#EPWChapters

[vantelieth-blog]

                        Vol.II Chapter IV: The World and the Visionary

“Come to think of it, I've never seen you drive before,” Yeula remarked as Farah jumped into the front seat of Yeula's car. “You sure you know what you're doing?”

“Do I look that inept to you?” Farah sighed while tinkering with the car's computer panel. “Just whip out your ID and I'll do the driving from there.”

Yeula brushed her sister's hand aside after taking the front passenger seat and proceeded to restart the engine using the car's finger print reader as before.

“That's sort of primitive for someone like you, don't you think?” Farah mused. “Or did I mishear you when you told me that you could issue commands for every computer you own with those headsets of yours?”

Yeula reclined on her seat. “Just hurry up and drive, will you?”

“Whatever you say, my endearing sister,” Farah sarcastically replied before setting off alongside the grounded traffic. “So, have you ever been to a public execution before?”

“Why would I? I hadn't even heard of it until recently. I thought practices like that died off ages ago.”

Upon stopping Yeula's car at a busy intersection with a four-faced automaton—Golem's standardized form of traffic control—in the center holding up a stop sign in their direction, Farah leaned closer to her sister. “It's an honor reserved for Class Four and up offenders, if FOG feels so inclined. They've been a little more selective since Prime District's fall, I've noticed; they've probably been too occupied with all the ongoing reconstruction to worry about something so trivial.”

Yeula looked up at the excess of sentries patrolling from above. “But South District's security's gotten tighter than ever since the disaster, I hear. What's the point in that?”

“The South is likely being used as a temporary capital for FOG, but I've heard the Haizer family still resides in Prime District. South District is Golem's second most developed city, you know.” As soon as traffic control gave her lane the green sign, Farah returned to the wheel and took a right. “So, regarding public executions, they've changed in some other ways, too; it's become more of a sport than a ritual done to make an example of the worst offenders. Some FOG operatives actually make a living from the pay of the crowd as they flock over to watch them mete out the death punishment.”

“It sounds primitive if you ask me,” Yeula remarked. She tilted her head to the left upon noticing a couple waving at them from the footpath, presumably involved with the Erenets in some way. The family had long grown so influential that such greetings from strangers was not uncommon for the more prominent operators. Even so, Yeula never much cared for extra publicity—her objective was all that mattered to her, and her whole family other than Farah was but a means to an end. She had, in many ways, become the woman she feared becoming as a child: an apathetic liar who simply used others for her own gain, yet knew full well how to win one's trust.

“And it's always important for us to remember how we may end up if we aren't careful,” Farah continued. “That's why I always enjoy exhibitions like this one.”

“We both know what you really get a kick out of,” Yeula responded, smirking half-heartedly.

Farah smirked. “And I always enjoy watching unrelated people suffer. What's so wrong with that?”

“That's just how you were raised, wasn't it?” Yeula mused, contemplating how she could have grown under her own parents' care. Perhaps she could not distinguish right from wrong as much as her parents would have wished, but all that mattered to her was that she knew what she wanted in life and how to see to her own goals. Her childhood had made her that strong, at least.

“Exactly,” Farah laughed. “Well, it's a story I've probably already told you a thousand times. I'm one of the very few Erenets today tied to the family by blood, as well as our father's first-born child, so it's only natural that I was raised to be his perfect successor for when the time comes. We have become something more of a 'criminal' organization than a family by now, obviously.”

The Colony of Golem was a colony with such rapidly evolving technology to overshadow the evolving needs of its denizens. As criminals continued to devise new ways of bypassing security, so too did Golem's security methods devise new ways of identifying such offender with little intervention from the Guard, Golem's most recognized law enforcement agency. Legal digital ID's were among FOG's most effective means of monitoring Golem civilians, allowing them to track any digital transaction as well as the operation of many devices requiring identification at any point, such as cars and even most computers. Sentries and other security automatons had become so advanced as to be capable of positively identifying any individual with a quick scan and uploading resultant data to the Guard. In such a digital age, a miscreant could scarcely go noticed in more developed regions for over a minute before they were identified, located and caught no more than thirty minutes following their committed crime; in such a digital age, hackers reigned the criminal underworld. Lesser criminals would often seek the assistance of such individuals with the power to exploit the system, earning a fake ID and allowing them to operate whilst untraceable by FOG. It was from that need that the Erenets became as reputable as they were, both as criminals and as freedom fighters.

“And for my talent, I was given the honor of being called your younger sister,” Yeula added.

“That's right, and I'll be counting on you to keep our family alive should something ever happen to me. I mean that, sis.”

The drive had taken the duo to a massive, festive square of the city with the wooden and barren executioner's stand in the center, around which a large crowd had gathered. Yeula watched Ferah as she parked Yeula's car against the footpath and jumped out, having contemplated those last words of hers. “I've told you this already, haven't I? Once I've gotten what I need from all of you, I'm heading solo. This organization is just a means to an end for me.”

Farah nodded, smiling. “Just don't let anyone but me hear that, okay? I mean, we're not like Fortitude; we're not going to send assassins after you or anything, but still… I wouldn't complain if you decided to stay with us after such a long time. We're the only family you have now, aren't we?”

“I didn't need a father and I've already proven that I don't need a mother, either,” Yeula sighed as she exited the car alongside Farah. “I can take care of myself.”

“I guess that's easy to say when you don't have to be alone,” Farah murmured, shrugging her shoulders and walking out toward the bustling square with Yeula following closely behind.

“Incoming!” a young man from the side exclaimed. Yeula barely had time to face his direction before he nearly collided with her on a skateboard, causing her to stumble. She practically gritted her teeth at the familiar sight of this crudely-dressed man sporting a red mohawk, who had stopped a short distance away waving at her.

“What the hell is—” Yeula paused upon recognizing the man. “Oh, Kelin,” she said in a dry tone. “Are you stalking me again?”

“Just riding around until the execution starts,” the man, Kelin, replied, waving his hands in the air in apology. “Just chill, all right?”

“Does it sound like I'm pissed off to you?” Yeula sighed. “And why have you been spamming my e-mail with party requests?”

The man gaped with surprise. “You mean you actually read them? I didn't think you cared.”

“I only 'care' enough to complain about it. Can't you listen?”

“Oh yeah, looks like you and I are makin' some progress!”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Yeula and Kelin,” Farah impatiently called without facing either one of them, “do we have to go through this same exchange every time you two run into each other? Can't I see a little coexistence between you two just for this one special occasion?”

“That's what I was planning on doing, Farah,” Yeula responded. “Now then, Kelin, try to behave and we can all grab something to eat while we wait for the execution, all right?”

Yeula's relationship with Kelin was not unlike her relationship with the majority of the Erenet family's initiates. Her close ties with the blood-relatives of the family earned her the envy of the lesser members, with many of them seeking her acknowledgment for little more than personal gain. The frequent friendly messages sent to her by operators she seldom heard of did little more than annoy the normally introverted woman.

Before the trio could possibly set off to feed themselves, each one of them in tandem gawked at a steel cage being carried on a roller to a ramp at the side of the executioner's stand by two men in black suits—FOG operatives to be sure. Without another word, the trio proceeded to disappear into the massive crowd that had gathered with anticipation. The primal cries of what seemed to be a beast of some sort could be faintly heard from within the cage, but Yeula could barely catch a glimpse beyond the steel bars in the front of the cage from where she stood.

“What's making that sound?” Kelin asked; a man in the crowd promptly shushed him.

“We won't know that until they bring it out,” Yeula whispered. “What I want to know is where the criminal is.”

And as if the FOG officers had heard Yeula's question, from behind the stand the chiseled and burned criminal, bound and gagged, limped forward with another pair of FOG officers by his side. With a harsh knee to the back, one of the FOG officers forced the criminal, who let out a muffled grunt, onto his knees. The FOG officers proceeded to back away toward respective corners of the stand with their arms crossed behind them as a rugged elderly man emerging from behind the stand sauntered over to the criminal. With a simple elevation of his hand, the old man silenced the excited crowd before speaking.

“In this fortress we know as Golem, there are those who deny and those who believe,” the old man began. “To deny is to rebel; to believe is to survive. To those standing before me I ask, in what do we believe? To believe in our dictators is to survive in this world, and to follow their decrees is to kowtow to the prosperity of the land we call our home. It is that mutual belief which has united us all to punish one who denies, as all such transgressions are best answered with satirical consequences… and humiliation therein.”

The old man flicked out a switchblade in his hand and proceeded to cut loose the gag around the criminal's mouth, letting out his incomprehensible cries for the amusement of the audience. Yeula could promptly see that the man's tongue had been severed from his maw. Tears rolled down his eyes as he struggled to no avail to put his final thoughts into words.

“This one man before us in all his greed has taken from those who ensure our safety and nearly thrown our order into disarray with something of which he was not meant to wield,” the old man continued, elevating his tone in the midst of the criminal's ongoing cries. “For his transgressions I can see a none more fitting punishment than to be torn asunder by an animal born from that very something he had narrowly seized.”

Yeula observed Farah from the corner of her eye as the latter rolled up a sleeve of her dark shirt to reveal a communication device disguised as a silver watch. From this device sounded a gruff voice Yeula could faintly recognize as her adoptive father, though she could not make out his words from the distance she stood from Farah, and before she could inquire of the purpose of the message after opening her mouth, Farah lightly tapped her shoulder.

“I'll be right back,” she whispered in her ear. “Enjoy the show, and don't follow me.”

Yeula hastily turned toward her sister as she scurried off and disappeared from the crowd, outstretching her hand in a failed attempt to grab her shoulder. “Kelin, go after her,” she quietly muttered.

“No way, I'm watchin' this,” Kelin whispered back, his mouth hung open with excitement.

In response to Kelin, Yeula begrudgingly returned to her spot with her arms crossed, by which time two of the FOG officers had already brought the steel cage to the peak of the stand. Yeula's face contorted as her eyes caught the clearly human hands of the supposed beast peeking from within the cage, desperately reaching for the weeping criminal and adding to his noise with a bloodthirsty roar; at this point, even she could no longer look away. One of the FOG officers handled a lever on the side of the cage, lifting the cylindrical bars and exposing the criminal's executioner-to-be for all to see. With loud, craggy breaths, the unclothed beast in the shape of a withered man frothed from the mouth at the sight of his prey as he slowly advanced in a hunched stance; dark fumes could be seen permeating from his gaping maw with each breath he took. He would not advance far before the chains between the inside of the cage and his eye-blocking helmet held him in place. With a large key in hand, one of the FOG officers undid the lock binding the helmet to the chains, and the feral man let out a final roar before promptly pouncing upon his hapless prey, leaving the host little time to back away before the onslaught. Only clamors and screams from the crowd could be heard as the feral man, armed with hardened muscle and teeth and claws sharp as any blade, proceeded to part the criminal's flesh and bone whilst he remained powerless to defend himself with what little time he had left until his body was rendered an empty husk. In the end, no newly-come onlooker would have been able to say that the resultant mess on the stand was once a man—a man who had undoubtedly screamed in his last moments only to be left unheard in the chaos.

As the feral man proceeded to indulge himself in the feed he had created, two FOG officers armed with electroshock rods advanced on him from separate corners, mercilessly beating him to the ground, deaf to the sound of his wailing. It was only after the feral man lay motionless on the ground, either killed or rendered unconscious, that the host threw his hands into the air to signal the end of the event. The stench of death was hindered by the stench of the miasma from the feral man's ghastly breath. The FOG officers dragged the feral man by his legs across the stage and back into his cage as the host walked off with no further word spoken. With that, most members of the crowd silently left to tend to other business with the gruesome execution no doubt lingering in their thoughts; others remained alongside friends or family to discuss what they had seen in low tones. As for Yeula, it was as though she had stared down a beast that could have turned its sights on her powerless self at any second and added her body to the carnage—her imagination had shaken her like never before and she could only hope she was not alone in that regard.

“That was… Well, can't say I went in thinking it'd go like that,” the evidently bewildered Kelin stuttered before turning to Yeula, a frown forming on his face. “Yeula… you okay?”

But she remained unresponsive, her eyes locked onto the deserted stand where only the viscera yet remained. It was only until her headphones beeped into her ears that her thoughts were set straight—at least enough to answer whomever had called.

“You called?” she spoke in a quivering voice.

“Just as an FYI, that man's name—the convict, I mean—was Jay Hillard,” came Farah's voice over the headphones. “Supposedly he was prosecuted for having smuggled Fortitude weaponry into Golem's inner walls. Sound familiar? Anyway, as far as I can tell, the host wasn't lying about that much; you might want to look him up yourself sometime.”

“Where are you, Farah?” Yeula asked in a murmur, still looking toward the stand.

“Taking care of important business. You might have been able to guess something of the sort, but I was requested to join an important discussion regarding our next 'big project.' I'll find you again tonight and fill you in with the details at some point tomorrow. Anyway, how was the show?”

“Can I assume you knew how that was going to end?” At this point, Yeula took her eyes off the stand and to where her car had been parked. It had gone missing along with Farah.

“Supposedly, that feral man was the result of being exposed to some kind of energy produced by Fortitude's equipment, so such individuals are thankfully hard to come by… except in FOG's captivity, apparently.”

“Yo, what did you do with my car!?” Yeula angrily asked as she stamped back to where her car once stood with Kelin following her.

“Oh, so you finally noticed?” Farah laughed. “I needed some way to make my escape, you know. Rest assured that I'll return it to you fully intact whenever I can.”

“What did you do without my ID?”

Farah began to laugh harder. “I just left the car on, silly. I'll talk to you later, okay, sis? Bye.” Farah ended the call before Yeula could properly protest.

“Sometimes you piss me off,” Yeula muttered to herself as she crossed her arms in frustration.

“So… Farah coming back?” Kelin asked while mounting his skateboard,

“No, she's definitely not coming back,” Yeula groaned. “Okay, Kelin, how did you get here? Do you have some car parked somewhere?”

Kelin shook his head. “Can't we just call another pickup?”

“All right, fine,” Yeula sighed to Kelin before speaking to her headphones, “Calling Relt.”

And within seconds, a rather timid-sounding male responded over the line, “Yeula? Can I help you with something?”

“Relt, are you in the South District by any chance?” Yeula asked while seating herself on the edge of the footpath.

“No, I'm in the West.”

“That's fine. Just get over here and come pick us up, all right? I'll be sending you the coordinates.”

“Wait, what? Did you get into a—”

“Don't ask, I'll explain later. Can you come pick us up, yes or no?”

“Uh, yeah, sure I can. I might be a little while getting there, though.”

“Just don't leave us hanging. Bye.” After terminating the call, Yeula reached for a handheld computer within her pocket and promptly sent Relt her coordinates before browsing the internet for information regarding the executed convict. She promptly turned her back to Kelin once he had sat down beside her and curiously leaned closer to take a peek at her device.

“Hey, don't be like that,” Kelin whined in response. “I just want to know what you're doing.”

“Ever heard of asking?” Yeula replied with an irritated tone and her eyes dead centered on her computer.

“Hey, why don't we just call Farah back?” Kelin asked.

“I already called Relt. What the hell is calling Ferah gonna do? Just leave me alone, please.” The brutal imagery of the execution still fresh in her mind had left her more hostile than her shame would permit, but was that truly all that was bothering her? With a contemplative deep breath, she took her eyes from her computer and withdrew it in her pocket before standing up and turning to Kelin with a calmed look on her face. “I'm sorry, Kelin, it's just… I guess I just haven't gotten enough sleep lately, you know? I've been far too busy lately.”

“Is this about that deal with that Fortitude chick?” Kelin frowned.

After momentarily staring blankly at Kelin with surprise, Yeula nodded. “Didn't think word would get around that quickly.”

“I heard things got pretty ugly. Are you sure you shouldn't be in bed right now?”

Yeula sighed. “No, I'm not tired. I'm just… I guess I'm still a little salty about what happened to her; how I couldn't save her. Was there something different I could have done? Every time I'm making progress, there's always been something to set me right back where I started. It's frustrating. And now today's just leaving me with even more unanswered questions.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Kelin murmured, lowering his head. “Sucks to be us, doesn't it?”

Yeula sat back down next to Kelin. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I mean… you know, doing what we have to do for our family's sake. It gets tiring, doesn't it?”

“That's just the sacrifice we all have to make to discover some great truth out there, or at least that's how it's always been for me. This isn't just about gold, reputation, or shallow shit like that.”

Kelin let out a halfhearted cackle. “Unlike you, I didn't spend my time in a Fortitude camp. I'm not interested in chasing after some big mystery—with what I've been through, I just like having good food on my plate and a family of people I can relate with; the problem is I don't get to see 'em very often. You know where I'm going with this? The gold's nice and all—I mean, it's nice I can get payed while only having to get off my ass every month or so—but sometimes I just wish we could all be like a normal family, a bunch of legit working people.”

“Then maybe you should stop thinking like a misfit and actually think about your future for once—shape yourself up one day and start doing something productive, get a real job. No one will hold it against you if you decide to up and leave.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kelin said as he looked up at the sky. “Is that what you plan on doing—going on your own one day?”

Yeula looked up and let out her rare smile as she thought about her long held dream for the first time in years. “You know what I've always wanted to be as a child? I'm gonna run Xodus someday. Once I've solved this 'big mystery' of mine, I'm going solo and making a real name for myself by becoming the CEO of Golem's greatest technological company. And, you know what? I think I've already proven I have just what it takes do anything I set my mind to.”

Kelin smiled wryly at the sky. “You're talented like that, I know; nothing like me.”

Yeula nudged Kelin on the shoulder. “That's why you get off your ass every now and then, to make those dreams of yours come true.”

A long silence ensured before Kelin began to laugh. Yeula simply observed him as though he had lost his mind until he stopped and looked directly into her eyes. “So, feeling better now?” he asked with his usual exuberant tone.

“What are you even talking about?” Yeula sighed.

“I saw that look on your face after the execution; you looked pretty scared shitless!”

“All right, fine; I'll admit that taking my mind off things for a moment helped me out, so thanks for that. How about we just spend the rest of the day like commoners and have some real fun for once?”

Kelin nodded. “Will do… whenever Relt gets here.”

Yeula and Kelin spent the remainder of their wait reminiscing of their lives as Erenets on the streets of the great city as the sun began to set. Yeula and Kelin could barely spot Relt and his distinguishable messy black mullet approaching from within an exotic, elongated black car behind the traffic having suddenly grown denser than before. With a tired Yeula waving at him, Relt, dressed in a vest, suit pants and trench coat all in black to fit his impressive car. parked next to the duo with a rather smug look worn around his puffy face. “Get in,” he said, his tone no less pompous.

“Oh, look, Kelin, our savior has arrived,” Yeula sarcastically chimed, rolling her eyes at her old friend. “What's up, Relt? What took you so long?”

As Yeula and Kelin climbed over the car door and into the backseats, Relt murmured, “Not my fault this city is an ass to navigate. So, where to?”

Yeula thought for a moment. “You know what? Just take us both home.”

“No, wait!” Kelin interjected. “Why don't we drive by Prime District around the hilltop we first met?”

Relt scratched his head. “Around the West? Wasn't that pretty close to the prime city, though? What if we get shot down?”

