AUTHOR'S NOTE: Oh yes, this story is still very much alive! As I've said before, this story is not done until you see the words "THE END" at the bottom of a chapter. I know output has slowed considerably since the pandemic began, and there have been stretches of time when I didn't work on this project at all. But then, in early March, I snapped out of a foggy state of mind and got back to work. I do not know how long it will take to write Act 7. Probably a long while, and there will likely be more long stretches of time between chapters as we all figure out how to return to life after the tumult of the past five years. I recently got my first vaccine dose, with another scheduled in a couple weeks, and I hope all of you will be able to get vaccinated soon if it has not already happened. Slowly, but surely, we will have our lives back, and in the meantime, perhaps another chapter of this story will help you get through another day.
Thank you for reading, as always, and a big Thank You to all of you who offer feedback. Let's dive back in.
- TheAmateur
Chapter One Hundred Nine: Endgame Ploy
From a tall, grassy hilltop, Theo Gibbons stared across the Battlefield's windswept plain.
The Black King's castle, an impressive structure built largely from a dark stone resembling obsidian, loomed menacingly in the near distance, occupying the top of a broad, elevated plateau. High outer walls stretched for miles in either direction, capped with spires and crenellations, but no guards could be seen patrolling the ramparts.
Beyond the Black Keep's thick outer walls rose the Black King's citadel, where the King of Derse presumably spent the majority of his time coordinating the Dersite army's never-ending campaign against the Prospitians. As with the outer walls, no one could be seen on any of the citadel's towers or battlements. The entire compound appeared to be deserted.
Theo looked down at Dream Adam, who had only moments ago lost consciousness and collapsed.
Clad in golden pajamas, Dream Adam snored face-down in the grass where he lay, blissfully unaware of his surroundings.
"Thane," spoke a quiet voice from behind.
Theo turned around to acknowledge the leader of the Prospitian Rangers, who had arrived, as usual, without making a sound. "Quite a view, isn't it?"
"Not a view I expected to see without sitting in muddy trenches for months on end," replied the Pale Marksman, wearing her customary green-and-brown camouflage body armor, with a long-range energy rifle slung across her back. She frowned at the sight of Dream Adam passed out in the grass, asking, "Why is the fool napping?"
"He's awake in his other body," replied Theo. "The only other thing that would make him pass out like that is finding a spider under his clothes, and he seems to have lucked out on that front because I haven't seen a single spider since I first came here."
"What is a spider?" The Marksman nudged Dream Adam's unconscious body with the toe of her boot.
"My point exactly." Theo looked back towards the Black Keep. "Spiders were these little creatures from my home world. They had eight legs, eight eyes, and I thought some of them were pretty cute, but Adam always told me spiders were proof of Evolution's ability to make mistakes."
The Pale Marksman unslung her long-range energy rifle, peering through the scope at the Black Keep's silent battlements. "The Marshal wants you to fly a quick pass over the walls."
"Why bother?" Theo shook his head. "You're seeing what I'm seeing. That's an empty castle."
"The Marshal fears an ambush," said the Marksman. "Take to the skies, and if you see even the slightest hint of movement or danger, break off and return here. My Rangers are taking up positions on the adjacent hills. Our sniper teams will cover you, but only if they can see you, so don't descend below the top of the walls. Any questions?"
"Nope." Theo sprinted towards the edge of the hill, filling his lungs with a deep breath, relishing his newfound freedom from asthma. With a decent running start, he summoned the winds with his Breath Aspect and leaped off the edge of the hill.
The ground fell away.
Theo soared into the sky, quickly climbing to an altitude of nearly two hundred feet. Gradually, the town situated within the Black Keep's outer walls came into view, revealing empty cobblestone streets. Wood and stone houses stood silently with doors and windows left open. Theo could not see any lights, and no smoke rose from any of the chimneys.
Adorning every building, black and purple banners bearing the Dersite royal crest fluttered weakly in the wind.
"Anyone home?" Theo circled twice around the entire town before risking a closer look. He descended towards the Black Keep, keeping a close eye on the battlements, watching for any signs of movement.
No ambush came. No cries of alarm rose from the Black Keep. No one tried to shoot Theo out of the sky.
Where was the Dersite army?
Theo hovered in mid-air outside one of the Black Keep's windows. Cupping his hands to his eyes, he peered through the window into an empty kitchen. No cooks could be seen, no fires burned in the stoves, and there was no food upon any of the counters. Theo noticed an open pantry in the back of the kitchen, and the shelves within appeared to be empty.
Looking away from the kitchen, Theo floated down to a lower level and peeked through a different window. This time, he found himself looking into a spacious hall which appeared to be the Black King's throne room. An imposing, immaculately carved throne of amethyst-encrusted obsidian sat at one end of the room, opposite the heavy stone double doors through which visitors seeking audience with the king would enter.
The throne was empty.
His mind made up, Theo turned from the window and flew away. In less than a minute, he traversed the plains separating the Black Keep from the hills where the Alabaster Rifles had established themselves, returning to the hilltop he'd just left behind.
"Well?" asked the Pale Marksman, lowering her rifle as Theo made landfall.
Theo landed on both feet, bending his knees to absorb the shock of impact. "Where's Adam?" he asked, noticing the absence of Dream Adam's unconscious body.
"I had him brought to his tent," replied the Pale Marksman, slinging her rifle over her back. "Was the Black Keep deserted?"
"Seems that way," confirmed Theo, taking a moment to catch his breath. "Doesn't look like anyone's been home for a while."
"Accompany me to the mobile command post and deliver the report yourself." The Pale Marksman slung her rifle over her back and led the way downhill. "The Marshal will not be happy."
"When is the Marshal ever happy?" Theo followed the Pale Marksman through the bustling camp, immersed in the din of an army preparing for battle. "His smile is a scowl."
"Fair enough," conceded the Pale Marksman, exchanging salutes with a passing infantry officer. "All the same, he will not take the news well."
A group of shovel-toting Prospitian soldiers marched across Theo and the Marksman's path, led by a sergeant with a booming voice. Each of the soldiers carried a large shovel, with energy rifles strapped to their backs. Patches sewn onto most of the soldiers' sleeves bore the symbol of the Alabaster Rifles: two crossed white rifles within a silver circle. "Thane!" bellowed one of the passing soldiers. "Did you send the Black King our regards?"
"I couldn't-" Theo started to say, only to be cut off mid-sentence.
"Sergeant," interrupted the Pale Marksman. "Control your squad."
"Shut it, you!" the Prospitian sergeant bellowed at the soldier who'd spoken to Theo. "One more word out of line, and you'll stand at attention in the shit pits until I say you can leave!"
"Wow." Theo watched the sergeant hustle his squad away through the camp. "A bit harsh, don't you think?"
"That was not harsh." The Pale Marksman could not hide her amusement. "In the Dersite Army, speaking out of turn to a superior officer could get your Birth Campaign extended by centuries."
"I'm not a superior officer."
"You were about to tell them everything," said the Pale Marksman, sidestepping another soldier who carried a heaping crate of power cells. "Do you think it is a good idea to tell those soldiers before you tell the Marshal?"
"They're wasting time," protested Theo. "We should be turning around, not preparing for a siege which isn't going to happen."
"The Marshal decides when and where this army moves," declared the Pale Marksman. "Not me, not the soldiers, and not you."
