The sky had become a collection of colors ranging from orange to pink as the sun began to set. The clouds had fallen into darker shades of gray as opposed to the pearly white color that they were hours ago. Wind picked up, blowing the leaves of the overgrowth from their place of rest and inciting the various small animals that resided in the Hanging Gardens to move for cover. Very light precipitation fell from above as night began to fall. It wasn't quite possible to tell if it was light rain or light snow, because even if it was snow, it melted the moment it touched something. The night would be quite cold. The traumatized martial artist still hadn't moved very far from his friend's lifeless vessel.
It had been six? Seven hours? Vegas couldn't tell, but the sun was taking cover under the horizon. He had been thinking about what had transpired a few hours ago for the whole time, constantly running questions through his head. He ran out of tears after a while. Unfortunately, tears are the one thing the body reserves to soothe itself. At times, to cry oneself out of tears is to fall into an even worse sadness. Vegas wasn't just depressed, however. He was seething, at himself, at Risryn, and especially at the Guides.
The concept of mortality isn't important to most Guides, Prospects, or Absolvers. Essence was truly a miraculous material, and the Guides had mastered utilizing it even with only small amounts of it on hand. Prospects and Absolvers particularly used it to operate their masks. The interior of the facial garment was laced with Essence, which would be used both to bind it to the face and fuel Folding. Folding was the magic used to rip through space and time to perform things that would otherwise be impossible. The Essence in the mask was used to Fold the wearer upon death and "unfold" them at a nearby altar. This didn't work for Risryn, however, because the Guides had carefully nullified her resurrection effect. In other words, they had removed her means of reincarnating and doomed her to truly die the next time she received a fatal wound, which ended up being dealt upon her by her own best friend.
Vegas cursed himself for doing the deed, but in his anguish, he sought someone to blame. Naturally, that blame fell upon the Guides for applying such a death sentence to someone who would otherwise be immortal. After finally establishing something for himself to channel his hatred and rage towards, he slowly rose from his position on the floor. He looked down at Risryn, and then over at her sword. It occurred to him that it would be inhumane to just leave her there alongside her weapon so unceremoniously. He first moved to pick up the sword, Folding it into some other dimension. He then set about looking for a shed or something of the sort where tools would be stored. He wanted to give her a proper grave.
After finding a storage shed on the opposite end of the tower's rooftop and beating the Lost Prospect who guarded it to death, he located a shovel. He returned to the rogue's resting place, picking her up and placing her on his shoulder, before spending some time looking around in the gardens for an open spot. Upon finding a good spot, Vegas removed her mask and her trademark black duster. He subsequently spent an hour digging without a thing on his mind. It was an oddly therapeutic experience, digging the grave. Even as the snow and night began to fall, his mind was clear. By the time he was done burying her, a thin layer of white blanketed the vicinity. He threw the shovel off to the side and gave one final martial salute to the grave, which was marked only by a slate of stone with the Eye of Anlek engraved upon it.
The fighter went back into the staircase and began descending into the archives below. At the bottom of the first flight of stairs was an old man in a cloak: a Guide, the very same one who originally selected Vegas and Risryn when they were new Prospects, the same one who placed that telltale blue cloak over the two of them when they graduated from their training. His name was Cyrus.
Cyrus was at first surprised to see someone descending the stairs dressed in black instead of blue. After a second, however, he recognized it as Vegas, wearing the coat of Risryn with a bloodstain covering a portion of his mask. It occurred to him that things up top ended the way they were supposed to. He understood that Vegas would be in a fragile state, and adopted a gentle demeanor as he began to speak. "I'm… terribly sorry that things went down like this," said Cyrus. He was met with silence, though the body language of his former protege indicated that he was receptive to the condolence. Vegas looked down, unsure of whether he should be feeling resentment or appreciation for the apology. Cyrus was genuine, and appeared to be so as well.
"I…" Vegas opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find words or a voice to project. He gulped, trying to drown the bump in his throat. "Just… let's leave, Cyrus." The older of the two simply nodded and motioned for the young Absolver to follow him. He lifted a hand, one with a bracelet of Essence shards about the wrist, and whispered a few words. The bracelet glowed briefly as an opening in space appeared before the Guide: a portal leading back to Towerpoint, the home of inbound Prospects, Absolvers, and the Guides. The duo stepped through the portal, which looked like no more than a frameless window to their destination. They appeared in their home atop a balcony, overlooking a larger balcony beneath itself.