“No, wait, that actually sounds pretty good,” Yeula added. “I don't think we'll get shot down for nearing the city if they're just going to unwrap the place tomorrow, but feel free to make a run for it after we get there if you feel like you're going to be pissing yourself.”

“All right, all right, let's go,” Relt sighed as he began the long drive.

Before Relt could continue speaking, Yeula kept him quiet with a gesture before speaking into her headphones, “Calling Ferah.”

“Look, Yeula,” Farah promptly responded from the headphones, “if you want to complain about my actions, can you please wait until—”

“Will you just listen for once?” Yeula interjected. “Relt's taking me to the outskirts of the West District, so meet me there If you still feel like returning my car sometime soon. I'll send you the coordinates if necessary. Is that convenient enough for you?”

“Um… sure. Can I ask what you plan on doing over there?”

“Bye, Farah.” With a sigh, Yeula pulled her headphones back around her neck and leaned on her seat. “I could use a day off. Were you going to say something, Relt?”

“Yeah, I was wondering what happened between you guys.”

“Ferah ran off with my car for some important meeting and left me to rot after showing me the first public execution I'd ever seen. Does that answer your question?”

“Sounds like her,” Relt laughed. “And I was actually checking out that execution on the FOG channel; I saw you guys in the crowd. Poor bastard, huh?”

“That was broadcast on live television?” Kelin asked, looking above for cameras.

“South District's got cameras everywhere, remember?” Yeula replied while pointing to a particularly large sentry before they drove past it. “And those cameras aren't just for security, so count yourself lucky that no one knows who you are.”

A long silence ensued before Relt spoke upon reaching an intersection, “Hey, Yeula, I was wondering something...”

Yeula looked into Relt's troubled expression and lifted an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Or, on second thought, never mind; I'll talk to you about that when we get to that place.”

Yeula shrugged. “Suit yourself, dude.”

By the time the trio had journeyed beyond the vast Southern city and landed upon the large, grassy hilltop on the outskirts of the West District overlooking the restored Prime District, night had already fallen and only the light of the moon showed them the way. Yeula skipped and danced upon the flat peak of the hill with uncharacteristic joy with Relt and Kelin simply strolled forward with much less enthusiasm. It was Yeula's first revisiting of the place where her life changed for the better; the smell of nature and the breeze swirling all around the hill, both trivial to anyone else, had become almost particular to her body and presented her a sense of elation as it revitalized cherished memories. She was a lone child, abandoned by FOG and left with only the clothes around her figure when she stumbled upon this place and met the little girl who would become her adoptive sister along with her father and a number of others taken into the Erenet family, Kelin included. It was a meeting she welcomed with open arms right from the start, one that helped her move on from the friends she had parted from. She sat down facing the dim city in the distance silhouetted in the night sky with Kelin and Relt doing the same on opposite sides of her.

“Do you wonder what's going on over there?” Relt softly asked, his mind clearly still set on the question he was to ask Yeula.

Yeula shook her head. “Not really. FOG's probably just adding the finishing touches as we speak.”

“Any news on the Haizers?” Kelin asked. “I don't really keep up with that stuff.”

“Some Haizer named Wrellord succeeded Gede as the new Prime Dictator of Golem ages ago, but, of course, he's been kept from the public eye so far,” Yeula replied. “They'll probably decide to reveal him after the city is restored. I think he's around my age. Some world, huh?” Yeula lay down on the grass before continuing, “So, Relt, there was something you wanted to ask me?”

“Um, yeah. Uh…” Relt paused for a moment before putting his thoughts into words without facing Yeula. “I was just thinking about Eyareon, I guess.”

“Eyareon, huh?” Yeula unenthusiastically murmured. Simply hearing that name for the first time in years was almost painful. “What about her?”

“I was going to ask if you heard anything about her recently.”

“No.” Yeula sat back up to look directly into Relt's narrowed green eyes. “You still miss her, don't you?”

Relt nodded after a moment of stillness.

Yeula deeply exhaled before laying back down. “I know how you feel, because I miss her, too. Some things just have to happen whether we want to go with it or not sometimes, right? What we had going back then, we'll never have it again; so let's just move on and try to forget about her completely, all right?”

Kelin gave Yeula a blank stare. “Is it odd that I have no idea who you guys are talking about?”

“She was my best friend back in the day, Kelin,” Yeula softly said. “She was a strong woman. She looked after us all like a mother even when she was still very much a child herself. Unlike most of us, she had no idea if her parents were even alive, but she never let that bring her down—in fact, nothing ever brought her down. She just kept going, cheery and funny as ever, even when her future seemed more uncertain than most of ours. I always envied her and still do in some ways; we all felt that way about her.”

“Oh. So, what happened to her? Did she die?”

“Look what we have here!” a familiar voice exclaimed from behind the trio, one that made Yeula promptly rise and stamp in the direction of the source. The source, Farah, clapped her hands together as she approached her sister with a smile from ear to ear. “I was worried you had lost your mind and were off to do something stupid, but I'm glad I was wrong for once.”

“Okay, where's my car, Ferah?” Yeula wearily asked.

“Just under the hill, all right? You're free to go look for yourself if you don't mind the annoying walk.” Farah glanced at Kelin and Relt before walking past Yeula and waving at them. “Hello again, Kelin; long time no see, Relt.”

“Wait, I'm not even done with you!” Yeula exclaimed as she blocked her sister's path. “What was that meeting all about?”

“Don't you remember what I said? I'll send you a message regarding that tomorrow. Right now, it's getting late and I'd much rather head back home to catch up on my sleep. It certainly doesn't help that you forced me to follow you all the way here.”

After a period of silence, Yeula walked past her sister and in the direction of her car. “Relt! Kelin! We're leaving!” Kelin and Relt promptly stood up to follow Yeula and Farah, with Farah following closely behind Yeula.

“Going back to your car?” Farah asked while trying to block Yeula's view. “Can I least ride with you?”

“Hell no,” Yeula replied while quickening her pace.

“Oh, come on, sis!” Farah jokingly whined. “Look, just name your price and I'll pay it!”

“Trying to bribe me now, are you?” Yeula mused, her urgent walk becoming an exuberant sprint. Relt, Kelin, and Farah all followed her lead, with Farah evidently tiring faster than the others.

“Wait, I'm getting a cramp!” Farah yelled at Yeula.

“I've got plenty of room in my car in you're interested, Farah!” Relt laughed.

In Yeula's own eyes, her long held objective was all that truly mattered while her whole family other than Farah was but a means to an end. Nevertheless, the quaint moments she spent alongside them were ones she would cherish eternally. Only she would ever know of the smile she kept on her face as that one night came to a close.

[vantelieth-blog]

                             Vol. II Chapter III: A Semblance of Truth

Yeula awoke from her slumber with her head snuggled underneath a flowery blanket and the light of dawn radiating her half-opened eyes from beyond the elegantly framed window positioned at the bedside. She sat up and peeled back the flower-patterned curtain, relaxing at the familiar sight of her quaint neighborhood. Beyond the gated yard of the her own house, rows of impressively decorated houses of ivory wood could be seen behind equally expansive yards on the other side of the street. The residential subdistrict she called her home was in every way archaic compared to Golem's more prominent locales, but Yeula could appreciate such a place to return to after a hard-fought day in a clamorous city.

She gently closed the curtain before exhaling a sigh and placing a palm over her face. She had often risked everything for the Erenet Family, but rarely had she met a moment she suspected she would die. Such a thought lingered as she found herself confronting a rogue from Fortitude and her armed body of goons with only a gun and a sentry at her own disposal. And above that, it was her own responsibility to protect the young twins. She had succeeded well enough in their eyes, but that was only to be expected; she was nothing short of an incalculable heroine to them. And she would have it no other way—she would never show weakness again, not to a bitter enemy nor a closest ally.

With a stretch and a yawn, Yeula lazily crawled from the comfort of her bed and faced the confines of her room—or whatever she could make of it from the scattered mess. Piles of paraphernalia such as stuffed animals and electronic trinkets had been placed haphazardly on the ground, and one could hardly reach the room door without stepping upon at least a couple of the many discarded papers littered about. The countertops saw far more care, livened with neatly-stacked scholarly books, cherished accessories, intricate ivory lamps and upright teddy bears. Of the assortment of accessories, Yeula snatched a silver bracelet along with a necklace with a pair of glimmering tags respectively colored blue and green, each one personalized with black flame imagery and complimented with a couple of rings of the opposing color farther from the middle of the necklace. Retrieving her outfit of choice from her dresser, she stepped out into the hallway with both of her hands helplessly full.

“Rise and shine, O' turbulent Yeula!” a gleeful female voice spoke from the household communicator. “You have two presently scheduled events for this wonderful morning. Would you now like to review your schedule or make any necessary changes?”

“No, thank you,” Yeula groaned, opening the door to her bathroom by twisting the knob under her forearm.

“Very well, ma'am,” the entity conceded from the communicator. “Well then, what would you like to have for breakfast today?”

“Anything's fine; thanks,” Yeula dismissively replied as she took the first step onto the white and blue tiles of her large, luxurious bathroom. Numerous portraits of grassy plains inhabited with towering automatons decorated the walls. A human-sized fountain with water pouring into its basin from the maws of the stone birds situated atop its pillar furnished the center of the bathroom. A wide mirror from the left reflected most of Yeula's figure, and it was there she turned her attention.

“You have a new message from Farah Erenet,” the entity stated from the communicator. “Would you like me to read it for you?”

“I'll read it myself, thanks,” Yeula hastily replied, almost interrupting the entity.

“Suit yourself. Would you like any help bathing?”

With the push of a button, Yeula opened the compartment of a touchscreen music station panel located next to the mirror, on which she promptly browsed through a selection of genres before deciding on an instrumental composition, cranking up the volume until she could effortlessly ignore her aide's incessant inquiries. Laying her outfit over the counter and throwing off her pajamas, she made her way into the marble shower behind the fountain, closing her eyes and trailing off in thought under the soothing warm water.

What lay on Rubis' mind before the moment of her downfall? What were her intentions all along? And what organization, if any, had she affiliated herself with? Today, Yeula would have answers to those lingering questions, if Ferah had indeed done her research well. Today the sisterly duo would convene and discuss not only the events of the day before, but their plans for the future without an ally from Fortitude. Yeula sighed in thought of her failure to save Rubis, wondering if her own rash decisions were to blame. In some way, it felt as though she had killed Rubis herself.

After a prolonged shower, Yeula wrapped herself in a towel and stood against her hazy reflection in the mirror. Bringing a comb to her head, she proceeded to style her blue-dyed hair, cut evenly short at the back and reaching down her chin to form a frame around her face. Her hair parted smoothly at the center of her crown and partly concealed her eyebrows. With her hair neatly styled, she threw off her towel and got dressed in her preferred outfit, comprised of an open high-collar, form-fitting beige vest with only one sleeve to cover her left upper arm and several pairs of extravagant black buttons down the bottom of the vest; per her usual choice, she kept her vest tucked into her black jeans and partially unbuttoned just above her navel, exposing much of her torso and her patterned dark bra. Worn over the vest was a black cloth draping over her leg and buckled in place. Worn over her pants was a pair of black boots with white soles. Her garb was accessorized with a silver bracelet, a single black glove without an index finger or a thumb over her left hand, and the necklace she carried with her earlier. The provocatively roguish features of her ensemble, particularly the bronze buckle of the brown belt around her pants with an engraving depicting a crossing of swords, would make her character apparent to any onlooker without a second glance.

Dressed for a new day of service to the Erenet Family, Yeula stepped back into the hallway and descended the steps into her living room where her aide, a hovering automaton with a round body and narrow arms, awaited her. Beyond the expected furnishings—a velvet sofa placed behind a table and before a widescreen television set—several tall acoustic sets stood in a row against the wall; above a pair of miniature desks upon which computers were placed, a rack encompassing most of the wall on the other side of the front door held smaller, relatively archaic sound devices such as headphones. A large ceiling fan blew a gentle breeze over the entire space.

“Your breakfast, Yeula,” Yeula's mechanical aide announced, motioning to a plate of greens and a couple of vitamin supplements over one of the computer desks.

After taking a seat by the desk, Yeula gave her aide a contorted look. “What's this?”

“Excuse me?” Yeula's aide naively responded. “I've assembled a nutritional dish to complement your active lifestyle, as requested of me by your beloved sister. Besides, your usual overconsumption of carbohydrates won't help keep up that pretty little face of yours!”

“I don't remember Ferah ever requesting—” Yeula took a moment to plant her palm over her face. “Fine, whatever. Did you happen to go shopping while I was asleep?”

“Anything for the pleasure of my beloved master!” Yeula's aide said as it cheerfully circled around the space.

“How about notifying me before running off on your own next time? We need you in one piece.” Yeula faced her computer. “Number Six, power on.”

“Always an honor to be showered with concern, my beloved master!” Yeula's aide gleefully responded. Yeula simply ignored her and took a bite of her so-called breakfast.

The screen of the computer's monitor lit up as it responded to Yeula's command. Yeula browsed the internet for several minutes before standing up and waltzing to the front door without finishing her food. “Keep an eye out for trouble while I'm gone, all right?”

“Anything for the pleasure of my beloved—” Yeula's aide paused mid-speech after noticing Yeula's unfinished plate. “But Yeula, you haven't even—”

“Take care,” came Yeula's dry interjection as she stepped into the pleasant breeze and the fair temperature of the outdoors, letting out her enthusiasm by slamming her front door shut and dashing into her parked vehicle. After reaching for personalized headphones in a compartment below the wheel and wearing them over her ears, she meddled with the dashboard's panel until an artificial male voice spoke to her.

“Please provide identification,” the voice requested as another compartment at the side of the panel lifted open to reveal a hand-shaped indentation. As Yeula placed her right hand into the indentation, the vehicle lifted off the ground, hovering slightly above the air in a ready state. “Identification accepted. Welcome back, Yeula.”

And with that, Yeula switched to auto-pilot and took to the skies alongside other civilian vehicles. With her hands free, she reclined against the door with her legs dangling over the other side, lowering her head to feel the caress of the breeze.

“Oh, damn,” Yeula mumbled as she recalled the message of her adoptive sister, hustling upright and accessing the email over the panel.

“Farah here,” began the voice message. “Preparations for the grand reopening of Prime District are going as planned—the reopening is scheduled to coincide with Golem's thousand-year anniversary tomorrow. As you can expect, the whole South District is about to become more festive than ever. I invited most of the gang over there for some all-day quality time. Care to join us? Oh, and we'll have a moment to discuss my findings of Rubis, as I promised.” Farah trailed off into a bout of laughter before continuing, “by the way, have you noticed anything different with your helper? We had a little discussion about your diet the other day. Actually, don't message me the answer; I'd rather hear it in person over by The Antiquity. Care to join me there? Don't keep me waiting.”

“Oh, Ferah,” Yeula sighed, rubbing her eyebrows in annoyance.

The disaster of Prime District prompted a citywide evacuation and lockdown that Yeula was not given a chance to witness during her stay on Fortitude grounds. One circulating rumor was that FOG had even quarantined a few of the evacuees and kept them long after the passing of the disaster. FOG's official statement was that an experiment conducted by a shadowy organization known as the Covenant had gone horribly awry, infesting the streets with numerous man-machines and endangering even the Haizer family, among the few who remained in Prime District after the disaster. In more recent years, any civilian who so much as flew above the city ruins in any sort of vehicle was shot down on sight. What Yeula was certain of was that the disaster began shortly after Argen was carried to Prime District, indicated by a massive black pillar reaching the skies that many survivors could clearly remember seeing. As for Argen, no mention had been made of him ever since. It was all just as she had predicted back then—for one reason or another, she would never see him again.

“You called?” Yeula asked as a ring chimed over her headphones, connecting her to the individual over the line.

“Oh, hi,” a man nervously replied. “I believe I called you before about changing my Golem ID?”

“Oh, yeah...” Yeula took a moment to observe the panel of her car, which relayed to her the exact location of the caller. “Well then, have you approached our collectors with the established payment?”

“Yes.”

“I'm a bit preoccupied with important business right now, so it'll take me a while to confirm your payment before we can move on to the next step. You could take that time to either try your luck with another representative or maybe reconsider your actions. There'll be no turning back, you know.”

“I've made up my mind; let's just get this over with.”

“Alrighty.” Upon reaching an expansive plain of shrubbery and trees outside of the residential subdistrict, Yeula lowered her altitude to a few feet above the road and took the wheel. Even after so many years since her escape from the barren fields of Golem's militarized zone, Yeula could appreciate the sight of nature just as much as the day she was set free. “I'll get you in touch with some of our ex-Reunion officers when the time comes; they'll instruct you the rest of the way. As a client, just remember that the Erenets are not in any way responsible for any action you choose to commit with your falsified ID. If you can remember that, you'll stay in our good graces. Have a nice day.” Her final line served as a voice command for her headphones, terminating the call before the man could respond.

Upon reaching a commercial area of South District, Yeula parked her car by side of the street and set off in the direction of a building behind a garden with a few chairs and tables. Her eccentric outfit along with her elegant stride earned her a few stares of interest and bewilderment. As she approached the seemingly antiquated bar, a woman with brown hair tied in a ponytail and a red scarf waved at her from the view of one of the windows. She hurriedly pushed through the double-door entrance to be greeted by what indeed was an unusual sight for the present-day Golem with its wooden architecture. A few touches of modern-day technology were yet present, such as a holographic television hanging behind the counter. A number of the patrons were dressed to fit their surroundings, including the bartender, a woman with long, pale blond hair framing her face, clad in black with a long skirt, a tunic with a shawl over its shoulders, a pink bowtie, and a cap embellished with a pink flower. The bartender looked at Yeula with her right eye—having her left eye concealed under an eyepatch—and smiled as she gestured her to come over. Yeula partially ignored the woman and took a rest on a velvet seat on the other side of her adoptive sister.

Despite hearing much of The Antiquity, Yeula never had much an interest in visiting the famed bar herself. The bar had apparently underwent considerable changes since the bar was purchased following the passing of the former owner, but that did little to deter the ever-passionate votaries of Golem's old traditions, including Farah. Yeula simply folded her hands on the table as she sat face-to-face with her adoptive sister, waiting for her to strike up a conversation.

Farah stared at Yeula from the corner of her hazel eyes while treating herself to a plate of steak; Yeula could hardly see under the reflection of Farah's simple pair of glasses. “Oh, what's up?” she asked with her mouth full.

“You invite me to a bar miles away from home and that's all you have to say?” Yeula sighed.

“Oh, no. I just figured you'd have something to say about that changing up your diet, at least? I did mention that in the message, didn't I?”

“So you're telling me that you thought it was a good idea to have a chat with my service bot about my diet while researching Rubis at the same time? And please tell me you found something to say about Rubis.”

Farah laughed after swallowing her food. “Hey, if you don't like it, a genius hacker like yourself could just force a few changes, right?”

“It my servant; it doesn't need any modifications,” Yeula groaned. “I'll just tell it to stop taking advice from my clueless big sister, and bam, problem solved!”

Farah shrugged with her palms in the air. “Try not to end up like Relt, okay?”

