon says from across the table, and Avelyn shoots him a glare as you chuckle under a mouth full of salad. Despite the fact that Dracon is older than you or Avelyn, he's a crusader, and apparently a very powerful one at that. People tend to speak of you and Dracon as the "two greatest warriors that ever roamed this earth", although, to your chagrin, they usually put Dracon's name first.
Pretending not to notice Avelyn's expression, Dracon calmly sips his water and looks at you with calm, forbidding eyes, his silver hair trailing past his shoulders. "Well, did anything interesting happen to you these precious months, Keiga?" he asks, tapping his fingers against the table.
"Well," you say, chewing on the tip of your tongue, "I, er, found a girl…"
You realize this is the wrong thing to say, as Avelyn's eyes widen and Dracon looks somewhat amused. Quickly, the former seizes your arm. "Who is it?" she whispers, her voice suddenly sounding much more interested. "Is it someone we know? How old is she? Is she hot?"
"Stop making such a big deal out of it." you snap sullenly, as Avelyn returns somewhat dismayed to her seat. "I've only seen her. For that matter, I don't think I've even talked to her for practically a year or two-"
"Ah, well then, that doesn't count." Dracon says neatly, as he rests his palm on the table. "It is a shame, though, because with my courting of Ceil, and Avelyn having chosen Rafael, the poor girl, you'll soon be the only person amongst us who hasn't been hitched yet."
Both you and Avelyn flush, as you mutter, "Shut up, Dracon. Anyway, she's in Henesys, and she's a bowman. She happens to be a classmate of Rathias Gardner's."
"Well, I don't think you'll have any trouble." Avelyn says, disinterestedly picking at her dessert with a fork. "Bowmen girls love to get hitched with warrior guys, especially somebody as famous and buff as you."
Your cheeks turn slightly pink, and to change the subject, you mutter, "How long until crusader?"
"Ah, I'd have to say eight or nine more levels." Avelyn responds, her hand resting at her elegantly embroidered sword-sheath. "You?"
"Three." you say flatly, having lost all appetite. "I've got to leave now-"
"You might want to bring some flowers with you, Keiga." Dracon calls from behind, and your ears turn a brilliant pink as you hear Avelyn and Dracon chuckling behind you.
You march out of the hall and into the starlit Perion night, resting yourself upon the stone ledge of a nearby cliff and wishing she could be here to share it with you.
"…Keiga Seles?"
Your head spins around before you can even think, and as if you were in a dream, Arianna is standing there, in all her elegant beauty. Her hair billows gently behind her as she stares past you and into the sky, and for a moment, you remember time has frozen.
She's changed since the last time you saw her. Her figure is taller, more elegant, and her body (especially her chest and behind) is much more defined now, but she's still retained that child-like expression upon her face, as though she is trapped in that wondrous stage of life between a girl and a woman.
"What are you doing here?" you find the courage to ask. You notice she's wearing an elegant flower-embroidered gown, a ribbon tied around her waist, an Asianic Bow neatly resting in its quiver upon her back.
"I…well, Rathias told me you attended the Perion Guard Academy." she says, a faint stutter in her voice.
You blink. So Rathias was in on this? Did he know how you feel about her?- with a sudden jolt, the possibility hangs above your head. In your entire life, you've learned not to try and put anything past Rathias Gardner.
Seeing the look on your face, she responds in kind. "It's not anything like that, Keiga." she says, her voice like flower petals on the wind. "Since we first met, I wanted to know more about you, so I asked Rathias where you lived. He didn't beg me to kneel at your feet or anything…although, come to think of it, he was particularly eager to disclose your address." she finished, in a slightly ominous tone.
"Well, that'll teach me not to trust Ratty- I mean, Rathias with my personal information." you say. You intend the remark as a joke, but it comes out somewhat weak and lame. Nevertheless, she giggles, if only out of pity.
"You call him 'Ratty', too?" she giggles, putting a hand to her cheek. "That was so long ago…I almost forgot all about that until you brought it up."
"Why'd you call him Ratty?" you ask, half out of curiosity, half out of a desire to talk some more with her, to make up for all the days you were too afraid to knock upon her door.
"Well, you know, before he started growing that ponytail, his hair was kinda short." Arianna giggles some more, her bubbly personality suffusing you as she talks. "And, you know, it kind of reminded me of a mouse, so one day, I just called him 'Ratty' and it stuck." Her giggling gradually subsides into a faint smile. "Of course, he was still able to kick everyone's ass when it came to the practical exams in Henesys…but still, it was funny while it lasted."