It was that time of year again. Vegas observed the lower balcony, seeing several rows of Prospects in simple clothing and handmade masks, all in a meditating pose. A pair of Guides stood in front of the Prospects, exchanging quiet words about which ones seemed the most appropriate to test. Vegas remembered when he and Risryn were down on that balcony in the same pose as those other Prospects, trying their best to drown their anxiety before they were selected. Only one or two would be selected every day for a month, after which the selection would close and aspiring Prospects would have to wait another year to audition for the test again. The feeling was nostalgic, but unwelcome. Vegas even noticed a few Absolvers in their blue cloaks that were at his test four years ago. He would be glad to see that they succeeded, if it hadn't just been highlighted to him a few hours ago that becoming an Absolver was tantamount to becoming the sword of the Guides' own machinations.
Vegas stopped leaning over the short wall of the higher balcony, turning around after a few minutes of watching the selection process to find that Cyrus had left. In his place was an Absolver, wearing the white cloak of a Missionary. He had pale skin, judging from his ungloved hands, and fairly short brown hair pushed into a prim and proper forward spike. The Missionary paid Vegas no mind, moving up to the balcony to watch the ceremony. Vegas returned to his position to continue watching.
A Guide walked to the outside of the formation and down to the third row before moving into it. He took seven slow steps into the formation. One could see the Prospects who were passed droop slightly in disappointment as they realized they'd have to come in another day. He made it to the fifth person in the row, a young man with sun-kissed skin and black hair. The Guide tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to perk up. Vegas finally broke the silence on the upper balcony, speaking to the Missionary, "Lucky him, huh?"
"Heh, yeah. Took me three years to get selected," casually responded the man in white.
"Was it worth the wait?" asked Vegas.
"Oh, absolutely. The name's Tiwaz."
"Vegas," solemnly responded the one clad in black.
"How long was your selection?"
"I was selected first year. I got lucky, it was one of the days where they selected two Prospects."
"You were the second?"
"Yeah," replied Vegas, sounding a bit dejected.
"That's an Absolver's tunic you're wearing, so I can assume you passed. How about your partner?" inquired Tiwaz. Vegas went silent for a moment, leading Tiwaz to assume that Vegas' partner had become one of the Lost. Tiwaz went on, "Hm. I'm sorr-"
"She made it. She made it before even I did," interrupted the man in mourning. Tiwaz corrected his demeanor. "Oh! Is she here in Towerpoint?" he asked. Vegas inhaled sharply.
"You'll notice that there's blood on this coat," implied Vegas. Tiwaz did notice after it was mentioned. Vegas continued, "And my mask," turning to face the Missionary. Tiwaz was slightly taken aback as the bloodstain was made visible with Vegas turning. "It's there because earlier today, the Guides designated my partner as a rogue and sent me to kill her. This was her coat. This is her blood." They both went silent. It had been maybe five seconds before the man in black broke the awkward silence. "This field we work in gets pretty damn dirty, doesn't it?" asked Vegas. Tiwaz responded a few seconds later with a tentative nod.
Tiwaz wanted to grant his condolences or something to try and follow social protocol, but wasn't sure how to go about it. He had never had anyone drop something like that on him, especially not a stranger. It occurred to him that being in the absolving business could get pretty grimy. How many times had he been instructed to kill someone deemed an infidel by the Guides? How many of those times included an enemy who had a family back home? How many children were orphaned in the name of religious punity? Tiwaz understood that he was more of a crusader than a missionary.
While he was in thought, Vegas stood upright. "I'll see you later," said the man in black, walking off. Tiwaz looked back down, seeing the ceremony for the day ending. A second missing person from the formation indicated that a second selection was made while he was talking to Vegas. The Guides dismissed the Prospects, and they all began walking back towards a staircase dejectedly. They talked lowly amongst themselves, some jealously talking about the ones who were selected, others reassuring friends that they would be selected some other day. They're so naive, thought the Missionary. He stood and walked off towards his quarters, the same way that Vegas had gone.
Tiwaz moved briskly, aiming to catch up to the enigma he met a few minutes before. He did so without much difficulty, as the man with the bloody mask was using a sad, slow, shuffling gait. "Friend, wait up," called out the man in white. Vegas stopped, letting Tiwaz catch up to him.
"Look, I get that you're in a sour mood right now. But I can just feel the hatred coming off of you," began Tiwaz. "I… I understand the feelings of anger and guilt. This white cloak of mine doesn't come easy, and it doesn't stay easy. I've done things that made me question the Guides, too, as well as myself." Vegas listened patiently. Tiwaz continued, "You're gonna look for something to punish, something to channel your anger into. I'm normally way out in the Tearan wilderness when I get mad like that. I can hit a tree, or hunt down an animal. But you're in Towerpoint, awful close to those very Guides that told you to kill your friend. That's what you wanna retaliate against, isn't it?" Vegas was taken aback by the man's accuracy in his assumption. "Listen, don't. They can Fold you right out of Towerpoint if you get too close. Won't work. Then, after that, they'll assign the rogue status to you, just like they did to your partner. Then one of your fellow Absolvers is gonna have to hunt you down, the Guides will remove your ability to refold, and you'll more than likely get yourself killed.