Without further incident, Theo followed the Pale Marksman towards the center of camp, where the Scarred Marshal's mobile command post was parked. "How much time is left before you're allowed to go home?"
"I survived my Birth Campaign millennia ago," replied the Pale Marksman. "I have lived on Prospit numerous times already, but it was not for me. I volunteered to return to active service, and I will remain here for as long as I wish."
"Why would you willingly put yourself back here?" asked Theo.
"Many of us return to the military." The Pale Marksman stopped abruptly to allow a column of seven heavily armored tanks to rumble by, holding out an arm to prevent Theo from being run over. "I prefer the simplicity of warfare. No one here lacks purpose. Nothing is more important than this war, and everyone here has a part to play."
"Nothing is more important?" probed Theo. "You sure about that?"
"If the Dersites have their way, Skaia will be destroyed, and Prospit will follow," the Pale Marksman stated bluntly, continuing forward when the last tank had passed. "After my Birth Campaign, I lived in Prospit and was assigned the role of mail courier. I spent centuries delivering letters and packages while others gave their lives. Do you think delivering mail for eternity is more important than stopping the extinction of my people?"
"Someone needs to deliver the mail." Theo shrugged, following the Pale Marksman through the moving crowds of soldiers at the center of camp, spotting the mobile command center nearby. The Scarred Marshal's mobile command post resembled an oversized RV, adorned with heavy armor plating, multiple energy turrets, and a silver flag bearing the crossed white rifles of the Alabaster Rifles. "Did you enjoy being a courier?"
"Yes, for the first three hundred years, but then it grew tiresome."
"Couldn't you have taken a break?" suggested Theo.
"To do what? Idle on a bench to watch passersby? Stare at gardens for a decade?"
"Three hundred years sounds like a long time to do one thing."
"It is not." The Pale Marksman traded salutes with another passing officer. "A century is not as long as you think. I know of people living on Prospit who have been working the same job since the War of the Nobles, and that was ten thousand years ago. I was considered highly restless."
"So, your only options were delivering mail or fighting in a forever war? No middle ground?" Theo wrinkled his nose. "Sounds like a crappy deal. Instead of going back to war, you weren't allowed to give music a try? Or writing novels? Painting? Gardening? Standup comedy?"
Frowning at Theo, the Pale Marksman signaled the two soldiers standing at attention outside the mobile command post's entrance hatch. "I do not understand."
The two soldiers recognized the Pale Marksman and stood aside, allowing her to pass.
"When you get tired of doing one job, aren't you allowed to try a new job?" asked Theo. "Something you weren't originally assigned?"
"I never seriously considered it." The Pale Marksman frowned at herself for a moment, stepping with Theo into the MCP. "Nor would it have made much of a difference. This is where I belong."
At once, Theo was plunged into the cacophony of a busy headquarters. At least a dozen different ops stations lined the surprisingly spacious MCP's interior walls, each occupied by an operator wearing a headset. The operators spoke professionally into their microphones, either relaying orders to various parts of the army or passing reports further up the chain of command.
In the center of all the activity stood the Scarred Marshal, staring at a holographic readout of the local topography, his army's position, and the Black Keep. "Station Ten!" barked the one-eyed Prospitian commander to one of his ops stations. "Where is my status report from the heavy mortars?"
"I can only get through to Captain Soffin's aide, sir," replied the operator sitting at one of the ops stations. "No word from the captain himself."
"Aide? First, he gives himself a fancy new name, and now he has an aide? Why does Soffin need an aide? Does he require assistance with being late?" The Scarred Marshal glared at Station Ten's operator, who had the thankless task of reporting unfavorable news. "Tell Soffin he has ninety seconds to wake up and provide the heavy mortars' exact position before I come down there and break him in half. His aide, too. Tell him now."
"Sir?" The Pale Marksman cleared her throat. "The Thane has returned from recon."
"Took you long enough. Did you break for coffee on your way back?" The Scarred Marshal turned around to acknowledge the new arrivals. "Where is your fool of a friend, Thane? Where is the Knight? Sleeping somewhere, I expect?"
"Adam's in his other body right now," replied Theo.
"Sleeping, then. Useless." The Scarred Marshal scowled. "Never mind. Tell me what you saw of the enemy's strength and position."
"They aren't here," reported Theo. "The Keep is abandoned."
"Nonsense," asserted the Scarred Marshal. "Where has the Black King positioned his heavy artillery? Would you be able to point it out on my map?"
"Um…"
"Sir, Captain Soffin just got back to me," reported Station Ten. "He's transmitting the heavy mortars' position now."
"I'll bet he is." Several clusters of bright yellow dots appeared on the holographic map, prompting the Scarred Marshal's scowl to deepen. "Why is Battery Three so exposed? Tell Soffin to move Battery Three back to the treeline," he ordered. "I do not want our heavy mortars leaving the high ground. And tell him he has less than ten minutes to finish deploying the railgun."
"Yes, sir," replied the operator at Station Ten, relaying the Scarred Marshal's orders into her mic.
Theo shared a furtive glance with the Pale Marksman, clearing his throat to regain the Scarred Marshal's attention. "Look, I was just there, and trust me when I say no one is home. No fires, no unfinished meals. Their kitchens were all cleaned out-"
"I did not ask you for an inventory of their kitchens," interrupted the Scarred Marshal, scowling at his holographic map. "I sent you up there so you could tell me where the Black King has placed his heavy artillery. He cannot hide ambush trenches from an aerial view. You must have seen them."
"Well, I saw it up close, so..." Theo stepped into the Scarred Marshal's holographic map, forcing the one-eyed army commander to focus entirely on him. "Why would the Dersites abandon the Black Keep? Why would they take all their food and supplies with them?"
"Step out of my map, Thane," ordered the Scarred Marshal.
"If the Black King wanted to ambush us, why not do it earlier when we were moving and vulnerable?" Theo stepped forward, passing through the holographic map. "Why wait until we're dug in and ready? It makes no sense. We're wasting time digging trenches we'll never use-"
"Enough." The Scarred Marshal's voice grew icy. He grabbed Theo by the arm, pulling him over to a corner of the command center where the COMs operators could pretend not to overhear, motioning for the Pale Marksman to follow. "You have fought well, Thane, but if you ever again address me like that in front of my soldiers, I will-"
"Have me punished?" interrupted Theo. "What'll it be? Are you going to arrest me? Do you really think that will work? Where will you put me? In a tent? While you lay siege to an empty castle? Do you realize how stupid that will look?"
The Scarred Marshal glared at Theo. "Don't test me. When you challenge and disrespect me in front of my soldiers, you threaten the discipline of this army. If you do it again-"
"Stop being an asshole, then, and listen to what I'm telling you," implored Theo.
"You should listen to him, sir," recommended the Pale Marksman. "He is telling the truth. The enemy is not here. My Rangers have scoped the Black Keep since our arrival, and there are no signs of life."
"I have waited ten thousand years for this siege." The Scarred Marshal took a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "If, and this is a big if, but if the Black King has absconded with his entire garrison, why would we not have received warning from headquarters? A Dersite army group on the move is impossible to conceal."
"Maybe HQ missed something?" Theo shrugged. "Maybe the Black King used transportalizers? I don't know. We moved through the Badlands under radio silence, right? No contact with HQ?"
"That is correct," replied the Scarred Marshal. "COMs were limited to our own local channels."
