This was not the memory I wished to inherit after the flood. Not the moment I wanted to recycle in my head over and over again, but some scars never heal. Some scars remain etched upon your soul even after centuries of trying to forge ahead; they are the reason for you to look back. To look and wonder if anything could have been done differently, if only I had been more persuasive, more protective of my husband. He stood tall until the end, while I wept like a beaten child for all of them to see.
I had no words for him. When I returned home before the morning, bawling and shivering, Jerome was horrified; I could see that much in his eyes. Yet despite this, he tried to help me, tried to calm me down despite the shock I had caused him. He began to cry too. He begged for me to tell him what was going on while I could barely put words together. It was just a dream, it couldn't have been anything else, but it felt so real, so close to myself, that I have not for a second doubted that this was exactly what happened on the battlefield. That the Takori took his life.
I don't remember what I said to him that day. I remember almost nothing of it. I only remember that after I told him, he wept too. I rarely tried to remember anything else; when I did, my body began to shake, and my thoughts broke into shambles. After all, it was not the mind that kept these memories but one's soul. Only the soul can keep manifest and keep such despair. My mind retained memories much simpler than that day. Those were the memories of the knights' victory and success in expunging the barbarians from our land. The message of them returning home brings back the many they have lost in this battle. I knew Arthur was among those corpses. I knew that the "dream" did not lie.
I wished I was wrong. I wished I was going insane and giving in to my lucid dreams too much. But I have not gone insane yet. Not at the time.
I remember standing among the mourning crowd at the palace grounds, filling the entire square like thermites. We were there to mourn those who lost, and the King agreed to allow the peasants into the palace grounds for this occasion. Our husbands, our brothers, and our sons were gone forever, and there was nothing for us to do but commemorate them in this chorus of broken souls. I think there was rain on that day, but I do not remember…I do not even remember if Jerome was there. I remember simply following along with the flow, one small voice in the crowd.
A crowd of familiar faces, the same ones I saw cheering and smiling as our men marched to war. Each of them knew that this was how it would end, a ceremony to mourn those who never lived to see their victory. Each believed themselves ready for this, and each believed that their relative would not be among those mourned. Oh, how wrong they were. It was obvious, yet everyone denied it until it was too late, just like the white-haired stranger said. Was he right about us? Right about this cycle of war and hatred?
I stood on the stone floor, struggling to breathe as the pain in my chest was enhanced by other people pushing me and each other, trying to gain themselves some space. There was a memorial in the center, a stone pillar that was built years ago for those who would give their lives in the service of the King. Legends had it that it was a holy place the eight knights chose to settle after their battle. There was more space there, but the armored guards guarded it, forcing anyone who overstepped their boundaries to return to the crowd like vermin. A few were expunged from the castle after making too many attempts.
When the gates before the balcony above us opened, and King Willem stepped outside, dressed in his black robes and wearing his silver crown, I did not care. Still, I looked. I didn't know why; I didn't know anything at all. Nothing except the certainty that I will not see Arthur again.
"Today, we have gathered for an occasion of both joy and sorrow…" - Willem began, trying to make it seem like he cared. I remember feeling my anger burst. There was no joy in this occasion; there was no joy in a reclaimed piece of land that I will never see in exchange for my husband being gone forever.
And so he spoke, but I didn't listen. I did not even realize if his speech was lengthy or quick; so much was consumed by my own pondering. I wanted to see that stranger again, to tell him that he was right about our kingdom, and I was too foolish to even understand. So many men were slaughtered, so many lives lost, all because of the feud between kings and warlords. I despised war. I despised everything the crown stood for at that moment, everything I was taught to love and adore. And I knew that nothing had changed; this was not the first ceremony of mourning the King conducted, and it would not be the last. But it had to wound my family before I started caring. I was a hypocrite, a puppet like the rest of them.
I should've looked at the King like any good peasant would. I should've cherished and praised his every word, but someone else caught my sight. A man in the crowd not far from me, a face among all of those that looked up to Willem, just as uncaring about his grand speech as I. He had darker skin, ginger hair, and Ruby eyes, eyes that stared at me, seeing through all the other peasants.
