QuiteTheSlacker
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Chapter 50: Find the Flame
🕑 Added 2024-06-14 18:21:08 +0000 UTC“I wonder, when was it mine heart had ceased to beat? To feel warmth, the passion inspiring a new day’s life. I suppose it was when Valkyrie died, and I only watched as she laid helplessly on her bed. None of the healers could save her. No spell or balm could mend the wounds wrought by the Constellation. I merely sat by her side, and I weeped as the ember in her eyes faded with each passing day. When she had finally joined those among the Stars, I did not attend her funeral. I couldn’t, for my soul would not bear the sight of her slumbering face.
“Ladislava came to me then. The Comet. The savior. She who was holiest of all, but those titles didn’t matter to me. It was because of her negligence that Valkyrie sacrificed herself. It was because of her weakness that my beloved withstood a mortal blow in her stead. Ladislava came then, offering half-hearted words of apology, but I only bid her to leave. I cursed at her, and I forbade her from entering my kingdom for as long as I drew breath. I knew that I was emotional, that she didn’t deserve such scornful treatment, but what else could I have done? How else could I calm the grief boiling in my blood?
“The days were so very long. I spent hours staring emptily at the sky, and it was then I understood why my predecessors abandoned all worldly ties. How nice it would have been to leave everything behind. To cower in some small corner of the world, never worrying over such fickle feelings like love or pain. But I couldn’t, for this was my desire—to use my gift in the service of others. To create a peaceful world, and so I persisted. My eyes dulled. My body hollow.
“But then, I met a woman. A dancer from a faraway land. She had come to the capital alongside a desert troupe, hosting some manner of festivity, and though I had not wished to attend, my faithful knights encouraged me to spend the evening away from my work. I did not expect to feel much, but when I saw her there, swaying under the moonlight’s glow, my heart started to beat once more. I was bewitched. And I swore that I would do everything to never lose this love again.”
The Progenitor King, Arthur Polus
———
Ascalon
“Truly?” Ascalon says, barely holding himself back from leaping up in joy. “Have you discovered another path?”
Lorelai crosses her arms and slowly leans over the round table before placing a finger on a point far from the frontlines. “This fortress here… the Magnus Murus I believe it is called? I saw mentions of it whilst perusing the archive earlier.”
“Hm? That ol’ thing?” Dismas questions. “I know of it. There used to be a trail connectin’ that path with Polus centuries ago, but now the way’s blocked by a deep marsh. Hasn’t seen use in a long time; the fortress supposedly serves as a testing ground now for whatever rusty monstrosities Caelum’s tinkering with.”
“Indeed.” She nods. “It is an abandoned path, isolated from the empire’s supply line, and it is also the most straightforward. Two vast gorges surround the stronghold, and the only exit leads directly to their capital. All we need is conquer a single blockade for there to be none left halting our march.”
Joshua sways back and forth in his seat, all the while staring with an expressionless face ill-suited of his youthful demeanor, before he lets a smile creep forth once more and laughs out in a bright chuckle. “Haha, how tricky of you, Lorelai! Very amusing. With those gorges, they have naught but one method of escape: one road to trot if they wish to send a messenger for reinforcements. But if I were to take the Seraph and fly behind the fortress… oh, how very tricky indeed. Trapped, like rats in a steel coffin. You’ve grown more cunning, my friend. I like it.”
“Um, hold on a second now—” Surasha interrupts, turning her head to the others as if they’ve all lost their minds. “If it were that easy, we would’ve already brought it up by now. It’s just like Dismas said: There’s a really large marsh in that area, and frankly, that type of terrain is the absolute worst for our wingless knights. The mud, the swamp, and that stale air… it'd take a small group months to get through, much less our entire army. We don’t have the time or energy for that kind of route.”
But despite Surasha’s claims, Lorelai remains ever as composed. She simply tilts her head and asks but one little question: “Is there truly no other way forward besides the marsh?”
