"When you think you are abandoned from your world... just look around you quietly. Your will shall awaken the people around you, and everything in the world shall be your strength." - Grand Mage to Arme, excerpt from the original Grand Chase Chronicles
Too many rocks; falling from above, shattering everywhere. He always saw red. But that was prior, a before. Now, he swore he saw a hint of blue, flickering among the collapsing black like thin embroidery. His daggers were lost because what could they do against boulders? His hands were bleeding and raw.
He thought he would die. He didn't want to die. Then all sensation disappeared as the world died around him.
And so they perished.
Would that not be a splendid dénouement to the epic? The grand finale to the legend; the heroes who sacrificed their lives to secure concord across the nation and the unspeakable evil would never cause harm again. Bards would entertain imperial courts with tales that glorified ideals more than truth with each retelling, the champions shrouded in interminable wonder.
Death would be their end and glory.
Would their bodies be salvaged from the wreckage? Maybe a wisp of hair, broken pieces of armour here and there, or fragments of their weapons buried in the rubble. They would be carefully collected and cleansed in a solemn ceremony of loss, then cremated in holy fire. The ashes would be entombed in a magnificent burial. The two kingdoms, on unstable grounds from having warred against each other, would be united by their loss.
They would have achieved peace.
Would the world be at peace for very long, long enough to ensure that their sacrifice would not be in vain? Of course Aerneas would suffer more battles, infinitely many more conflicts, and blood would be shed. But it would be smaller, fought by the next generations of warriors and protectors.
Death would have been a quick mercy, a blessing for those whose purpose was completed.
Dark shadows loomed over the landscape of debris. Orbs of light glowed, illuminating the hands that sought for them, reaching out to touch, hold, and encompass. The ruined wasteland was appraised by many eyes as smoke continued to rise above, the fumes permeating the air in a thick haze.
Her hand twitched, shuddered. Green irises flickered to glazed brown; hands gently passed over them, closing her eyelids and brushing tattered hair out of her face.
"Do not let the apprentices look at this." Rocks and grains of debris crusted around the wound, filth clustered into what would become a horrible infection. It would take more than herbs to treat it. "Get a basin of water."
"His spleen is punctured; no salve can heal that. We—no, he is waking! Sedate him! He will not endure the pain!" A flash of light, a pitiful whimper, and they continued as if nothing happened.
He surveyed the desiccated mess, the broken children whose lives were in their hands and the impossible feat that they had undertook with resignation. "All of them have been exposed to her poison. Keep them alive as best as you can. Aerneas still has need of their heroism."
Frayed cloth was brushed away, her exposed back a mosaic of claw gashes that bloomed with violent shades of toxic purple and festering black. "This one has had venom directly injected into her body." The voice took on a bemused tone as it added, "She still fights to breathe."
"All of them do." Eyes surveyed the wreckage. "From this magnitude of structural demolition, none of them should have survived. This is illogical."
Through her closed eyes, she could see dim luminous clouds: candlelight. Hummed background noises sharpened to distinct whispers and muffled footsteps. Her ears were bandaged with human ineptitude; the delicate cartilage was pressed uncomfortably against her lobe. Then again, elven ears were much different in structure.
She wanted to rip the bandage off. But it held her ear together and the blood had already clotted; no point in reopening the wound for petty gratification.
Her eyes didn't want to open. Already the brief moment of lucidness was wearing off, replaced by corporal exhaustion. Her back felt weighted and stiff, as if the slightest pressure would flare the dull throbs into sharp bursts of agony.
Her people were respected for being skilled in combat yet simultaneously mocked for their reluctance to get involved in conflict. Had she proven her worth, then?
Thoughts flickered like the candles that surrounded her. The mattress was lumpy and the sheets were thin, clinging against her skin.
Memories glowed, soft as starlight and gentler than the spring breeze that breathed through the evergreens. Ryan's laugh as he picked acorns for his many forest friends reminded her of a home she had left for too long. Elesis's battle cries, Amy's trivial complaints of each adventure, the sun-soaked morning dew that made her want to dance—and the boy who was learning to hope.
Before she could smile, her consciousness had already ebbed back and receded. To be awake would mean to fully embrace the pain and she wasn't ready yet.
As if to mirror its beholder, the petals were withered closed and its delicate frame.