Despite yourself, you smile, glad to have something to hang over Rathias' head for the rest of his life. "I see. Did you know him well?" you ask, in a vain attempt to make conversation.
Arianna's smile fades. "Not really. You know, he was just a normal kid back then-"
"I met him when he was eleven," you cut in, "at the Ant Tunnel. And he was- well, by Goddess, he was bloody amazing. I couldn't get a single hit off him. It was like he was already a ranger or something, when I met him-"
You fall silent as Arianna smiles- making her happy is enough to silence you for the rest of your life. "I know." she whispers, softly. "Ever since I knew him, he was determined to be the best bowman in Bera. You know, he first started using a bow when he was four-"
"No way." you whisper, purely out of amazement.
Arianna nods and continues. "-and he became a bowman when he was eight, three years earlier than normal, and he was hitting bull's eyes consistently when he was nine." She sucks in her breath. "You know, that was when his sister was born."
"Really?" you say, interested in both her beauty and Rathias' past.
She nods, quietly. "When his sister died, he wasn't quite the same." she whispered. "He talked less, joked less…and basically, he became the stereotypical silent prodigy that everyone envies, but would never want to be." She exhales deeply, her breath almost visible in the air. "He started training seven, eight hours a day." she says, dabbing at her eye with a finger. "Now, he does ten."
You nod politely while secretly boiling with dismay. Ten hours? Even at the peak of your practice, you only do eight at most.
"Well, I wouldn't envy him now." she says finally, brushing some of her hair out of her eyes. "He's going to be a ranger soon, and everyone's preparing for it like it's a national holiday or something. Athena practically worships him. I heard her say she might send him to Zakum."
"That'd be a nice thought." you say, and she laughs. "So, what about you?" she asks, her eyes interestedly directed at you. "I heard you're a pretty good spearman from what everybody in Perion has been saying about you…"
The rest of the night flies by in a blur. You don't remember what you said or did in the next few minutes or hours. You do remember Arianna's beautiful face as it interestedly listened to your words, as though it were the center of the universe itself.
Most of all, you remember her face as it pressed against yours for your first kiss.
You remember that she gives you a small present. Earrings, to be exact- a pair of blue moons, glinting in the starlight. They're far past your current level, but you take them because they're the same ones she wore when you first saw her.
You don't remember where you put the earrings, but it's just as well.
She never got a chance to ask.
-----
Strangely enough, if there is one thing you cannot remember more firmly than anything else in your life, it is the story of what happened on your third-job advancement.
You remember fragments.
You remember standing on the frozen ground in the Forest of Dead Trees, lunging forward with your Holy Spear as you sent another zombie to the afterlife. You remember the surge of power that flowed through your veins as you finally rested with the knowledge that you were level 70, that you could be a Dragon Knight at last.
You remember accompanying an excited, jumpy (and probably over-caffeinated) Rathias to the Henesys Free Market, trying to find bargains for him so he wouldn't break himself trying to get a decent Hinkel. You do remember that he bought a good one, a gold-colored model with a fair amount of scrolls to its name, but you don't remember how much he (and you) paid for it.
You remember sitting in front of Athena and Sitting Bull while they continued to tell you and Rathias how talented you were, how far you've advanced with Final Attack, and what a great Ranger/Dragon Knight you were going to be. You remember hearing that as part of your test, you were going to have to go to Zakum Dungeon.
You don't remember whether you were astonished, angry, scared, excited, or perhaps a mixture of all four. All you can remember is that this was it- that this was a matter of life and death. Succeed, and you would be hailed as the greatest hero of all time. Fail, and, well- at least there would be a good eulogy in the making.
You remember Rathias coming to your house in Perion, probably the first time he's ever done so. You don't know how he got ahold of your address, but that's not important- he probably lifted it off Arianna. You remember he showed up at your doorstep at midnight, just before the great day.
He brought books, mostly ranger's texts. Apparently, he'd scrounged up everything ever written about the history of archery and brought it here for a late-night study session. Bowstring techniques, arrow velocity, and mana control- nothing was missed. He also, you note, brought a small book on Final Attack. You note, however, that it is for warriors.
"This won't work." you state flatly as Rathias' bloodshot eyes pore over another page of mana mechanics. "That book was written by warriors and designed for warriors. It's designed for someone with maybe twice as much mana tolerance as you, and you can't afford to get your arm blown up again, not when you're facing probably the biggest goddamn insane statue ever created in the history of the world."