I did not look away, for he had piqued my curiosity. Once again, a figure I could not recognize from our city despite how many people I knew. Alone, he tried to find a place separated from others, wavering between those countless fools. I felt his gaze upon me, yet I did not understand his emotions. His eyes examined me as he clenched his fist; it was a mixture of grief and rage that emerged on his face, disdain, and heartbreak that fueled his eyes. And all of it was directed at me. I remember being scared of it, even though I knew for a certainty that he would not attack me in a public place like this, but I looked away, trying to evade his gaze. Yet there was something within me that pushed me to look. I wanted to see more of him, wanted to feel the rage of those ruby eyes, this pain, and disappointment; I felt it as a reflection of my own.
When the time came, I heard our hymn sung by the minstrels and the King himself. I knew it by heart, but I could not remember the words at that moment. Perhaps I didn't care to remember, didn't want to remember. I listened to it as a fragmented, distorted song of our sorrows, lying to us about the "triumphs" we have claimed.
"By pride of our forefathers
Shall ever we march forth,
The Raven's prideful banner
The triumphs that we claim
Will ever be our guiding star
Oh, glorious Valgarde."
His triumphs, not ours. His victories, not ours. His pride, our losses, and sorrow. This was the way it always was, the way we accepted and took to heart all our lives. Were we truly pawns? The slaves to our rulers that did not care about our lives for a single moment?
I didn't sing, not this time. I came here to commemorate Arthur, not some idea or fantasy of conquest and war, and this was what Willem wanted from us. To be his loyal servants, to open our mouths wherever he wanted us to, to sing the songs he wrote for us. To praise the victories that meant nothing to us. To thank him for ruining our lives.
When the moment finally came, and the knights stepped aside, allowing us to go to the pillar and pay our respects, I did not find any strength in myself to go. Arthur's name will be one of the many that will be carved on the stone wall, forgotten and faded after generations, all for nothing.
Would I fall once again? Would I collapse for everyone to see? Was I so pathetic? Perhaps, but I never got to find out. I felt a shadow over me, his warm breath and stark gaze on me. The man I saw earlier, the one who continued to watch me throughout all those proceedings. Now that the crowd had spread out, he was right beside me, looking from above with his eyes full of hidden pain. I sensed no malice or disdain but disappointment and doubt. He kept close to me as if he desperately wanted to say something, yet kept his mouth shut despite those instincts. I didn't want to step away; near him, I did not feel restricted or pushed. I felt…Not lonely. Not as lonely as without him.
"Go." - He beckoned. "Say your goodbyes."
I did not expect him to speak at all, yet the man said it with such determination and command that I obeyed. Whoever he was, whatever he wanted, it was true; I still hadn't said my goodbyes.
I walked towards the pillar, ready to weep and speak to Arthur for one last time, before finally facing the horrifying truth that he was gone forever. I could've cried and let out my despair. I could've shed only a few tears and said my goodbyes with a smile; I could've remained silent and looked upon the sky, imagining his spirit looking down upon me. It could've been a flow of emotions, rivers of tears pouring out of my heart, eternal gratitude…
If only I remembered that moment.
…
I sometimes wondered how it would be to stop caring, to become numb to life itself and all it brings me. I knew some people went through suffering and loss; many of them grew so tired of constant pain and agony that they would rather abandon any attempts to better themselves to connect with other people…I believed them to be wrong before.
And now? Now I stopped looking at the people around me, stopped listening to or talking to them, stopped asking questions, and ceased all thinking. I did not care for them any longer, even those I knew and considered friends. They were not Arthur; they would not bring him back. He was the only one I wanted during the days of my grief, the one I wanted to be with me.
I still spoke sometimes. I went to the markets, and I said my greetings and requests, but everyone heard how empty and powerless my voice became, how tired and broken I sounded. Some expressed their sympathy; others preferred to ignore the topic, hoping that I would be better one day and all would return to normalcy.
I would not. It would be worse and worse. I know it now, but even back then, there was a depressing feeling within my soul. Perhaps there was still another path I could take back then; perhaps I could still connect with others and soothe my pain.
And at first, I tried, though it did not make my grief any simpler. I remember a few occasions where I tried to open up, though most of them have grown very faint in my memory. One of those was when the initial praise and sorrow for the war was over, and our men returned. I envied the wives that would welcome their husbands with their love and passion for each other reignited; it would have been the same had Arthur returned alive.
