Sorry, unedited chapter.
Months later
Standing before the gravestone of Leontes de Montague, tyrant of old Verona, old thoughts churned in his mind at the carved pillar of stone.
How ironic.
More than Escalus, where Romeo and Juliet's bodies lay; Tybalt would stand before his loathsome father's grave more times than he could count. More times he had cursed before the tyrant, angrily lashing at how much hell he was put through. But in recent days, he found no words left in him to speak; but rather that his thoughts remain empty and the bitterness in him lingered in embers.
A soft breeze fluttered his long cloak, letting the scraping of leaves and the rustling of grass speak in his stead. A melancholic, bitter silence lingered as he stared down before the grave. As the winds gave rise to playful whim, the sound of footsteps approached his way. He turned, unsurprised to see Lady Portia carrying with her a white bouquet of lilies.
The minute their eyes met, her brow raised a little, only for her to greet him with a regretful smile.
"I see you haven't stopped visiting," she gave him a small nod.
Tybalt said nothing, his gaze retreating back to the grave before them. Romeo's mother bent her knee before the grave to rest the bouquet at the base of the stone. She then clasped her hands together, closed her eyes and began to pray in conversation with the silent dead.
He had always wondered, if she knew whose child he was. Tybalt grew up in the hands of fumbling maids who had no care of his life. Abused; neglected; forgotten; yet tormented. The kind of hell where he would drown in lukewarm hospitality; and treated like the last bargaining card against any or all potential dangers Camilo would try to escape from. Even if he were to confront this woman before him of his true lineage, by now, she would have known of it. As much as he hated Montague, even he knew he bore the same likeness as him; that in itself would have told her enough.
"There is not a day that goes by," Portia began, cutting away his thoughts. "When I think back to the last time, I spoke to him. How I thought 'I pity him' for what he had become. That for whatever font of love left in him was taken over by his hate. In all his splendour of making the house of Montague rise to power, the world leaves him nothing but this humble, unmarked grave."
"If a tyrant's grave would be known, the hatred of the people would stir," Tybalt said coldly. "Those who suffered in his reign would not hesitate to trample upon his remains and desecrate its stone. For the sake of Neo Verona, none should know of his final resting place."
Portia's lips curled into a small smile. "That's very kind of you."
"I only did what I had to, on the boy's behalf. If the boy had lived, he would do this much for him."
"Very well," she nodded. The former noble stood up, turned to face him before she gave him a formal bow. As she began to take her steps to leave, she paused and said; "I pray, you'll come and visit my son one of these days. I'm sure he would have been delighted to get to know you better."
"Hmph," Tybalt curtly nodded back, watching the silhouette of her slowly disappear into the distance.
Of course, she would have known, he gave a short, mirthless snort.
Just as he was left to himself and the grave, the winds picked up, rustling and slowly plucking away the loose petals from the white flowers. Carrying them into the wind, and unto the direction where the Goddess tree stood. The rogue's frown returned, Portia's words murmuring in his mind.
He doubted that Lady Portia bore no love for the man, but be it in either sentiment or guilt; she still visited Montague's grave. The crook of misfortune was never spared to those who crossed paths with the tyrant, as Tybalt found his life's embers of vengeance flare and wane in these passing years. And yet he still hadn't brought himself to stand before Romeo and Juliet's grave as often as the tyrant's grave.
Shaking his head to absolve him from more pressing thoughts, he turned his back towards the tyrant's grave and walked down towards the Escalus.
The path she walked from the forest led her to the open plains where the large gates of the capital could be seen.
"Lord above," the traveller scoffed. "To think this world could erect such pristine walls without a need for endowments."
Wesley's tales of the Northern Realms was said to have no magic nor endowed abilities; a realm where society's needs are more basic, yet, advanced. Gildaar, her homeland, was no shining city, but she had thought the toils of endowed-less societies would have appeared more primitive and difficult to live in.
She strode towards the gate, her presence ignored by the guards as she pulled her hood over her head. The first thing that greeted her were the sights of the people's well-tailored clothes. Women wearing tight-waisted dresses with blooming-wide hems like flower blossoms that dangled upside-down. The men's clothes were also strange. Some wore stocking or layer-less pants for bottoms and short tunics to cover their torsos. Some wore them ragged, others appeared pristine.
She laughed to herself; witnessing the oddities of this advanced city made her self-conscious of her own rags. To think the Mountain Tribes' fashion were already perceived as outdated compared to Gildaar's capital.
"He truly meant what he said, looking like a beggar before these people." If it weren't for her own unique circumstances, she would have easily stood out in a crowd like this.