Rathias does not laugh when you present your sarcasm. He merely gets up and pours himself his third cup of coffee from the nearby pot. He adds sugar haphazardly, shaking the small porcelain bowl erratically, and reaches into the drawer for a teaspoon. Finding none, he dunks a butter knife into his mug and stirs the dark caffeinated beverage vigorously, draining about half of it in one gulp.
You shake your head, strands of disheveled auburn hair flying into your face, and give up from trying to dissuade him any further. Rathias Gardner is your best friend, but it would be useless trying to convince him not to do something when he's already set his mind on it. His previous mishaps with Final Attack have proved that.
As if on cue, the door opens, and at one in the morning, there's no one but Arianna Castelia at your door. You notice that instead of her usual clothing, she's clothed in what looks like a nightgown.
"Hey, Rathias." she says, who acknowledges her presence with a brief nod before returning to kairn theory. "Hey, Keiga."
You lift your eyes up towards her, and you see her as you've never seen her before. Previously, she always looked so elegant, so prepared. Now, in her current state, her hair is disheveled, her eyes are bloodshot, and she's wearing clothing that she obviously would never have dared to appear in before you- but in its own way, that only makes her all the more attractive.
"I…I heard you're going off to Zakum tomorrow." she says, speaking more to you than Rathias now.
Rathias removes the butter knife from his coffee and drains it in a single gulp. "Yes." he mutters thickly, his eyes flitting across the minute text in front of him.
"It's…It's going to be really dangerous." she whispers, totally ignoring Rathias' presence. Her eyes are only on you.
"Athena's already acknowledged that." Rathias says, his amber hair splayed across his forehead as his ponytail hangs behind the back of his chair.
"Look, I don't want to go." you say, staring into Arianna's eyes. "But I…you know, I have to. I guess I've been asking for it the whole time, practicing Final Attack as hard as I've done, and conveniently being best friends with this bastard."
Rathias, as inebriated upon caffeine as he is, does not notice the insult, and continues studying. You hear Arianna's footsteps, and you suddenly realize she is very close to you.
You remember the smell of her hair and the contour of her body as she pressed against you.
"I want to talk to you in private." she whispers, her voice unheard by any except you.
As though fate has put wings on your feet, she takes your hand and leads you upstairs, going into your room. The shelves are lined with books and awards from years long past; the sky is a piercing black interrupted by only some faint stars and the crescent moon.
"Keiga," she whispers, her voice the only sign of life in the moonlit room. Her tone has acquired a strange quality, almost as if she is afraid of something. "I…I…"
Without waiting for her to finish, you obey your instincts and embrace her, sinking into her as the moonlit night washes over you.
You remember breathing, both yours and hers. You remember gasps, cries, whispers all unique in their own way. You remember exhaustion, as it presses upon you with every passing minute. You remember clutching her close and crying her name as you became one with her, remembering brilliance, heat, passion, and the pure joy of life itself.
In the end, however, you've really remembered nothing except fragments.
-----
Oddly enough, you don't remember Zakum.
You remember in pulses- brilliant flashes of light, searing magma, bursts of magic, explosions of golden flame, cries of "Final Attack!", flying statues, and above all, fighting, fighting to survive.
You remember Rathias seizing your arm, remember shouting "Final Attack!" one last time, remember searing, unbearable pain, and the next thing you know, you're lying in a bed in Henesys.
You remember seeing Rathias in the bed next to you. His right arm is a gigantic wrapped mass of white, looking like the result of experimental surgery gone wrong. It is supported limply in the air by a hanging mechanism attached above his bed. His eyes are closed, his body unmoving. He isn't breathing. An oxygen mask is over his mouth. You remember Athena clutching her student's hand and crying her eyes out, wailing her regrets to all the gods and goddesses in the sky above.
You remember Avelyn and Dracon, sitting silently next to you as their eyes lay riveted on your unmoving figure. You can hear Avelyn's soft crying and Dracon's rather regretful voice, talking to you, speaking words that you can hear but can't understand.
You remember that you are alive, that you are a Dragon Knight, and that is all that matters. Your childhood dream, the fantasy which for so long has been unattainable, is reality at last.
You try and sit up, but wince as pain from your aching body forces you back down. You remember Avelyn holding you down as Dracon pours something bitter and hot down your mouth, and then the pain is quickly dulled to a soft throbbing sensation, as your throat burns.
Behind Avelyn and Dracon, you can see a third figure, with blonde hair, and you don't need to think to know who it is. She is already firmly in your thoughts from the night several days before.
