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necrospellbinder · 4 months

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fill this ghost town up with light

While her feet do itch to touch down in Tyrian Gorge, she pauses, watching him have the time he deserves with his restored home. or, The Wizard and Dyvim Whitehart visit the Silent Market for the first time since taking it back from the Umbra Legion. READ ON A03 FOR ADDITIONAL COMMENTS.

With the confirmation of just how far the Shadow Palace lies from Bastion, she shifts her eagerness around to equally shoulder its weight with that of reality. It’s simply not feasible to go haywire and burn a hole through Fort Rachias. If she wants a chance at challenging Morganthe face to face, she has to abide by the rules that were established long before she ever set foot in Khrysalis.

The rules of the Umbra Legion. The rules of the Council of Light. The rules of a prophecy she had no hand in writing, but is tasked with fulfilling— with outrunning.

Amber keeps her face steady in front of King Mourningsword. He is doing all he can with what he has, and she knows better than anyone that suddenly being thrust into an ongoing conflict like this after such dormancy is difficult. When he acknowledges how she’s practically chomping at the bit to reach the Shadow Queen, she wonders what aspect of her body betrayed her.

It certainly wasn’t her expression. Maybe her hands, clenching and unclenching, gave away the emotions she’d rather not dwell on. Either way, he gives the plan dreamt up by the throne’s advisor and Zaltanna his royal approval so she can be on her way as soon as possible.

In her haste, she’s nearly out the door before the king can call out for her to wait. Briefly embarrassed, she turns back around, lowering the hand intended for the door to her side.

The king smiles amusedly. Then, he himself turns toward one of the other doors in the throne room as if said smile never occurred.

“You will have a companion on your journey, Spellbinder,”

Amber’s gut reaction to that is a strong, negative one. So many years without a companion, and now they’re being thrust upon her. Hasn’t she proved she can handle herself? Isn’t that what the story wants from her? Even if they mean well, and she’s sure they do, they’ll just slow her down if they stick around.

Or, they’ll get hurt, and there will be no one else left at the scene to blame but the all-powerful Spellbinder that should have done something more. The blood adjacent to her hands soaks the skin more thoroughly than the blood that actually stains them.

As if the universe is playing some kind of cruel joke on her, a newly-revitalized Dyvim Whitehart steps through the door King Mourningsword is gesturing toward.

And if the joke wasn’t already cruel enough, her first instinct is not to fold her hands and simply accept his presence— but to rush forward towards him, sighing in relief.

(She doesn’t— but can you imagine?)

“I told Dyvim Whitehart to rest, but he would not have it,” Mourningsword continues. His best knight moves to stand obediently at his side. “Take him to the Melanos Tower. From there, you can better plan your invasion of Fort Rachias.”

Dyvim steps up, nodding to her. “I am eager to see this through, my friend.”

Though the king is correct about him needing his rest, Amber can’t help but notice how much stronger his voice sounds. That deep, honeyed tone that was absent at the time of him drinking the antidote has returned in full-force. It invigorates her in a way she is not used to. With it, she could do something stupid— like charge aimlessly into battle— without a second thought.

She attempts to say something intelligent, but all she can do at the moment is nod. A declaration of wanted independence is still occupying space on her tongue, and the last thing she wants is to turn him away out of habit.

King Mourningsword does the hard part for them. With a shake of his hand, they’re ushered out the front door of the throne room. Immediately upon exiting, the warmth of the new Bastion hits them. Amber hears Dyvim sigh deeply beside her.

“Isn’t it brilliant? The sun in the sky?”

Amber wipes a coat of dust from a previous battle off her wand. “I’m as glad to see you on your feet as I am the Burrowers reclaiming this area,”

“I couldn’t bear to spend another second cooped up in the palace,” he exclaims, jumping further down the steps. “Not when all of this was waiting for me out here,”

It hits her then that Dyvim had no way of knowing that the next phase of the plan involved storming the Melanos Tower. Had he simply asked the king to send him back out somewhere, anywhere he could oppose the Shadow? Or had he requested to walk alongside her specifically?

Pondering at such a frayed end in the fabric of her journey is useless in the grand scheme of things, though, so she waives it from her mind just as quickly as it appeared there and focuses on the knight’s excitement instead.

“How much of it have you had the chance to see?”

“I awoke again after drinking the antidote as the Apiary guard sought passage here from the base of the Moon Cliffs. It was as if my body sensed there was something I needed to see and forced me awake,” the gusto in his voice rises, and then falls. “Of course, I was ushered back inside again soon after that to rest . But the beauty of it all…”

The wonder on his face encourages Amber to take another look around. Shockingly, she hasn’t made stopping and smelling the roses a priority in all of this. While her feet do itch to touch down in Tyrian Gorge, she pauses, watching him have the time he deserves with his restored home.