Three cots to her left, he never moved once in the blackout he was immersed in. It took a vigilant eye to detect the infinitesimal rise and falls of his chest and more than once he had been falsely announced dead due to the utter lack of movement. His body was the quickest to heal, but the same could not be said for much else.
All of them were worn to exhaustion, but some were slowly regaining strength. Most had colour creeping back into their faces, their breathing evened. The orange elf made the most impudent snoring noises. The red general would not stop twitching in her sleep, fumbling for her sword that wasn't there. Eventually she had to be immobilized because the movements kept irritating her stitches.
Where was her father? There was only one family portrait of her family when she was a babe; otherwise there was only memory to know his face and rare expression of approval.
She missed him. She wanted to keep believing that he was alive.
Sometimes there was music that drifted from nowhere, warm lullabies that whispered of comfort and tender warmth that touched where poultices could not. Whether the melody was imbibed with magic of the spirits or simple music therapy, an unconscious mind could never know the difference. The notes hit each of them differently, a balm that coaxed them back into the world of the living. Arme dreamt of powerful spells that were waiting to be mastered, her grandfather bursting with pride at her achievements—a different magic of the earth, where acorns dropped and his laughter echoed.
What each Chaser saw and felt in their dreams, I cannot say. But perhaps there is no need; the unguarded mask of slumber that displayed raw emotions revealed expressions that invoked tears and pained grimaces, eventually becoming hopeful smiles and quiet mumbling.
Arme was the first to wake. Her eyes were heavy, how long had she slept? Ugh, rheum had clustered around her eyelids. Peeling away the crusts, she got out of bed—and failed in the attempt because the covers were too soft, slipping under her grip. The ruffles made her back itch and she groaned. She never wore the frilly pink mess that was supposedly a 'nightgown' unless there was nothing else to wear. She reached to pull the strap off. Ah, much better. She settled back onto the silken sheets, sighing contentedly. Half-open eyes lazily traced the carved patterns on the ceiling that framed the stained glass mosaics.
She snuggled under the coverlets, pleased with the rich purple colours. Mauve bookshelves lined the walls, laden with tomes and volumes—most which she had read, whether with permission or taken at night in hushed footsteps. And...there! The left stack of manuscripts that even she couldn't disable their binding enchantments, which made her want to read all the more. The untouchable bookcase was always there, tantalizing her.
Grandfather said that she would need it soon, but patience was not her forte. Soon, perhaps, soon...but when was 'soon'? She blinked a few times, waiting for her fatigue to unfold into another bout of slumber.
Her brain felt sluggish, but when it finally clicked, all thoughts of sleep evaporated as she threw off the covers and scrambled for the door. Her muscles protested as she strained, but the oak doors finally opened with the familiar groan of aged lumber scraping against its hinges. She wanted to call out, but her voice was too weak. She stumbled her way through the entryway.
"Ah, you're awake. Already fit to run about?" The voice was accompanied by a swish of blue curls, held by an oversized cap and black cords, gentle eyes of purplish-crimson hues—
Arme had to blink hard, and the surge of panic was replaced by familiarity: "Eluna."
The elder woman raised her eyebrows. She hardly looked older, having the semblance of a child despite apparently being twenty, which fuelled the rumours that she dabbled in the questionable arts like her late sister. "I will inform the Elders that you are awake."
The younger girl hesitated, unsure of what to say to her fellow mage whose sister who was slain despite her desperate pleas of mercy for the Elder she had once revered. Remnants of guilt lingered—even though the Guild had absolved the Chase of all blame, unanimously agreeing that Elena had brought down her own downfall in pride and greed. "My...my friends?"
"In the Guild Infirmary. Our best healers are tending to them."
But were they alive? Did all of them make it? If she had failed...
"The Grand Enchanter will be pleased." The elder's quiet gaze revealed nothing. "He had insisted that you be in his quarters while he took an apprentice bed for himself."
"That...wow, that is..."
"An honour." Eluna finished. "You may see him after you are dressed." Her voice took on a tint of humour as she continued, "Perhaps not in a nightdress slipped half-off with your push-up brassiere showing."
If a rift opened up and swallowed her whole, Arme would've been fine with that.