Among them was the person who I met up with in one of the taverns near the castle, the person who tried to help me, even though she could not understand the sorrow. Leila, the woman whose husband came back and brought his glory, got a personal reward from the King himself. One of the great heroes he was, while Arthur died, a simple soldier who would be forgotten. Perhaps this was the reason for us being unable to see eye to eye when we sat in front of each other. I could not blame her for not understanding; I wanted to accept the sympathy she could afford me. I knew it was genuine. I knew the kindness and pity in her eyes as she looked upon me to be true, but I felt disgusted looking at it. Hence I looked down, rarely talking, only rarely answering her question.
"What would your order be?" - A voice dragged me away from my Oblivion; I missed the moment a man came in, reminding me that we came here for a drink, after all. Leila spoke first, of course.
"I'll take the grape juice. You have a very good one…And you, Helena?"
"Same."
He noted down our orders and left, leaving us alone at our table. It was close to the wall, away from the noisiest parts, and I did not know whether I liked it or not. I concentrated too easily here.
"Gods…" - Leila sighed, bracing herself to finally begin our talk. "I won't pretend to know what you're going through, but…Please, I want to help you! I know you are suffering, but I'm here for you. I promise I can talk about anything you want to discuss; I won't judge. It's alright. Many go through this…"
"Maybe I don't want to talk." - I suggested to Leila's disappointment. She was stuck up in her belief that if I let my emotions out and she would be here to support me, it would be better. She always wanted to "be there," even if it meant forcing herself into another's life even when they didn't want to. Then again…Perhaps a part of me wanted it too; surely, there had to be a reason why I agreed. Or perhaps I didn't want to risk offending Leila. If only I had a backbone, I might not have forced myself to smile or go along with the flow. "Listen…I need time. I don't want to talk about this."
"It won't doom any good if you shelter yourself from others…I know it's hard, but it will get better. You have people around you that want to see you get better; we will be by your side. I only ask that you don't reject us."
"And what if it doesn't become better?" - I said quietly, almost in a whisper.
"It might take time, but…"
"How would you know? You did not lose your husband; yours came back and now gets all the glory." - I spoke sharply, unusually so. Seeing Leila recoil at those words made me realize that I had made a mistake, but I couldn't take my words back.
"It's not something he takes easily…He took it upon himself to make sure everyone who died got respect and recognition… I'm helping him with it." - Leila spoke with kindness.
"And what does that entail?"
"He will try to convince the King to make each of those heroes known, something more than just a ceremony that leaves them faceless." - How kind it would be for a king to think of that after people began to move on and forget theirs. Though, of course, this was not Leila's or her husband's fault. "He spoke to me about Arthur, said he is one of the bravest soldiers he knew; they were together on a battlefield…" - Leila paused and took a breath. "He said that he died like a hero, protecting his people and without fear…"
"I know how he died." - The dream has shown enough; I did not want to relieve those moments ever again. Leila didn't know of it, but it was enough of a cue for her to not push this any further.
"Of course, it's your choice what to do; I don't want to force you to do anything… I'm just worrying for you!" - She pleaded, and perhaps I shouldn't hide from her. As misplaced as her active concern was, it was out of kindness.
"I understand. Truly." - I sighed, trying not to sound uncaring. It was so hard for me to control those emotions, to make sense of them, but I had to try nonetheless.
"How is Jerome? Is he…Doing alright?" - Leila asked meekly. I struggled to answer this question, and this drove me insane. I should've known. If I were a good mother, I would've.
"He doesn't talk to me much; I tried not to push him too much…He rarely talks at all."
"You should show him that it's alright to show his pain, especially to you, his mother. Just…Maybe when you next see him, try to ask him about it directly… You've always been very gentle; I'm sure he will listen."
She was right. If it was so hard for me to go through grief, then it must have been even more of a nightmare for a child. I might have gotten tired of words, tired of speaking of my pain with anyone, and I thought that opening those wounds up for Jerome would make it even worse, but the truth is, I never knew.
"I…I did not want to open up the wounds, and if I talked to him…" - I tried to look for an excuse, but this was not right. "Perhaps I'm too scared of my own wounds…I do not know anymore." - My voice broke as I held back my tears. Leila's warm gaze continued to give me sympathy and love, which I did not deserve.
"It's alright. I talked to others who have lost, too…And it was better for each of them to open up and be honest with those close to them. That's what I wanted to say; I want to help you." - She gently touched my hand, trying to show in all possible ways that I was not alone. That I still had family, still had people to care about.
"I…Thank you, Leila. I will talk to him. He deserves that much."