It’s important enough to stall the mission because it’s something she feels she hasn’t seen before. The dead worlds like Dragonspyre and Azteca will never have this chance. As Dyvim stops to inspect a bushel of orange flowers, she feels a brief reprieve in her chest— a small voice telling her she’s done a bit of good by Khrysalis.

And then another, crying out that she has to save them this time. She has to .

“These are aurantiacus blossoms,” he smiles, rooting around within them further. “We have them in the Last Wood. With all the fog the Umbra Legion brought, I never expected them to survive out here,”

“They’re persistent,” Amber says. “Stubborn,”

He stands. “Just like my people. Now what do you say we go find a way to challenge that Ghost Dog, eh? All that bedrest has made me eager to see battle,”

As they continue to walk, it dawns on her. To make it to Tyrian Gorge, they’ll have to go through the market. He must know, right? That sorrow no longer has a shop there? The last thing she wants to do is ruin the surprise, if it is one. He’s been cooped up half-dead, after all.

For a moment, Amber’s feet have wings. She picks up her pace and turns back to face him.

“Before we battle, there’s something else you should see,”

Dyvim raises an eyebrow. “By all means, then, Spellbinder— I’ll follow you,”

The guards stationed by the tunnel greet them, both unable to hide their excitement at seeing Dyvim out and about behind their professionalism. Amber steadies her pace to walk beside him as they step briefly into the dark.

Guiding them to the tunnel’s end is an even brighter sun than before.

Like Bastion, the fog that once coated Silent Market has now lifted. Stations manned by Goliaths are now occupied by Burrowers who have torn down any garish Umbra Legion memorabilia. Their wispy flags of war have been replaced by lush green banners strewn from tree to tree. All around, flora and fauna she now recognizes from her time in the Last Wood springs up alongside vendor’s tents.

A smattering of happy gasps and cheers emerge from those near the market’s entrance upon seeing them. While Amber eyes them, offering reserved nods in their direction, Dyvim takes in the sight of a flurry of butterflies weaving around his antlers. His gaze follows them as they flutter off toward a grand old tree shedding pink leaves.

“By Bastion…” he exhales.

The small crowd disperses to tend to their wares and shopping lists as Dyvim begins taking slow steps forward.

“This can’t be the same place we tracked down Zaltanna’s note in, can it? The greenery, the butterflies… I can barely believe it,”

“It’s very beautiful,” Amber offers, moving to follow him.

They inspect the series of doors where they once convened upon finding Zaltanna’s (Cornelius, at the time) red sash. Such a quest feels like ages ago. Amber has lost track of time quicker here in Khrysalis than she has in other worlds. It’s a phenomenon she can’t quite explain. Still, its been weeks. Months, even. So much has been done with so much left to do.

Dyvim stops suddenly, ears twitching upward. Amber steps around his tail as it stands straight out to move beside him. He begins taking slow steps toward the unoccupied homes that make up the edge of the market.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

“They’re gone,” he says after a moment. His tone is flat, which frustrates her a bit. Is this how people feel when speaking with her?

“Who’s gone?”

“The statues. The Crystal Statues I showed you the last time we were here.” he turns his head to look at her. “Don’t you remember? They were the souls of Burrowers trapped when Bastion fell. The ones caught in the Shadow Queen’s dark magic. The ones forced to… stay here forever,”

“I remember,” Amber murmurs.

And she does. She steps forward off the grass and onto the stone that once housed the crystals. When in this spot before, staring at the masses of jagged purple rock, her Necromancy had allowed her to sense the spirits of those trapped inside. Their message had been too haunting to share with him at the time.

Even to a soldier who has seen so much, their words were piercing. They hit her right where the wound of Azteca was fresh. Her composure falters for a moment as she shuts her eyes and presses her palm to the ground.

She can’t feel them anymore.

She thinks that’s a good sign, one that points to their spirits escaping, finally passing on. They were not at peace when forever-chained to the Silent Market. If anything, they gave it its namesake, one that no longer fits. And so, they had been liberated once Bastion was.

She can’t feel them anymore, but she remembers the words they shared with her: We are the dreamers. Not dead yet far from alive. But days ago we loved, felt dawn, and saw sunset glow.

The light peeking through the treetops warms the back of her hand. Carefully, Amber stands, staring down at the spot on the ground where nothing remains.

“Do you know what happened to them?” Dyvim asks.