“Just keep off my back about my diet and I won't look so heavy,” Yeula smirked. Her discussions with Ferah were often laconic and littered with playful insults directed at one another. Farah was to Yeula like a sister she had always desired in her childhood, an honest woman she could always trust to speak her mind, occasional pranks notwithstanding. Meeting Farah in the wake of being sent back to Golem was like a first breath of fresh air she continued to savor.

Ferah gave Yeula a warm smile. “Well, jokes aside, I'm glad to see you're okay after yesterday, sis. I forgot to ask if you were hurt, actually.”

“Just a couple of bruises. Could've been much worse.”

“Well, I'm glad you're acknowledging how lucky you are to be alive. The same goes for Alco and Tredy. Their parents were worried sick about them before we gave them the good news.”

“Their parents are idiots for letting those twerps tag along with me to begin with,” Yeula murmured. “Do I look like a babysitter to them?”

Ferah chuckled. “But it couldn't be helped, sis; you've always been an inspiration to them. And as long as you're with them, they think there's nothing to be afraid of. You should be flattered; you're a role model already!”

“Doesn't make me any less of a bad influence. My lifestyle is my own; it's not made for anyone else. And before you say anything, I'm not beating myself up; that's just how it is.”

Ferah gave a subtle nod before looking away with a contemplative look in her eyes. A moment of silence fell over the duo before Ferah changed the subject. “Anyway, you might like to know that I've discovered a few things about Rubis. It turns out she had associated herself with a small-time criminal syndicate and was en-route to their base before you intercepted her. The weapons she had stolen from Fortitude were likely a form of offering in exchange for their services. Fortitude equipment is something us civilians rarely have any access to, even those who dabble in black market trade. FOG seems to be very serious in keeping military gear out of unwarranted hands. It makes you wonder if there's perhaps something more to it than we suspect.”

Yeula nodded. “Is that so? Anything more about Rubis herself?”

Ferah looked surprised. “Aren't you any bit curious about Fortitude's equipment?”

“Naturally, but just sitting here speculating won't get us anywhere.”

“Good point, I guess. So, apparently, Rubis had a daughter who should be around your age by now. It might do us well to scout her should an opportunity arise. She might know a few things about Fortitude from her mother.”

“Where is she? And how did she react to her mother's death?”

“I'm not completely sure, but I'm almost certain she's still alive somewhere. Ultimately, we should concern ourselves with her later, until I can gather more intel.” Ferah's lips curled into a sly smirk. “And speaking of family, sis… I heard a rumor that your father would be returning from his duties soon.”

“Oh, didn't know about that,” came Yeula's unmotivated response.

“I heard your father was once a man of high standing,” Ferah continued. “He did something spectacular to get himself noticed just as his daughter is doing right now. Good genes must run in your family.” Farah shrugged. “Well, that said, I hope you don't plan on going anywhere if you ever do get to see him again, since we all still have much to gain from your talents.”

“And why would I do that?”

“I don't know, I just figured you two would at least have some catching up to do if you were to be reunited.”

Yeula vehemently shook her head. “Let's get something straight, 'sis'—I don't care about my father and never will. There's not gonna be any reunion if I have anything to say about it. The Erenets are the only family I have now.”

Farah shushed Yeula. “Keep your voice down,” she whispered. “You know full well that mentioning that name here is bound to give us a ton of awkward stares.”

“So what?” Yeula whispered back. “The Guard's not gonna do anything if we're just sitting here talking.”

“I just don't like being stared at, okay?” Farah openly expressed, inadvertently earning her a few stares.

“You should have a picked a quieter meeting place, then, because I still have some questions about the reopening of Prime District.”

“Still wondering where your old boyfriend ran off to?” Farah chuckled at Yeula's annoyed expression. “While I agree that FOG's explanation is obviously some sort of cover-up, it's hardly our business.”

“It's been my business since the very beginning and I don't intend to rest until I have an answer.”

“The description of these 'experimental cyborgs' that raided Prime District sounds awfully similar to the 'black beasts roaming Golem' nonsense the media churns out every other day, I admit. It makes me almost want to believe that Fortitude holds some purpose other than warding off outsiders like the existence of this 'Argen' you told me about suggested.”

“We know there are other colonies outside of Golem, so why does the government contain civilians inside the walls?”

Farah shrugged. “Golem's Central Database doesn't ID any outsiders, if what we know from our ex-Reunion employees is correct, which means that Golem doesn't entirely affiliate itself with outside colonies. Maybe Reunion is making peace offerings with clans Golem has been at war with for ages.”

“If we've been at war with these neighboring colonies all this time, they'd probably have some kind of effective weapon against us. And if that's true, that'd mean they should have been capable of breaching our walls at least once, don't you think? Look, Farah, I've been to Fortitude's camps before—I've seen the kind of weaponry they carry outside Golem's walls, and let me tell you they're doing far more than just warring with humans or scavenging for materials out there.”

“Isn't that just speculation? For your amusement, another, albeit far more believable story that counters your argument is that Golem has been breached before, but FOG simply chooses to keep quiet about that for morality reasons.”

“And don't you think people would remember something like that ever happening no matter how hard FOG tried to cover it up?”

Farah narrowed her eyes. “So where are you going with this?”

“I'm telling you, RICOR exists!” Yeula exclaimed, leaning closer to the chuckling Ferah.

“First of all, where are these so-called Responsive Insurgent Covert Operations Regiment operatives? Even our ex-Reunion officers say that no such occupation exists within the Central Database.”

“RICOR officers are likely capable of operating within Golem without an official ID, which would explain why the Central Database makes no mention of RICOR. They've likely established an isolated database for ID'ing their own members and granting them the same privileges as any citizen of Golem, just like we've done for ourselves and our clients thanks to Reunion's deserters.”

Farah briefly frowned. “That wouldn't be too far-fetched, I suppose. So, you're trying to say that this 'RICOR' organization has been involved in some kind of secret war against… an invisible threat invading Golem from outside? Keep in mind that you're far from being the first person to connect the dots in such a way—the problem is that no one has ever been capable of proving, beyond all doubt, that RICOR and the 'black beasts' are actually a thing.”

“That's why I need to haul ass back to Prime District as soon as I get the chance. Say what you want, but FOG can't cover all of its tracks, especially not from someone like me.”

“Whatever you say. If you ask me, the grand reopening of Prime District doesn't present much more than a great business opportunity for us. Prime District had remained largely untouched by the Erenets before the incident, and now will be as fitting a time as any to make our name known and heard throughout the entire colony! Thousands of would-be criminals will shower us with gold for the services we can provide them; more and more Reunion officers and genius hackers like yourself will join our ranks, making us more powerful and efficient than ever. Before long, maybe some FOG operatives, including those from Fortitude and perhaps RICOR if they exist, will defect to our side as well. In the end of things, you, me, and our entire family will be seen as the true rulers of Golem with the Haizers grovelling at our feet. And if it turns out that FOG does have some secrets we can expose to the public, the masses at large would undoubtedly begin to trust us over them. The era of the Haizer family will at long last come to an end, beginning a new chapter of Golem history where we will rule solely over the entire colony… and soon, the entire world beyond it!” Farah placed her hands on her hips and feigned a menacing laugh, immediately silencing herself upon noticing the influx of puzzled stares in her direction. “Well, what I was trying to say was… good luck with your investigation, sis.”

“Does that mean you actually—”

“And no, that doesn't mean I totally believe what you're saying, but if you turn out to be right, well… we'd have nothing to complain about. Anyway, most of our affiliates should be scattered around South District passing time until tomorrow by now, and I say we join them. How many months has it been since the two of us last met up for something that wasn't strictly business?”

“Where to?” Yeula asked as she rose from her seat.

Farah pulled a stack of gold coins from her pocket and laid them on the table. “I heard that FOG is hosting a public execution a few blocks down from here. You haven't had anything to eat recently, have you?”

“Not really, thanks to your meddling.”

“You'll thank me later.”

As Yeula remained fixated on Ferah, a cold hand brushed against her shoulder, nearly causing her to fall back onto her seat from surprise. She turned to the culprit to find the eccentric bartender looking up at her with a wide smile.

“Why, hello there,” came the bartender's gentle greeting. “Please pardon my intrusion, but I couldn't help but notice that you two had mentioned the incident of Prime District.”

Yeula gave the bartender a contorted look. “Yeah? What of it?”

“My name is Floe Kaster,” the bartender responded, extending her hand to Yeula. “You are a relative of Farah's, I presume?”

With some hesitation, Yeula took the bartender's cold, soft hand and meekly gave it a single nod. The mere sight of the bartender's face gave Yeula a sort of unease she could not quite place. “That's right,” she answered, her mundane tone withholding her troubled emotions.

“Ah, you must be Yeula, then. You know, I've heard so many wonderful stories about you.”

“Wait, what? How do you—”

“I told her, all right?” Farah interjected as she rose from her seat. “There's no need to panic.”

“We get patrons from all walks of life around here,” the bartender, Floe, continued. “The Antiquity has always provided a safe haven for those who wish to chat with peers and enemies alike and put any moral differences aside for once. It's not at all my concern that you two happen to be from the Erenet family, so… relax.” Floe tipped her cap upward as she lifted her head in contemplation. “Prime District… I was actually there during the invasion, you see. I lost all of my property along with many dear friends that day, but in the end I'm simply grateful to have made it out with my hide intact; and what a pleasure it is to have been presented with such an outstanding bar. As far as uncovering the truth of whatever happened that day goes… I can't say that's been much of a concern to me, but that's not to say I would mind if that became someone else's little project when Prime District reopens for us commoners.” Floe once again placed her hand on Yeula's shoulder, causing her to flinch. “I wish you good luck on your future endeavors, little one. Stop by for a drink next time, won't you? Assuming you're old enough, of course.”

“We'll be taking our leave now, thanks,” Farah announced as she grabbed Yeula's other shoulder.

Floe nodded. “So soon? Well, my apologies if I seemed overly nosy. Can I expect to see the both of you again sometime—”

“Hold on,” Yeula interjected, brushing off her sister's hand, “Is there anything you can tell me about what you saw during the attack?”

“Nothing a dedicated researcher like yourself would not have already heard,” Floe replied while adjusting her cap. “Have a nice day, you two; enjoy yourselves out there.”

As Yeula and Farah casually left the bar, Yeula observed the bartender staring at them with a smile through the window until they were nearly out of sight and on the way back to Yeula's car. “I don't know what it is, but that woman scares me like no other,” she murmured.

“Now you're just being paranoid again,” Farah sighed.

“Call it paranoia, but my intuition never has and never will prove me wrong.”

“Better proven wrong than crazy, I always say,” Farah laughed.

An uneasy feeling that she could not quite place… That would be all Yeula would receive from the look of the bartender for a long time to come. Her intuition had made that much known to her, at least; but as it was, she had greater concerns at the moment.

[vantelieth-blog]

                                      Vol. I  Chapter I: Ashes to Black

A delicate blanket of dark haze shrouded a flat desert expanse under the twilight sky. Tall snags dotted throughout the land testified its fertility from long ago; the repetitive sound from the rustling of their rotted branches accompanied that of the harsh winds. Olden remains of ill-fortuned human travelers and unidentifiable animals accentuated the land with a grim ambiance. The stench of death lingered in the air.

A single dilapidated horse-driven carriage, its contents cloaked with a tattered gray sheet, creaked loudly upon the field with eight travelers in tow, each one barefoot and cloaked under black robes. Three in particular stood out from the rest—a woman with straight brown hair, an old man with a rough gray beard, and a short boy clearly the youngest of the gathering. The travelers, far away from home on an errand of importance, tread with caution and haste, surveying their surroundings with unblinking eyes. The long-winded journey had left them weary and parched, their exhaustion only exacerbated by the knowledge that they were on their own, at the mercy of the land itself.

The wary old man walked slightly ahead, wiping sweat off his brow as he stopped and turned to face the rest of the travelers, who all stopped in tandem. As the old man nodded, he turned to face the setting sun, kicking away an adjacent human skull beneath him with his callused foot before carefully sitting himself down upon the dirt in a cross-legged position. Acknowledging the old man's gesture, six of the others promptly sat alongside him.

Several minutes passed as seven of the eight individuals silently sat close together in contemplation of their journey—the young man stood away from the others as he fed the battered carriage horse the remainder of their forage. After tending to the horse with food and attention, the young man went to his traveling companions, standing behind them as he surveyed the land. A strange sight yonder, a small shallow pond, quickly caught the boy's attention. A body of water in a land otherwise destitute of life surely could not have been real—one of his companions must surely have already noticed such a peculiar sight.

The young man quietly walked up to his eldest companion and pointed to the pond; following this, the rest of the travelers were quick to take notice as well. Standing on their feet once more, the travelers exchanged expressions of confusion and relief. Overwhelmed with questions and driven by thirst, the travelers forwent their better judgment and rushed to the pond with renewed enthusiasm, leaving the carriage behind in their haste.

There was no mistaking the mysterious clear pond that had appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. Upon approaching the pond, the travelers paused in uncertainty. Was this water truly drinkable, or merely a cruel illusion of their enervated minds? Disbelief had frozen all but the woman, who kneeled before the pond in admiration. Placing her hands together and placing them within the pond, she collected a handful of water and took a sip, prompting eager stares from her companion onlookers. Upon standing to her feet, the woman turned to her companions and let out a cry of glee, relieving them of any doubt. Five of the travelers joined the woman immediately afterward; the old man, though initially hesitant, eventually succumbed to temptation and drank from the pond as well. Yet again, the young man only observed his companions from a distance, crossing his arms in disapproval.

When his companions were finished, the young man once again became the center of their fixation as they all circled around him with deadpan stares. The young man lowered his head with trepidation, waiting for someone to say something amidst the unbearable silence—anything. The old man quietly walked up to the troubled child and solemnly place a hand on his shoulder as their eyes met. The old man's reassuring nod brought a wry smile to the young man's lips, as he approached the pond whilst the others left for the carriage.

The young man kneeled before the pond, staring into his own reflection, but before he too could quench his thirst, a sudden ripple in the water caught his attention. As he raised himself and lowered his hood to reveal shaggy pale hair and crystalline silver eyes, a single drop of rain collided with the center of his forehead, prompting him to place a finger between his eyebrows. As the droplet slipped between his fingers, his complexion grew pale as the ground, and his resultant yelp perplexed his companions as they halted their stroll.

The young man raced toward his companions with arms outstretched as he gaped in attempt to regain the breath to call out to them, but it was too late, for within a single instant, a shower of rain doused the entire land, descending from the cloudless sky and thickening the dark haze; this was no handiwork of nature, a truth even the travelers, ignorant as they were, could fathom. In helplessness the travelers huddled together as the haze itself trapped them within a cold, swirling embrace, stripping away all light and sound; before long, the travelers were deaf even to one another. Trapped alone in the abyss and separated from their companions as far as they could tell, each traveler pondered to themselves in solitude; whether they had died, not a single one could say for sure.

No one dared to take a step, for no one knew where to step, and no one dared to call out to their companions, for no one knew if such a cry would fall on the ears of a friend in chaos or a foe in hiding. All were helpless to act but the old man, who, with his eyes closed in meditation, carefully brought his hands together as a radiant white light illuminated from within them in the shape of a wisp. As the wisp rose directly above the old man, its radiance expanded beyond the nearby travelers and revealed a long corridor. As his companions huddled together once more in relief that they were not alone, the young man stood back, barely within the radius of the wisp's light, and surveyed his surroundings. The young man let out a small yelp once he lowered his head and noticed tiny black maggot-like creatures crawling to and fro the crevices of the beige stone floor; as he looked to his left, rusted candle holders hung from the dark stone walls and evenly spaced by around three meters caught his attention; finally, as he fixated on his companions, a more dire realization plagued his peace of mind—someone appeared to be missing.

The young man alerted his remaining six companions by gesturing in front of the old man just as before, following which a man's blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the corridor. Trembling in fear but concerned for their companion, every traveler save for the eldest and the youngest briefly exchanged looks and ran off down the corridor without a second thought, the wisp following alongside them. Now in total darkness once more, the old man clenched his fist and raised it in the air, producing another wisp. With a reassuring smile, the old man placed his hands on the shoulders of his youngest companion before pointing in the direction of the others. His eyes burning with resolve, the young man nodded and rushed for his other companions under the company of the wisps' strong effulgence. By the time the young man realized that his eldest companion did not follow, it was already too late to turn back.

Indeed, the young man knew of his responsibilities—he knew that only one of the travelers would need to survive this portentous dimension in order to fulfill the objective they all shared; but just the same, he knew that if only one of them was to survive on their own, no one would be more unfitting than him. With a sense of courage gained from this realization, the young man was more prepared to die than ever before; all that was left was to become the stepping stone for the ones with the strength to persevere.

With a bottomless well of stamina, the young man traveled a significant distance, or so it seemed; he had become so indulged in his thoughts that even the passage of time eluded him. How long had he been running? Should he not have already located his companions by now? Was it too late to save his distressed companion, who had already stopped screaming? Before he could react, he had collided face-first into the back of a stationary individual.

And relieved, the young man was, at the familiar look of the aghast woman in robes standing before him! As the woman tenderly helped the him to his feet, the young man turned his attention to three of his companions who stood ahead, unmoving and silent. Unnerved by his companions' trance, the young man gently pushed the woman aside, revealing to him the girth of the square room before him—the end of the hallway, the seat of an ongoing execution, for the unconscious figure hanging above the gaping pit between the room's center, arms and neck enshrouded by rusted chains extending from the ceiling and the walls, was indeed the man who had vanished before. The numerous sconces lining the crumbling walls would allow all to see the ensuing carnage under a blazing luminescence. And the orchestrator backstage would obey no naysaying of the spectators, as one of them, inclined to flee, turned to see naught but a wall in place of the hallway.

Having taken notice of the isolation himself, the young man silently made count of those within the room. Five? What had happened to the man who had gone missing earlier? He could not then inquire his other companions, who pondered means to a pressing task—defying the orchestrator and saving the man kept alive only by his burdened, outstretched arms. With not a single word spoken, the travelers, sans the young man who simply stood dumbfounded, acted in tandem with utmost impunity— first, the woman, who, conjuring a similar power as the old man, clenched a single fist as a magnificent white light emanated from within; then, the remaining three travelers, who, in preparation for the woman's spell, approached the bottomless pit in a triangular formation and held hands, proceeding to chant an incantation in whispers. Having charged ample arcane power, the woman outstretched her arm in the direction of the imprisoned man and opened her palm, letting loose a magnitude of sparkling light needles of energy. Organizing themselves as three separate wisps of light, the needles proceeded to repetitively onslaught respective chains, maintaining formation throughout; upon passing through the chains and notching them as a result, the wisps simply arced for further passes. When the chains had finally been severed, the needles of light scattered and dissipated as the three travelers ahead soundly secured their companion with sorcery of their own—a telekinetic force—before he could plummet down the pit, sending him safely in the arms of the woman. With the task complete, the collaborators huddled together, eager to ensure their companion's safety.