She speaks, and Avelyn and Dracon quietly bow and leave, and you remember you are left alone with her, as she tenderly cradles your hand in hers.
You remember everything about that one moment: the whitewashed halls of the infirmary, the ticking of the clock on the wall, the soft thrum of the IV machine pumping painkillers into your arm, the sad gaze of her eyes, and above all, the soft whisper of her voice when she told you she was pregnant.
-----
The weeks and months pass by, and they are at once the best and worst times of your life.
You know that with Arianna's pregnancy, she's been disowned by her family. You have to provide for her and support her- and you aren't even married yet. However, you humbly accept the burden knowing it is the price you must pay for a night of pure exultation and pleasure.
Rathias is practicing physiotherapy. As a result of his going overboard with Final Attack at Zakum, the nerves in his arm were practically obliterated, almost beyond repair. However, as it turns out, 'almost' is the key word in that sentence.
You remember seeing him practice daily with Athena, staring down at the piece of flesh attached to his shoulder that used to be his arm. You see him struggling to move his wrist, see him striving to repair the broken nerves that once used to snap bowstrings with unrivaled ferocity. You see him using all his strength training himself to do something that he could have done without thinking just several months ago.
For the first time in your life, you feel pity.
You continue to practice your abilities as a Dragon Knight, embracing the new artes you must study with a passion. Dragon Buster, Dragon Fury, Dragon's Blood, Dragon's Roar…every technique you use tells you that you are a Dragon Knight at last. Your spear swings through the air with unrivaled force and speed, decapitating fire drakes at a rate that makes others stare in flabbergasted wonder. And you still practice Final Attack, striving above all to master a precious third release.
Through it all, Arianna's belly continues to bulge, growing from the child inside her.
You reassure her, tell her that you will be close by. Despite yourself, you know you have already forced her to become a mother at such a young age- it is your duty to guard her, protect her, and care for her, and you do so without regret. You know you would train much faster if you went to El Nath to fight zombies, but you must stay close by for her sake, and for the child's sake.
Months later, you remember her telling you that it will be a boy. You remember the feeling of elation that shoots up every vein in your body and leaves a warm sensation in your heart, the fact that you will have an heir to carry on your legacy.
Months later, you remember that Rathias' arm has healed. Not surprisingly, he set himself on a fierce training spurt soon after Athena declared his arm officially in working order. Despite your protests, you find him shouting "Strafe!", "Inferno!", and "Arrow Rain!" almost daily. Once, you tell him to shut up, lest he renders the baby mentally deranged.
Months later, you remember her sharp, piercing cries of pain as she lies helplessly on the bed, giving birth to your son.
-----
You remember everything about her death.
You find it strange that the only things you remember clearly are the things you don't want to.
She awakes in the middle of the night, letting out a scream that must have awakened the entire city, and shakes you awake. Hard. She even punches you in the chest just to wake you up.
You hear her crying, shouting, and swearing as she staggers onto the bed, screaming at you to call a doctor lest you risk immediate decapitation at her hands. You do so, notifying the local doctors, then Rathias.
Rathias arrives first, his ponytail billowing behind him as sweat drenches his forehead. You know he isn't pleased about being awakened at three in the morning after ten hours of strenuous training, but he does not make any sign of discontent save for collapsing into a chair near Arianna's bed and reassuring her that everything will be all right.
You remember that Rathias is an expert at lying.
The doctors arrive soon after and examine Arianna, and pronounce (unhelpfully) that she is giving birth, as if everybody else in the house, least of all the expectant mother herself, didn't know. Quickly, the doctors shoo Rathias out of the room, and you as well, but when you explain that you're the father, they give in.
You've never attended a childbirth before and it pains you to see your beloved writhing and crying in so much pain below. You feel undeniably selfish, knowing that the immense pleasure she gave you nine months ago led to her unbearable suffering now. You feel as though you would give the world to take her pain for her, but you can't.
All you can do is grab her hand and feel the rhythmic pulse of her body, knowing that each beat is a sign she is alive, at least for one more second.
You know the baby is coming when Arianna screams loud enough to break glass, and sure enough, you can hear the doctors exclaiming in surprise as they examine her under the sheets. The doctors are telling her to push, relax, breathe, in and out, fragments of conversation slipping in and out of your memories.
You know something is wrong when her eyes suddenly freeze, bulging from her head, staring up at you. You can hear the doctors exclaiming in distress, and ignoring their cries to keep away from her, you lift up the blanket and look at the baby.
You wish you hadn't.