Polaris ventured deep into the city, her bandaged feet stepping on small humps of clean-cut stone. The cityscape was stuffier than Gildaar's capital, despite its large landmass. For a country of its size, they managed to build this city with such intricate paths that twine and bend. Winged horses casually flew over her head; the cobblestoned roads beneath her bore no crack or crevice. What stood out the most was the vast number of towering houses that twisted and wound around the riverbanks and waterways. Even Gildaar's rugged and uneven plains was able to distribute a generous amount of land for every house within the capital. It made her wonder what possessed the people to cram so many buildings within such a small perimeter rather than expanding their borders.
She pinched the corner of her hood, wide-eyed with every turn of every street. A burst of childish fascination gripped her heart, one small path leading to another. Never had she found it more exciting than to be lost in such an intricate, labyrinth city. Compared to those haunting days where vigilance was a virtue in the streets, Polaris felt liberated in the freedom of exploring this strange new world. In that moment, the burden felt light on her back; regrets temporarily forgotten. She cocked her head back, smiling as she said;
"Isn't this an interesting city, Aquila-"
Then she remembered.
He's not… here.
Her feet felt cold against the cobblestone floor. Her chest weighted at the sight of that empty space beside her.
I wonder if he's doing alright? I hope he isn't pulling off any feathers for losing me.
She knew the bird well-enough to know he'd be able to handle things on his own. Just as she knew he must have panicked for suddenly going missing from his back after that terrible tempest. Polaris shook her head, deciding that no progress would be made by wasting away her time ceaselessly.
I pray you'll be alright, old friend. Please stay safe.
Before long, her aimless wandering led her to a place where an overgrowth of grass and white flowers grew. These white flowers that covered the ground were ones she had never seen before. The vicinity itself was strange, for an overlay of rubble stones covered in moss and vine root were scattered in odd corners and places. Remnants of elden pillars of stone and carved walls lay in a broken heap, or stood idly against the greenery. She raised her head up and, in her awe, she halted her steps at the sight.
There a great tree stood proudly at the centre of this strange place. The very earth surrounding the tree sank like a waterless pool, filling the indents with an overgrowth of flowers and tall grass. The very roots of this great tree worked like a bridge for many to cross and clamoured around the base of its trunk.
But was surprised her the most, was how much power she sensed upon setting foot upon its earthen floor.
The wind was particularly strong but gentle that day. Many Veronians often believed the winds as an omen of blessings or curses. But in recent years since the Great Descent, the spring breeze was often perceived as a sign of the Red Whirlwind's guidance. That ill-fortunes will turn its tides for those who have felt its gentle caresses.
As Tybalt drew closer to Escalus, the winds greeted him like an old friend. Those who gathered around the tree marvelled at its presence, their hands clasped together or held onto their respective beloved's hands in reverence. The rogue never saw himself a devout man of the church of Escalus, not after the conniving priests who had fallen far from their own teachings during Montague's rule. But even by standing before its colossal presence evoked that same sense of helpless reverence that often made many into people of the cloth.
Contrary to his initial belief, there were fewer visitors than what he had anticipated. The fewer numbers alone were enough to make it easier to for him to comfortably visit the grave as he slowly made his descent. He could blame that Farnese playwriter for all the fame this tree had earned, for his tale bespoke of Romeo and Juliet's tale of love; alluding to their final sacrifice that forever shaped Neo Verona's history. The play alone crafted an urban tale that in praying before Escalus would grant a lonely heart's wish, or eternalise the bond between young couples. It was just a sigh of relief for him to see so few had come to pay their respects.
As he slowly crossed paths with the old ruins, memories ran through his mind's eye on that day. The day he and a few of Juliet's entourage attempted to save her from her doomed fate. How the earth shook beneath their feet. How he witnessed his half-brother slain by the veiled priestess.
Three years since then.
He had not the heart to pray before the tree, knowing that the dead could neither speak nor hear. No spirit lingered there; none but Escalus itself. The darker, gloomier part of him felt that this world was undeserving of grace and self-sacrifice. But even that part of him continued to wane, just as he questioned himself what kind of life he should live for outside of his vengeance. Dismissing those thoughts, he made wide strides down the path until he stood before Escalus's roots.
As the small visitors made themselves scarce and tarry on with their busy lives, he dared to cross its roots until he stood before its base. A strange, tranquil mood greeted him, robbing him of his previous fears and all the shame and anguish that happened in the past. Before its deifying presence, he found himself understanding what reverence felt like.
He laid his hand on the bark of the twisted wood, unaware of the smile he made as he softly spoke; "It's been a long time."
Lifting his gaze to the height of Escalus's branches, no golden fruit hung; only flower petals of red and white fluttering down with its leaves. There wasn't much to say before the great tree, for he had no desires for their blessings or well-wishes. No thoughts but to watch and listen to the sounds of the rustling of leaves that swayed upon the winds. After a while, he let his hand hang by his side, ready to resume on making his rounds around the capital.