But nay, the orchestrator's agenda had not been foiled. As the woman looked where the man's face was, she gasped in horror at his rotted eyes and emaciated flesh. Then, in a disconcerting display, the man's entire body eroded before the woman's eyes—from tissue to bone and from bone to nothingness, a profound force had cannibalized his body into airborne grain, a feed for the condemned structure itself. In an orderly fashion, the grain layered itself around the walls of the room and adopted a similar form, filling the crevices and restoring the walls to full glory. In the end, only the man's robe remained. No longer could any traveler question the nature of the structure they had defiled with their living presence, nor the purpose they were to serve within it.

Alas, even with the execution at an end, the remaining travelers would not merely walk from the reconstructed space. The sound of condemning titters filled the room with dark glee as the walls and sconces mutated into a tapestry of glowing blood-red mingled faces; and soon did their laughter diminish, replaced with hateful glares directed upon the travelers. With their mouths open inhumanly wide, the cascade of faces above the pit in the center of the room regurgitated a dark red liquid, the abysmal stench of which permeated the air and nauseated the travelers. The putrid fluid spluttered and trickled below the pit, and a deafening crackle disrupted the room with a subtle tremor before what occurred was an eerie silence as the faces ceased, motionless as stone. A pool of the fluid slithered up from the pit and took the shape of a malicious clawed hand; a new entity had been given life.

Before any traveler could properly react, the hand drove its claws deeply into the ground, and from the cracks emerged another pool of dark fluid which once again moved of its own accord—this time, in the direction of the young man. Within an instant, the young man had been completely engulfed, isolating him from the cries of his companions. Blinded, deafened, speechless, and powerless, the young man soon found resolution and simply closed his eyes and eased his body. Such a painless and abrupt death could father no terror, and no one would need him for their own survival.

But was it truly over? The young man once again opened his eyes, which reflected nothing but darkness—no wisp was at his side. Whether he had died or merely lay in darkness, he could not immediately say. In a desperate attempt to uncover the truth, the young man would do what he had previously never attempted before—conjuration. Mirroring the old man's posture and focus, the young man raised a clenched fist in the air and paused, asking himself a single question—could any being capable of such movement truly be dead? Regardless, that focus would be essential to the spell was not unknown to the young man, and so he cleared his thoughts and closed his eyes, envisioning only his clenched fist, or rather what would emerge from within it. A bright light illuminated a hallway not unlike before—a bright light emerging from the young man's fist. As he opened his eyes to marvel at his success, the young man opened his hand, and from which escaped a small wisp that hovered above his head, emitting a dimmer light compared to the wisp of the young man's elder companion.

The young man stroked underneath his nostrils with a single finger as a warm fluid trickled from below them and dripped from his chin. Blood? Had such simplistic sorcery taxed him to such an extent? Even so, the young man struggled to his feet, knowing that with his survival came a chance for redemption, if only he could reunite with his companions. To himself, he had already died, and as such was numb to any sort of crippling fear. All that remained was courage—a will to act despite all fear. And so he acted, dashing through the hallway with little else on his mind.

Eventually, the young man stopped and leaned against the wall to rest his tiring body, his face saturated with perspiration; once again, he had ignored the passage of time. Soon, with abruptness the young man had come to expect from the rotting structure, a familiar stench—the putrid stench of death—flooded his nostrils, denying him of any meaningful recovery. With his right hand placed firmly on his chest, the young man took a deep breath before gazing upward at the source of the stench, squinting his eyes to perceive the ceiling beyond the light of the wisp.

Splat! Leaving the young man only enough time to shut his eyes, a raw mass of viscera poured onto his face, coating him in an unbearably putrid filth and knocking him off his feet. His body now doused with bodily ruination and gluttonous maggots thereof, the young man, taken aback too far to cry out, planted his feet and stood straight up, allowing the vile filth to slide off his body before, with nonchalance, brushing aside the maggots remaining, leaving only the blood which masked his visage almost beyond recognition.

The young man opened his eyes halfway as he pondered a single question: could that decayed mess have been the remains of his missing companion? He would soon have his answer from the very blood beneath him—the blood which, before the young man's very eyes, stacked upon itself to form the shape of a familiar face. And even more familiar was the tone of its deafening scream.

A cold breeze flew past the young man; the screaming ceased in that same instant, and the face was gone. Even so, the young man, now stripped of the courage he once held, could not face forward, for the breeze carried with it an ill presence that now loomed in that direction. The young man trembled as the blood below him seemed to once again move of its own accord, slithering in the direction of the terrible omen the he dared not face; as his eyes instinctively trailed the blood, however, he could not elude the sight of a pair of feet so white to emit a faint glow contrasting the black miasma behind them. As the blood slid between the feet and vanished under what appeared to be a tattered black robe not unlike that of the travelers, only that it was quite longer. The young man, now intrigued as he was terrified, finally found the strength to directly face the entity, only to immediately consider his act a grave mistake.

With a face obscured by miasma and a left hand clenching a freshly-severed head of one of the unfortunate travelers the young man had last seen in the room, this entity was certainly no visitant of circumstance, and yet it did little but observe the young man in absolute silence. The young man, who once again could not recall the time that had passed, kneeled before the entity as a submitting gesture; his fate, at the very moment this being confronted him, was writ in stone, or so he thought. In response, the entity brought its arm forward as if to point its trophy in the young man's direction; the young man could now clearly see the entity's pulsating red veins from its sleeveless garb. With no further arm movement, the entity relieved its hand of the severed head, which disintegrated to mere cinder in an instant before it could impact the ground. With a swift motion, the entity pointed to its right, and a portion of the wall beside the young man's left, as if bowing to the entity's will, disintegrated to a tepid black fluid, revealing an ascending spiral staircase. The young man who had given up hope not minutes before now had it anew, and without pause nor doubt, he rushed for the new pathway. Whether it was an act of mercy or merely that of a predator with lust for the hunt, he could not determine. Either way, he thought, it was his final fortuity for redemption.

As the young man tirelessly scaled the steps, the wisp that had followed grew progressively dim until it died off entirely and left the young man alone in a pitch black darkness once more; but it no longer mattered, for the way had already been made clear, and the growing sound of ferocious winds indicated he had little farther to go. Upon reaching the top of the ascending steps, the young man found himself in a wide space with lit candles lining the walls and a black gate accentuated with two one-armed skeletons armed with white candles facing each other on opposite sides of the gate, holding the candles just above the gate's latch. Beyond the bars of the gate the young man could clearly see a massive circular space surrounded with a thick black haze that completely obscured all scenery, even the sky. The space illuminated with an unnatural glow, sparing it the absolute darkness from within the unidentified construct. Had he reached the precipice of a castle?

As the young man approached the barred gate to peek at the center of the open space, he could clearly see the group of three standing together in a triangle near the edge; but from such a distance, he could not identify any familiar faces, and with such a distraction as the sound of the wind, no cry could alert them of his presence. Instead, the young man simply hugged the gate, hoping that he would soon be noticed. He did not need to wait long for a miracle, for the latch soon burst apart with intensity to knock the young man off his feet, and the gate creaked loudly open; even the group of three in the distance could not disregard such disrupting noise.

As the group drew closer, the young man responded with a weary smile; from the distance, he could recognize the woman he had journeyed alongside with, yet the old man was absent. With a deep exhalation, the young man drew upon his last reserves of strength and rushed forward once more, reuniting with his surviving companions at the center of the open space as the woman greeted him with a caring embrace. With tears rushing down his face, all the young man could think of was the fond life they had all cast aside for a greater cause—a thought they had strove so hard to suppress throughout their entire journey.

Alas, the damned would be given no reprieve. The woman, the first to identify the calamitous presence looming behind them, shoved the young man aside before the flying debris smashed heavily into her skull. The remaining travelers could only watch in terror as the woman's disfigured body was sent flying over the edge and into the abyss. Emerging from a surge of miasma behind the gate was the woman's executioner, the same entity the young man had first encountered. As before, the miasma shrouded the entity's visage as it approached the remaining travelers with slow, deliberate steps. The young man backed himself toward the edge while his final companions merely stood aside as the entity walked by, and it became all too clear whom the next victim would be.

As the entity stood in front of the demoralized and enfeebled young man, the other two travelers, powerless to do naught but await their own reckoning, did not intervene, expressing themselves only with trembling bodies and wide-eyed stares. As the entity clenched the neckline of the young man's robe and lifted him off his feet with a single arm, an overwhelming chill burrowed into his chest and settled his galloping heart afore spreading throughout his entire body. With a body barely able to sustain his consciousness, the young man closed his eyes as his thoughts crossed over, and a deep voice quietly spoke to him from the nexus of hither and thither.

"Go home," the young man last heard as the entity flung him over the edge and his consciousness finally gave out.

Quietus...

Taciturnity...

Obscurity...

... And land? Regaining his consciousness, the young man, now clean of blood, clenched his fist to sample the dirt he lay upon. Flipping himself over on his back, the young man opened his eyes to glistening sunlight in the sky of dawn, the intensity of which prompted him to momentarily squint. The young man stood with renewed strength and turned to his left, gasping in shock at the sight ahead of him—the very carriage the group of travelers had escorted! How, the young man wondered, could the horse have located him on its own? More importantly, where was he? With few snags and no carcasses present, was this area truly of the path he tread upon before?

As the young man spun around to familiarize himself with the environment, a tear ran down his eye from a more significant realization—his destination was within reach. No more than a mile ahead lay a towering silver wall so vast that it appeared to span endlessly across the land. Few tall buildings and flying inventions could clearly be seen a distance behind the wall. Lined across both sides of what appeared to be a gate in the center of the wall were towering humanoids nearly the height of the gate yet too far away to clearly detail. Automatons, perhaps? The young man knew of this utopia only what he had been told by the old man. He had made it without a doubt, and yet his glee was short-lived as he recalled the sacrifices to make it this far. Alas, the weakest of the flock had become the sole survivor.

Before the young man could sulk, what appeared to be two massive bestial animals drawing closer from the direction of the magnificent wall caught his attention. Squinting his eyes for a closer inspection, the young man could clearly identify the nature of these beasts. With metallic skin reflecting the sunshine and dim yellow eyes of glass, these panther-shaped creatures were certainly creations of man.

Upon reaching the vicinity of the blank-faced young man, the mechas simply stood before him at opposite ends, towering over him by about eight metres, before sitting down and shifting their heads toward one another as if silently communicating. When the mechas were finished, the cranial compartment of the mecha to the left lifted open to reveal a male pilot wearing only torn jeans and slick black shoes, and the young man's eyes lit with new life.

"Creed," worriedly called the mecha to the right with male voice amplified through some sort of speaker. The exposed pilot, Creed, clearly quite young himself, excitedly jumped off his mecha and pampered his well-trimmed neck-length brown hair as he approached the remaining traveler for the sake of but a single question.

"You got a name, kid?" he asked as he placed a hand on the young man's shoulder.

The young man lifted his head and gazed into the pilot's sky blue eyes. "Argen," came his monotone response.

[vantelieth-blog]

                                   Vol. I Chapter VI: Empyrean Wings

To the grounded spectators who could only await their fates following the uncertain finale, the glistening streak following the white ball of light high in the air was perhaps like an augur of an historical scene in the making. To the stream of darkness in the distance, that same white light rushing to where it stood perhaps seemed more like an ill-omen. But for the ball of light himself, he was Argen, just as he had always been. Although he had become a child stronger than he had ever been before, Argen would be the only name he ever called himself no matter how the denizens of Golem came to view him at the end of the turmoil, for changing that name for the sake of glory would only disregard the growth that had lead up to his greatest moment—the peak of his own existence. He would accept his failings and move on no matter how difficult it would be.

Argen looked up at the sky as the black stream devastated its surroundings with a growing intensity. Glowing wisps of darkness were thrown from the swirling stream and pierced away at surrounding buildings until they collapsed underneath the stream as a ring of smoke and fire. And as if prepared to stop Argen's course at any cost, the stream tore an even greater gap in the sky to call upon what appeared to be a winged black entity descending from above. Argen could not make out its shape from the considerable distance between the creature and himself, but that distance would close shortly enough at the rate he and it rushed to intercept one another. How fortunate, the eager Argen thought, that he was intended to be creature's first victim; with that, he was all that stood between it and Golem's hapless denizens, and he had no intention of wavering as long as he drew breath.

Time was short—if he were to protect the colony he had grown to cherish, Argen knew he had little time to reach whatever lay within the stream before an inevitable genocide took place, perhaps less time than he needed with his own efforts alone. With this in mind, Argen lowered his altitude just above most of the holographic billboards hanging from nearby commercial buildings and looked below at the chaotic street as he made his way to the winged beast. Clouds of smoke rose from scrap left over by ravaged aerial vehicles and automatons in the way of a massive line of denizens fleeing the opposite direction, but the block was otherwise pristine, untouched by the fury of the black stream; adding to that was a number of automatons, mostly humanoid, stationed around building entrances, lacking the human instinct to flee from danger. Argen could only imagine the confusion and fear as the denizens ran away from something they knew so little about, only that its mere presence endangered all life before it. Argen squinted his eyes and suspended himself in the air with a gust-churning flap of his wings to observe a party of specially-clothed men and women approaching the herd of fleeing denizens from an intersection in the road. The suits these officers wore differed greatly from that Argen had seen worn by Fortitude officers or the FOG agents. Knowing he was to blame for the calamity, as the entirety of Golem's military was certainly aware by now, Argen knew that he would have more problems than only the black stream in the distance much sooner than desirable were he to draw too close to these mysterious soldiers who were likely already aware of his presence; but at least he was not fighting alone.

As Argen observed the group of officers attempting to presumably herd the panicking civilians to safety, a wide shadow loomed just ahead in the shape of an unfamiliar creature; Argen looked forward only to find himself staring right into the wicked yellow eyes of the beast he had awaited. And before Argen could question how it managed to reach him so quickly, the black beast opened its maw, a beak much like that of a bird, in an attempt to consume Argen whole; and it would not have much difficulty in doing so, given that its own head alone stood twice the size of Argen's entire body. Argen only had enough time to elevate high enough above the creature's maw so that he would slide down its gleaming beak and land between its eyes, granting him an opportunity to jump forward from the top of its head behind its pointed ears as soon the beast swept upward in an attempt to throw Argen off. In the process, Argen had successfully set the creature's entire head aflame with the trail left behind by his wings.

With his back turned away from the beast letting out a scream much like that of a human infant behind him, Argen took one final glance at the streets below him; some of the soldiers had indeed briefly stopped to observe the chaos in the air, and while it was likely they considered Argen a threat as well, they had their own tasks to complete and rejoined their allies without disturbing the battle. Turning around allowed Argen to finally observe the beast in full, excluding its burning face. As Argen had suspected, it mostly resembled a massive bird of some sort, with feathery wings spanning twice the length of its torso and a long neck a little over half that length. From its beak to the talons of its tall legs, the beast was entirely black; even its flesh was little different from its feathers in that regard.

It was the first time Argen had done harm to any creature, and watching his feral enemy writhe in agony left him somewhat ambivalent, unable to deal a finishing blow. At least, he thought, it meant that he had not come to resemble his enemies even as his power rivaled their own. Argen simply stood and observed, believing his flames would consume the beast even if he did nothing else.

With a screeching roar, the beast expelled a powerful force from its body, casting aside the flames and throwing Argen backwards as windows shattered from nearby buildings. By the time Argen regained his balance, he was staring into the eyes of the beast again, making it brutally clear that the flames had done so little as to not even blemish its rather aggressive-looking face, like that of an angered dog. When the beast opened its mouth in his direction and promptly regurgitated a thick rope of glossy black hairs, Argen was much too taken aback to respond as the hairs swallowed and entangled his body and left him in silence and pitch black darkness as if it had carried him to another world. Eventually, even the repugnant, deathly odor was sealed away from his numbed body, but Argen knew that he had not yet died; indeed, he had felt this sensation before.

It was a dream, or so Argen thought as a new world unfolded before his eyes—a world with a scene he was all too familiar with. Right below his lofty, wingless body lay a dark corridor with a stone beige floor, upon which stood seven individuals with their faced cloaked underneath hooded black robes, their location highlighted by the radiant light of a white wisp hanging above them. Only three of these individuals could be easily distinguished underneath their disguises—a woman with straight brown hair, an old man with a rough gray beard, and... none other than a shade of Argen himself. It was a scene inspired by his very own past as if meant to taunt him, and it seemed that this time he was to play the role of a mere spectator, truly incapable of changing anyone's fate and all the while looking upon his old self with hatred and shame.

When the old man, Argen's late mentor, placed the wisp in his care and set him on his way like before, the Argen of the present remained alongside his mentor, just as he would have done had he known of the outcome. He had been granted freedom the likes of which he did not have before, and this would be his only chance to unravel the truth of what occurred that day; he would not miss such an opportunity even if it meant bearing the pain of witnessing the deaths of his friends and family one final time.

When the light of the wisp following the Argen of the past vanished within the depths of the corridor, Argen's former mentor simply stood in the darkness, unaware of the light emanating from the present Argen standing right in front of him, waving at his face to catch his eye. Only the sudden gasp escaping the old man's lips alerted Argen of a threat approaching from behind, one that had already run the old man through in the center of his chest with a sleek black sword without Argen's prompt awareness, incinerating his clothing with a profound force foretelling the carnage to come. Argen lurched backward, landing on his backside, to find that the sword had pierced so deeply through his mentor's body so as to end up with its tip meeting Argen's forehead, flooding him with a familiar chilling sensation even though it left no wound. A pale, veiny, and disembodied arm reached out from seemingly out of nowhere to clench the back of the kneeling old man's neck before he could fall on top of his pupil. Argen, frozen in shock rather than fear like the past, gazed upon his mentor's eyes until they rotted out of their sockets, falling through Argen's intangible body. The old man's already chiseled body deteriorated rapidly until nigh his entire skeletal figure and some of his internal organs could be plainly viewed behind his thin and translucent layer of skin and muscle. With such feeble soft tissue supporting his thinning skeleton, the old man's body simply fell apart as his black-tinted abdominal organs slid onto the ground and his liquified brains oozed out from his eye sockets, leaving a steaming heap of rotting human remains resting below Argen which the maggots on the ground promptly began to feed upon. With a simple twitch of its fingers, the disembodied arm snapped apart what remained of the old man's spine and allowed his skull to shatter on the dirtied floor as a pile of ash. Absorbing the putrid stench of the otherwise illusory gore into his nostrils made Argen roll over on his knees and vomit violently, further adding to the mess.

By the time Argen regained enough of his composure to look up, the formerly disembodied arm had already joined the body of the same horrific entity that threw him off the castle before, only that this time its face could be clearly seen. Staring up underneath the hood of its robe, Argen could finally see the entity's void eye sockets from which faint black smoke emanated, and yet he could swear the entity was looking right at him. Having claimed his—or its—first victim, the entity turned around and began walking through the corridor at a seemingly frantic pace with Argen following quietly behind at a distance, only drawing closer once the entity began mumbling to itself.

"His valor is true," the entity spoke in a low tone. "That he may know the calling of the scourge which ails me, may mine ire be sown unto the bodies of his advocates. May he himself be preserved for the coming of the promised day, that he may live to grant her a soul anew. May this be the final act of King Daunger, that the meaning of Vantelieth may be at last understood. Art thou to speaketh not his dissent, having at last seen the truth with his own eyes?"