"Who's to say that I don't want that?"
"It's the heat of the moment, Vegas! It's easy to think like that! Yeah, it took me longer to get selected than you, but I've been doing missionary work for a long time now and I can tell you from experience that you'll be able to get out of this fit of yours. Just be patient, maybe meditate for a few days. The rage will pass, I promise."
"Why do you care?"
"You think you're the first dude to get angry because he had to kill someone he cared about, or someone who wasn't really in the wrong? You're not. The Guides can't be perfect, sometimes they call a bad shot and we end up with the heartache after carrying it out. But they do more good than bad."
"Like what? Hoarding Essence and manipulating our hopes and dreams to fall under their own agenda?"
"They give us something to look forward to. Adal's kind of in a bad state, if you haven't noticed. There's nothing for us to do but try to rebuild or mine Essence in hopes of fixing it," highlighted Tiwaz.
"You think maybe the place deserved to be destroyed? It's common knowledge that the Downfall was caused by the destabilization of the earth that came from us mining so much Essence. We were over-reliant on it and it caused our own little world to end. And what do the Guides do in the face of this disaster? They keep mining it, and the country doesn't seem to have a whole lot to show for it, either. The world literally broke because we kept using Essence to play God and cheat death, yet we continue to do it."
Tiwaz was stumped, but only for a moment. He sighed before starting, "What did you always want to do as a kid?"
"I wanted to become an Absolver, like-"
"Like the rest of us, right? It was a dream, something for you to chase. A title only given to the best of the best. So you must've worked towards it, right?" inquired Tiwaz.
"Yeah, with Risryn, before they…" Vegas fell off into silence.
"Sounds like you knew her before the Selection. What did Risryn tell you you needed to do to become an Absolver?"
"Uh...to maintain an indomitable will. To always grow stronger, even in the face of adversity," recalled Vegas. Tiwaz simply motioned for him to continue. "She always valued the virtues of an Absolver. I can remember the starry look she used to get in her eyes when she talked about it."
"You said she went rogue. The Guides frankly don't give a damn if a Prospect goes rogue, so she must've ultimately become an Absolver too. She had to have had those virtues, right?"
"Right."
"You were selected the same day, you said. Right after her. That means that you had those virtues too. Unflinching resolve, always with the will to continue. To get back up after you've been knocked on your ass. That level of dedication."
"Or so I thought."
"No, you had to have had them. Otherwise, Risryn would've been selected alone on that day, you'd've been left behind to wait another year. From what you told me, your friend lost her footing somewhere on that path and the Guides wanted to put an end to it. You had to fight her."
"Yes," said Vegas, audibly heartbroken over it.
"The fact that she even put up a fight, even against her own friend, says that even on her lost path, she kept those ideals. She clutched them, kept them close to her chest even in her darkest hours. So tell me, Vegas, do you think somebody with such a strong resolve would want her friend, her undoing, to be some coward who just gives up on his way because he went through one hardship? Do you think she would want you to just say, 'yeah, I'm fine with getting myself killed because I'm sad and I don't wanna deal with it'?"
"...no. She wouldn't. She'd hate for me to kill myself like that. She'd scold me for it, beat the sense back into me. And she'd want me to do the same for her."
"Of course. The fallen can't come back, but their will and their drive can affect the world and the people left in it. Don't you dare let your friend down."
Vegas was stunned. He unclenched his fists. "I… thank you, Tiwaz. I think I needed that guidance." Tiwaz just nodded. He looked at Vegas, loosening up his tense posture before responding, "Yeah. No problem. Make sure you take care of yourself, alright?" Vegas nodded. The two parted ways.
As Vegas rested that night, he knew that a self-destruction wouldn't be the best way to handle his guilt. But he was still hung up on the fact that he only even killed Risryn because he stopped thinking, that he performed a lethal maneuver with a lethal weapon in a nonlethal scenario. He Folded the blood off of Risryn's coat, but not his own mask. That would serve as a reminder to himself that her blood was on him, and that guilt may never be absolved. He could, however, take solace in the fact that he could keep moving forward; that Risryn would've wanted it, and that it's what a good Absolver would do.
He slept with his back against a wall that night, not even bothering to go to his room.