Only then, in the corner of his eye he spied a hooded figure standing a few feet away. It startled him a little, having not felt their presence for the entirety of his visit. All it took was the sight of their bandaged feet did the rogue realise who it was.
The woman from before.
It was odd how he could remember her now, when the entire circumstance of their encounter was anything but ordinary. Their eyes met briefly as she stepped closer to the grand tree; her strides were nimble as a leaf floating on a breeze. She turned her green gaze to Escalus, stretched out her sleeve-covered hand onto the surface of the wood.
"No doubt about it," she muttered. "This tree is sentient and alive."
Alive? He raised his head up to the tree.
Pulling her hood back, she rested her forehead on the tree's surface and closed her eyes.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Not now Aquila, I need a momen-" The woman froze and turned to face him, raising her brows in astonishment. "You. Were you referring to me?"
The rogue crossed his arms. "Who else is here apart from you?"
"Oh, um, yes. Of course," she sheepishly chuckled. "I guess that makes perfect sense."
"You said this tree is alive," he head-pointed at Escalus. "What do you mean by that?"
With a quick smile, she turned her attention back to the tree. "It's faint, but I sense a pool of radiance from this tree. After all, all mystic creatures carry at least a small pool of radiance; some greater than others. The stronger the being, the larger the pool."
"Radiance?" he took a step closer.
"Oh! Where are my manners. I've forgotten places outside aren't familiar with such a thing." -she laughed bashfully- "Radiance is the source of power that grants authority over the laws of nature. It is what enables one to preside over an element or land. It grants them the ability to manipulate the world around them. Only the living and sentient are able to generate a pool of this power, hence why-"
"-this tree is alive, as you say," he concluded.
"Yes," she nodded.
He squinted at the colossal tree, realising what this revelation could imply.
Does that mean Juliet's spirit reside within Escalus?
He eyed the woman from head to toe, unsurprised how she never rid herself of those rags. But for a self-proclaimed nomad to bear such a strange knowledge now seemed suspicious. By those ominous words alone conjectured an image of the veiled priestess who slew Romeo that day.
"Who are you? And how do you know of this?" he demanded.
The woman's smile once more grew mellow, her gaze now appeared reminiscent. "…That's quite the surprise. It's been so long since anyone has ever asked me that."
He kept his attention fixed on her, waiting for her to answer his question.
"Normally, no one would have been able to see me. Let alone remember or recognise me," she continued. "That's quite the feat, you know. Only so few people are able to see me, let alone acknowledge that I exist."
"What foolish prattle are you on about?"
She put one foot forward and bowed before him, her courteous poise unchallenged by his harsh tone. "My name is Polaris, good sir. Thank you for remembering me."
"Don't think too hard on it," he retorted. "Is it so rare a chance to notice someone of your sort?"
"My affliction often led many to overlook my existence," she raised her arms to emphasize her earthen attire. "Believe me when I say that even if I were to bathe in a fountain or lake, no man would even have the privilege of seeing me naked."
'Privilege?' he snorted at her brazen words.
"It's true. By the Lord of Life, I swear I am not joking."
Tybalt lifted a corner of his mouth. "If it is as you say, then why am I able to see you? Let alone remember our last encounter?"
Her eyes gleamed, "Oh, so you do remember it!"
"How could anyone forget such a dastardly incident? Anyone who had fallen from such a height would have at least turned a few heads if they were passing by."
"I assure you, had it not been for my affliction, half my troubles would have easily been fixed. If you hadn't been there, none would have been there to spare me from the inevitable."
He found it difficult to believe her words, but decided to let the details slide for now.
There is a bigger problem at hand.
"You've given me your name, but you haven't answered my other question," his tone grew harsh. "How did you- how are you certain that this talk of 'radiance' implies that Escalus is alive?"
"Escalus?"
He scoffed, "You speak as though you understood it, yet you don't know the name of this tree?"
She pursed her flat lips, tilting her head a little to the side. With a small huff, she shook her head.
"Rest assured, I merely speak of the tree's radiance because the land in which I am from is abundant with such pools of power. I know not what Escalus is, let alone that it was the name of this tree. But upon setting foot upon this ground, I felt a wealth of radiance residing within it, down to its roots.
Now, pardon my ignorance good sir. Les you forget that I am a stranger in these parts whom you have rescued just moons ago. Did you expect me to know of the name of every tree this nation had bestowed, let alone know of its significance?"
Though her argument was sound, more questions sprouted from her mere words alone. He then eyed the area surrounding him, noting the visages of potential visitors approaching their way. Turning his back to her and cocked his head over his shoulder.
"Follow me," he gestured.