“Huh?”
Lorelai shifts her attention farther north of the map, closer to where the kingdom lies, and waves to where a rocky canyon is situated. “Mind, I am supposing based only on textual information, but there should be a series of tunnels hidden below that connect all throughout the land. This canyon holds a cave to one such entrance, and assuming formations have not changed in the past age, I think likely a suitable path exists—one leading directly out to the Magnus Murus.”
Silence. The room is stunned: from the rigid Cain to even the stoic Soloman—if Ascalon could see their faces now, they would no doubt have their mouths open in surprise. The only one who bids to move is Surasha, quickly standing up and attempting to say a rebuttal, but she soon freezes in place and slowly lowers back onto her seat as a look of contemplation washes over her.
“Huh,” she mutters. “I… didn’t even think of that.”
“Certainly…” Abel says, tapping his foot and peering at the map. “It is a most astute observation, one unlikely to ever be made by us who deign to soar in yonder skies. However—”
“It’s bad luck. Really bad luck,” Deborah groans. “Forget the Seraph, I don’t think there’s a soul in Polus who isn’t afraid of the underground. It’s been a superstition since our nation’s founding; convincing the knights to move through there is not going to be easy.”
Their hesitation is palpable, but Ascalon cannot fault them. Even in the short time whilst he still lived with his family, the King has heard tales of the dangers lurking below. To never enter a realm devoid of the light. It is no exaggeration to say such fear is deeply rooted in all of Polus blood, and yet Lorelai sits there with genuine confusion displayed clearly in her demeanor.
“Is it that great a fear?” she asks.
“Very, my lady,” Cain says with a shudder. “For it was in the underground that the atrocity had claimed its hearth.”
“… The Constellation?” Lorelai mumbles, her gaze turned upwards at some unseeable image.
For some odd reason, she appears regretful. Almost longing. But for what Ascalon is amiss. This sight has become familiar to him now: sudden bouts where sadness takes hold of her, and she shies away from all others. He knows that a part of her still distrusts him despite all his efforts, but he doesn’t pry any further than she allows. Trust is a two-fold connection. He will wait, and one day, mayhaps she will reveal the source of that remorseful stare.
“Yes, I remember now,” she continues, shaking off the gloom. “I read the stories—of the first Seraph and the Comet. Of how one sacrificed their life for the other, ambushed in the depths where the sun fails to shine. To think that trauma would ingrain itself so deeply into the people… but I don’t think a mere fable would inspire such continued aversion. Is there another reason?”
Surprisingly, Annalay is the one to speak further about the legends. “Ahem,” she coughs, awkwardly looking around and deciding if she truly wishes to put herself forth. But the Nature’s Throne is never one to deliberate for long, and in the end, she tosses aside her shame. “I know a little bit about that. It’s a children’s rhyme; my—hah, mother used to sing it to me when I was little before bed. Wanted to scare me into behaving by using the Constellation as some damned monster that would spirit me away. How did it go again? Ah, right.”
———
‘The Valkyrie’s light had shone so bright, none could possibly compare.
But on that day her light had sunk, filling all with despair.
Heed my words, o’ children of the sky
The underground is filled with naught but peril, for to traverse it means your end is nigh.
The atrocity, the scourge, the creature of night.
The Constellation lurks in the dirt and filth, waiting to swallow you in one bite.”
———
“Oh, I remember that one!” Deborah excitedly giggles. “Wow, that sure takes me back. It gave me such a fright when I first heard it that I couldn’t sleep for days—”
Ascalon raises his hand and interrupts her before the topic can devolve any further. “Regardless, that fear remains ever present among the people. I am sorry, Lorelai, but while your proposal is the most reasonable we’ve had thus far, it is unlikely the people will agree to it. We must find another solution.”
It really is a shame. However, Ascalon does not want to subject his people to such terror if they wish against it. To force them into that tight and maddening space… he knows his words have power, and the knights are likely to follow his command to the last breath, but to take advantage of their loyalty and cause them suffering knowing so would make him no better than the likes of Xeros.