Contrary to popular belief, magic was not—and never was—an all-powerful force that could defy all the laws of the world. Creating showers of meteors and blizzards called forth and solidified the concepts of chaos that formed into the caster's will and reflecting their spirit. Magic itself is a complex concept that requires explanation with much technical jargon that even the average mage would never fully understand. But calling forth destruction needed strong mental force and equally great mana.
But healing required precision, nurturing, and the perpetual fear of causing more pain; it was perhaps the most delicate magic since it was more than just restoring vitality. A broken bone could not just be glued together with simple connective enchantments; the sheer shock of the body alone was lethal. Real healing magic had to work with the body to mend itself rather than an alien energy forcibly attaching the limbs together.
It shouldn't have been a challenge to explain this in Serdin, the kingdom primarily ruled by magic where even non-mages had a basic understanding of what magic was supposed to be, right?
"What do you mean you have to break my leg again?!"
"My lady, the bone has begun to heal incorrectly and will hinder your movements if allowed to set this way. I only need to reset it or it will become even more painful."
Lift, yank! There was a dull crack followed by a muted howl of pain. The healing mage had the good sense to have her pinned down before the procedure; Elesis looked as if she were about to explode. "There you go, my lady. Now you will need a cast—" The rest of the words were drowned out by growls of frustration and incomprehensible threats.
It was too hot. She could still feel the burns which had been treated with a number of herbs, vanilla, honey, and...milk? Were they planning to eat her? Why couldn't they just wave their staffs and cure all her injuries in an instant? Arme had incessantly told her that magic was not that simple, and to an extent, Elesis knew. Still, it was annoying. The bandages that covered her lacerations irritated the surrounding blisters even more, and now some quack mage had to break her bone? The gall! Already her calf was starting to swell again!
They said that they couldn't grow her hair back; there was little that could withstand, let alone heal, from cursed dragon flames. It wasn't like she cared about long hair, sort of.
Her cot chafed against her wounds and the mage was still talking and everything was scratchy and the few who were awake were moaning in pain. It was too uncomfortable and she wanted to scream.
Quiet steps shuffled towards her bedstead. "Are you all right, General Sieghart?"
The rage of emotions quelled at his presence. Her thoughts became almost lucid as she faced him and replied in an almost polite tone, "Trying to, Sir." Pain notwithstanding, she still managed to incline her head instead of the bow she could not do. Elesis knew of his power and his very stature was humble and serene, yet distinguished that she was inclined to respect him. "I apologize."
"Arme has been very worried about you." He waved the mage aside, who scurried away to help an easier patient. "I have advised her that it would be prudent to see her comrades when their conditions are more stable."
Her ears pricked. "She's okay?"
"As are your other companions; everyone has managed to avert death." He gave a brief smile. "And thanks to the Grand Chase, there will be no more deaths by the hands of Kaze'Aze. For that, you have the gratitude of the Violet Mage Guild," He bowed deeply, "and all of Aerneas."
Elesis was used to receiving orders, accepting thanks from grateful villagers whose towns she had liberated. She was not used to the Grand Enchanter, Former Advisor to Her Majesty of Serdin, bowing to her in homage that she forgot she deserved. She was not prepared for this—she sat there, dumbstruck.
"Thank you." He rose. "We can never thank you enough, but perhaps this may help." He raised his hand, palm glowing blue. Elesis stared and felt a cool sensation wash over her, soothing her burns and reducing her pains to trivial throbs. A fresh breeze swept throughout her body and before she closed her eyes, she tried to say "you're welcome".
All of her malaise faded as her deep sleep smoothed her features into a face of peaceful innocence; the responsibility as leader had taken quite a toll on her. But now she looked like what she really was: a young girl whose burden of the world was relieved from her shoulders temporarily.
Just when he thought there to be some quiet—shrieks erupted again from the right. A cluster of healers circled the cot, pinning down a mess of tangled pink curls and small bursts of green light. From the archives, she was the clairvoyant of the north. Tormented by visions only she could see, receiving words from deities only she could hear, it got to the point where her moments of silence became more unnerving than her hysterics of visions. Her right eye that had been gashed out, it could not be replaced; all bore the scars of Kaze'Aze, the final lashes of her spite.
If she was to be perpetually traumatized and an invalid mired in shell shock...it would be easier. To live out the rest of her days learning how to live in a world of peace she had fought for and living the life of an ordinary person was an ideal.