Not waiting for her response, Tybalt began his strides as she complied with his demand. He led her down to a place among the ruins where the ocean meets the land and immediately turned to meet her gaze.
"Polaris, was it?" he began. "You say that the land you hail is abundant with such 'pools of power'. Then how are you even able to determine that this 'radiance' exists in Escalus itself?"
"I've already told you what I know. I sensed the tree's radiance the moment I set foot upon it."
His brow deepened, knowing this wasn't the right question to be asking. If this radiance she spoke of suggested the tree's sentience, then it can only mean two possible outcomes. The more he thought of it, the less certain he became about what this entails.
"Pardon me, sir-"
"It's Tybalt."
"-Tybalt," she nodded. "Would it help if you could share me your thoughts so that I may be able to put your mind at ease? We can start by explaining to me what sort of tree Escalus is, then maybe I could understand what ails you."
Upon reflecting on her words, he decided it be best to concede.
"Escalus is the patron goddess of this land. This tree had blessed the world with a bountiful harvest, wealth and prosperity." He observed her expressions, expecting her to ask questions. Her eyes narrowed, but kept her lips closed. "Across all of Neo Verona, this tree is deified in the form of a maiden with wings in portraits and sculptures alike. It was Escalus's will that blessed this land to rise to the skies. T'was also Escalus that brought us here to the Great Descent."
Polaris turned her gaze to the direction of the tree, her eyes narrowing as she listened to his words.
"A patron goddess, was it?" she finally said. "In the form of a maiden with wings… That- certainly wasn't what I expected to hear."
"What else were you expecting?"
"The mere concept of a goddess patron in itself wasn't what I had expected. Though, on the matter with a maiden with wings…" her hand slides to the side where her blade hung. "That certainly changes things."
The woman then turned her gaze towards the side of the ocean, her eyes seemingly searching for something amidst the horizon.
"Though, I must ask, sir Tybalt," she added. "Is the talk of Escalus so scandalous that you would bring our conversation here, so far from the public?"
He paused for a moment, noting her perceptive nature.
"All of Neo Verona only knew of Escalus as the goddess maiden with wings. Only fewer circles knew that Escalus's true face is that of the tree." he then remembered how little she knew of this land, let alone the matter of its politics. "…It was only three years recent that I- we discovered that Escalus was the root of all life of Neo Verona. And how Escalus relied heavily upon a maiden's life as sacrifice to ensure its survival."
"…I see." Polaris closed her eyes, released a long breath and made a knowing nod at his words. She turned her gaze back to the tree- "I must confess, despite my knowledge of matters of radiance, I am by no means an expert of it. The tutelage I've been given was no more than a common word of practice of my tribe. Everything else outside of it, I'm afraid I cannot give you clearer answers, but I am happy to answer them as best as I could."
Her words piqued his curiosity. If a stranger of her kind is able to sense power from Escalus, then what of the other nations? Are there lands beyond their own where beings like the Escalus are so commonplace?
"Tell me," He began.
He had to know. Tybalt had to know what lies beyond that blue horizon if it means making sense of the tragedies that had befallen this land.
"What is the name of your motherland? Are there other countries past the oceans similar to it?"
She opened her mouth to speak, only to lower her head as she shifted her eyes away from his gaze. By her expression alone seemed to him that his question hit a nerve.
"…Gildaar." Her tone grew hesitant. "Gildaar is where I hail. But I'm afraid I- I'm not familiar with other lands apart from here and my motherland."
"Why are you suddenly reluctant? Didn't you just say you'd answer my questions to the best of your ability?"
Polaris forced a painful chuckle. "Pardon me, it is nothing to worry about. I was just caught in my own thoughts, that is all."
By her expression alone told him it certainly wasn't 'nothing' to her.
"Ah," she drew in a deep breath, recovering her confidence as she continued. "I cannot truly give you a straightforward answer, I'm afraid. For one, Gildaarians themselves have only ever heard of tales of the Northern Realms. I, for one, grew up with such tales. From the best of what I know, Gildaar is the only land I knew of that are familiar with the presence of radiance and radiant-pooled beings."
He frowned at this, realising how little he had known about the world outside of Neo Verona. Assuming that this 'Northern Realms' she spoke of are nations outside of her homeland; he could only make a conjecture that the land called 'Gildaar' wasn't an ordinary country.
"And despite all appearances, you've only ever been to two places thus far," he remarked. "If that is so, what brought you here to this land?"
Polaris gave him a meek smile, clasping her hands together behind her back.
"Atonement." She answered.
"Atonement?"
She then turned her back towards him, her gaze fixed on the blue horizon line.
"I'd rather spare you the worser details, sir Tybalt. But if you are so curious to know, then how about this. If ever we meet again and you remember me; try not to be a stranger, then maybe I can indulge you a little more."