"Well, we're out of the Badlands now, so why not give the White King a call?" suggested Theo. "If HQ missed something, they better start looking again."
The Scarred Marshal looked at the Pale Marksman, who gave a single nod. Turning around, the one-eyed Prospitian army commander returned to the center of his command post, dismissing the holographic map with a wave of his hand. "Station Two," he said to one of his operators, "get me the White King on an encrypted channel."
"Yes, sir." The Prospitian sitting at Station Two squinted at his screen, rapidly entering a series of commands into the console. "White Citadel, this is Alabaster Actual. Please respond and prepare to exchange authentication codes."
Several seconds passed while the Prospitian operator waited for contact to be established.
"What is taking so long?" asked the Scarred Marshal.
"There is no response, sir," replied the operator at Station Two.
"Do they think I am trying to schedule a fucking luncheon?" grunted the Scarred Marshal. "Resend the transmission."
The operator repeated his message, but again there was no response, and Theo's heart began to sink.
"Could there be a malfunction on their end?" asked the Marshal.
"I've never known HQ's COMs to fail," remarked the Pale Marksman. "Perhaps our signal is being jammed?"
"HQ is being jammed," said Theo. "Not us."
"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed the Scarred Marshal. "If the White Keep was under attack, we would know about it."
"How?" asked Theo.
For the first time, the Scarred Marshal had no immediate answer.
"The Thane is right, sir," agreed the Pale Marksman. "We've been played. We must turn around."
"That is enough." The Scarred Marshal scowled. "We are not marching all the way back through the Badlands based on a theory."
"Sir," the Pale Marksman started to say, but the Marshal was not having it.
"The King's orders were to take the Black Keep, and we are not leaving until those orders are fulfilled," declared the Scarred Marshal. "Do you have a problem with following the King's orders, First Ranger?"
"No." The Pale Marksman's face remained stony, betraying no emotion. "Sir."
"Then get out," ordered the Scarred Marshal. "Both of you. Resume your patrols, and make sure the Black King does not ambush our sappers. We need our trenches dug without incident."
The Pale Marksman saluted the Marshal. "Yes, sir." She turned around, grabbing Theo by the arm and pulling him away before he could protest. Together, they exited the mobile command center, stepping back outside into the daylight.
"What the fuck was that?" asked Theo as he walked through the bustling camp with the Pale Marksman. "That was un-fucking-believable."
"AV-5066292, this is PM-12011," the Pale Marksman murmured into her helmet mic. "Meet me at the north edge of camp."
"Is he always like that?" asked Theo, following the Marksman around a squad of soldiers carrying crates of power cells for energy rifles. "I mean, don't get me wrong, he's good at what he does, but that wasn't exactly his finest moment."
"The Marshal has waited a very long time to take the Black Keep, and it is clouding his judgment," the Pale Marksman explained, leading Theo through the sea of tents towards the edge of camp. "He is one of the oldest living members of my people. There are few remaining in our military who remember the beginning of this war."
"You're saying you can't teach an old dog new tricks?"
The Pale Marksman frowned. "What is a dog?"
"You don't have dogs?" Theo's heart sank a little lower as the Pale Marksman flagged down a passing tank. "What about cats?" When all he received in response from the Marksman was a blank stare, he murmured, "Wow. Depressing. We'll have to do something about that. But seriously, what are we going to do about the Marshal? You know this is crazy, right?"
The Pale Marksman raised her hand, stepping into the path of an approaching armored tank. "Have you ever fallen in love?" she asked, stepping back as the tank came rumbling to a halt.
"With video games, sure, and also tabletop," Theo replied. "With certain fictional universes, too. Not so much with people, though, and I'm okay with that."
The tank's roof hatch flipped open and out popped the head of an irritated Prospitian tank commander who said, "You're in my way."
"Give us a ride to the edge of camp," said the Pale Marksman, "and I won't tell my Rangers to use your tank for target practice."
"To the edge of camp, then you better hop off. This isn't a fucking transport barge," grunted the tank commander, ducking back into his vehicle and closing the hatch behind him.
"Forget falling in love, then. You have friends, I expect?" The Pale Marksman jumped onto the tank, turning around to help Theo clamber aboard. "Imagine wanting to see your best friend after waiting many years, and when you finally have an opportunity to do so, some stranger tries to convince you that you are wasting time because your best friend does not exist," said the Pale Marksman, sitting down as the Prospitian tank rumbled forward. "I do not agree with the Marshal, but I understand his reaction."
"I'm confused." Theo sat next to the Pale Marksman, watching the Prospitian army camp pass slowly by. "The Marshal is acting like an idiot because he has no friends?"
"The Marshal has many friends, but his best friend is the possibility of killing the Black King and ending this war," replied the Pale Marksman. "Can you understand why reasonable arguments, in this case, will not work with a normally reasonable person?"
"If a reasonable argument won't convince him, what do you have in mind? An unreasonable argument?"
"No more arguments. No more talking," declared the Pale Marksman. "Action is needed."
As the Prospitian tank reached the north edge of the Alabaster Rifles' camp, the tank commander slowed the vehicle's speed slightly to allow his unwelcome guests to disembark. Theo and the Pale Marksman jumped off the moving tank and walked towards a nearby tree, where a Prospitian Ranger waited to meet them.
"What's going on, ma'am?" asked the Prospitian Ranger as Theo and the Pale Marksman made their way over to the tree. "Still no movement from the Black Keep. What did the Marshal say? Are we really going to attack an empty castle?"
"The Marshal did not use those exact words, but that is his plan," replied the Pale Marksman. "Thane, this is AV-5066292, my second-in-command."
"Bit of a mouthful isn't it?" remarked Theo. "Do you say all those numbers every time?"
"It is my full name," AV-5066292 replied simply.
"How long would it take you to fly to the White Keep?" the Pale Marksman asked Theo.
"With help from the wind, I could probably do it in a few hours."
"And if you were carrying me on your back?"
"About the same, if it's only you," estimated Theo. "Your people are pretty light compared to my people."
"Are you mad?" asked AV. "You cannot leave your post without permission. Not at a time like this. It is against orders."
"HQ is in danger," explained the Pale Marksman. "The Marshal will not redeploy without proof, so we will provide proof. Command of the Rangers is yours until we meet again."
"You could be dishonorably discharged," warned AV.
"Will you do it?" the Pale Marksman asked Theo. "Are you willing to fly me to HQ right now?"
"Really?" Theo blinked. "Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Um. Cool, just let me stretch, first, then we'll be good to go." Theo inhaled deeply and began a sun salutation, raising his arms straight over his head. On the exhale, he lowered his arms and gradually bent forward until his head dangled upside-down between his legs. "I'll cramp up if I don't stretch."
The Pale Marksman looked back to her second-in-command. "If we find out HQ is in trouble, I'll transmit a video feed to your helmet, and it'll be on you to get it to the Marshal. Any final attempts to change my mind?"
"No point." AV traded salutes with the Pale Marksman before taking his leave. "I'll hold down the fort here. Try not to get yourselves killed."
Theo turned away from the Pale Marksman, allowing her to jump onto his back. "You good?"
The Pale Marksman locked her hands and legs firmly around Theo's back and shoulders, bracing herself for flight. "Yes."
"Hold on tight!" Theo launched himself and the Pale Marksman into the sky, rapidly ascending to an altitude of several thousand feet. "Not afraid of heights, are you?!"