“I think their souls are at peace now. They were able to see Bastion restored, which must have set them free. They can rest. They can finally rest,”

He nods, seemingly accepting that explanation. She doesn’t know how much weight those words would’ve carried had she not been the Spellbinder. It’s irrelevant, though, if it brings him some semblance of peace as well.

Another moment of silence passes between them before Dyvim speaks again. When he does, that wry smile has found a way back onto his face.

“I guess that means our next step is to finish what they started, yes?”

The heaviness of the spot dissipates as they step away from it, moving further into the vibrant market. After ascending a flight of stairs, the heavily guarded grand door to the gorge becomes visible, as does a waterfall and several more vendor tents.

Few patrons pay them any mind now. Amber can imagine they’re much more eager to shop again than they would be to stop and chat. Now that she thinks of it, though, she wouldn’t mind procuring a new ring or athame at random chance. Dyvim did mention Burrowers excelling in craftwork.

“Once the challenge is issued to Ghost Dog, you should come back and take a moment to enjoy all this,” she tells him.

“And you?” he counters.

“And me?”

“Do you ever get to reap the rewards of your heroics, Spellbinder? Reach out your hand and feel it, all the sunlight there is to bask in,”

“I’m sure the sun will beat down on me just as hard across the Starfall Sea,”

“But not in the same way as it does here,”

A sea of pink blossoms rain down over them as they pass under another grand tree. This one takes root in one of the waterfall pools. Dyvim stops to dip his feet into the water, beckoning for her to join him.

“You haven’t been encouraging me to rest like the king, you know,” he says.

Amber dips down to cup some of the bright blue water in her palms. It washes away the dust caked on them, revealing a series of scars and practically changing the shade of her skin.

“That would be hypocritical of me to do,” she says before splashing her face. “Like you said, I don’t reap my spoils,”

“How strange it is that the sounds of battle are more relaxing to us than the flow of a stream,”

Dyvim sinks down beside her, washing his own hands in the water. Amber quirks a brow up as she attempts to rub her cheek dry.

“It’s not surprising if you think about all I… we’ve been through. Individually,”

“I never said it was surprising. Just strange,” he stands up to catch a pink leaf before it goes spilling into the drink below. “I’ve never been able to fully enjoy the beauty of the Last Wood because of what its name implies. Last. Final. Close to extinction, needing protection. Every beautiful thing I see is a reminder of what could soon be lost,”

Amber stays hunched over, hands hung in the water. “I’m not going to let that happen, Dyvim. I’m going to do everything I can to stop it from happening,”

The peaceful smile on his face seems out of place to her. Every word he says is ripe with the horror of what could be, and yet here he is, playing with foliage like a child instead of a soldier. Just the thought of standing up straight exhausts her, let alone looking overjoyed about it. Now that she’s in this position, she may never be able to get out of it.

Still, Dyvim just gazes warmly down at her. Only when he lowers himself to her level again does his strength become observable. It hides in the curve of his smile, behind the temporary happiness in his eyes.

“Thank you for this , Spellbinder,”

“For this?”

“You have given me the chance to see the vibrant place my ancestors once called home. It’s a Bastion that, admittedly, some days I thought I’d never meet,”

“It’s… I have so much more to do,” she says, turning her cheek.

“We’ll do it together,”

“Dyvim—”

He laughs a bit before she can protest about prophecies and whatnot. “—as much of it as we can. Here, take these as a reminder. You’ll need them when you can’t remember what the world looks like beyond the bleakness of the gorge,”

Amber glances upward, her face still temporarily muddled by some combination of sorrow, embarrassment, and fatigue. Dyvim’s arm is outstretched and his palm wide open. In his hand sits one of the many pink leaves and an orange aurantiacus blossom he must’ve plucked earlier. She eyes them before taking them, as if they’ll bite. Then, she inspects them gently with her own hands.

“You said every beautiful thing you see is a reminder of what you could lose,” the orange petal melts slightly against a water droplet left on her palm. “Seeing Bastion like this doesn’t scare you?”

When she looks up at him, he’s already looking at her. “Seeing this is a different kind of beauty. It’s the kind that fills me with hope instead of fear,”

She holds his gaze then. Just for a second, though, before returning her attention to the gifts in her hand.

“They’ll never survive,” If anything, they’re already dead, torn off from their stems.

“They’re persistent,” Dyvim says. “And stubborn. Like someone else I know,”

At that, Amber stands, and he stands with her. She takes a moment to slip the foliage in between the pages of her tightly packed spell deck. By the time this is all over, if they still have this gorgeous world to enjoy, they’ll be perfectly pressed.

“You must be referring to yourself,” she manages a smile. Dyvim only shrugs, starting toward the grand door to the gorge.

“Maybe. Or maybe that’s just something we all have in common,”

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