But, for a second, Ascalon pauses. A strange feeling stirs within his chest, burning. Aching. And when he looks up to face Lorelai, she faces him with a look that pierces into his very soul. Even now, Lorelai refuses to relent, and then her lips part to speak a few, striking words.
“Do you really believe that, Ascalon?”
“I—”
“Do you really believe the people will not agree, or is that merely your own fear? Fear that they shall turn against you? Fear that your command shall cause them to worship you no longer?”
“No, nothing as selfish as that. I only—”
“Ascalon. Take a deep breathe,” she commands, and it is as if two are transported to a world of their very own. No Templars. No Annalay. No grand throne room: just an endless view of white space and the woman he loves before him—challenging his views.
“You are kind, Ascalon. But you are also afraid: of how people see you. Of failing to meet their expectations. Is that not correct?”
“Lorelai,” he pleads. “Please, this isn’t the time for this. Not in front of the others—”
“Do not run away from me. Do not run away from them. You are their lord, and it is your duty to convey what your heart truly desires. They cannot help you if they do not know you, so speak. Let everything flow out.”
Ascalon flinches, for her tone is unlike any he has heard from her before. Direct. Almost confrontational. He swallows hard, and sweat begins to form on his brow, but eventually he finds his voice and replies back—still shaky, a bit nervous, but otherwise ready to face her.
“… It is not so much their disappointment that scares me,” he says. “But their faith. Their innocent, whole-hearted belief that I shall see them through this perilous time. And I want to fulfill that wish, to bring about change, for every year that passes under my reign is another where they must continue to live in doubt. There are no achievements under my name, there is naught I have done but fester in stagnation, and yet they still all revere me. Me, who can only cower, praying for the war to end on its own.
“I have done nothing worth deserving of their love, so I have to suffer each day carrying this feeling of burden. Of guilt. And sometimes… I wonder if my enthronement is a mistake. Am I truly fitting of the Monarch’s Wings? Were they not intended for another more deserving? It eats away at me, that I might have stolen this gift. Wretched it away with my greed. So I have to be faultless, exemplary, an ideal image of a ruler, for that is the only way I can atone for receiving all these gifts. These blessings.
“I truly am blessed to have many people I can call comrades. Friends. But it is because I have so many within my care that I seek a perfect solution. One that everyone shall readily agree. I know such thinking is naive, but I cannot help but yearn for that possibility—even if it is a fool’s errand. I want to protect them. I want to be the hero they claim me to be, and part of being a hero is to never forget the people’s will. To be gallant and compassionate towards all. Would a kind lord force his people into service?”
Lorelai doesn’t speak, at first. She stands up, leaves her seat, and then slowly walks over to Ascalon’s side. Step by step, with all the Templars’ gazes centered on her, she walks forward. And then she stops so very close, a hair’s breadth away so that her hot breath can be felt on his helm, and then she cups his face and forces Ascalon to peer directly into her shining, platinum eyes.
“Would a kind lord move his people to war?”
Ascalon cannot utter a thing.
“No, because war is an awful, awful thing. It takes away more than it gives, and the only ones who benefit from its destruction are those who cannot see the corpses plaguing the earth.
“And yet we still move. Why? Because the people are tired, Ascalon—of this twenty year long strife where death and despair is but a common occurrence. If there was a chance, an opportunity to end this bloody conflict once and for all, do you think they would shy away from it? To continue being content with this everlasting uncertainty?
“We do this not because we want to, but because we need to. No one wishes to fight or to grit through their fears, but when one has purpose, a sincere desire to bring change, then they will overcome any terror. Push through any obstacle. Know this, Ascalon: Your people are capable of protecting themselves. Their desire is one you should encourage, not smother. So do not give in before their cry is even heard. Listen, truly listen, and then you shall know their will. Do not make that choice in their stead.”