"A bit late to ask, don't you think?!" the Pale Marksman shouted to be heard over the wind.
The Badlands lay not too far ahead, marked by murky, ashen clouds which hung low in the sky, obscuring the irradiated wasteland below.
Theo flew forward at a breakneck speed towards the Badlands. Having no desire to fly through the dark clouds, he continued to ascend in a gradual arc which carried him high into the clearer blue skies above, where the clouds were fluffy and white.
One of the more bulbous cumulus clouds drifted directly across Theo's path, offering a vision which captured his attention.
Gazing into the Skaian cloud's swirling contours, Theo could see himself aboard a first-rate ship of the line which appeared to be flying through a dark void. The ship looked like it had been plucked straight out of the 18th Century, with three masts and several rows of strange-looking cannons protruding from the hull.
Theo climbed the rigging up the ship's mainmast, past the billowing green sails, to the crow's nest at the very top. Upon reaching the crow's nest, he jumped into the air, and instead of landing back on his feet, he floated upwards, away from the ship. He cupped his hands and flew deeper and deeper into the dark void, leaving the ship far behind.
Light began to shine from Theo's cupped hands, growing brighter with each passing second, until Theo opened his hands, releasing a torrent of blazing white fire.
"Thane!" the Pale Marksman shouted over the wind, jolting Theo out of his vision. "You are slowing down! Focus!"
Theo blinked and looked away from the Skaian cloud, summoning powerful gusts of wind to help propel him back to his original velocity. "Sorry!"
"Stare into Skaia's clouds long enough, and you'll go mad!" exclaimed the Pale Marksman, squinting as the wind ripped across her face.
"The visions are incredible!" Theo shouted back, aiming himself forward as he gained enough altitude to soar over the Badlands' dark clouds. "It's so vivid! Like you're actually there!"
"I'm well aware!" The Pale Marksman glanced down at the distant ground more than ten thousand feet below, closing her eyes after a few moments in an attempt to control her vertigo. "Stop looking at prophetic clouds! Focus!"
Theo breathed deeply, pushing his speed beyond his comfortable limit.
Before long, Theo and the Pale Marksman were directly over the Badlands, and Theo felt like a tiny airplane flying over a vast ocean with nowhere to land.
Electrical storms roiled within the murky depths of the dark clouds below, giving off lightning flashes in random locations every few seconds. Each flash briefly illuminated the outlines of the surrounding clouds, and sometimes the lightning erupted out of the clouds and dispersed into the clearer skies above. The Pale Marksman opened her eyes as one such cascade of lightning speared through the air not too far away, close enough for her to smell the ozone. "I bitterly regret this course of action," she murmured to herself. In a much louder voice, she yelled, "Perhaps you can fly a bit higher?!"
"Relax, we aren't gonna be struck by lightning!" Theo shouted back. "If you freak out and fall, I can't promise I'll be able to catch you in time!"
"Fuck." The Pale Marksman closed her eyes, keeping them tightly shut from now on. "Just tell me when we are there."
Theo kept his breathing steady, careful not to hyperventilate. He did his best to redirect the wind from tearing at his face, but he could only do so much while traveling at a breakneck speed.
The dark storm clouds over the Badlands stretched to the horizon in all directions, and Theo frequently caught himself wondering if he would ever find the other side. After a while, to combat the anxiety of not seeing anywhere to land, he decided to suddenly break out in song: "ROCKET MAAANN!" he sang to the ether. "And I think it's gonna be a long, long time!"
Theo did not know the song very well, and he was perfectly unbothered by singing the lyrics out of order. He hummed when he did not know the words, and even though that meant he hummed most of the song, the melody was lovely and it helped distract him from the electrical storms raging below.
"Are you trying to say something to me?!" shouted the Pale Marksman, eyes screwed tightly shut. "What is that noise you are making?!"
"I'm singing a song called Rocket Man while rocketing through lightning!" Theo yelled back. "Is that too ham-fisted?!"
"What?!" the Pale Marksman struggled to hear Theo over the roaring wind.
"ROCKET MAAANN!" sang Theo, keeping his gaze fixed on the horizon. "And I think it's gonna be a LONG, long time!"
The Pale Marksman chose to resume ignoring everything around her. She retreated to her happy place: an imaginary early evening lagoon with bioluminescent willow trees, a cute little cottage with a mailbox, and a stunning view of Skaia setting over the water. She did her best to shut Theo's singing out of her happy place, and as the minutes turned into hours, it became easier.
After two hours or so, Theo had gone through just about all of his favorite songs, and his throat was getting a bit raw. Besides, the music had served its purpose, because now he could see a faint strip of vibrant green mountains hugging the horizon ahead. "Land ho!" he hollered.
"What did you say?!" yelled the Pale Marksman, tightening her death grip around Theo's shoulders. "Are we there yet?!"
"No, but we're almost out of the Badlands!"
"What part of TELL ME WHEN WE'RE THERE don't you understand?!" exclaimed the Pale Marksman, returning to her imaginary tropical island happy place, where she was busy relaxing and fly fishing.
Soon, the colossal, tree-covered mountain range loomed over Theo, prompting him to gain more altitude. He maneuvered around the snowy peaks, giving each mountain a wide berth, but this grew tiresome after the first few dozen mountains. Theo pushed his trajectory even higher, clearing the tallest mountaintops, and as he looked around, he could see the curvature of the Battlefield planet. Prospit and the Golden Moon loomed in the sky far above, glittering silently in Skaia's light, and Theo knew it would not take him very long to fly there if he wanted. "Fuck, we're really high up." He glanced over his shoulder and nearly bumped heads with the Pale Marksman, allowing himself a moment of relief as he watched the Badlands' dark clouds and roiling electrical storms far behind.
Eventually, the vibrant green mountains faded into the background, giving way to smaller hills and grassy plains as far as the eye could see, broken only by the occasional forest or river. Theo gently shed some of his altitude, preferring to fly closer to the ground. He concentrated on keeping his breathing calm and steady, putting him into an almost meditative state of mind. For more than an hour, he soared across the beautiful landscape, content to enjoy the view, perking up only when he began to notice fuzzy outlines poking above the horizon ahead. Within the next few minutes, the outlines slowly unfolded into the shape of another mountain range, smaller than the first.
Theo began to experience mild tunnel vision as he fixated on the distant mountains, imagining he was connected to them by an invisible string. All he had to do was keep pulling the mountains towards him with the imaginary string, and he would be there before he knew it.
The sky beyond the mountains, appeared hazy, dark, with much thicker cloud cover, and as the mountain range drew near, Theo spotted his first glimpse of smoke. "That's not encouraging."
"What is it?!" asked the Pale Marksman, who felt Theo slowing down. "Stop looking into Skaia's clouds!"
"I'm not!" shouted Theo. "We're very close, and I'm seeing an awful lot of smoke!"
For the first time in hours, the Pale Marksman risked opening her eyes again, careful to avoid repeating the mistake of looking straight down. She saw the smoky sky ahead, realized the implications, and nodded simply. "I see." Her stomach sank a bit, and not from vertigo.
Theo continued to decelerate until the wind no longer tore so intensely at his face, allowing him to speak to the Marksman without screaming. "Your King doesn't happen to make a habit of throwing massive bonfire parties, does he?"