Argen stopped and looked away believing he would find some sort of visitant to whom the entity—a "King Daunger," as Argen now understood—was speaking, only to find little more than the darkness of the corridor staring back at him. Argen's heart pounded at his chest as the truth became clear before he turned around to notice the king now facing him with his arms crossed. At this, Argen overpowered his fear and braced himself for a confrontation; as far as he knew, ending the king would be the only means of escaping the apparent dream. But before Argen could even twitch a muscle instinctively, a pool of black liquid pouring from underneath Daunger's robes in every direction had already reached past Argen's feet, shaping itself around him and smothering his entire body in the shape of a spire. Behind the translucent layer of otherworldly fluid, Argen could barely spot Daunger turning away and fading off into the distance. Suffocated and enfeebled by Daunger's liquid, Argen could only prostrate his predicament before his body went numb and he sat upon the edge of consciousness once more.

Before Argen could entirely drift off into unconsciousness, the liquid spire collapsed into the pool below him, its residue continuing to smother his head and deny him a breath. Now free from the spire that kept him in place, Argen fell forward without buckling his knees, colliding with the ground face-first. The weighty impact reduced the liquid veil to a fetid puddle below Argen's head; the otherwise dry ground along with the feral winds whispering in his ear reawakened Argen with the knowledge that he was not where he had originally fallen. Laying before his eyes was the height of the castle where which he was thrown back into the real world and that very scene taking place once again. The Argen of the present lay helplessly at the feet of two of his companions to watch whilst King Daunger dangled Argen's past self over the edge of the castle with one hand clasped around his robe. With what little strength he had left, Argen planted his hands on the ground and attempted to rise to his feet, only managing to lift his head upright in the end. With his remaining companions standing just close enough to touch, Argen reached for the ankle of the closest one only to have his own intangibility thwart him. All he could do was await the inevitable and curse that Daunger had so easily shown him that he was still very much as helpless as he had been that day. Even the power he had gained bathing in the chaotic flames seemed like but a distant memory he could never relive.

Powerless, helpless, feeble... Argen vehemently cursed at himself with those words until it seemed as if he no longer cared; in fact, it had begun to feel almost relieving to berate himself for his own weaknesses. It was just as he had felt once he had been thrown back into the real world with the knowledge that only he remained, and knowing this made Argen realize that this dream world of his past had taken nothing from his own spirit. He was a child who had already lost everything and gained more than he ever had before, more than any foe could possible reap from him—cherished friends, a land to protect, and above all else, a strength his old stagnant self would never have realized; he was similar and yet different from the boy in Daunger's grasp who would mature that very same way and not bound to a quietus he had already experienced. And even if he was thrown back into a scene of his past against his own will, it was still his dream—his dream alone that would now rightfully fall under his own mandate. To that end, he would become that helpless child dangling over the castle one final time, making amends for his mistakes and giving his companions a proper farewell; all he would need to do was to close his eyes and remember how he felt that moment in Daunger's clutches.

And so it was; by abiding his own belief, however unlikely it was to be true, Argen opened his eyes to find himself right where he would be forced to continue on alone, having become one with his past self. Like before, he was terrified and enfeebled as Daunger's influence paralyzed his body and scrambled his thoughts; but now he knew of his dormant power, and to summon it he would simply remember how he felt boiling in flames and believing he was to die with a purpose yet unfulfilled. With that, Argen's body and robe ignited with his own white flames as his wings quietly erupted from his back, beckoned by a pull of his indomitable will like before. With a mere glare in Daunger's direction, Argen called upon his flames to spread from the arm of the fallen king. When Daunger's lower arm fell apart as cinder, Argen remained in place, floating over the edge of the castle to observe his enemy in his final moments. In the instant after nothing remained of his arm, Daunger's body was coated whole in Argen's flames, burning away his robes and unmasking his entire dilapidated head, the only part of his body which remained untouched by the flames. It was as though Argen were staring at a statue; only the sight of the frail and tangled short black hairs falling from Daunger's head from the heat of his searing flesh gave any sign of the pain he must have felt. "Well met," was all the fallen king managed in his calm, deep voice before the ravenous flames submerged his head and reduced his being to flowing cinder dancing before the peak of the castle.

With no master to claim the castle as their own, the thick black fog surrounding the premises faded away until the setting sun of the clear twilight sky could beam its light from directly behind Argen. Argen briefly looked below the bland beige castle to the surreal sight of a boundless grassland with a number of impressive oak trees spaced upon it. With the dark presence culled, nothing remained to suppress the beauty of the otherwise modest landscape, it seemed. As Argen's remaining two companions gaped with the knowledge that they had suddenly been spared an unsightly demise by none other than the child they had sworn to protect, Argen gaped at them as he struggled to put into words a final farewell. And although he yearned to turn back the clock and save his own mother from a death he had not been offered a chance to prevent before, it was finally time to move on; he had other bonds to look after now.

"Forgive me," Argen murmured to his former companions, the meaning of those words he would leave for them to decide. With that, the entire world before him dissolved as sparkles of light, leaving only him to float in an abyss of darkness until a curtain of light rained down from above, forcing his eyes shut from its effulgence. Argen awoke to the booming noises of heavy explosions and violent impacts upon surrounding buildings, looking all around to find himself in the midst of an all-out aerial war that had begun during his absence. Golem's defenders, piloting round, gigantic battle aircraft mounted with various weaponry combated winged beasts much like the one Argen faced, only much smaller. Pieces of shrapnel, ruined aircraft and mutilated human corpses littered the streets and damaged buildings. Even Golem's inner walls far off in the distance had sustained noticeable damage. The rain pour continued, and the void in the sky wrought by the black pillar long became a gateway for horrific creatures; countless black beasts now infested the skies, and many more could be seen continuously emerging from beyond the clouds. If he did not reach the black pillar soon, Argen thought, Golem's inhabitants would surely have no hope of survival.

Relatively few aircraft were present around Argen other than a particularly large, seemingly unarmed aircraft hovering above the buildings and directly behind the beast Argen had successfully repelled, dwarfing it in size. How long the aircraft had been floating there observing the beast as it nearly swallowed him, Argen did not know in the slightest; but the sight of the giant creature screaming as raging white flames threatened to consume its head and the long, burnt strands of black hair falling from the sky made it clear to Argen that a subconscious outburst of his power had saved him yet again. All that remained was to cull the beast before it could pray upon anything else, and slay it he would no matter how much it cried out in pain, for never again would he hesitate against any foe.

With the aircraft above the two remaining completely still even as the beast yet drew breath, Argen knew the final blow would be his responsibility alone; he crossed his arms in anticipation for the foe he knew was far from finished. As Argen predicted, the beast repelled his flames with the same mighty roar as before, glaring at Argen all the more menacingly once it had done so. To Argen's surprise, the beast furiously uttered his name, its loud, screeching tone ringing Argen's ears. With little a grace period, the beast was upon him yet again, savagely biting at him and screaming his name each time it missed and briefly set its face aflame as a result of Argen's aura. Argen, on the other hand, remained calm and alert, weaving through the air out of harms way each and every time the beast lunged at him. Eventually the beast fell backward, screaming Argen's name one final time before rushing at him more forcefully than ever, throwing itself directly behind him once he had erred out of its path with little effort. Taking full advantage of his enemy's folly, Argen directed his hand to the beast and let loose a sparkling miasma of light much like a heavy blizzard erupting from his own aura, engulfing the beast as a sphere which muffled its cries and hid its body from view. When the miasma faded off into the atmosphere, nothing remained in its wake—a quiet passing for Argen's second victim.

With little time to celebrate a victory, Argen decided he would ignore the curious aircraft and continue his way to the pillar regardless of whatever tried to follow him. He had only made a slight ascent before a massive ammunition shattered upon his back, the heavy impact dispersing the light comprising one of his wings and dimming the flames of the other before sending him spiraling out of control. The sudden assault promptly left Argen gasping from the stinging pain spreading all throughout his body from the center of his back as he struggled to regain his balance with his remaining wing, all the while coughing violently from having inadvertently inhaled the peculiar black fumes that had presumably resulted from the shell of ammunition. Unable to stay aloft, Argen folded his remaining wing around his body for protection before tumbling as he collided with the damp pavement of the battered streets below, coming to a stop on his belly with his cheek against the ground. For a moment, he remained still in that position, staring solemnly at the aircraft undoubtedly responsible for downing him. Having anticipated Golem's taking arms against him did not make the revelation any less disheartening, but Argen knew that then was not the time to feel sorry for himself nor to ponder his bleak future. Argen carefully stood upright once his pain subsided, surprised to find that he had not sustained any wound.

Before Argen could carry out his intent to disable the aircraft without harming its pilots and continue his journey to the black pillar, the presumed leader of the assault vessel spoke from within. "In honor of Golem's sanctity and the mandate of the Haizers, surrender yourself at once and brave the consequences of insubordination!"

Argen sighed at the leader's pretentiousness, but at least his message was concise enough to understand. "I refuse," came Argen rigid response to that message. "It was my own ignorance that lead up to this day, and I intend to set things right before all else; that is my responsibility." No matter how reasonably he tried to justify his actions, Argen thought, the righteous leader would no doubt draw his own conclusion in the end.

"Fair enough," the leader responded, his dry tone suggesting he had anticipated Argen's resistance and perhaps even desired it. "All right, men, hit him with everything we got!"

"Cease fire!" shouted a gruff, amplified voice from a farther distance away; the bulky aircraft obscured Argen's view of its source, but no matter what it had come from, the voice seemed vaguely familiar.

"That's funny," the leader of the giant aircraft responded after a moment of silence, "I don't remember Fortitude dictators having any command over RICOR-related operations."

"You RICOR donkeys'll look for any excuse to spill blood, huh?" the voice behind the giant aircraft spat. "Must get real boring looking for trouble inside Golem's walls, I'll bet."

"Look, 'sir,' I'm just following orders. That 'boy' just absorbed some kind of power from a UVOS spawn and now he's headed for FOG Central!"

"Well, thank you very much for proving my point, dipshit. Our orders are to keep the outbreak contained in Prime District; wouldn't be much of a point defending the walls of a ruined colony, obviously. Me? As far as I'm concerned, that kid is my responsibility and probably our only weapon against that barrier over there; no way in hell I'm letting you dumbasses interfere even if FOG itself don't agree with me."

"This is no time to be fighting amongst ourselves!"

"Agreed, so how about you agree to stay out of my way?"

"Sir, incoming transmission," another familiar voice said from behind the giant aircraft, prompting another moment of silence from both parties.

"Huwerd?" Argen instinctively murmured the name of the man whom the gruff voice reminded him of. Confident he had indeed somehow earned the trust of the hardened veteran, he remained completely still in the midst of the confusion so as to assuage any doubts of his good intentions

"Well, well," Huwerd said, "looks like FOG Central's had a change of heart. Must be gettin' rough over there."

"Who gives damn anyway?" the leader of the giant aircraft growled. "I'll be back to settle things by myself after he dies." With that, the giant aircraft ascended higher into the air with the aid of the equally massive jet underneath it which upturned small debris from the street with its sheer power.

As the giant aircraft moved in the opposite direction of the black pillar, Argen smiled at the sight of the smaller, yet similarly-designed aircraft that had hidden behind it, and with that new allies to fight alongside. "Huwerd!" he shouted at the height of his lungs.

Huwerd chuckled. "Long time no see, kid. Glad to see you still got some life left in you, at least."

"But how did you find me? What are you doing here?" Argen's excitement left him spewing somewhat trivial questions to prove to himself the reality of what seemed almost too good to be true.

"Trying to help you out, obviously. Can't say for sure if you had nothing to do with orchestrating this mess, but, hell, Golem can't get much more screwed than it already is without a miracle and you seem to know what you're doing, so I'm going to fight with you even it's my last job as an officer of Fortitude."

"Wesley here," the younger man who had spoken earlier greeted. "FOG Central has already briefed us on the situation—the contents of the package you delivered was responsible for the outbreak, if you weren't already made aware. Because the UVOS outbreak coincided with your transfer to Prime District and incidentally destroyed all aerial transportation with you being the only survivor, you have to understand if we're a little wary of your actions even if we've agreed to assist you. With that said, those UVOS spawns do seem hostile even to you. On another note, how much do you know about our government?"

"I was only told that FOG is responsible for Golem's protection, if that counts," Argen answered.

"Correct," Wesley replied. "From up here, we can see the UVOS barrier slowly moving towards FOG Central HQ. RICOR, the FOG organization that normally handles internal UVOS outbreaks such as this one, is collaborating with several other organizations over there to keep the barrier at bay. It's apparent that whomever sent or created this UVOS spawn is very familiar with our colony and is possibly targeting the Haizers specifically, or the governors of our colony. With that said, UVOS spawns cannot be controlled nor reasoned with, so it's more likely that this UVOS spawn was born from a hatred of our colony and is intelligent enough to act on its own. Its objective? Bring Golem to ruin."

"Sorry for lying to you before, kid" Huwerd said. "Fortitude is just protection for other colonies along with our own walls. I didn't think I'd ever need to tell you about RICOR."

"What are you two talking about?" Argen asked. Not only had he forgotten much of his discussion with Huwerd, but now he was unsure if he ever really knew what a UVOS spawn was.

Wesley quietly sighed. "Well, none of that matters much anyway. All you need to know is that we need your help to breach that barrier and destroy whatever is hidden within it before time runs out. Can you do that, Argen?"

"I intend to try," Argen courageously responded as he took a step forward.

"Hope you've still got strength to fly on your own," Huwerd said, "because we're going to need your power to keep us nice and safe if we're to journey together."

"Then say no more." Having said that, Argen closed his eyes to focus his might to restore the light and flame of his remaining wing as a new wing spouted forth from his back to replace the one he had lost, both wings then glowing brighter than before. With his full form restored, he sprang into the air and alongside Huwerd's aircraft to a clear view of the black pillar approaching one of the tallest buildings of the Prime District. "I'm ready."

"Stay behind us, Argen," Wesley said before the aircraft accelerated at a speed Argen easily matched from behind.

"So," another voice began which Argen immediately recognized as Creed's, "I get the sense of pride and duty and all—and not to disrespect it—but why have a couple of junior officers like me and Wesley tag along with you?"

"You two newbies were the only ones present when Argen first showed up," Huwerd retorted. "You were the only ones I could trust to join me after FOG Central gave the order to mobilize our forces."

"Hostiles incoming," Wesley stoically pointed out as a formation of five winged, black beasts that had freshly arrived from the sky altered their course to intercept the aircraft.

"Try to shake 'em off!" Huwerd roared. "We don't have time for this shit!"

"That will not be necessary," Argen replied as he elevated himself so as to clearly see the approaching threat. And with a mere flick of his wrist, he called upon pillars of light from the sky much like the one swathed in black to devour the foes before him. One by one, the purifying light beamed upon each of them, disintegrating them unto nothingness before they could cry out in pain. A sparkling residue persisted atop the steel of the aircraft as it bypassed the lingering light.

"Way to go, kid!" Huwerd praised. "Looks like nothin' can stop us now!"

And for at least as long as Argen and his new companions had yet to reach the pillar, those words seemed true as they could be. No matter how many hoards of aerial beasts dove down in their direction, Argen banished every last one with unwavering ease. Some were incinerated with beaming light as before; others were set aflame with little else than a glance; and a vast number of them flew in other directions having realized the folly of opposing Argen and the aircraft he so passionately warded from any harm.

Once he flew beyond the urban area and near the vicinity of the black pillar, Argen could finally see just how virulent the towering miasma was. A massive trail of destruction and ruin—toppled structures and scattered bodies—exemplified the terror of the towering darkness gradually nearing an impressive black mansion at a distance in front of the FOG Central building and in the center of an expansive courtyard. There, Golem's final resistance struggled against the pillar's continuous emissions of corrosive energy along with ten-foot tall, eyeless four-legged black hounds leaping from out of its boundaries, devouring man and machine alike that stood in their way. Ironically, Golem's forces were no less morbid, comprised not only of battle mechas and RICOR officers wielding bulky silver firearms and pure white bladed weapons such as knifes and javelins, but of seemingly feral humans clothed in tatters and metallic face masks, running along all fours and biting and clawing at their opposition all while roaring primitively. A fewer number of Golem's allies were individuals in hooded coats unleashing power similar to that of the entities Golem knew as UVOS spawns; he vaguely recalled spotting such people in the crowd that awaited him the first time he stepped beyond Golem's outer walls, along with those who accompanied the woman known as Yona.

Wasting little time to gape at the discord before him, Argen gracefully landed a single foot upon the blood-tainted grass of the courtyard with Huwerd's aircraft hovering above him, firing upon all abominations within reach. Two hounds were upon him before he could plant his other foot, and like many other abominations before them, they too would be thwarted with but a silver of light—brief sparks of such occurring from both sides of Argen smothered the hounds' faces before they could drive their claws into his flesh, sending them flying and crashing into the ground. The beasts wriggled helplessly to stand upright before passing away as puffs of black miasma.

"Just do something about the UVOS," Wesley said immediately once the beasts had fallen. "Don't waste time on anything else."

"I know." Almost immediately after Argen turned to glare upon it, the black pillar discharged a concentrated wave of black miasma in his direction which he simply dispersed into a thin cloud with a sway of his hand once it had drawn close. He could finally witness the full girth of the monstrosity his people had delivered to Golem, and he would savor every last detail as it centered upon his gaze—he would settle for no margin of error in any effort to eradicate it in full. He would spend wisely the little time he had before the crawling pillar finally demolished the mansion along with whomever remained near or within it.

"Can you breach it?" Wesley asked.

Deep in thought, Argen could barely make out Wesley's voice and simply ignored him. The pillar—the towering cluster of UVOS, as Argen would now consider it—stretched so wide as to block Argen's view of all else in its direction from the few yards he stood away from it. Nothing seemed beyond its reach, not even the stars of the twilight sky beyond the clouds. From above the clouds, Argen could see the winged beasts emerging from the very peak of the UVOS cluster, plummeting downward and descending the void in the sky before soaring in different directions to waylay battle aircraft and squander any hope of aerial reinforcement. Even were he to breach the barrier of UVOS, Argen thought, he would be the only one who could challenge the entity within it; he had come to understand at least that much of the power that took away his friends and family. It was a simple, yet surreal realization that grasped at his heart and did not let go from then on. He could hear little else at that point other than the pounding at his chest along with the ravages of the barrier, real as it was philosophical to his entire existence.

"Keeper Lapine at four o'clock!" Shouted one of the RICOR soldiers continually firing upon the UVOS cluster, snapping Argen out of his trance. To his right, in front of the mansion, was an impressive fountain, a statue of a long-haired woman in a dress pouring water into its stone basin from the chalice she held high in the air. Strolling beside it was a regally-dressed man a number of RICOR soldiers rallied around to fight off the beasts approaching his path, and holding his hand was a small boy with the hood of his intricate white robe lowered to reveal his mesmerizing silver hair; Argen could not help but be reminded of himself upon glancing at such a strange child.

"Who are those two?" Creed asked as Argen moved to meet with the strangers. "They look pretty important."

"That kid over there is Wrellord Haizer," Huwerd replied, "the next in line to become Prime Dictator of Golem, I hear. Keeper Lapine is most likely his keeper, obviously."