The King struggles, he squirms and attempts to escape from Lorelai’s hold, but her grasp is strong. She will not let him cower. There’s an almost desperate plea in her gaze, in that murky ocean of ink within, and for a moment, Ascalon can hear a tiny mutter escape her breath. A small, almost indiscernible voice, one begging to be heard despite its secrecy.
“Please, do not be like him.”
Who? Why does she feel so out of reach?
He closes his eyes, and then lets out a deep exhale. A second passes, then another, and another. He relishes in the silence, pondering, contemplating over her words. And eventually, he realizes she is right. For all his talk of letting the people have their own freedom, he has decided their beliefs on his own. Without any consideration, without allowing them to ever voice it aloud.
“… What do you think, everyone?” he asks out to the Templars.
They all turn to look each other, and it is then Ascalon can see how truly wrong he has been. There is not a hint of hesitation in them. Perhaps there never has been since the very beginning.
“It is a bit scary,” Deborah murmurs. “But Lorelai is right. I… I barely even remember a time before the war, but grandpa would always tell us stories. Of how happy he was, everyone was, and how there wasn’t a care or worry except what next to do in the tomorrow ever so close. I want that happiness, I want to know what it’s like to be completely carefree, so yes. I will brave any fear if that means making that come true, and I think the Cherubim knights will agree. They’re strong people; something like a little fear of the dark won’t stop them.”
Surasha speaks next, and for once in a long time she doesn’t glare at him with hate. No, instead there is something else: sympathy perhaps? No, understanding. As if she can finally bear to forgive him. “I, um, didn’t know you felt that way. I always thought you just cared about appearances, about looking good so that the people would fawn over you, but I—I didn’t realize how much stress you were under. To be someone everyone expects you to be. So, ugh, I still won’t forget about all that time you’ve left me alone, but I guess what I want to say is… sorry. And I agree: if ending this war means having to go on a little trek underground, then I’ll go on as many trips as needed.”
One by one, the other Templars voice their agreements. Their stories, their approval, and their support for whatever Ascalon decides next. It is a relieving sight, all his worries soon flooding out without pause, and upon the final accord, Annalay slaps his back and yells out a boisterous guffaw right into his ears.
“About time you stopped keeping everything to yourself,” she says with a rumble. “The stoic Ascalon isn’t bad, but I much prefer the one who trusts in his friends. His people. So stop thinking the whole world’s putting you on a pedestal and speak up when you want to, alright?”
“Hehe, alright Annalay,” he chuckles, and his gloom all but disappears as her rough friendliness pulls him back to the world. “I still can’t help but worry sending you all off alone, but I believe in everyone’s strength. I know you will claim victory, so worry not about matters regarding defense. The capital, and all subjects in our domain, shall be safe with me.”
“Hm?” Lorelai suddenly says, and the attention is turned towards her once more. “What do you mean? This campaign will not succeed without a leader—someone the knights know well to spearfront the advance and inspire morale.”
Confusion begins to settle amongst the room, and Ascalon bids to clarify Lorelai’s vague claim. “Yes, that does seem reasonable, but will that position not be taken by you? I know none other so wise in tactics and respected by the populace.”
“Is that so?” she trails off with a whisper. “But I know very well someone who fits that criteria.”
“Oh? Who might that—”
But Ascalon stops himself, and horror begins to creep upon his face, for he realizes the true meaning of Lorelai’s words, and this realization dawns on the others as well: Joshua’s mouth is left agape, Cain and Abel leap up from their seat, Surasha sinks to the ground, Deborah appears entirely dumbfounded, Dismas recoils in shock, Annalay stumbles back, and even Soloman grasps the table for balance.
Lorelai is suggesting the impossible. No, what is strictly forbidden—an affront against a tradition held since the very founding of the kingdom.
“You, Ascalon,” she says, and thus the court descends into chaos. “You will be the one to lead the invasion.”