"No." The Pale Marksman pointed ahead to an approaching mountain with a relatively flat top. "Land us on that summit. We need to get a look at what is happening before flying in."
"Agreed." Theo nosedived through a system of stratocumulus clouds, plunging sharply down towards the summit of the Pale Marksman's desired mountain. "You did good. You survived the flight."
"Just put me down on solid ground," said the Pale Marksman, eager to feel earth under her feet. "I need to stretch."
"You and me both." Theo slowed his descent towards his chosen mountain, bringing himself and the Pale Marksman to a gradual halt directly above the rocky summit. Lowering himself the last few yards, Theo's feet finally touched down onto solid ground. "Fuck," he panted, "that was a lot of flying. That was a marathon. Gold medals for us both."
The Pale Marksman released her death grip around Theo's torso, allowing blood to rush back into her cramped limbs. "The wind seems to have gotten the better of you," she remarked, beginning a series of arm and leg stretches to bring her circulation back to normal. "The Thane of Breath is out of breath."
"Normal flying is practically effortless, but flying at crazy speeds through wind resistance for several hours straight?" Breathing heavily, Theo took a step forward and immediately collapsed to one knee. "Not so effortless." He waved away the Marksman's attempt to offer assistance. "I'm fine, I just need to catch my breath. That was a workout."
The ground trembled faintly underfoot, interrupting Theo and the Pale Marksman's stretching, followed immediately by a loud rumble which echoed from mountain to mountain.
"What the hell was that?" asked Theo, walking to the edge of the mountaintop and gazing for the first time upon the source of all the smoke.
Less than twenty miles away, across a broad expanse of blackened grasslands, fouled streams, and burning patches of woods, a massive Dersite army was busy laying siege to the White Keep.
A hellish wasteland of artillery craters, mud, and the charred husks of burnt trees surrounded the great hill upon which the White Keep and its walled town had been built. Many of the remaining woods continued to burn, adding to the smoke rising above the battlefield. What was once a beautiful landscape had now been brutally carved up by a massive network of jagged trenches forming two concentric rings around the White Keep's entire foundation hill.
Thousands of gray, black, and violet tents filled the space outside the larger of the two encircling trenches, out of range from the Prospitian defenders' weapons. It was a sprawling camp, but organized, with the tents arranged in neat blocks, each section of tents likely corresponding to a specific military unit. It was difficult to make out individual figures, but even with the naked eye, Theo and the Pale Marksman could see tens of thousands of Dersite soldiers occupying the trenches.
Smaller trenches connecting the inner and outer rings of siegeworks, dug at oblique angles relative to the Prospitian defenders' lines of fire, allowed Dersite soldiers to move between the two rings in relative safety. Some of these trenches did not stop at the inner ring, however. The Pale Marksman activated her helmet camera, which allowed her to see Dersite sappers working feverishly to continue digging inwards towards the White Keep, no doubt hoping to create an even smaller encirclement.
"They're vulnerable to attack from the outside," observed Theo. "Risky."
"Not for long." The Pale Marksman pointed towards a series of ditches being dug in front of the nearest section of Dersite encampments. "See there? Just outside their camp? They're digging a contravallation."
"Huh?"
"The Dersites are digging a larger circle around the two smaller circles, and they're going to make it face away from the siege," explained the Pale Marksman, pointing left towards one of the battlefield's edges. "It will protect their camps and siegeworks from external attacks. The Black King will be firmly dug in, and we will bleed heavily to dislodge him."
"He's acting like Caesar at Alesia," remarked Theo, recognizing the siege tactic.
"If you say so." The Pale Marksman, zooming in with her helmet camera to get a closer view of the innermost ring of siegeworks. "You make gibberish references as if I know what they mean."
Theo briefly considered explaining Julius Caesar to the Pale Marksman before deciding to go for it. "Julius Caesar was one of my people. A Human. He was a military genius who did something similar during one of his sieges, and his tactics were so innovative that a lot of other famous people studied and copied him long after he died."
"I like this Caesar human."
"Well, he enslaved thousands of people for his political career, acted too much like a power-hungry monarch, and got himself stabbed more than twenty times," added Theo. "To top it all off, he apparently died after getting stabbed in the dick by someone he thought of as a son. So it goes."
"That is a terrible place to stab someone," said the Pale Marksman, adjusting the focus of her helmet camera. "Why stab Caesar in the groin? Why not the liver or heart?"
"Who knows?" Theo shrugged. "Maybe they thought his dick would look better perforated?"
"I'm not sure I will ever fully understand Humans." Through her magnified camera feed, the Pale Marksman could now see individual Dersite sappers digging the smaller oblique trenches which extended slowly towards the White Keep. "They're digging more approaches, which means they're planning to establish an even smaller ring." She watched as the Dersite sappers struggled to survive against withering bursts of Prospitian machinegun-fire from the White Keep's battlements. "As you can see, every time the enemy advances, they can move their artillery closer to our walls."
The Pale Marksman witnessed one Dersite sapper pause for a moment to catch his breath. The Dersite straightened up a bit while enjoying a brief, much-needed stretch, only to drop dead a moment later when a Prospitian sharpshooter's energy bolt tore through his head. The dead sapper's shovel fell into the mud.
"We'll have to get a bit closer." Theo caught himself squinting and stopped because it really did not help him see more clearly. "I'm having trouble seeing what's happening."
"No need." Double-checking to make sure her helmet camera was recording, the Pale Marksman watched dispassionately as two Dersites dragged away the corpse of their newly deceased comrade, clearing room for the other sappers to continue working on the trench. "I can magnify with my helmet cam."
"What's it looking like down there?"
"Bad." The Pale Marksman located the Dersites' primary artillery nest and increased the magnification setting on her helmet camera, revealing a mounted railgun flanked by heavy mortars. As the railgun powered up, an intense green light emanated along the length of the railgun's barrel, glowing brighter with every passing second. "Very bad."
A blazing projectile erupted suddenly from the railgun, streaking over the heads of the entrenched Dersite soldiers and slamming thunderously into the White Keep's outer walls.
The outer walls flickered with a soft blue light which appeared to absorb the brunt of the railgun projectile's force. Even so, the wall buckled noticeably from impact, and the Pale Marksman knew it would not last much longer. A split-second later, the booming explosion reached Theo and the Pale Marksman's ears, and again the ground trembled underfoot.
"How the fuck did the wall just take that hit?" Theo rubbed his eyes, blinking as he tried to make out the details. "Am I crazy, or did you see that flash of blue light? What was that?"
"Kinetic shields. They are failing," replied the Pale Marksman, surveying the damage. At least one Prospitian soldier standing behind the parapet above the impact had been killed in the blast. Two others lay on the ground, bleeding profusely from wounds inflicted by flying rock fragments, while medics worked feverishly to staunch the flow of blood. "Those walls are on the brink of collapse. Even if the Marshal turned the Alabaster Rifles around right now and marched them straight here without stopping, they would not arrive in time."
"I could evacuate the White King," offered Theo. "This doesn't have to be a total loss."
"Fly him out by yourself?" The Pale Marksman almost laughed, double-checking to make sure her helmet camera was transmitting. "You are brave, Thane, but the Dersites will shoot you out of the sky."
"They're welcome to try."
"It is a terrible idea," insisted the Pale Marksman. "I will not allow you to go on a suicide mission. Your life is too valuable."