And because it was an ideal, it was unattainable. If she was a true Oracle, there was no way that her gods were done with her; as long as she lived, she would have purpose to be their pawn. She would have to fight again and again, as did all the Grand Chase, for they had been chosen. The healers had finally quieted Amy with a number of sedatives. Her flailing had worsened her broken arm.
He sighed, the gust of air making his beard swish. They were truly fighting to protect a thankless world. He turned to face eyes of molten gold that scrutinized him, guarded but without hostility.
All the healers found Jin one of the easiest convalescents to tend to. He did not physically lash out in pain and frustration against those who were trying to help him. He did not have fits of insanity that woke the others up and/or scared those around him. When they injected needles into him or stitched him back together, the most he would do was grit his teeth and endure with tenacity. He was the first to thank the healers for their service. When he was allowed to move his limbs, he would test them, stretch, and meditate often. Everyone was happy to see him recover so quickly.
Jin didn't tell the mages of how he dreamt of the castle's destruction and its monstrosities replaced by corpses of his fallen brothers and how he desperately wished for the nightmares to go away. Seeing Amy thrash and wail in her cot was exactly how he felt in his head but could never divulge.
Painkillers, meditation, sleep-inducing spells, seeing his friends slowly resurrect and live—they didn't wholly erase the pain, but they helped. Time would heal, too. He just had to give the time, some time.
On the better days, he could believe that, no matter how compulsively he told himself. It would fade, just like his multiple concussions.
"How did you know where to find us?" All the mages have answered this question, though the answers varied. Some said that they found them there, near death, and teleported them all to safety. Others boasted that the gods had shown favour upon them all. Some would say nothing as if to protect them from further trauma. The Grand Enchanter would not explain so flimsily and he did not disappoint.
"Before, we had managed to send you to the nearest land marker where we would not disturb her wards: the factory. We kept periodic watch on your progress, waiting for the chance when her barriers would dissolve further so we could step in and assist."
"You watched over us?"
"Intermittently, but enough to see when her magic was incapacitated to where we could establish a one-way portal to provide reinforcements for the chase. This, in hindsight," he scratched his beard, "was quite unnecessary."
"So we were not alone." Jin muttered, more to himself than the elder.
The elder's eyes twinkled. "Did you believe that those back home were idle, waiting to be rescued from distress?"
"I—no. It...it is good to know that...we had support."
"You are not so abandoned from the world as you believe. It had taken days to find you in the destruction, inches from death. Yet here you all live—not in peak condition, but you live. That is also another revelation to rejoice in."
"Yes, Sir." His muscles were tofu from not being exerted in so long; already he could sense the soreness he would have to endure in rigorous training. "Although I still don't understand how we all survived. The crumbling fortress would have finished what Kaze'Aze could not."
The elder gazed sharply, but Jin was immersed in his own thoughts to notice. "And I thought I was gone for sure...everyone was in pain and somebody called me 'Leondis'. I do not know a word in all the languages I have heard. Is it a native Serdin dialect?"
"It is not something I have heard in the contemporary tongue. I believe it is a term coined in a foreign and outdated language; I shall see my tomes if they provide any answers." The Grand Mage rose, his expression gentle. "Would you like repose, free of nightmares this time?"
"...please."
The wrinkled hand glowed azure once more, and Jin sighed, welcoming the reprieve with gladness.
Everyone quickly realized that having Eluna run around, let alone help with the therapeutic magic, was a very bad idea. To say nothing of her irreproachable but uncanny resemblance to Elena, some of the mages and most of the Chasers were not thrilled to have her seeing their vulnerabilities. Especially Lass, who only remembered Elena as the despicable Kamiki whose human form was a sham, let took his eyes off the poor girl. The grand mage resolved this by assigning Eluna to collecting herbs and concocting salves in the guild's garden. She did not complain.
Ronan was the last to stir, opening his eyes around the time Jin was deemed fit enough to walk for brief periods. Parts of his body felt hot as fire while others were ice cold. It also felt a little too breezy down below. He had the least external injuries, but his internal systems were a mess. The only physical wounds that hadn't completely healed were his palms, scored with angry pink scars.
