He had failed.
In the beginning, it had started small; so small that none of the overseers of The Underworld had noticed. A newly arrived soul mysteriously disappearing here or a squadron of skeletons appearing to wreak havoc there. Occurrences that while concerning, other larger matters had taken priority. Maintaining the judgment of souls had become difficult when Grenth's retreat from his domain left a portion of his faithful shaken. Paralyzed without the guiding frigid hand of the Lord of Death they had known for centuries. They were weak.
Not him.
He stood now, still as stone, solitary on an icy ridge overlooking the Ice Wastes. Below him the River of Souls flowed, his eyes, unblinking, following the inky white trails that the myriad of souls left in their wake as they traveled. The cacophony of their cries and screams rang in his ears, a grim reminder of the magnitude of his failure; his betrayal.
They all knew that Dhuum would attempt to free himself. He had seen it first-hand in a memory from a time long gone, frozen deep beneath a cold sheet of bitterness. The Emperor of Oblivion's defiance of his confinement was eternal. His wrath so all-consuming that not even the Seven Reapers could stop him with their combined might if he were to ever break free.
"Your presence is requested by the Council of Seven."
He said nothing to the wraith that had approached from behind him, his eyes still following the stream of souls as they traveled further and further away. Their ghostly forms twisted and pushed against each other as if in a desperate frenzy to escape their destination. It was a useless struggle. The Hall of Judgement awaited them all.
"Your presence is requested by-"
"No one in this realm commands me."
A cold silence was all that followed after the whisper left his lips. No one would command him.
Not Dhuum. Not the Seven. Not even Desmina.
Only Grenth, and Grenth was gone.
"This self-imposed exile really does not suit you."
Desmina raised a perfectly sculpted black eyebrow at his silence. After all her centuries of existence, patience was the first virtue that she discarded. She did not have the time to deal with mortals and their emotions. Really, it was exhausting.
Well, she really couldn't call him a mortal anymore.
He made no acknowledgment of her presence either. A predictable and frankly boring response.
"You cannot refuse the summons of the Seven for all eternity. You won't even have an eternity to squander away out here and you know it."
She was in front of him now, blocking his view but he could still hear the screams echoing between his ears. His gaze met hers, a courtesy reserved for Desmina of Orr, first follower and priestess to Grenth. Seeing his green eyes, still flickering with dormant magics yet lifeless and barren, stare right through her made the frozen blood in her veins boil. She did not have time for this. Every moment away from her duties was more souls lost to Dhuum that she could have protected.
"Look at you." Desmina hissed, her pale face showing just a hint of the veiled fury that lay beneath. She moved a step closer and away from the drop into the River of Souls below. Dark ancient magic flared around her form that was garbed in Orrian finery. Her blood-red twin-horned crown crackled with power as the ice beneath her heels began to break apart.
"You come into His sacred realm before your time. You pledge yourself in eternal service to Grenth upon the stones of his most holiest of sites. He accepts you into the folds of his embrace for your deeds and how do you repay the Prince of Winter when you fail at your station?"
He let the blows of her onslaught rain down without protest. It was what he deserved for his mistakes. This was his punishment. To become a monument to his most grievous sin until oblivion.
"You give up. You abandon your post. You. Fail. Him."
Yes, he had failed. When Grenth had put his faith in him. Him! A god giving his faith to a devotee! How could he have betrayed such a gift?
She took another step and now they were face to face, her eyes alight in an orange glow as the swirling pressure began to crack the ice that had accumulated around his form. Desmina could obliterate the very fabric of his being if she desired. He knew this, of course. He had witnessed her raw power tear apart Dhuum's forces with ease, evaporating their forms as the magic arced from foe to foe.
In his shame, his eyes tore away unable to bear the truth in her eyes. Desmina's scowl remained but she reigned in the magical storm around them. Finally, she was getting somewhere.
"I remember when the souls of the dead whispered your name in reverence." Her voice was low, just above a whisper but with each word, Desmina's power chipped away more and more ice. "When His most faithful of the Ice Wastes, ancient and new alike, had recognized you as a champion of the Dark Prince."
"Stop. Enough." Desmina caught his faint whisper, watching his lips barely move. Words with no emotion, no life to them. No meaning. They rang hollow over the screams of the damned destined to feed Dhuum unto freedom.
"They called you 'Savior', 'Protector'... 'Hero'." Each title spoke of a life forgotten: discarded. A life that would never be again.
"Do you know what they would call you now?" Desmina leaned in, hovering close enough for her dark whispers to lash at his frozen soul.
"Pathetic." Somewhere deep within himself, he felt the ice crack.
"Weak." Another crack, followed by a thousand more.
"Unfaithful."
A great sundering erupted from the depths of his very soul, searing away all thought and feeling. His eyes were lit with green fire and a soul-shattering shriek upon his lips as dark necrotic energies coursed through his entire being. The force destroyed the remaining ice that had been encasing him. Desmina's lips turned up into a satisfied smirk at her handiwork after getting out of harm's way.
He then collapsed upon the cracked icy ledge as the magics dissipated, staring down at his fractured reflection. Each of the faces staring back seemed to be that of an utter stranger. Who was he? A savior? A failure? Hero? Coward?
"Are you done now?" Desmina called out, rolling her eyes when he did not respond. She did not provoke him further however, she was no fool. The once-heralded 'Savior of Tyria' was not one to make an enemy out of lightly.
"I... I have been a fool." He spoke, finding his voice after some time. He was shaken but rose to his full height, adorned in ornate robes that were dyed emerald and onyx. Desmina simply shook her head. A century's worth of isolation and for what? This? What a waste she thought.
"The Seven await. I suggest you do not keep them waiting any longer."
"I have been a fool," He repeated. This time louder, stronger, and with a conviction that took root in the core of his being. He turned away from his broken vigil over Grenth's once grand bastion to meet her gaze. "but I will never be unfaithful."
For the first time in over one hundred years, the Savior of Tyria moved with purpose.