"They won't see me coming." Theo gauged the distance to the White Keep, then he looked up to see which way the clouds were moving. "I have the wind on my side." Having established the direction of the wind, he inhaled deeply and prepared to jump. "I'll be fine."
"Wind won't deflect projectiles," warned the Pale Marksman, but it was too late.
Theo flew straight up into the sky, punching directly through the smoky clouds, and then he leveled out, getting a feel for the wind. After probing the sky around him, it did not take to sense a powerful wind current nearby. Holding his breath, he flew against the powerful current, ducking his head to try and keep the wind out of his eyes. Then, after a minute or two, he abruptly spun around and launched himself back the way he came.
Now with the strong winds at his back, Theo released his breath and rocketed forward. He exerted his will over the wind, redirecting the entire current and forcing it downwards. Heartbeat quickening, euphoric from the adrenaline coursing through his system, he rode the powerful gale of wind towards the ground, adding more and more wind to his already considerable momentum. Nearing landfall amid part of the sprawling Dersite army camp, he pulled up at the last moment, directing a blistering wave of hurricane-force winds through the sea of clustered tents.
The wind ripped hundreds of tents from the ground, spilling rudely awakened soldiers from their cots, and many more tents collapsed upon their occupants resting within. By the time an alarm was raised, Theo had already blown past the army camp, swooping low across the outermost trenches towards the Dersite railgun.
Green light hummed along the length of the railgun's barrel, and Theo knew it was about to open fire.
Harnessing his wind into a concentrated missile of air, Theo bore down on the artillery nest and torpedoed the Dersite railgun from the side, causing its metal supports to immediately snap.
The railgun tumbled over sideways, forcing the Dersite artillery crewmembers to run for their lives. With a loud crash, the railgun collapsed and rolled over several times, crushing one of the energy mortars unfortunate enough to be in its path. Damaged and upside down, sparks flying from its circuitry, the railgun lost power and the charging glow of green light dissipated. By the time the soldiers in the trenches could register what had just happened, Theo was already flying low across the muddy battlefield towards the White Keep, forcing any Dersites directly in his path to take cover from the blistering wind.
Within seconds, Theo sailed over the heads of the astonished Prospitian soldiers garrisoning the White Keep's outer walls. He released his hold over the wind, allowing it to dissipate before landing in the pockmarked green yard in front of the White Keep's citadel, which had been converted into an impromptu triage center.
A team of overworked and exhausted corpsmen tended to dozens of wounded Prospitians lying on stretchers outside the citadel, separating the ones who could be saved from the ones who could not. Some of the wounds were ghastly enough to make Theo nauseous, and he forced himself to look up, away from the wounded, at the soldiers on the ramparts, many of whom had begun to cheer.
"Take heart!" a bleeding Prospitian sergeant shouted from her stretcher, wincing as she disturbed her wound. "The Thane is here!"
Although some of the wounded soldiers joined in the cheering, most did not. A few of the wounded opted to speak quietly to Theo directly as he walked by.
"Thank you, Thane," said another stretcher-bound Prospitian whose torso was riddled with severe burns. "You came back for us."
"Thane!" The medic in charge of triage hurried over towards Theo. "Did you bring any extra medical supplies? We're running out of blood plasma and anti-septic. When will the Alabaster Rifles get here?"
"I don't know," replied Theo. "It'll be a while."
"How long?" persisted the medic. "Our surgeons need to be relieved. They are on the verge of passing out."
"I'm sorry, I don't know. Days, probably."
A corpsman wearing a bloodstained apron emerged from within the citadel, waving over to the ranking medic. "Next two!" she hollered before ducking back inside.
"RHO-61179, OVI-873141, you're up!" ordered the medic, flagging down two of his corpsmen and directing them to the line of waiting stretchers. "Thane, you're with me."
Two Prospitian triage workers hurried over and picked up the stretcher belonging to the next wounded soldier in line who had been marked as viable for immediate surgery. Meanwhile, Theo followed the medic to the second stretcher in line, which belonged to a Prospitian soldier bleeding from a shrapnel wound in her chest. The wounded Prospitian soldier was still awake, but barely. She gazed up silently at Theo, blood seeping from her mouth, wondering if Theo's face was the last thing she would ever see.
"Stop staring and help me," ordered the medic, grabbing hold of the stretcher's front end. "Unless you can heal wounds by gawking at them?"
Theo shook his head, taking up his end of the stretcher. Together with the medic, he lifted the bleeding Prospitian off the ground and carried her across the makeshift triage center. The medic led the way through the open inner gate into the White Citadel's entrance hall, following closely behind his two colleagues who carried the first stretcher. Upon entering the White Citadel's grand entrance hall, what Theo first noticed was the absence of the huge white-and-gold Prospitian royal banners which had once adorned the ceiling and walls. Then he saw all the wounded soldiers lying on the floor. "Oh, geez."
More than a hundred wounded soldiers lay in stretchers arranged in haphazard rows along the entire length of the citadel's entrance hall. Most were asleep or unconscious, recovering from surgery, but some remained awake with varying degrees of lucidity. A small number of wounded soldiers wept quietly, and a few others murmured among themselves. As Theo proceeded deeper into the grand entrance hall, he noticed a billowing heap of white-and-gold cloth on the floor, recognizing it as one of the missing royal banners. A Prospitian corpsman, hard at work with a pair of scissors, sheared evenly sized strips from edges of the fallen banner, piling the lengths of fabric onto a nearby table. Upon closer inspection, Theo could see that many of the patients' wounds had been bandaged with banner cloth.
Theo carried the stretcher through the remainder of the entrance hall, all the way to the partially ajar stone double doors at the far end, where the White King's throne room awaited. He glanced down again at the dazed soldier lying on the stretcher, making eye contact with her and murmuring, "Hang in there. You'll be okay."
The wounded soldier coughed violently, spattering part of Theo's face with blood.
"Quickly!" urged the Prospitian medic as the wounded soldier began to convulse. "Move, move, move!" He led Theo into the throne room. "Over here. Set her down."
All of the bookshelves which usually filled the audience chamber had been removed in a hurry, and some of the books had fallen onto the bloodstained floor. Even the White King's marble throne had been shoved unceremoniously into a back corner, clearing space for surgical staff to set up four operating tables in the middle of the chamber. Two of the operating tables were in use, each bearing a wounded soldier being operated upon by a medical team consisting of a surgeon and several assistants. The remaining tables were available, and their respective medical teams were taking advantage of a brief respite which was about to end. While the two corpsmen brought the first stretcher to one of the open tables, Theo and the medic carried their convulsing soldier to the other.
After guzzling down several gulps of water from a canteen, one of the beleaguered surgeons came over to the operating table, took one look at the convulsing soldier's chest wound, and asked, "What is this?"
"Sucking chest," explained the medic, working with Theo to transfer the wounded soldier onto the operating table. "Shrapnel."
"I can see that," grunted the surgeon. "Why have you sent me a goner? What the hell kind of triage are you running out there? You cost lives when you send me goners."
"She's not a goner," argued the medic. "Not if you shut the fuck up and get to work on her."
The wounded soldier's convulsions stopped.
"You just brought me a corpse," declared the surgeon, checking the dead soldier's neck for a pulse which was not there. "Stop wasting my time and do your fucking job. Next time you bring me a corpse, I-"
The medic seized the surgeon by the apron and shoved him against the wall. "We are all living in a stressful nightmare right now," he seethed, dangerously close to the surgeon's face, "but if you talk to me like that one more time, I'll drag you upstairs and throw you out the first window I see." He then released the shocked surgeon and stormed out of the room, wiping tears from his eyes.