Only the Grand Mage and a couple of the Senior Enchanters would treat him; no one else was to handle him personally. Which made sense, considering most of the damage could not be actually seen and required advanced techniques. There was some discomfort from the multiple blood transfusions but the long-suffering knight was much comforted by Jin and his friends as he gradually recovered. Even Elesis, whose cot was convenient located next to his, never seemed to take her eyes off him. It was as if she thought he'd disappear from his sight the moment she looked away.
It was on the twelfth night when the Grand Mage sat on his cot, face shrewd. Ronan looked away in shame; he was terrible at lying and even if he could, there would be no point. He forced himself to look at the elder's face, expression apologetic. "Please don't tell her."
"Blood magic from a Spell Knight, and the captain of the Royal Guard, no less." He turned over his palms, surveying the fading lines. "Clumsily executed; you acted it out purely from theory and willpower, then?" Blood magic was barely tolerated in Serdin as a study to reduce its risks; it was severely tabooed in its sister kingdom; the esoteric branch of magic was only taught to frighten and warn.
Not like Ronan didn't know the consequences of breaking the oaths he had made, even in that moment of desperation. His career, honour, reputation; all gone with a single spell. His knighthood—his livelihood—was all on the line now, did he feel terrible? Of course he did. He felt dread and all kinds of fear, but he would do it all over again. Seeing the Red Knight breathe in relief when he woke, to see her alive, was worth it.
"You did not do this for the sake of power like most do. Rather, your intentions were noble and befitting your station, if a tad solicitous for your lady."
His lady. If he had enough blood in his systems he may have blushed. "She is alive now."
"She is alive so long as you live." The elder corrected. "Your life essence brought her from the brink of death and now is a part of her, no separate than your heart from your chest."
"But—"
"Had you been more precise, it would have been almost harmless and easier to overlook. But you gave her more than your blood to her, young knight. You essentially bled into her a part of your spirit, blended with your blood. Now it is a link where one's death guarantees the fall of the other. Does she not deserve to know that her life is literally connected to yours?"
The Grand Mage was not fond of breaking such harsh news, but they were all running out of time. As soon as these warrior-children were strong enough to be transported, a royal convoy would be sent to escort them back to the palace where they would be subjected to decrees, court manipulation, and traps deadlier than any dungeon. As former advisor to the queen, he still had influence and connections in the court but he was done playing such games when real calamity struck.
He had persuaded the queen to be patient. The Violet Guild had sheltered the Grand Chase for almost a month now. A month; he had to prepare them as best as he could.
"Can you undo my mistake, Sir?" He looked at him, at Elesis(mercifully asleep), then at him again. "The Grand Mage must have some kind of magic to fix it."
He shook his head. "Not without putting both your lives on the line, and I will not make such a gamble with your lives any more than I would with my granddaughter's."
"Arme? Does she know?"
"She has enough knowledge to sense the bond; no doubt she already has. I will tell her that it is a personal matter." Youths, always so reckless and so ready to pay the price which they never realize until in hindsight.
"Will you tell her Majesties or shall I confess myself...?"
A dismissive wave, followed by a gaze filled with pity. "You are already punishing yourself with your own guilt; there is no need to add further torments."
Snores rolled out from a pile of orange hair that resembled a haystack. For someone who was nearly bit in half, the elf looked unperturbed, limbs hanging off the edge and the blankets a crumpled knot at his feet. Elven resilience to magic made him easier to heal than his human companions. Having been instructed to remain abed for several days so that his organs can convalesce, he had spent much of that time sleeping incessantly. It was as if he could sleep at will. He had saved Arme more than several times and the leader mage was indeed grateful.
His granddaughter, the ambassador and perhaps the greatest mage of the guild, falling for an elf, of all things! Stranger cases have happened, and the impulse of youth gave way to endless possibilities. He was only mildly concerned, but it was understandable, even admirable, how all of them sought and found companionship in the times of war, loss, and strife; a hint of beauty and hope amidst the chaos raging around them.
I do hope the cliffhanger was appreciated~
I've been playing Grand Chase M for a while now; it's one way for the Chase to live on, right? Long live the Chase! I think that was what people said. If anyone wants to play with me, give me a heads-up; it gets so lonely.
Still have several chapters to go; till then, the flower is still blooming (eyyy get it?) How mystically wonderful that people still enjoy looking at this small flower!