"Well, what the hell is he doing out there, then?" Creed asked.

"If you're talking about Wrellord, don't worry, that kid isn't as vulnerable as he looks," Huwerd replied in a low tone.

And so there Argen was, standing face-to-face with a couple of Golem's most important figures. All of the questions he had reserved for such a moment would have to be set aside until peace had been reclaimed. The expression on the keeper's flawless, youthful face as his hazel eyes met Argen's told the tale of a man who had perhaps known of Argen for some time and had similar inquiries of his origins. With a mutual nod, the two agreed to set differences aside and focus on the task at hand. The stone-faced boy in Lapine's hand, Wrellord, shifted his gaze to and fro in a rather aloof manner, undaunted by the sight of man against beast and even the UVOS cluster drawing ever closer. Only a single prolonged stare in Argen's direction testified that he was well aware of the importance of the fellow child before him.

"I trust you know what you are doing, Fortitude Sect. Dictator Bates?" Lapine asked, a question he enunciated slowly and deeply. He looked up at Huwerd's aircraft, prompting Argen to do the same.

"It's not my most thought-out idea," Huwerd replied, "but, hell, what do we have to lose now?"

“All right," Lapine hastily answered, furrowing his eyebrows and stroking his mustache at the sight of the dwindling resistance and the nearly-arrived UVOS cluster, "we're going to follow Fortitude's lead for once."

"If I may ask, Keeper Lapine," Wesley began, "why have you not evacuated the Haizers from the mansion?"

Lapine chuckled. "Evacuation, you say? Golem's leaders needn't cower before an enemy sent to destroy us. It is a challenge we gladly welcome if to show friend and foe alike that it is we who are forged to be as rigid as the land we preside over, and we will not hide behind any shield of the people we oversee. That is what the Prime Dictator has decided." Lapine patted Argen's shoulder. "If you, Argen, would please aid our effort this once, we can surely restore Golem as the paradise she was made to be. Rest assured, she has survived many a strife such as this one."

Argen nodded and set his sights on the UVOS cluster. "Keep everything else away while I do what needs to be done."

"Good luck out there, kid," Huwerd softly said. "We'll probably have a celebration waiting for you when you get back."

"Thank you for everything you've done for me, Huwerd," Argen solemnly expressed without turning away from the UVOS cluster.

"You heard the young man!" Lapine addressed to the remaining RICOR soldiers. "To arms, and keep watch of the young Haizer!"

Side by side, Argen and Lapine rushed for the cluster like predators upon their pray. Lapine's otherworldly strength and familiar black powers easily brushed aside any creature that drew near, and once Argen had made it as far as he needed he dashed ahead of Lapine and leapt into the air with an arm glowing bright as the sun. Screaming at the height of his lungs, he threw into himself into the cluster and thrust his arm forward at an invisible obstruction. With the sinister caress of the cluster's foundation blocking him from the world and threatening a harm upon him he could only imagine, Argen struggled with his greatest might to force his palm through, his aura flaring outward like a dying flame with each push he made. By the time he had finally thrust his palm deeper into the void and out of his own view, it felt as if it had practically been severed it from his body; the cluster had its limits just as he did, and to exploit that he would simply need to realize his own limitations. With the help of another burning light, he threw his other arm into the unseen obstruction, drawing his face closer into the void until he had barely any room to breathe.

"I will not die by your command!" that rallying cry of his was all it took to bring out his last breath of power, embellishing his entire body with sunshine radiance growing brighter until even his eyes could no tolerate it. A silence followed a comforting sense of weightlessness, nothing like the ominous clutches that held him in place just a moment prior—he had become a free spirit in both body and mind, aware of his limitations yet content he had discovered them, as he plummeted downward in a new world he opened his eyes to only after he was sure his task was not yet fulfilled. Somewhere out there, below the calm, cloudy skies of dawn and upon the barren tundra, the entity that had called out to him watched and waited. Argen, bereft of his wings and much of his power, landed crudely into a small puddle among many dotted upon the land, splashing filthy water all over his body. Left unharmed by the fall yet strangely numb under his forearm, Argen pulled his entire arm out of the puddle to find that the UVOS had wiped away his hand without so much as a drop of blood—where flesh had once been, only marred bone remained. He could not hope to undo his wounds with what little strength he had left, but it was all right. Simply knowing that he was a strong child could carry him on to the end even knowing he was a wounded mortal just the same.

With a placid breath, Argen stepped away from the puddle and looked yonder, out toward the cesspool of black fluid not several yards ahead. In the middle of it all was an unclothed woman, her skin snow white in a contrast to the pool of black in which she bathed. Her long white hair draped over her exposed back, its length encompassing the entire pool in an indiscernible bundle of knots. And although she faced another direction, Argen could see that she was parturient, a woman who had perhaps been corrupted just before her child could see the light of day. Noticing the presence of an onlooker, the womanly creature, possessing a face surprisingly ripe, looked at Argen with unblinking slivery eyes and a stiff expression. Argen did much the same—not out of hatred, but pity.

Change was of little significance to Argen in his homeland, a world which would never change its course and betray the child he once hoped he could remain forever. Not so would the ever-changing world of Golem accept a lost child if he remained so stagnant, yet his trials had taken him above and beyond the expectations of the colony. Having feared change for so long in his life, at no point until then did he ever know he would become one with the power to change the world by his own design. At a slow, deliberate pace, Argen limped in the direction of his lasting foe, the first steps taken toward a world he would create, but never see.

[vantelieth-blog]

                                          Vol. I Chapter IV: Outcast

Argen threw himself out of bed at the sound of an outcry from just outside his tent. Sweat seeped intensely from his pores, the sudden disturbance pulling him into a daze, worsened by the phantoms of a haunting nightmare. It was calling to him, goading him into action.

A chipped knife lay on the ground not far from Argen's spot. Perhaps it was not the best weapon to be found, but it was the only one immediately in Argen's view. And so, the daring child stood on his feet with the knife in hand,  frantically slipping into a pair of old sandals before rushing outside before the sunlit sky without the slightest of hesitation.

Upon stepping out and immediately noticing his mistake, the embarrassed Argen hastily concealed his weapon behind his back. What stood at a distance before him was simply a pair of bickering children, one of whom he could recognize as Yeula. They certainly were no threat to anyone. Argen quietly stood by his tent, hoping that he would go unnoticed long enough to observe their banter. He was at least relieved that Yeula kept to her word, but what of the boy she was conversing with?

"Who cares what they all say?" a rather overweight boy clothed in tatters asked. "There's something outside that wall they aren't talking to us about, and that's why we gotta stay until they let us go."

"I told you, that doesn't have anything to do with us or our families," Yeula retorted.

"Oh yeah? Why would our parents have us to rot here, then? I knew my family better than you knew yours, and I know they would never abandon me!"

Yeula took a quick step back as if she had considered running away. It was surely an argument, but Argen could only wonder if they truly agreed with one another while merely pandering to pride or false hope. It was hardly his concern regardless. With that in mind, he hid his knife behind him and lowered his head, paying little attention to the ongoing dispute and reflecting on his nightmare. Within that nightmare, he was trapped in a tower, helpless and lone as he was before. His only company was the entity in the robe, the murderer in pursuit from corner to corner. But all that ended when he was thrown off the tower, beaten and separated from his ill-fated friends. He had met with many nightmares during his stay in Golem, but this one embittered him more intensely than the others.

By the time Argen lifted his head, Yeula, who now stood alone, waved at him with glee, much to his astonishment. After turning around and tossing his knife back into his tent, Argen took a deep breath and waited for her to approach him.

"Are you okay, Yeula?" He asked as soon as Yeula was within arm's reach.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Reula replied, her modest tone completely unchanged by her recent disagreement. As she attempted to peer into Argen's tent, he promptly lowered the sheet. "What about you?"

"I am well; thank you for asking," Argen spoke with uncharacteristic exuberance to put both himself and Yeula at ease.

In response, Yeula gave Argen a warm smile before turning her attention to the encampment in the distance. away from the small hilltop surrounded with shrubbery atop which Argen's tent stood, prompting him to do the same. The number of children moving to and fro the numerous tents far exceeded that of the tents themselves, and yet these children clearly shared such a limited space without so much as a complaint. Even some caregivers from Fortitude stationed around the field could not resist joining these children in harmless recreation. Within that one encampment, child and man alike sought reprieve from their otherwise tenuous lives. It was a wondrous sight, one Argen yet preferred to witness in solitude.

Those children were much like Argen himself, as he could finally admit. Indeed, like himself, it seemed tragic circumstances brought these children here with a common wish to be reunited with their families and escape back into the only place they ever thought of as a home. It was recalling this that Argen realized that he had already been one of these children for quite some time. Entire days had come to pass when in his troubled mind, no day was apart from the day he first arrived. Every night in bed had rarely gone without a nightmare. Argen would awake and step outside hoping that he would be set free into Golem that day; and upon realizing that Huwerd did not await him beyond his resting place, he would simply force himself asleep once more, and the cycle would continue. In some way, he had become the most pathetic child of all, so brooding and helpless that the others would acknowledge him only with a prolonged stare. Only when he met Yeula and her friends did a single day spent here seem any different for him.

"Sleeping all day isn't going to fix anything, remember?" Yeula spoke as Argen continued to watch the other children. "We're all we have right now, so we need to support each other, right? You lost your parents, too, didn't you? So that makes two of us." Yeula outstretched her hand to Argen. "Come on, let's go meet the others."

"Very well" Argen said after a period of silence. Before he could muster any thought, Yeula took his hand and ran for the gathering of children with him in tow, just as before.

"Not now, I meant!" exclaimed Argen, already doubting himself yet again. "I had to retrieve something from my tent first."

"Hiding all the time isn't going to get you anywhere, either," Yeula sternly replied as she hastened her sprint for the other children.

Argen's dismay only worsened upon finally reaching the territory of the playful children, who all stared at him blankly. With a forced smile, Argen simply waved with his free hand, hoping he was not blushing. His intense embarrassment was only exacerbated as Yeula let go of his hand and nudged his shoulder, beckoning him to say something. "Hello, everyone," he greeted, even quieter than usual. "My name is Argen, but I think some of you are already aware of that, so I—" Before he could finish his sentence, the children had already surrounded him, speaking to him all in tandem.

"What kinda colony are you from?" one boy asked.

"Well, I believe I am—"

"How old are you?" a little girl asked.

"I believe I am twelve cycles—years, rather—old."

"Are you really from outside Golem?" another boy asked.

"Yes, I suppose I—"

"What's it like out there?" a smaller boy asked.

"I... would say that it is quite barren, but—"

"Can I have your robe?" another little girl asked.

"My robe? This is all I have to—"

At this point, so many questions followed at once that Argen could no longer make out a single one, and at any point he did hear enough of a question to respond in kind, he was quickly silenced with another, more loudly spoken question. Argen lowered his head, hoping that at least one person would understand his discomfort and save with without any need for him to run away or react with hostility. Only Yeula immediately took notice and stepped in front of Argen while attempting to reason with the others, but her quiet speech went entirely unnoticed in the chaos. Some of the inquisitive children did indeed begin to sympathize with Argen and respectfully back away, yet others simply rose their voice to be heard, and when that proved to be insufficient, they turned on one another, bickering without pause. Argen could barely suppress the urge to scream at the raging crowd for their overwhelming ignorance. It was only his self-control that kept him at bay, and hopefully it would last until someone else spoke up.

"Shut the fuck up!" a familiar teenager approaching from behind the crowd shouted; but Argen could catch barely a glimpse at her with so many of the children in his view. It was under the command of this woman that most of the children left for the tents without saying another word. The few who did remain were quickly made to accede as the woman pointed a finger at a group of the fleeing children. Yeula moved aside and looked at the woman and then Argen apologetically.

The newly-arrived teenager, the bald woman from yesterday. briefly looked around to ensure that no other child remained before speaking, "Sorry 'bout them. You okay?" Her concern was clearly evident in her expression despite her rather commanding tone.

"Yes," Argen replied with a quick nod. "Thank you."

The bald woman subtly scratched her head as if slightly nervous herself. "Heh, looks like everyone's dying to get to know the newcomer now." Upon saying this, she gave Yeula a rather stern look, eager for an answer. "Didn't I tell you to take it easy?"

"But I just wanted—" Yeula paused mid-speech and turned to Argen. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"I am fine," interrupted Argen before turning to the bald woman. "Actually, I think I should be the one to apologize for refusing to speak for myself; but thank you for coming here." Perhaps, Argen thought, he had more than a single reason to be thankful for her arrival, for he was still unaware of what her connection was to fortitude.

The bald woman gave Yeula a gesture to come closer, and as soon as she and Yeula were standing alongside one another she spoke, "It wasn't your fault at all. Anyway, I'm sure Yeula didn't mean to give you any trouble." she chuckled briefly before continuing, "You should probably run back to your camp before the crazies come to gawk at you again."

Argen outstretched his shaky arm to Yeula and the bald woman as they both turned to leave. "No, please wait."

The bald woman promptly stopped and turned around. "Yes?" she asked somewhat uneasily.

"If I may ask, are you affiliated with Fortitude? There is something that I have been waiting to ask."

"'fraid not; I'm sorry. If you were goin' to ask for a chance to visit Golem, you're probably more out of luck than the rest of us; outsiders don't get much sympathy 'round here, I heard. And most of us are bein' detained so that Fortitude can watch over us until our families return from military duty—that's what I heard. But even if you're here for a totally different reason, I don't think Fortitude'll just abandon you forever."

"I know," Argen replied. Even though he was, initially, almost certain he was intended to be released within a few more days at most, some doubt was yet present in his tone. "I spoke with Huwerd some time ago. He said that he would do whatever he could to help me, and that I would only need to await his return. As I said, that was some time ago; that is why I asked."

The bald woman crossed her arms. "And that's what you've been waitin' for all this time? Look, I'm not telling you to give up, but you're only twelve years old, right? You could really end up hidin' in that tent for years until you're let loose into Golem."

"And your suggestion is that, in the meantime, I should enjoy my stay here to the best of my abilities? And what for? To befriend those whom I may never see again once I am allowed to leave? All that concerns me is finding a land I can call my home and moving on with my life as soon as I can." Argen's tone elevated with every word he spoke. His frustration had become more than uncontainable.

"Well, then, Yeula over here seems to have taken a likin' to you," the woman retorted with a raised eyebrow. "I wonder why?"

At this, Argen let out a genuine, almost involuntary chuckle. Silly as it was, at least he could find some humor in irony in the presence of this woman even if his future was still rather uncertain. "Well, that was—rather, I think, it was never my intention, because I had intended—..." Before he could finish his sentence, he gave in to his urge to laugh in front of the stranger, although he could not fully understand why and hoped he would not be misunderstood. And to his relief, both Yeula and the stranger soon shared the awkward moment of humor along with him, laughing happily for some reason perhaps even they could not fully understand. For the first time in what felt much like forever, Argen had indulged in some semblance of levity, and with that came acceptance.

Much unlike what he had first intended to do, Argen spent the remainder of the day alongside these two individuals he would soon begin to grow truly fond of. Eyareon, as the stranger was named, explained to Argen that even if the families of the desolate children never returned from their duties, Golem law dictated that children who came of were to be released from Fortitude's militarized zones regardless of their circumstances, and that right possibly extend to Argen himself as well. Knowing that her own time was nearing, Eyareon dedicated herself to alleviating the troubles of her peers as best she could for the remainder of her stay. For this simple deed, she had earned the respect and admiration of the caregivers and even some of Fortitude's officers who frequented the children's field, and the children themselves were both inspired and comforted within her presence. Argen knew that he, too, would soon become one of these children, for she clearly had something he lacked yet craved—the ability to care for and inspire others despite one's own grievances. And to acquire her strength, he simply resolved to stay alongside her whenever he could, having made peace with the fact that he would not be permitted into Golem for many years to come. A quiet life was something to be earned, after all—something most people in their final moments could only dream that they had experienced at least once—and the trials to get to that point would be worth reminiscence after finally touching upon it.

Several days passed without any trace of Huwerd, but Argen no longer awaited his return; indeed, he had stopped counting the days altogether as he spent them with his new companions. And as he began to act and speak as they would, even the other children began to view him as one of their own, much like they had forgotten he had ever been apart from them. The boy who had at once considered himself a hopeless outcast who could never win the favor of these foreign children had finally begun to see how wrong he was. More eager to involve themselves with Argen than ever before, numerous children approached him with open arms and utmost respect, and soon what was once a simple trio of friends grow into a merry group of over a dozen other children.

On one particular day in the field, Argen sat upon a hilltop amongst a gathering of his closest friends, one of which was even the boy he had first encountered arguing with Yeula who had introduced himself as Relt. The group sat in a perfect circle, sharing fond memories as well as trinkets they had been allowed to keep before they were brought to Golem's outer walls. As he observed the others taking turns parading their favorite items and speaking fondly of their families, Argen considered what he could show to them once his turn had come. Although he had thought of these children as nothing less than his friends for some time now, he had somehow forgotten to explain much of anything about himself other than that he was not of Golem. Even his runic powers, assuming they had not faded from lack of use, were not known to anyone other than himself. Argen thought that perhaps he had found a fitting moment to reveal what truly made him special and perhaps learn more of his powers in the process—he had, after all, only used them whilst stranded in that ghastly castle, and yet he could swear he had never been capable of such sorcery up until that point.

Despite watching the children closely, Argen payed little attention to the display of so many trivial items—"stuffed" animals, gold coins, defunct machinery parts, and the rest. At least glancing at these objects gave him a much better understanding of Golem's ways. After a good number of children had concluded their show-and-tell and rejoined the circle, Eyareon gave Yeula a nudge on the shoulder, persuading her to stand in the middle of the circle to introduce herself, which she did somewhat meekly. At this, Argen leaned in closer.

"Hello, everyone," Yeula greeted, timidly waving in front of herself. "My name is Yeula—Yeula Nars. I, um..." Yeula lowered her head momentarily before continuing. "Fortitude took me away from my parents two years ago, when I was seven. My parents loved me unconditionally and supported my decisions even when they didn't agree with them. It was only after I was separated from them that I realized how much they meant to me, and I wish I could thank them for putting up with me for so long when I was so difficult to them. I miss them every day, but I know I'll get to see them again eventually, and I've made plenty of friends here to support me until then. All of you are important to me, and I do my best to make sure everyone stays as hopeful as I still am of the future, because I know we'll all see our families again. Thank you."

Yeula promptly returned to her place in the circle without basking in the accolades that followed her speech. The spirited child's speech was such Argen had come to expect during his time alongside her, and yet something seemed amiss in her words, even frightening in a sense. Argen had long acknowledged that Yeula was as deft a speaker for her age as she was a liar, something he would not dare speak aloud.

As Eyareon stood up and made her way to the middle of the circle, Argen disregarded Yeula and watched with a glint of excitement to hear the speech of his new graven image. Upon circling around to observe each of the children, Eyareon gave Yeula a subtle nod and spoke, "Glad I get to have a chance to speak to all of you at once for a change. My full name is Eyareon Ashta, and I've been stuck here for a good ten years of my life—a while longer than most of you here. I can hardly remember much about mom and dad, since they weren't around for very long as I was growing up; but at least I can tell I meant something to them. It sucks living a life without a family, y'know? But I've made plenty of friends around here to fit that role, so I'm not taking any anger out on Fortitude; they probably had a good reason for enlisting my family."