You see the bloody outline of your son's large head and his left shoulder wedged tightly in Arianna's opening, stretching her to indescribably painful proportions. You see her legs flailing as she struggles, trying to push him out. You can see that your son's shoulder is wedged between his head and his mother's womb, shutting off his air supply. You know that if he doesn't get out soon, he'll suffocate.
The doctors deliberate quickly, decisively, acting more like a single machine than a group of humans. Quickly, one of them gives a nod, and then he raises a scalpel into the air, its edge flashing in the moonlight-
You can't bear to see anymore. You grip ahold of Arianna's hand as her fingers clench tightly around yours, so tight it hurts, and each of her unbearable cries of pain hurts you as though you were the one being cut open. You can hear grotesque noises as the doctors work furiously upon her.
Some time between that moment and the next one, you can hear her screaming stop abruptly. You can hear the sound of weak crying resounding through the air.
Slowly, you open your eyes, and gaze at Arianna and your son. You can't see the carnage that her lower body has become- the doctors have draped a blood-soaked blanket over her. You see her eyes in him, beautiful orbs of soft, sweet blue, and you remember the day you first met.
You remember her voice, soft and piteous to the very end.
"His…name…is…Aslan." she whispers weakly, each word requiring all of her strength to utter. "Take…good…care…of…him…Keiga…"
You feel her hand slacken in your own, and you know she will never be able to look upon her son again.
The doctors are wordless. There is nothing more they can say. Slowly, you pick up the bloodstained bundle from Arianna's limp arms and carry it outside, where Rathias is waiting.
Rathias raises an eyebrow as you emerge from the room with the bloody mess in your arms. His cobalt-blue eyes briefly pass over the baby before his face becomes deathly serious.
"Who is going to take care of him?" he says, each syllable hitting you like hammer-blows.
You mutter a feeble reply, and Rathias cuts into you with his next sentence.
"You can't take care of him, Keiga." he says, as he lays a hand on your shoulder and turns away, leaving the room. His words are not spoken with a malicious air, but rather simply restating the plain truth. Even as you struggle with a half-hearted retort, you know in the back of your head that he is right.
Slowly, your eyes flicker to the crying bundle in your arms. You gaze upon it; its head is bloody, its newborn cheeks stained with saline tears. You realize that you are holding the being that has killed your beloved Arianna in your hands.
Your gaze flutters to his left arm, and you taste bile as you gaze upon it. His arm is crushed, rendered useless by being deprived of oxygen during childbirth. It flops uselessly from his small shoulder like a piece of spaghetti, reminding you forcibly of Rathias, and you force yourself to close your eyes.
After everything, your beloved is gone and your son is maimed, by forces you cannot control.
You tighten your grip on the bundle in your arms, gently patting it.
Eventually, it stops crying.
-----
You remember Kain Marron's astonished face as you present him with the crying infant in your arms.
Kain is a classmate of yours at the Perion Guard Academy, a White Knight. He is not as close to you as Avelyn or Dracon are, but you know they have their own to support. You would have given him to Rathias, if not for the fact that he had a child of his own to take care of.
Gently, Kain takes Aslan in his arms and whispers a soft hymn to him, his gentle voice reaching your ears. In minutes, the crying ceases, and you see Aslan slumbering away in Kain's arms.
It pains you to desert your son, after all you've sacrificed for him, but you have no choice.
Kain's eyes drill into yours, his dark brown pupils questioning yours. "Are you sure you want to do this, Keiga?"
You turn away from Kain and stare into the sunset. "I don't want to, Marron. You know I don't want to. But…there's no other choice. He's already lost his mother, and I can't have him lose his father as well."
Kain silently regards you as he cradles Aslan close to his chest. "Make sure his father doesn't leave him forever." he warns, as he closes the door behind you.
You turn away, the heavy handle of an Omega Spear shaking against your back as your left arm hangs limply at your side, and walk off into the sunset towards the road that leads to Ellinia.
-----
You don't return to Victoria Island for thirteen more years.
You remember that Rathias is a Bowmaster now. He has finally achieved his goal, against all odds, of becoming the greatest bowman upon Bera at last.
He is waiting for you upon the dock of Sixtopia Station, his cobalt-lightning eyes piercing through you. Without a word, he raises a hand in greeting as you disembark amongst all the passengers.
You try to open your mouth, but the words won't come. Rathias answers your own question for you.
"Aslan's fine." he says, in a quiet, even tone. You realize now that his ponytail is much longer, and there is unshaven stubble upon his chin and cheeks. The limbs of a sleek, golden Nisrock bow are resting in his quiver.