"I'll have you shot!" the surgeon screamed after the medic. "INY-384823! I have your name, and I'll have you shot!"
"ENOUGH!" shouted the ranking surgeon from one of the busy operating tables. "Our situation is bad enough without you antagonizing the medics! Get someone to clear the table."
"Antagonizing the medics?!" exclaimed the incredulous surgeon. "He threatened to defenestrate me!"
"Drop it. He's gone more than two days without sleep or food, just like the rest of us," said the ranking surgeon, focused intently on tying off an artery deep within her patient's leg wound. "Mistakes will happen. Do not berate the medics again, or I'll defenestrate you."
Theo walked away from the chaos, slipping through a side door and finding himself in a smaller hallway which led deeper into the citadel. "Stairs," he murmured, trying to remember the way to the White King's situation room. "Gotta find the stairs."
Sure enough, the side hallway emptied into a larger chamber which contained the citadel's central staircase, which Theo remembered.
"Excuse me." A Prospitian messenger brushed past Theo, hurrying up the stairs, no doubt on his way to deliver updates to the White King.
Theo followed the messenger upstairs to the third floor and down another hallway. The door at the end of the hallway burst open, and another messenger emerged. The outgoing and incoming messengers exchanged brief nods with each other as they crossed paths, and as he hurried past Theo, the outgoing messenger said, "Hello, Thane."
"Hello…?" Theo watched the outgoing messenger vanish down the stairs, wondering if they'd ever met before. He was unused to being a celebrity.
Theo followed the first messenger into the White King's situation room, where hundreds of cigarette butts littered the floor and the air reeked of tobacco smoke.
"Welcome back, Thane." The King of Prospit pored over his table, which emitted a holographic representation of the White Keep and its surrounding terrain, highlighting the completed rings of Dersite trenches. "We will speak in a moment. First," he acknowledged the newly arrived messenger, "let us hear your report."
"The enemy has finished fortifying their first and second circumvallations, and they are digging approaches to create a third," reported the messenger. "Our sharpshooters are bleeding them, but the enemy works hard and digs quickly. They will likely finish the next ring of trenches within the next two days."
"Thank you," said the White King. "You are dismissed."
"Your Grace." The messenger bowed before exiting, leaving Theo alone with the White King and his aides.
"Give us the room, please?" The White King motioned towards the door, prompting his aides to quietly exit. He then produced a half-empty carton from an inner pocket, plucking out a cigarette. "I must say, Thane, how relieved I am to see you." He lit the cigarette with a small electric lighter, inhaling deeply. "You couldn't have arrived at a better time. One of the last messengers to pass through here told me you disabled the Black King's railgun using nothing but the wind. Is that true?"
"I knocked it over, sure, but it's not destroyed. They'll fix it soon." Theo watched the White King's exhaled cigarette smoke curl slowly towards the ceiling, where it flattened into a stratus haze. "We need to talk."
"Are the Alabaster Rifles intact?" asked the White King. "Please tell me the Scarred Marshal is still alive."
"He is," replied Theo. "And they are. But-"
"Thank the light of Skaia. All is not lost, then." The White King directed Theo's attention to the holographic map's representation of the Dersite army's network of trenches. "These completed rings are circumvallations," he said, pointing at the inner and outer rings of Dersite siegeworks. "See this one, here?" He pointed at the mostly unfinished outermost trench being dug to protect the Dersite army camps. "This is the-"
"I know what circumvallations and contravallations are," interrupted Theo.
"Really? I am impressed." The White King smiled for a moment, taking another drag from his cigarette. "If the Scarred Marshal strikes quickly, before the Black King finishes digging his contravallation, the siege can be broken. Where are the Alabaster Rifles positioned? How close are they?"
"See, there's the rub," said Theo. "They aren't coming."
The White King stared wearily at Theo, his energy visibly draining away.
"Not yet, at least," added Theo. "I'm not a relief force. I came here without the Scarred Marshal's knowledge."
After taking one deep, final drag, the White King ashed his cigarette directly on the table. "Please elaborate."
"The Black Keep is completely deserted," explained Theo. "We arrived there earlier today, and it's empty. When I tried to tell the Marshal, he wouldn't believe me."
"He kicked you out of his mobile command post, I expect?" surmised the White King, placing his dwindling carton of cigarettes down on the table. "He loves that mobile command post."
"This is serious."
"If the fault lies with anyone, it is me." The White King offered Theo a cigarette. "You will find no finer army commander than the Scarred Marshal, but perhaps he has been fighting this war for too long."
"Um, gee, you think?" Theo declined the White King's cigarette. "He said he'd waited ten thousand years to lay siege to the Black Keep. Isn't he allowed to take vacations?"
"He refused every opportunity to step away from battle. This war is relentless." The White King glanced down at his cigarettes. "I confess, I never pressed the issue. If I had ordered our friend the Marshal, if I'd commanded him to rest, to enjoy his life, perhaps he might have tried. But I never did. It wasn't a command I ever thought to give. Until now. Curious, isn't it, how clear everything becomes when death is so near."
"I brought the Pale Marksman with me," said Theo. "She's up in the mountains, transmitting video of the siege back to her Rangers. The Scarred Marshal said he wouldn't move without proof, so at least now he has proof. If he isn't irredeemably compromised, the Alabaster Rifles will be on its way soon."
The White King lit a new cigarette, breathing in deeply. "The Pale Marksman disobeyed her orders?" he exhaled smoke with a quiet chuckle. "Just when I think the day's surprises are over. My people rarely make a habit of going against the grain. We are created with programming which is easy to live by and difficult to subvert. It is truly beautiful to see another of my kind learn to think critically and make her own choices. I should have liked the opportunity to discuss such a breakthrough with her."
"You sound like you're already resigned to dying," observed Theo.
"My death is expected," admitted the White King. "Prospit is destined to be defeated by Derse. It is why you are here. You and your friends will have to pick up the pieces."
"Says who?"
The White King pondered the question for a moment. "I am uncertain. Isn't that strange? It is something I have always known, but when I think about it, I am not sure where it came from."
"Humans already have a word for that," said Theo. "Imprinting. Your society, people around you, people who interact with you, have their own ideas about who you are. Your identity can be shaped by the perceptions of others until you learn to do the work of defining who you are on your own terms."
The White King remained silent and pensive, ignoring his smoldering cigarette.
"…so?" probed Theo. "What are you going to do? I can get you out of here, if you let me."
The White King put down his cigarette and reached underneath the table, withdrawing a simple marble scepter capped with a glowing orb which resembled Skaia.
Theo stared at the King's Scepter. "Really? You keep your scepter under the table?"
"While I am in this room, yes," replied the White King. "Would it be more ceremonious to lean it against the wall? Imagine if it fell over sideways and rolled across the floor." He held the scepter out to Theo. "Here."
Accepting the King's Scepter, Theo was surprised not only by its deceptively heavy weight, but also by an unexpected pulsating warmth in the marble. "It feels alive, almost like a heartbeat."
"It is connected to Skaia," said the White King. "All things touched by the light of Skaia are alive, in their own way. Your universe and its many contents are no exception."
"Cool." Theo tried to hand back the scepter, but the White King did not take it. "Want me to put it down?"