"Eyareon, do you—" Argen paused before he could ask what he considered a highly ill-suited question when sitting among so many naïve children. As though she had read his mind, Eyareon raised a palm in his direction, presumably beckoning him to save his question for a more private discussion.

"Besides," Eyareon continued, "I think I've got my own responsibilities now—you babies need someone who can relate to what you're goin' through while lookin' after you at the same time, and I'm pretty much up to the task for as long as I'm here. And since I don't have much time left, I hope you'll all remember to stay positive even after I'm gone; maybe watch over kids like Argen while you're at it, huh?" Eyareon winked at Argen as she spoke that last line, prompting him to smile nervously as all eyes looked upon him. "And that leaves one more question unanswered—what I'm planning to do after I've been released. Well, to be honest, I think I've gotten the hang of this place, and Fortitude seems to like me, so that's a plus. It's been way too long since my last Golem visit, and I've begun to think of this place as where I belong, so I've already decided to join Fortitude when I grow up. I've got unanswered questions just like everyone else does, and it looks like the only way I'll get those answers is to stick around with Fortitude for as long as they'll let me. I want to see what it's like beyond Golem's walls, and I definitely want to see what Fortitude is really all about, and why my parents are with 'em."

Although the children remained largely silent as Eyareon concluded her speech, Argen reasoned that it was in fact a common desire among Golem's civilians to unravel the secrets held by their authorities, and perhaps everyone remained silent because they, too, were beginning to consider one day joining Fortitude and gleaning the answers they so desperately yearned for in their current predicament; but Argen himself was not among them, for he had already seen more than enough of what lay between Golem and his own homeland to ever consider involving himself with Fortitude, which he gathered existed to combat malevolent creatures akin to the one he first encountered. And that was one encounter he did not wish to ever revisit. How to live the rest of his life was a question to truly ponder only when the time had come, he thought.

"It's pretty obvious by now," Eyareon continued, "but I didn't get a chance to bring any valuable toys with me. So, who wants to go next?"

"How about you, Argen?" Relt asked. Argen recalled that this boy had been discreetly eying him for some time after the meeting began, presumably awaiting his more formal introduction.

"Actually, I was hoping for an opportunity to speak with Eyareon privately," Argen said with a much less reticent voice than when he newly arrived in Golem.

"Hey, it's still an early mornin', isn't it?" replied Eyareon as she placed her hands on her hips at Argen. "Besides, I'll bet most of you kids only came here to get to know that boy hidin' under the robe right where I'm facin'."

Although not a single child spoke a word, the mutual gaze upon Argen more than spoke of their feelings. With grace belying his reluctance, Argen joined with Eyareon in the middle of the gathering only for her to rejoin the others in the circle. All eyes were upon him yet again, and while he did feel somewhat uneasy to be observed by so many people at once, he was somewhat excited at the thought of demonstrating his power, although he could only muse how they would perceive him afterward. After looking around himself for a suitably sized rock, Argen stood completely still, narrowing his eyes just enough to allow himself focus while observing the reactions of the spectators. And with his enchanted command, he called upon the rock to gradually rise above the air in front of him until it reached slightly above his head. Looks of disbelief veiled the faces of the older spectators, whereas the young children actually began to cheer with excitement; that was only to be expected from those with such blooming imaginations.

Hearing so many children cheer so fervently at once drew a warm smile upon Argen's face, but he was not yet finished. By extending his right arm in front of himself and slowly swaying it to his right, he commanded the afloat rock to parse gradually into tiny particles which encircled it as it continued to crumble. At this, the fanfare of praise and wonder turned into a lively debate among the spectators, with many of them shouting questions at their wiser peers in desperation to make sense of the spectacle before their eyes while marveling at something they could at last witness from beyond a fictional world. And while he somewhat pitied these ignorant children, Argen was nevertheless thrilled that he had opened their eyes to the reality of magic, something which they would undoubtedly boast to the skeptical adults.

"My name... is Argen," he spoke with some strain in his voice as the rock completely dissolved, allowing the particles left in its wake to dance around his now raised finger. As difficult as it was to speak his name with much of his energy devoted to his magic, it delivered a sense of empowerment he had never before been blessed with. The ease, compared to before, of which he summoned such a miracle surprised even himself, for his powers had clearly grown even whilst remaining unused for so long. "I've traveled here from a land far away, and I don't know if I'm ever fated to see it again. With that in mind, all I seek is a new land I can call my home." And with his introduction concluded, it was time to conclude his mesmerizing display. By throwing his arm above his head, Argen dispersed the flock of dust to instantly spread upon the hilltop, giving birth to a myriad of flora which spouted all around from the dirt, enveloping the air with such a pleasant aroma rare in a mostly barren field. From the corner of his eye Argen could see that a few of Fortitude's caregivers had already noticed him and were slowly making their way up the hilltop. Given their pacing, the matter was surely not an emergency to them, he thought; and so he simply remained to look upon the faces of the now silent spectators.

Of all the older children who bore witness to Argen's spectacle, Eyareon was clearly the least surprised; in fact, the faint smile she wore throughout even suggested she had always suspected that he was special. "Well, well, that's somethin' I thought I'd never see, to say the least!" she bellowed.

"Yeah, holy shit!" Relt added, promptly covering his mouth in shame afterward.

As for the rest of the spectating children, some, including Yeula, simply remained by to vet the fragrant flora blossoming all around them, whereas a greater number of children crowded around Argen just as before, deluging him with an incessant storm of questions; but Argen did not fret much this time, for he was too overjoyed at the excitement he had wrought to pay much heed to the babble of the flock.

"Hey, I said leave him alone!" shouted a voice that seemed to be Eyareon's from behind the crowd—Argen could barely hear her at all. It fact, it had begun to feel as if he were leaving into an entirely different realm with the children's voices growing increasingly muffled to his ears. And as if his realm were a dream, his own surroundings grew distorted until he could barely make out a single face in the indiscernible amalgamation. Planting his knees on the fertile soil, Argen presented his arms before his wavering vision and panicked at the sight of his seemingly bulging veins. As his bleeding nose painted his open palms red, Argen barely sighted the presence of the two caregivers urgently approaching from the side, seemingly commanding the other children to clear away. It was only a few seconds after the caregivers began to approach him before his vision went completely black and his thoughts drifted away.

[vantelieth-blog]

                                  Vol. I Chapter III: A Cherished Novelty

How long had it been since that one night spent under Huwerd's company? How many days had gone by since he no longer counted them? The newly-awoken Argen sat up from a sleeping bag within his miniature tent, greeted by the light of dawn peeking from behind the sheet.

Following the day Argen first arrived under Fortitude's care, Huwerd kept to his word and saw to Amdis' transfer to the capital city of Golem while relocating Argen to a different encampment, promising that once he returned, he would have permission to do the same with Argen. All Argen was asked to do was wait quietly in the meantime—far easier said than done.

Argen bode the most of his time secluding himself in his tent, rarely venturing beyond it and merely drifting back asleep the moment he knew Huwerd was nowhere to be found. And today would be no exception in his mind—he would merely take a peek into the sky from within his tent to reflect on his experiences before retiring to his slumber, comforted yet anxious for the day to follow.

As Argen looked outside, the stilled winds of the dim and cloudy day brushed against his face. Argen's tent rested on a small hilltop overlooking the entirety of the encampment populated with children much like himself. The encampment was segregated from the militaristic zone by a small woodland concealing all but the towering wall in the distance. As Argen gazed at the wall, he considered the promise he made to himself that fateful night. He had at least made some progress in moving on from his tragic losses, but his goal itself seemed ever distant. What would he do were he to never see Golem with his own eyes?

As a rustling of tall grass disrupted the silence, Argen looked to his right. A lone little girl kneeled before a small flowerbed a short distance away, her back turned before Argen's tent. Argen quietly observed the girl as she casually picked from the flowerbed without any awareness of his presence. Her choice of attire, a somewhat tattered beige dress, was not too peculiar from that worn by some of the other children Argen encountered on his way here; but what truly distinguished her was the presence of a flower ornament worn above her flowing blonde hair. Indeed, Argen could tell at a glance that he had seen this particular girl a few times before.

It was Argen's own decision to seclude himself from the children kept under Fortitude's care from the moment he knew he was to placed alongside them, at least for as long as he was still in mourning. The children, in turn, seemingly cared little that a foreigner was now among them, or perhaps they were merely uninformed. But every time Argen awoke to peer at the sky, that same girl would be sitting closely by his tent, only to flee each time he took notice. She had aroused his curiosity to such an extent that he would often find himself thinking of a way to approach her. He was marginally glad to still have the opportunity after so many uneventful days.

Stepping out from his tent, Argen hurriedly approached the girl without making a sound. “Are you… okay?” he asked rather nervously.

The girl abruptly lurched forward as Argen began to speak, turning around just enough to fall on her side and catch a glimpse of the boy who had clearly startled her. With the girl's crystalesque blue eyes wide and pointed directly at his face, Argen took a step back and lowered his head, praying he would not scare her away yet again.

“I—I'm sorry, I was just… I mean, I wasn't...” the little girl practically choked on her words as she remained as still as if trapped by a feral animal, calming down somewhat only after Argen outstretched his hand to her.

“Hello, my name is Argen,” Argen softly greeted with a warm smile. “I did not mean to scare you; I should be the one to apologize.”

The girl blankly stared at Argen's open palm, and after a moment of silence stood up on her own, subtly brushing dirt and flower petals off from the skirt of her dress. Nevertheless, she remained unresponsive, her eyes darting in every direction but directly in front of her.

“I was... just about to return to my slumber,” Argen murmured, becoming somewhat nervous himself. “Forgive me if I disturbed you.”

Just as Argen turned away to return to his tent, the girl finally took a step forward. “Wait a minute,” she spoke, prompting Argen to pause. “You… came from another colony, didn't you?”

“I came from a land far away from this one,” Argen responded while turning to face the girl, his mellow expression containing his excitement. “I was sent here—rather, I came here—to deliver something to your people. At present… I have yet to know if I succeeded.”

“Um… my name is Yeula,” the girl greeted. “I'm an orphan, just like everyone else here.”

Argen nodded. “Did you come this way to speak with me? I feel I should be honored, really.”

Yeula looked away in the direction of encampment, her expression concealed under her long fringe. “I mean, no one has seen you leave that tent since Fortitude abandoned you, so everyone just assumes you want to be left alone.”

“I see,” Argen murmured, lowering his head. To be left alone by the orphaned children was a foreseeable and desired outcome of his prolonged isolation, and yet in hearing Yeula's words, he began to feel guilt. It was clear that these children were left with no one but themselves. Their circumstances were such that Argen could easily understand them, if only he knew that they could understand him. But the thought of otherwise being inspected like an inanimate presentation was much too discouraging to even consider approaching them. It seemed these children were only beginning to understand how different he was from them. It was Argen's hope that he would not remain with them for far too long.

Argen lifted his head as a warm hand tightened around his own. Having closed the distance before he could take notice, Yeula cheerfully smiled as she held his hand, free from any doubt formerly keeping her at bay. “Sooner or later, one of us needs to take the first step. Come on, let's go see the others!”

Argen resisted Yeula as she attempted to run off with him. “Wait, I have… not yet prepared myself for this.”

Yeula frowned. “I know how you feel, but you can't be like this forever. You'll be fine with us, just trust me.”

“I do trust you, but how can you be sure I would belong down there?” Argen retorted. “And I will not be here for much longer; I am sure of that.”

“Stop telling yourself that! You're just going to be disappointed.”

“No, you lie!” Argen violently pulled his hand away before turning around, unwilling to be swayed by whatever Yeula's expression was.

A long moment of silence followed. Even so, Argen was certain that Yeula still stood behind him.

“Yeula… how long have you been here?” Argen finally asked without facing Yeula.

“Since I was four; I'm seven now,” Yeula timidly replied.

“Where are your parents? Why are you being kept here?” Argen's voice elevated with each word he spoke.

Yeula let out a resounding huff. “Why are we even talking? You want to be left alone, don't you?”

As the sound of Yeula's ensuing footsteps became gradually distant, Argen desperately turned around to see her descending from the hilltop. “Yeula? Yeula!” he shouted at the height of his tone, his vision blurring with the tears swelling in his eyes. “I am sorry! Please, Yeula, I do not want you to leave!”

But Yeula was shortly joined by a taller, bald young woman making her way up the hilltop. Upon noticing Yeula, the woman hastily stepped in front of her, placing her hands on Yeula's shoulders.

“You okay?” the woman worriedly asked.

Yeula slowly nodded, but could not bring herself to glance at the woman's face. “Good timing.”

Before Argen could retreat back into his tent, the woman took notice of his presence and walked toward him, waving both arms in the air. “Hey, you!” she shouted.

Argen warily took a few steps back. He could not decide on how to react before the woman drew close in front of him.

“You Argen?” the woman asked, her hazel eyes moving up and down as she looked Argen over with an inquisitive expression. “We've got some Covenant rabble down there lookin' to see you.”

Argen stared blankly into her eyes with confusion.

“Eh, the Covenant? Don't worry much about em',” the woman chuckled.

“Is there something wrong?” Argen asked before the woman could continue.

“Hey, I'm just relayin' a message here; all I was told was to go fetch the foreigner. You comin' or what?”

Without saying another word, Argen moved in the direction of the encampment, a cue for the woman to step forward and lead him to the so-called Covenant rabble, and for Yeula to follow at a distance behind them. His pace was intentionally sluggish and delayed, but the woman would wait patently for him before continuing on her way. With her back fixed in front of him, Argen focused on her attire. With her white tank top worn under beige cargo pants, she certainly resembled a Fortitude affiliate more than a mere orphan. But either way, it was best to worry about her later.

The encampment sung with little else than the breeze; most of the children had secluded themselves within tents whereas those left outside merely gawked in silence at the small gathering of adults discussing official business. Two uniformed Fortitude officers stood opposite to four individuals with hooded apparel and one black-haired woman between them whose face was more clearly visible. Argen vaguely recalled spotting such individuals in the crowd that had gathered when he first arrived.

“What's your business here?” one of the Fortitude officers sternly asked. “I thought we made it clear you guys would disappear after that UVOS signal investigation.”

“Huwerd make that clear, not any of you,” the black-haired woman nonchalantly retorted. “And as you can see, he's not here right now. Let me have a word with the outsider and we'll be on our way, simple as that.”

All eyes were fixated on Argen as he approached them. The black-haired woman's gaze felt unsettling in particular, her nigh-pitch black eyes piercing through Argen's heart like those of a cold-blooded murderer; but aside from that, her appearance was not overly distinguished. Her short black hair framed her soft-featured face, her fringe fanning toward her left eye. A single beauty mark under her left eye accentuated her maturity. She worn an open, short-sleeved black vest over a tight-fitted red crop top aside from unremarkable black jeans and shoes.

“Well, here he is,” the bald woman announced with a subtle yawn. “I'm I dismissed now?”

“Please go about your business now,” one of the Fortitude officers replied.

“Alrighty. Let's go, Yeula.”

Before the woman could leave, Yeula frantically grabbed hold of her arm. “Not now!” she griped.

The two proceed to bicker to and fro for a time before finally coming to an agreement and staying where they were, but Argen simply locked eyes with the black-haired woman in the meantime and payed little attention to much else. Something in the air was vaguely familiar.

“Did you call for me?” Argen asked as he finally looked away.

“Well, it's nice to meet you up close, kiddo,”  the black-haired woman spoke, wearing a subtle smile. “I hope you have a minute to talk.”

Argen blinked curiously. “And if I do not?”

“Then you're free to return to whatever you were doing beforehand… which I hope you weren't crying over.”

Argen promptly wiped the tears from his face.

“My name is Yona, or you can just call me Yi,” the black-haired woman continued. “I was there the day Fortitude first laid eyes on you, but I couldn't find the time to speak with you personally. Sorry if I disappoint you, but I have nothing to do with Fortitude, so don't ask me if they plan on setting you free anytime soon.” Yona glanced at Yeula and the bald woman. “So… how has Fortitude treated you so far? Made any new friends?”

“Actually, I am more concerned with Golem itself,” Argen replied.

“Oh, that's right, you had a delivery for the colony, didn't you?”

Argen nodded.

“It must be frustrating being trapped without any word as to what happened with that package of yours. So... what do you do to pass time around here?”

“Is there a meaning to that question?” Argen phrased that response more aggressively than he intended. He did not wish to drive Yona away as he did with Yeula, as unsure as he was of her intentions.

“Well, that depends. I would think you plan to do more than just make a home for yourself and live the rest of your life in peace once Fortitude turns you over, otherwise you might as well appreciate what you have right now.”

Such an ignorant woman, Argen thought. Nothing he had right now could replace everything he lost to make it this far; it was only what he had yet to gain that could banish his anguish in full. If his lack of appreciation was that of a disrespectful child, then so be it, he would wear that one title proudly. “It is not enough,” he murmured, almost too quietly for anyone to hear. “I will not fade in this abominable prison; I deserve so much more for everything I sacrificed.”

“Maybe you do,” Yona replied after a moment of silence, maintaining her emotionless tone, “but whining won't get you any candy; not at your age. If you've been left all alone—if you want to stay alone—it's time you started thinking like a man.”

“And to that end, what must I do? What can I do with what little freedom I have, you see?”

Yona's persistent smile finally abandoned her. “Honestly, there isn't much you can do alone because it's clear you aren't ready to be alone. You're just a poor kid left out in the cold weather. having lost his blanket faster than he even thought possible. Not much to do but hope you miraculously find shelter, right?”

Argen gave a disappointed sigh. It seemed their discussion led only to what he had already been doing all along. “I suppose so.”

Yona's smile gradually crept back onto her face, prompting Argen to gaze at her perplexedly. “No doubt Huwerd's been babbling about Fortitude like his badge is something to be proud of, but you don't owe him anything just because he found you. Don't think you have any obligation to risk your life to serve Golem's people like a soldier—find your own way to live, be free. A kid like you is bound to make a name for himself on his own one of these days; I want to admire every minute of that. Until then, take good care of yourself. No matter what you lost out there, or what you will lose in the future, just remember that you are still alive. Isn't it better to enjoy yourself than to hide somewhere like you'd already died?”

Before Argen could contemplate her profound words, Yona offered him her hand. Almost unconsciously, Argen clasped her palm with his, as though enticed by his own basic instincts. He felt a gentle pull from the tips of his fingers, a mote of light flashing before his eyes in that same instant. Noticing this, the Fortitude officers immediately took aim with their rifles, but Yona herself remained impartial, as did Argen. Indeed, he had begun to find Yona's composure contagious.

“You wouldn't shoot me in front of all these kids, would you?” Yona calmly asked the officers.

“You've had time to talk, now get the fuck out,” one of the officers spat.

Yona sighed. “Well, kiddo, I guess it's time to say goodbye. I didn't hurt you, did I?”

Argen shook his head. “That just felt… strange.”