"It's your choice, but…If you need someone to talk to, or need someone to help you out materially, or just be there, I will gladly do it. I might not know the pain you feel, but I will do everything I can; I just wish you wouldn't hide it from me if there is no need. Alright?"
"Alright."
"That's all I ask."
I don't remember if I smiled after those words, but I like to imagine that I did. We spoke of sweet nothings, giving me a small solace for everything that occurred over the past days. I don't remember that either, but I know that I left the tavern feeling the warmth inside me, which I was ready to give up before. This fleeting happiness made the rest of my life far bleaker.
…
That day, I went home quite upbeat, as much as you could consider someone going through my pain. It still hurt, but I knew what I would do when I finally returned home, and this helped me feel slightly less burdened. I was ashamed that I wasn't brave enough to do this before and mostly left Jerome to himself, but now was the time for this to change. As a mother, I needed to do my duty; I needed to be there for my son, shed away my fears of seeing him in pain, and acknowledge that it was inevitable that both of us would suffer. Together or apart.
When I opened the door to my house, it was suspiciously quiet. Jerome must have returned from school, but I could not hear a sound. Perhaps he was in his room, quieter than usual.
"Jerome?" - I called out, yet he didn't answer. I checked on his room, and it was empty. The few wooden toys he had were lying on the floor in a mess, and his bed was covered in dirt. I remember how my heart raced when I realized he wasn't here, but I got my answer very soon.
A scratching sound echoed from the outside, beckoning me to approach the window and take a look for myself. What I saw was both relieving and heartbreaking. Jerome was in our backyard with his wooden sword, ragefully hitting the wall with vigor. He let out a faint shout with each hit, getting angrier and more furious with each hit. He didn't notice me even as I watched, horrified and dumbfounded, thinking of how I could help him. This was wrong; this didn't have to happen. This was my fault…I should've been there for him sooner. I should've known.
Jerome screamed when he got tired, dropping the sword to the muddy ground and breathing heavily as tears fell from his eyes; the boy was tired and completely exhausted from his own pain. All this rage was unleashed while I was not nearby.
"Jerome!" - I called him in a tone of pleading; he looked at me with ashamed and disgusted eyes, keeping his fists clenched. "It's okay… I'm coming, just…"
"No, it's not!" - He shouted at me and hit the wall once again, this time with his fist, inflicting more pain upon himself. "My father is dead! HE IS DEAD! And it will never be fine! Never never, never!" - He screeched in agony, and I wished to show him love, as much love as I could. I got out of the window, landing on the ground with my balance slightly shaken, and ran to Jerome, eager to embrace him.
"Don't touch me!" - His scream forced me to stop and recoil, looking at the boy with horror.
"I… I'm sorry…" - I said the words that came to my mind; I could see how the sheer scale of my failure. I had opportunities to approach him before, but I avoided them like a coward, believing that this would be better for both of us. Now he bottled up his anger, letting it out in a fit of rage before me, a helpless fool who didn't know how to stop this. "Please, let's go home… I'm here, I won't leave, I…"
"Why did you lie to me?!" - Jerome asked with a tired and hoarse voice.
"Lied?"
"You said my father is a hero, that he is like those knights…You said that he will survive no matter what, that he will return to us!" - Jerome wept even more; his voice broke as he spoke of this. And he was right; I tried to convince both of us that Arthur was a hero who would not fall to these barbarians; I instilled hope and faith in his youthful mind; his mother's certainty and belief were enough to follow through, taking my every word as gospel. "You lied to me; he was just like that ninth knight! So many returned…He didn't; he died. They killed him! It's unfair, unfair!" - His hands shook, forcing me at a loss. I wanted to approach my son, but this would only serve to agitate him further. I watched my child broken and suffering before me. Having lost his father, he directed his rage at me while I evaded my responsibility and prioritized my own pain over his.
I have failed as a mother. As a good, caring person, I aspired to be. Tears fell from my face once again, it was too late to undo this mistake, but I had to try.
"Jerome…Please." - I tried to speak through my tears and suffering. "I tried to believe, I wanted you to believe…I admit it. I thought that those legends would help you not fear; I hoped that he would return…I believed it." - It was hurtful to say those words after knowing that Arthur never returned and that comparisons to the knights of old have been a lie, but I had to say it nonetheless. "Maybe I just tried to convince myself… I'm sorry. I should have spoken to you earlier; I should've been with you, not overworking…I should've…" - I couldn't speak through my tears. How pathetic. "Please… I'm with you, and I will always be with you. I know it hurts, but you're not alone, you're…" - I saw Jerome doubt himself for a moment, but this did not last for long.