"Your choice," said the White King. "The Scepter is yours, now."
"Why?" Theo held the scepter's miniaturized Skaia up to his eyes, scrutinizing the orb's moving cloud patterns. "I can't do anything with it."
Some of the White King's smile began to return. "Did your own imprinting just speak?"
"It's a fact," insisted Theo. "Your Scepter is wasted on me. I can't use it the way a carapacian can."
"Then perhaps you should not try to," suggested the White King. "I have carried this Scepter everywhere for as long as I remember. I have spent too long trying to be a King. This will be my first step towards abdicating. After my people are safe, I will give up my crown as well. Will you deliver the Scepter to my wife? And would you be so kind as to pass along a message for me?"
"Why not deliver it yourself?" asked Theo. "I could fly you out of here."
"And how many of my garrison could you evacuate? How many of the wounded?"
It was Theo's turn to remain silent.
"Precisely." The White King finished his cigarette, flicking it across the room. "My brave garrison bleeds profusely for me, and I will not leave them. If we cannot break this siege, I will die here with them, and it will be a good death."
"The Queen won't like that," warned Theo. "She'll ask why I didn't fly you out, and if that's all I tell her-"
"She expects my death," interrupted the White King. "She has spent millennia preparing for it. I am supposed to use my Scepter in combat against the King of Derse, but if I do that, I will fail. By spiriting my Scepter far away, you will remove the possibility of its capture from the equation. The Black King will be forced to pursue, which will allow us to fight him on a battlefield of our choosing."
"Why assume you'll fail?" protested Theo. "You haven't even tried to fight him one on one. You don't know you'll fail."
"I do. I remember it." The White King pocketed his carton, but not before removing a cigarette and placing it on the table. "The memories are slippery, unformed, at the edge of my mind, but they are there. I know that I have failed to defeat the Black King countless times in countless other lifetimes, but I do not seem to have any memories of besting him."
Theo frowned, feeling the earliest stages of a possible headache. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Did you really believe this is the only dark corner of existence where the light of Skaia shines?" The White King did not hide his amusement. "The light at the center of our incipisphere is really just a piece of Skaia. A spark, if you will. There are many systems of reality, much like this one, where other sparks of Skaia can be found, along with other versions of me. Skaia, in its totality, is a light that is greater than the sum of its sparks. It is a creative force of life which births entire universes."
"Um." Theo gently massaged his temples. "Are you trying to make my brain melt?"
"You and your friends are what make this system unique." The White King stared at the cigarette he'd placed on the table, rolling it back and forth under his fingers. "I have lived and died in every single one of Skaia's incipispheres, but only in this system have I met Theo Gibbons. Only in this system did Theo Gibbons acquaint me with imprinting I did not even realize I had."
"I don't understand." Theo gave up trying to stave off his building headache. "You're saying there are other incipispheres? Other Sburb sessions? Are there other Humans who survived the destruction of Earth?"
"It is customary for multiple sparks of Skaia to spring from one world, and your world generated many," explained the White King, "but only one configuration of Heroes from each world will succeed in creating a new universe, and Skaia already knows which one it will be, because it has already happened. All other incipispheres generated from Earth are like seeds which do not germinate."
"Lucky us."
"What do you mean?" asked the White King.
"Lucky we're the ones who'll create a new universe," clarified Theo.
"Your assumption is incorrect." The White King picked up his cigarette from the table, twirling it absentmindedly around his fingers. "A different configuration of Heroes has already succeeded elsewhere. Your configuration, regrettably, is broken. Our incipisphere is one of the seeds which will not germinate."
"So, what, does that mean we're stuck in an unwinnable game for eternity?"
The White King lit his cigarette and took a long drag. While exhaling, he said, "It means there is no way to win if we play by Skaia's rules, or if we define victory on Skaia's terms. But we will need to work quickly. Skaia has a way of disposing of its redundant incipispheres, and we won't want to be here when that happens."
Theo could only imagine what his own contorted face looked like. "What the fuck? What do you mean?"
"Your Grace?" asked a voice from behind the situation room's closed door, followed by a series of knocks. "Your Grace?"
"We will have to continue this discussion at another time, if we are fortunate enough to cross paths again." The White King rose from his chair. "I'm afraid I have a siege to run."
"Um, fuck that." Theo stood up and walked around the table, blocking the White King's path. "I'm not going anywhere until you explain what you just said."
"What happens to seeds which do not germinate?" asked the White King, patiently waiting for Theo to move. "What happens to fertilizing cells which never reach an egg? It is a law of nature. If the Black King captures your Scepter and triggers the Reckoning, this incipisphere will inevitably be consumed. But that does not mean we must be consumed along with it."
Another round of knocking rattled the door. "Your Grace," said the messenger in the hallway, "I've brought new casualty counts from the northern sector, and there is another courier behind me with an update from the engineers about the integrity of our kinetic shields."
"Deliver the Scepter to my wife, and she may be able to explain more to you," said the White King. "May I pass, please? I am needed."
Theo stepped aside, allowing the White King to walk over to the door.
Before opening the door, the White King turned to Theo and said, "Tell my wife that I love her, that I would very much like to dance with her again, and please be sure to tell her to reach for Skaia's heart. Tell her she was right."
"Skaia's heart?"
"Yes, she will know what it means. Tell her, and be quick about it." The White King opened the door, allowing two frazzled messengers to enter, followed by the King's aides. "Good luck, Thane, and I hope to see you again."
"Yeah, you too, but I have to say, this was disorienting as fuck." Stowing the King's Scepter in his sylladex, Theo took his leave, exiting into the hallway while the first messenger began delivering a casualty report.
Theo walked down the stone hallway towards the citadel's central staircase. "What the fuck even was that?" he muttered to himself, dodging another messenger and making his way upstairs. "If the White Queen doesn't give me straight answers, I'll lose my fucking mind."
The central stairs brought Theo all the way up to the top of the White Keep's citadel.
Greeted by the cloying stench of death, acrid smoke, and the loud, omnipresent rip of machinegun fire, Theo emerged onto the citadel's roof, where he found several prone Prospitian sharpshooters firing at Dersites in the trenches. Focused intently on picking off Dersite sappers, the sharpshooters did not notice or acknowledge Theo's arrival.
Theo gazed across the smoky, muddy battlefield at the mountains in the near distance, knowing the Pale Marksman was up there, somewhere, looking back at him. He wondered whether or not he should fly straight to Prospit. Would it be better to share his plans with the Marksman first? If he flew off without informing the Pale Marksman of his plans, what would she think? Then again, if Theo flew directly to the mountains, the Pale Marksman's location would be revealed, and even she would have trouble evading a concentrated effort by Dersite commandos to flush her out. Perhaps flying straight to Prospit was the safer course of action?
The Pale Marksman could take care of herself, and surely by now the Scarred Marshal knew what was happening.
"Fine." Theo looked up into the sky, where the golden spires and contours of Prospit glimmered distantly through gaps in the Skaian clouds. "Prospit it is."
With a deep breath, Theo levitated off the ground and soared into the air, aiming himself towards Prospit, but he did not get very far. While rapidly ascending, he initially did not notice or feel the energy bolt which tore through his chest, but that quickly changed.
In shock, Theo plummeted out of the sky, gazing in confusion at the cracked ground and Dersite trenches which rushed up to meet him.