You take leave of him at the crossroads that separate into Henesys, Perion, and Ellinia, and turn your steps towards the warrior city.
You remember that Avelyn and Dracon have both passed away. You remember Sitting Bull telling you in a low voice that they left specific instructions for you to train their children in the arts of the warrior. You remember hearing that Avelyn's son is Ark, and Dracon's is Ryden.
You remember walking up to Kain Marron's door and knocking quietly on it. At first, there is silence, and then you hear footsteps. Kain opens the door quietly. His hair is much longer and consequently much messier, and there are a few wrinkles on his face that haven't been there before, but otherwise, he looks much the same as usual.
"Here." he says, pointing a finger into the living room, and following his gaze, you see a tall, lanky, thirteen year-old, blonde-haired boy with a heavy sword in his hand, making practice slashes and thrusts in midair. His hair is disheveled and sticking up, much like Kain's.
You notice that he still has Arianna's eyes.
"Dariel." Kain says, catching the boy's attention. "This is…Keiga Seles. I asked him to be your instructor in the arts of the sword."
"He's a Dragon Knight." Dariel/Aslan says bluntly, eyeing the large Fairfrozen on your back.
"That doesn't mean he's completely useless with a blade, either." Kain says, allowing a faint trace of laughter to enter his voice. "I expect you'll be a good boy and follow Seles' orders. Is that clear?"
"Sure, Dad." Aslan says, sheathing his sword, and you feel a tiny bit of indignation bursting inside your chest. Catching the expression on your face, Kain throws you a slightly apologetic look before you find yourself standing outside in the Perion sun with Aslan staring expectantly at you.
"Hey, Dariel." you say, offering your hand to him. He shakes it with his left hand- the one you've given him. You feel a pang in your chest as you lay eyes upon Arianna's flesh and blood.
"Before we start our lessons, there's something extremely important I need to tell you." You exhale carefully, as Aslan looks on, somewhat confused.
"What is it?" he mutters.
You take a deep breath. "Listen to me, Dariel. I'm sorry to tell you this, but your name is not Dariel Marron. Your name is Aslan Seles, and you were born to Keiga Seles and Arianna Castelia thirteen years ago."
You realize the full extent of what you've said. The color quickly drains from Aslan's face as though he's suffered a mortal wound, his hands falling limply to his sides.
"No, it can't be." he whispers, in disbelief. "You- you can't be- not- not my father…"
"I'm sorry, Aslan." you whisper, your head bowed towards the ground. "I had to leave you for thirteen years because I couldn't take care of you. I'm so sorry, I truly am, but I promise you that we'll-"
You are interrupted by an animalistic whimper from Aslan, and the next thing you know, he punches you in the chest as hard as he can.
Physically, it doesn't hurt, but the emotional pain is heartbreaking, and you can say no more. You can only gaze upon what once was Aslan Seles, your son.
"You're…not…my…father!" Aslan half-snarls, half-sobs, before turning on his heels and running as fast as he can away from you towards Kain's house.
You can't bear to look at him, and so you keep your eyes riveted to the ground as your auburn hair shadows your face. When you finally look up, decades later, it seems, Aslan is no longer there.
In the back of your mind, you remember Arianna's dying voice that fateful day thirteen years ago.
"Take…good…care…of…him…"
For the first time in your life, you sink to your knees and begin to cry, hot tears searing your cheeks as the sun's rays beat down upon you, the heavy Fairfrozen resting against your back. The droplets of water fall from your eyes without pausing as they are immediately absorbed by the thirsty ground.
You try to remember the halcyon days years ago when you and Arianna were still young, when you were training daily with Rathias, when Avelyn and Dracon were still alive, when everything was all right.
But you can't.
You can only kneel down and pick up the shattered fragments.
-fin
Well, there's another five hours of my life I won't be getting back, and I have an AP History outline, a chemistry lab, an English study guide, and an algebra assignment to finish in eleven hours. (Yes, this is my third day of school. No, I'm not kidding.)
I strongly encourage you to reread the story before reviewing, as I find you tend to pick up on details more when reading things the second time, and hopefully not receive flat comments. As much as I appreciate the effort, one-liners and chatspeak don't pay the self-esteem and inspiration bills around here.
Keeping in mind the awesome amount of work I have to do above, I beseech you to review thoughtfully, so that my Sunday will not have been spent in vain.
By the way, due to schoolwork, the next chapter of Revolt may not come out for some time, so review if you want to kick up my writing a bit.
-Kal