"I don't care; you lied to me!" - Jerome screamed even louder, running away to the house. "Just leave me alone!"
"No, wait!" - I wanted to follow him but stopped moments before seeing him enter the house. He was not ready for it, and I could only do more harm than good. I could've come earlier and tried to prevent this, but now his rage at me was justified. Leila was right, and I was a coward…But I had to resist. Had to resist the urge to go and apologize to my son, to only fuel his rage even further. There would be time for this, the time to apologize and ask for forgiveness. But it was not now, and I had to accept it.
Before I walked into my home, I felt something yet again, the presence that caused me to stop. I felt as if someone was watching me closely, watching our heart-wrenching argument explode. But who could it be? I looked behind me, checking all the possible places one could hide, but everyone was in their homes; Jerome and I were alone. I was alone. But soon, I noticed a silhouette beneath the shadow of one house. A mysterious man watched me, wearing the black robes and silver Paul drone I had never seen before. The man's face was covered by a red mask, and the few parts that remained open were cloaked by shadow.
I recoiled and blinked a few times, being in utter disbelief at what I had just witnessed. But when I opened my eyes, the mystery was already gone, as if a fragment of my breaking mind manifesting the nightmare before me. Again, I found myself alone, ready to go into my house and rest.
Yet I was still being watched.
…
This eerie feeling of someone following, a shadow that watched my every step, following closely with interest, this feeling became stronger. I would constantly look back in fear, wondering if I was not alone. I would notice some movements in the shadows, the silhouettes of my pursuers, and I would never know whether it was my imagination or a true being; it would be gone almost every time I tried to examine it.
I believed it to be a product of my own twisted mind back then, a shadow that emerged after the burden of my own pain. I thought that it would get better after I finally got an opportunity to speak with Jerome, but he remained resilient. Every time I tried to approach him, he sent me away with a pained, suffering, sometimes disdainful voice. Words cannot describe how helpless and pathetic I felt back then, my child was breaking down, and I couldn't do anything for him. This thought stayed with me always, even when I was working in the inn to earn as much coin for us as possible. It would distract me from my work no matter how much I tried to resist; it would have me find myself standing near the wall, thinking about Jerome, about shadows which I felt pursued me even here. There were only a few visitors here, the inn would be closing soon, but they were persistent.
"Oi, you!" - I heard a loud, brash voice from a man on the nearby table. He was with a friend. Both were soldiers that celebrated their return from the war. They already had a few mugs of ale, and this served to agitate them; they cared little for how much noise and disruption they produced. Nevertheless, as someone who works here, I had to indulge them. "Got a hearing problem, wench. We've been waiting for someone for a while now, and you just stand there like there's nothing!"
I sighed, trying not to show the extent of my annoyance as I approached the two. The older of them was furious at the delay, while the younger eyed me in a very…Suggestive manner. My grey and slightly dirty clothing didn't turn him off. The man looked everywhere but my eyes. I remember feeling worried; a drunk soldier for a visitor was never a good sign. They were strong, and some believed that because they protected Valgarde, they could afford to be shameless. This would end in an embarrassment at best, so it was better to deal with them as quickly as possible.
"Sorry for not noticing…What would you like to order?" - I asked as politely as I could, catching the younger man's attention.
"Well, what do you think, sweetheart?" - He smiled at me. "I've drunk my share, if I'm honest, but I feel sorry for you. It must be so lonely and tiring to work here day and night; surely a pretty girl like you would want some fun from time to time?" - He moved slightly closer, much to the older man's disappointment.
"Not you again with the blood lust of yours…We need more ale, isn't that goddamn obvious? Parthenon, curse me; why is everyone working here so slow!?"
"We try to serve our customers as quickly as possible, but there were some that came before you and…"
"As if I fucking care. We went through the bloody war, cut those barbarians' throats, slaughtered dozens of those freaks! As far as I'm concerned, we're the reason, peasants, like you are even alive, and I'm not dealing with your bullshit. And if ale isn't going to be here in a few minutes, I'm going to show you what I do to those who disrespect me!"
It was a nightmare. If I weren't so drained out by my grief, I might have spoken out against them, mocked them, even, but that soldier was right. They had special protection from their King, who would never care to examine the "peasant's" side of the situation. He would likely seek to punish my co-workers and me. I wrote down the order, trying not to listen to this mockery. Suddenly, a voice from another table rang out.
"Very brave of you to taunt someone who is far too charitable." - It was familiar, the stern, a commanding voice echoed, forcing the three of us to turn our heads. A lone table beside the wall with a lone man sitting there; his face and body were covered by grey clothes with a cape. "Is this the limit of the proud Valgardian soldiers? I'm not impressed."
"And who the fuck do you think you are?" - The older soldier was about to escalate the situation, but I stood between them.
"Please, there is no need for this!" - I said loudly enough to have my co-worker hear it. He rushed to me, eager to help as always.
"What's going on?"
"Can you serve these gentlemen's order, please?" - I asked, and he nodded before turning towards them. He tried to be as welcoming and kind as possible, but it didn't do much.
"Do something with that bastard." - The younger man exclaimed. "Haven't you heard how he spoke of us?"
"We would rather not have this conflict here. If you want to discuss this, you could always…"
"Let's just go." - The older soldier shook his head. "These have no respect at all, might as have the King look into this mess."
"Are we just going to leave it like that?"
"We can have a drink in a place that ain't a shithole; come on."
"This isn't over…" - The younger soldier looked at the mysterious stranger and me with disdain before following his peer and leaving. Few words could describe my relief in the realization that it ended up being far less horrible than it could have. This was one of the last times I praised the Pantheon in my life.
But either way, I had a new customer. I walked to the lone table and looked at the man. The same darker skin, and ruby eyes, it was the one I saw during the ceremony. I don't know why, but I felt happy to see him here, even though he was just a stranger to me. Somehow the man's presence soothed me in a way words could hardly describe, but it was just as possible that this was simply the joy of dealing with a polite customer.
"What would you like, sir?" - I asked, watching the stranger look up at me with intrigue. Somehow, our meeting did not feel like a coincidence.
"What do you have for drinks?" - He wondered. Usually, people would come in knowing what they wanted, considering that this was one of the more popular taverns beyond the castle.
"Ale, beer, wine. Some grape juice and water if you are not planning to 'drink.'"
"Very well… I'll have some wine."
"Is that all?"
"For now."
I rushed to take the wine and serve it to him, though the tone with which he spoke stuck in my head. He sounded thoroughly disinterested in having any drink, yet for some reason, he was still here, searching for something. I could discern that much from his eyes, a hopeful search for answers that he could not uncover.
After bringing him a glass of wine, I could have gone to another customer and left it at that, but there were only a few left, and they were served well enough by my colleagues, so I decided to say what was on my mind.
"You were there, on the castle grounds." - I said with interest, noticing the stranger's surprise as he heard those words. "When…You know."
"So you remembered." - He chuckled faintly. "I didn't expect you to."
"I am good with faces."
"It's not about that. Usually, when one goes through the first days of loss…They have a hard time adhering to reality." - He said with pained sadness in his voice, something that lacked in the voice of Leila or many others who expressed their sympathy. Yet despite the sheer difference of tone, I remembered the hopelessness and horror Jerome espoused at me when I found him outside. "You can hardly believe it, and everything that happens around you feels like a dream… It's easy to forget those days."
"I'm sorry…" - I said with kindness, even though there was no direct reason for me to do so.
"What for?"
"Have you lost someone too? Most people who came that day have."
"It was a long time ago." - His voice regained his usual sternness, and I realized that it would be better not to push it. The last thing I wanted was anyone forcing them on me in a time of grief.
"I've been meaning to ask something if you don't mind."
"I don't." - The stranger shook his head. "Sit down and enjoy the moment while it lasts."
"Oh, I'd rather not. This a spot for customers; after all, I'd rather not take up space."
"Nonsense." - He shrugged it off. "Those rascals were right about one thing, you must be tired. No one is going to care if you take up some space for yourself." - His confidence was infectious, and his words made me feel free and more certain about what I wanted. I sat in front of the man. He looked distant and melancholic, not at all like someone who would invite strangers to talk with him.
"I wanted to ask if you are not from here. I have never seen you before that day."
"I am not." - He said calmly. There were a few visitors who came to Valgarde without King's permission, but he didn't care for it. I remembered the white-haired stranger I had met before, appearing out of the blue and nowhere to be seen afterward.
"Where are you from, then? I heard of a few humans living in Eliri woods, but I've never met one…"
"Not from there."
"I didn't know there were other places our people lived." - I was interested while the man was enjoying seeing me guess.
"What makes you think I am of "your" people?" - This question took me by surprise, for the answer seemed obvious.
"Well, you're a human like people of Valgarde…I did not mean our kingdom specifically."
"Ah, of course…I am from a place very, very far away. A place that was once very close, but no longer." - He said quietly. "A place without wars or strife, a "kingdom" where everyone lives in harmony."
"There is no such place."
"Truly? And why do you think so?"
"I know our history; it's a never-ending spiral of war and conflict. Humans, Eliri, Takori, we all had a hand in it. I'd love to see a place like this…" - I sighed with disappointment. "I just can't imagine it."
"No one can in this day and age." - He did not seem surprised at all. "One day they will."
"And what brings to Valgarde then? Whatever this kingdom of peace is, it surely doesn't match that which we have here." - I wondered. The man took a sip from his glass before putting it aside and looking at me. This pause felt suspicious; he didn't seem like the one who would have a problem with words.
"You, Helena." - He said starkly, catching me off-guard. I remembered the chills on my skin after I realized that I had never introduced myself to him, yet somehow he knew my name. I moved away cautiously, still looking, peering at his confident eyes. His appearance during the ceremony and now this, it was definitely not a coincidence. I looked around nervously, trying to see if there was anyone too close before looking at my new acquaintance.
"How do you know my name?"
"Heard some others talk of you. It doesn't matter."
"It does!" - I raised my voice. "I'm a simple peasant woman; what do you want from me? Who...Who are you?" - My emotions were unveiled in a burst.
"Just like the others." - He sighed and looked around; some people began to look at us suspiciously. "Well, it is not a place for such conversations, anyway. You can keep the wine."
He stood up and walked towards the door, leaving me shocked and dumbfounded, desperately trying to guess who this man was. He must have watched me for a while now. How much more did he know? There were so many questions circling around in my head that I wished to ask.
But he was already gone.
…
I left the inn soon after, and the night had already fallen upon Valgarde by that point. I remember fear raging inside me as the stranger's words circled in my mind. He knew me; he watched me and wanted something. For all the questions I asked, he answered in riddles, as if knowing something no one else did. I couldn't explain his behavior, yet it was plain that he spoke from the heart. He spoke the truth.
I stumbled between the shadows, always looking around in fear. Now everything around me was covered in darkness; I would not be able to see if a shadowy figure approached me. There were fewer people around as I walked towards my, and this loneliness horrified me. Usually, when I returned late, I did not feel much threat; I was just alone…But not now. The words echo in my head, my heart beating quicker after every turn, after every time I tried to look and see a silhouette. I imagined them, I must have…Or were they real? I didn't know; my body was shaking as I feared that I was going insane. All there strangers, all this chaos, those robed figures watching…I could not make sense of it. What if it was my grief that created those phantoms?
These fears kept me occupied while the cold wind blew and a thousand eyes watched, but eventually, I realized that my home was near. I didn't know if I would be able to sleep today, but perhaps finding myself among the light again will finally bring my senses back.
As I stepped into a narrow alleyway, I heard a piercing noise. It reminded me of an arrow breaking through someone's skin, cracking it open like a sheet of parchment. I was trembling, and the sounds still came one after another. I listened for a few moments, unable to force myself to run, but then I heard breaths. Heavy, tired breaths of someone who was running toward me. I was about to escape, but it was too late. A young man emerged from the shadows with his clothing and body soaked in blood. It was a scene of a nightmare, and now I was a part of it.
"Run…Run!" - He tried to shout, yet his voice sounded hoarse and broken. As he approached, I realized that this was the younger soldier I saw in the inn. The same one who acted like he owned the place and tried to "compliment" me is now reduced to a sniveling worm who runs away. "It's there, it's there!"
Something was coming.
Before I could follow his advice, a chain manifested out of thin air, grabbing the soldier's neck. He fell to the ground as it dragged him back into the shadows. He coughed with blood and tried to screech, but the chain was too strong for him to resist. I remember standing there, mesmerized by this horror and unable to look away.
And then a figure emerged. The black-robed man, the same one who I saw lurking in the darkness before with the red mask covering his face. A malicious, demonic figure, yet still, I found myself unable to run. Was this because of fear or intrigue? I do not remember.
The stranger grabbed that guard with his hand, slowly choking the wounded man and draining him of his last powers. The chain dissipated soon after; he could manipulate reality in the same way the Takori women could with their flames. It was a power beyond our understanding, yet I have seen the scale of its destructiveness.
"P…Please…" - The soldier begged. "Let me go…I won't tell anyone, I will forget this, I…"
"Indeed, you will not." - The robed man spoke in a demonic voice, yet I was able to recognize it the moment he spoke. It was the stranger from the tavern, the one I had just talked to. To think that I casually spoke with someone with such power…
The man created a dark hole beneath him, a portal leading into the unknown. I heard of some Eliri sorcerers that could transcend space with those magical spells, but I have only now seen it in person.
Before the soldier could scream again, the man pushed him towards this dark rift.
"Let's see how loud your scream will be at the world's end." - He said spitefully before the soldier disappeared, entirely consumed by the portal. Then, the robed man turned towards me. He could kill me any moment, yet he chose to wait. "That fool thought he could get some payback…Pathetic. You know who I am, don't you?"
Him speaking to me was the wake-up call I needed. I regained control over my body and began to run, not even thinking of direction, just as far away as I could. Of course, I could not get far. The chains appeared again, grabbing my legs and pushing me to the ground. I wanted to scream, but the dark aura that seemed to come off from the stranger had drained me of power, forcing me into utter silence.
"Do not run; I will not harm you." - He swiftly pushed her to the nearby wall with his spells as I continued to watch over his figure, resisting my fears with what little sanity I had left. "After all, I said we need another place for this conversation." - He took his mask off, exposing the gleaming red eyes.
"It's you…Who are you?!" - It was hard to speak, but I tried to control myself.
"I am Lahabrea of the ascians. Those names mean nothing to you now." - He was right. I have never heard of them. I knew of the Takori hordes, but this fiend was a complete mystery.
"Let me go!" - I demanded, wanting to return home to Jerome. I was so tired, so drained of this, and the nightmare only got worse. As if Arthur's loss was not enough, I have demons coming for me to torment my soul. Perhaps my hell was at its beginning; perhaps I would never live to see its end. "Why…Why did you come? What did I do to you? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE IT!? Are you a demon sent by the Pantheon? Is it because I failed to save Arthur because I didn't speak with Jerome…Did you force that dream on me? Answer!"
"I am not your enemy, and that dream was an echo…" - Lahabrea explained, though I still understood none of it. "I am here to deliver a message, a message that you will not yet understand, but I want you to hear it nonetheless." - He commanded before asking his final question. "Do I have your attention?"
I nodded, unable to fight back anymore.
"Then listen. You do not know me now, but you did in another life. A life when both of us lived in a perfect world I spoke of in that inn. A world that I shall see restored no matter the cost. A world where there will be no pain, no loss, and suffering, nothing that will scourge mankind like in this sundered world. It will be as it was before, as it should've remained." - It sounded like a sermon or a speech from a king; it would've sounded insane to me if not for his belief. Every word was spoken with confidence and devotion. Not a single time has he wavered.
"What…What are you talking about?"
"You know full well the suffering your kind experiences every day; would you not wish to avert it? To soothe their wounds?" - Lahabrea spoke inquisitively but quickly changed his tone to a more understanding one. "Ah, I forget…Our concepts are alien to you; you would need time to think of them before giving your answer. Then I make my proposal clear. Join us, and together, we will restore this world to the glory it once had. I would welcome you into my fold with open arms."
"What do you want me to do…I don't understand!"
"You will." - Lahabrea reached for his pocket and took a trinket which he tossed to the ground before me. It was an emerald-colored small crystal with a painting of stars upon it. "Take this with you. When you are ready, take the crystal and open your soul up to it. If you are ready, then it will show you the memories of the woman you once were, of the duties you held. Then, you will understand."
Finally, I felt the chains dissipate as I was free to go. Lahabrea looked at me with hope and a shade of pity in his eyes, but there was no malice, nothing like the anger he expressed for that soldier he murdered.
"Goodbye, Hera…When you are ready to answer, I will know it." - He said and disappeared into the ebony rift.
I was left alone in the darkness, with nothing but the green crystal by my side and a million unanswered questions, questions that I had never asked before. Unlike the other fleeting moments, I could never forget that night.
It was then that our fates became intertwined.