“Did it? You should have felt something similar while you were stranded out there. That's the power of UVOS, a power my companions have all been granted as a blessing for their devotion to the Covenant.” Yona spoke in a quieted tone, perhaps so neither Yeula nor the bald woman could hear her.

So UVOS was the name of the power wielded by the cloaked entity. Argen could vaguely recall a similar sensation as that entity first clutched his garb. Was that entity, in truth, a mere human?

“Aside from that, it seems you have something special yourself,” Yona continued. “Use that power wisely, will you? Certain people would no doubt cage you like a lab rat if they knew how exotic you were.”

At this point, one of the Fortitude officers angrily grabbed the collar of Yona's vest, violently shoving her aside. The cloaked men next to her flinched as if ready to take action, only to be halted at gunpoint by the other officers.

“Not gonna say it again—get your ass out now!” the officer muttered.

Without saying another word, Yona gestured toward a teenaged boy in the distance wearing similar apparel as the other cloaked men. The child proceeded to follow Yona as the officers lead the entirety of her group inside the woods. Argen merely stood and stared until they all vanished from view, holding his hand in front of his face.

“Alrighty, looks like the show's all over,” the bald woman announced loudly. “Wanna go now, Yeula?”

“Let's just go home,” Yeula murmured.

“Might wanna head back pretty soon yourself; got a storm comin'!” the bald woman shouted to Argen.

Argen held his hand out before the two in protest as they begun to depart, yet he found no words to speak.

Yeula glanced at Argen with a sympathetic look in her eyes. “I'll come back tomorrow,” she timidly assured. Her words brought a meek smile upon Argen's face, if only for a moment. Yona's influence continued to cling pleasantly to his heart, although he knew he was unlikely to see her again for as long as he remained where he was.

With everyone departed, all Argen was left with was Yona's advice. Even if he had already died within that castle, perhaps he was not too late be reborn, or at the very least relive his pleasant life alongside his departed friends with the help of new bonds forged in this otherwise abominable prison. He would undergo that process step-by-step, crawling on his knees before rising to a walk just as though he had begun a life anew. It would be Yeula who would provide the next step. For the next time they were to meet, he would greet her with open arms. For now, it was time to retire for the day. And perhaps if he were lucky, Huwerd would await him the next day.

[vantelieth-blog]

                              Vol. II Chapter I: Rising from the Tears

A thick shroud of nimbus clouds had swept forward in the wake of the rising sun, cloaking the fields in a perpetual shade, a surreal sight to the little Yeula, who had always been denied the joy of playing outside in a dreary day. Up in the sky she stared as she made her way to a certain destination, to say her goodbyes to a friend she held dear. She could only imagine his thoughts as he silently walked ahead of her, his head concealed under the safety of his hooded black robe. He was a rarity in more ways than one—a child her homeland had never seen before, one she had hoped would bring about a change that would gain her the faith she had long lost, if only he could find the strength to carry on no matter how distant they would become. They would meet again in a land they could both call home—of that, he was assured. Whether he truly believed those words or merely pretended for her sake, she could only contemplate.

Numerous encampments littered the arid fields, and many times did she pass by children who shared her fate. She spoke not a word to them as they looked upon her with eyes of curiosity, if only to understand that one child in front of her. He, too, forsook his words in favor of a warm smile for all who spoke to him; only one such as her could realize the depth of sorrow that smile belied. She was much the same even if she had only recently accepted it, a broken soul hiding behind a wry smile and empty words of encouragement, lying to herself that she was ever any stronger than those who had come to yearn for her guidance. In some way, that boy had made her realize how dependent she was on others; her departed parents had left a scar she could not see with her own eyes, the one truth exemplifying the worthlessness of her lies as well as the hurt they had caused her. It was a time to move on even if her morals did not agree with the person she would one day become.

The onslaught of rain followed the end of her fleeting journey; a small aerial transport that had flown over the towering walls enclosing the fields awaited their arrival. Never before had Yeula been so close to the walls locking her away from her homeland, and looking up at them from such a close distance gave her a sense of longing and envy—longing for a miracle that would bring her parents back together so that she could escape back into the life she taken for granted, and envying of the boy in front of her that would soon be free long before she would be given a chance. Even so, she was happy for him and regretted that she had not told him so when the moment was right. She had only added to her long list of mistakes made in a misguided search for happiness.

As the pilots of the aerial transport, two men clad in black suits, called the little boy forward, he wasted not a moment in taking a single step in the right direction before turning to ones who followed him: Yeula and Eyareon, her closest friend with a tenacity Yeula yearned for. The little boy was perhaps the same in that regard, for it was his same sort of tenacity which drew them together despite how hindering their differences seemed.

“We'll meet again in Golem, I guess,” Eyareon sighed as she shrugged her shoulders and approached Argen, catching him in a prolonged embrace. A single tear fell from the little girl's eye at the scene that brought her pleasant visions of her time spent alongside the friend to which she would bid farewell faster than she could prepare.

As Argen whispered his goodbyes to Eyareon, the Yeula lowered her head as she mustered the strength to give her final words of encouragement—the final lie that she would commit to, as she promised herself; but Argen said his final goodbye before she could say hers.

“Goodbye, Yeula,” he quietly said, words that would end unacknowledged by the disheartened little girl. She shut her eyes to the sight of the little boy climbing into the back of the transport and being carried off beyond the towering wall and into a world whose denizens she only prayed would find him as special as she did, until the end. In truth, she would never see him again—he could never survive Golem's ignorance as she took from her own experiences. Her tears flowed profusely until not even the rain could conceal them at the knowing that she had told her most morbid lie of all to a friend held so dear. For that, she would never forgive herself nor would she beg for the forgiveness of others. Yeula lifted her head to the sound of her teenaged friend treading closer. She could barely make out Eyareon's sympathetic look as her tears blurred out her vision.

“Yeula...” was all Eyareon intoned before comforting her friend in a tightly-held embrace. From this, Yeula could finally let out her sorrow and hatred of the world that betrayed her so many times. She screamed intensely until her breath ran low and she lowered her head to the ground in a miserable kneel.

Never before did she realize her greatest desire until then. Becoming one with the power to rebel, one with the power to change the course of the world as she saw fit. She would see to it even if it meant forever committing to a shroud of lies. It would be by destroying the coward she was that she would be reborn anew as that sort of person: Yeula Nars Erenet, the prodigal revolutionary, seeker of truth defying authoritarian decrees.

[vantelieth-blog]

                                    Vol. I Epilogue: Ashes to Heaven

A delicate blanket of warm haze shrouded a blooming expanse under the twilight sky. Tall trees dotted throughout the land testified its fertility; the repetitive sound from the rustling of their leafy branches accompanied that of the chirping birds nestled upon them and the gentle winds alike. The presence of intricate butterflies and other harmless insects accentuated the land with an ambiance of complacency. The sweet aroma of the surrounding flora lingered in the air.

Upon a single rock in a grassy clearing sat a young woman clad in a long black dress looking up at the sky. In her arms rested a strange little baby girl with eyes white and radiant like the sun, her long red hair atop and around the woman's lap in a repeated coil. And it was to this infant that the woman hummed gleefully as she gently swayed it to and fro, a warm smile painted on her face.

As the woman paused and brushed aside her pale blond hair to vet a peculiar growth of greenery and flora around an object too far to make out, a curious frown formed on her face. She rose to her feet with the infant in her arms, only to pause again at the sight of the long strands of rogue white hair beneath her feet and all around the clearing—the remains of a tainted she had known since time immemorial.

Upon approaching the circle of tall shrubbery and flora and stretching her neck to peer upon the ground beneath it, she tilted her head in bewilderment. It was little else than the tatters of what used to be a robe, the glistening blood of its missing owner seeping into the soil and nourishing the surrounding plant life like magic. At this the woman eventually gave a smile of satisfaction.

"Everything is just as our forefathers had foretold," the woman spoke softly to the lone black robe. "There is still much to be done, but rest assured, you will never be forgotten."

With that, the woman began an elated stroll upon the landscape, humming a song with the infant cozy in her arms and eager for the journey as well as the destination. With a moment of silence, she said to the infant, "The people of Golem deserve their newly-arisen augur, little one. If I may honor the memory of my dear friend... 'Ichir' sounds like a fitting name for now."

[vantelieth-blog]

                                          Prologue Chapter I: Flower

Darkness.

Silence.

A sanctuary lost and so far away.

A warm breeze upon fertile soil.

A new land which she could not comprehend.

A tenuous crawl to a new destination.

A novel feeling, a pause.

A pleasant vibe within the clasp of her palm.

Sunlight, nature—all that now lay bare before her sight.

War, chaos, forgotten peace—everything acquired from her new recollections.

With new life, she stood upon her delicate legs.

With remorse, she watched as the final petals fell from the flower in her hand.

With allure, she strolled.

With resolve, she dreampt.

[vantelieth-blog]

                         Prologue Chapter XIV: The Cleansing Canvas

Albus would act before all else, lunging upon Regnal and driving his own fangs into the inflamed flesh of the Ideal God's left wing.

Then followed Madcow with a gallant charge from the front, pressing his head against Regnal's belly and forcing him aback with his own might.

Last was Constius in all his fury, brandishing his ornate, elongated broadsword and severing Regnal's head from behind in one swift motion.

Astot had observed it all with a look of anxiety, perhaps knowing as well as Enlenia that Regnal could never be so easily slain. And indeed, all efforts proved meaningless as Regnal's body, along with his severed head, erupted into an expansive vortex of sentient black flames, disintegrating the ground where Regnal once stood and threatening to do much the same to the trio that had dared a preemptive assault.

Constius, having already stood a distance afar, took a prompt step backward and eluded the danger.

Madcow, acting purely of instinct, so it seemed, retreated a moment before the flames emerged and observed the spectacle apparently unharmed by it.

But Albus would not be so fortunate, for by the time he had loosed himself from Regnal's wing and gained a safe distance away, the flames had already claimed from him his lower jaw, foreleg, and left eye.

“Regnal!” Enlenia shouted in protest as the flames condensed into a gentle orb hovering in the sky.

“So by your hand be it,” Regnal's scathing, disembodied voice echoed through the winds as the orb began to reshape. First from its sides spouted the shape of a delicate pair of arms; then from its crown formed the shape of a human skull; and finally, from beneath fell a woven fabric like the skirt of a ballgown, long enough to reach the cratered ground. And so hovered the shade of a skull-faced woman in a long dress, her right eye blue and her left eye not unlike Albus' own.

Enlenia stood pondering Regnal's uncanny facial expression from a moment prior. Never until Regnal responded to her words had she observed something more than hatred in his eyes. As a being with uncountable faces and forms, did Regnal seek to claim all power as his own or was his own power but a veil for his true identity? Perhaps he could see reason if only Enlenia knew how.

The dirt of the land, beckoned by Regnal's influence, filled the crater beneath his feat before he returned to the earth once more, his form now an amalgam all his own. He—or rather, it—glanced at Albus with its mutated eye as if to make a taunting gesture to the wounded guardian before turning to Enlenia once more. In the midst of it all, Constius flailed his blade savagely upon Regnal, his every attempt at cutting the Ideal God thwarted by an unseen obstruction that responded with a clanging noise as though one blade were clashing with another.

Astot stood between Regnal and Enlenia. “So be it if we are to become as enemies,” he muttered, “but I pray you cease this bloodletting until you have answered me this: do you stand willingly in our way to Old Halia?”

“I will cast all you are and desire unto my own being; you know this already,” Regnal replied, its voice now hoarse and genderless. “We will all go to Halia as one and the same.”

Astot gave Regnal a threatening glare. “Do with us as you please… but you will not have Enlenia.”

“You were ever a being subordinate to his faith in others, Astot,” Regnal spoke slowly. “Your final moments will be in condemnation of that very faith.”

“Albus is to myself a partner and a brother,” Madcow said as he stepped between Astot and Regnal. “I will raise your head in account of his suffering. And Enlenia I consider my salvation embodied; ne'er could I allow the ruination of your greed befall her. Though I bear no grudge against you for our differences—and you do not care to even hear my name—if by your hand my friends are to perish here, then I would wish to join them in their final resistance.”

With Enlenia and himself concealed behind Madcow's leg, Astot gave Enlenia a prolonged look as if to speak to her through his stern expression; but Enlenia could only speculate his expectations. Was it to say all fell upon her to stop Regnal here and now? Was she expected to run and abandon everyone to their deaths so that she alone may live to challenge Regnal another day?

“Tis' not that I wish not to know your name,” Regnal responded to Madcow, “but that I would choose to know it first as one of my own. I can offer for your bravery no recompense greater than a promise that you will be first to forfeit your existence and be spared the grief of playing witness to the slaughter of those so admired and beloved by you.”

As Regnal finished its speech, Constius' blade finally cut into the ground as far as Enlenia could hear, her vision still obscured by Madcow's standing. Panic seemed spread amongst the Chariots and their allies before Enlenia could so much as look behind herself, beckoned by both Astot and Cygna's frantic glaring in that direction. And there the Ideal God now stood, black flames rippling through the ground from beneath its feet.

“Run, Enlenia!” Astot finally shouted.

But the time to act had already come and gone, and Enlenia only managed to grasp Cygna's arm; then commenced Regnal's foreseen retribution. A deafening explosion flung her violently through the air. She felt no pain—she had survived unscathed. But with her senses thrown into disarray, she could not tell where Regnal had gone, nor if it had already killed her companions. She was left confused and frightened with only the comfort of Cygna's flesh against the palm of her hand as she fell to the ground. But she could not even tell if she was still grasping a living being.

Enlenia had landed soundly on her back, engulfed within a vast bed of tall grass. She had fallen upon the Garden of Mercy. From a distance away, a cloud of dust coated the plateau where she once stood, a giant portion of it having been rent apart.

A woman's scream sounded closely alongside her. Enlenia quietly crawled in that direction until she stood in front of where Cygna lay, her body under the shroud of a brilliant glow. So it seemed her own powers had saved her life.

“Cynga?” Enlenia whispered.

But Cygna responded with only a cry of pain.

Enlenia stood up to examine her closely. “Cygna!” she shouted frantically at the sight of Cygna's severed legs. The Halian had already lost much blood from her wounds—from what Enlenia could tell, she would not survive alone.

“Leave us be, Enlenia,” a wavering voice called out to her in another direction. “Save your life, and leave us be.”

From the distance Enlenia stood, the source appeared as an oddly shaped rock. With each step closer could she gradually recognize its true form. “No,” she whimpered. “Not you too.”

All that remained of Madcow was his head. Enlenia waited anxiously to hear his voice once more, but the beast would not respond, and his eyes were sealed.

“Madcow? Madcow!” Enlenia shouted.

And miraculously, Madcow answered her desperate cries, forcing his eyes open with what little strength he still possessed. “Why live at all if we are to die?” he murmured. “To die would be to forfeit the meaning of my existence, to cast myself aside into an everlasting void. I know it well—I have died before, only to be reborn. T'was such a lonely, empty state I found myself in… so why would I condemn myself to it for time eternal?” He looked at Enlenia with a complacent countenance. “But finally—now that I am to die eternally such as any mortal could—I finally understand. Though I may die, it is as such I find more appreciation for having lived at all and having learned all I have… and knowing a friend I could pass unto my wisdom. Though I may die, I will not be forgotten.”

Madcow would be interrupted by the coming of an ominous black cloud of smoke in the distance. And from that cloud soon emerged the form of Madcow's headless body, comprised of the Ideal God's black flames.

“Live, Enlenia, lest my words be wasted,” Madcow pleaded as his own stolen body pressed its leg against his head. “And should you one day find the might to stand against your foes… please, save my soul.”

Enlenia could only grieve as Madcow's head crumbled unto dust in the wind.

“Farewell, Madcow, O advocate of wisdom,” Regnal spoke through its now completed effigy of Madcow, its unmistakable eyes gleaming through the head it claimed from him. “For you I now declare a promise anew, that I will be all-knowing in honor of you.”

Now Enlenia knew hatred and fear—fear that she could do nothing to save her own friends, and hatred of the betrayer that would be as their executioner. But she could not run; she could not fight. All she could manage was to stare into Regnal's eyes and pray for an end to its madness. She had become no different than a human against a tainted.

“Do you feel disdain for all I have done?” Regnal asked quietly. “Rejoice that I have spared from him a fate far worse. What that fate holds for all us tainted deviants, I leave you to discover beyond the cradle of your ignorance. Know the truth with your own body.” It lowered its head closely in front of Enlenia. “You are not yet ready to part with your soul. To allow it would be to stanch the growing power of your vengeance. Forget not the cries of your fallen brethren as you venture to surmount my overcast shadow. And when comes that day you may stand against your foes… I will stand before you to proclaim my greatest prize.”

A sudden surge of Regnal's flames incinerated its surroundings, but Enlenia, having already lost the will to resist, noticed Regnal's deceit only too late. The flames engulfed her, throwing her to and fro like a speck in the wind, before leaving her on the ground with the wounds of despair.

“Until then, I claim this arm as my token,” Regnal continued as its flames condensed upon its body, revealing Madcow's form with the addition of a slender arm protruding atop its forehead.

Enlenia looked down where her right arm once existed, now but a gaping wound seeping dark blood. “Regnal… stop,” she breathed feebly.

Regnal stared blankly at her for a moment. “I will soon be as everything that is. No, Enlenia, I will stop not for aught less than that.”

Then a familiar sword came soaring through the air, impaling Regnal's back and pressing him to the ground. A triumphant roar ensured far behind Enlenia. She turned to see Constius alive and well, holding in his hand the wounded Albus.

“You will not be rid of me so easily!” Constius declared while advancing to Regnal's location.

“Forgive my knowing not how to die by your hand, Constius,” Regnal spoke behind Enlenia, slithering past her uninjured as a massive snake before she could turn to face it.

“You are a Chariot by my decree,” Astot's spoke in a muttering tone, his voice resounding from all directions. Constius and Regnal promptly halted in acknowledgment. “'Regnal' may be a name of your own choosing, but mayhap my guidance is to blame for your wickedness. I alone will annul this living fault of my foolishness.” Astot's form finally appeared before Regnal. “I am Astot, leader of all Chariots! I will prove with fitting might my RIGHT to your obedience!”

“I declare this on behalf of all Chariots, Astot: we do not serve you, we do not care for you,” Regnal retorted before attacking Astot.

So continued the brutal battle without Enlenia's participation. Enlenia merely watched the duo of Constius and Astot in their gallant struggle for survival, managing to keep Regnal at bay in an even bout. The opportunity had come to escape to Old Halia as Astot required of her, but she would not go alone.

“Let us journey to Old Halia, together,” Enlenia quietly urged in front of Cygna.

“There's nothing I can do,” Cygna groaned.

Enlenia quickly glanced at Cygna's legs, noticing she had managed to stop her own bleeding. “You will not survive here.” She extended her hand to Cygna. “Please, I wish to help you.”

As Cygna took her hand with some reluctance, Enlenia held her body in her remaining arm and carried her along as she hovered above the meadow toward the lake of Old Halia without looking back. Their journey was silent and more lasting than Enlenia could recall. Both she and Cygna remained lost in thought until its end.

The lake beyond the meadow, as expansive as a sea, hummed gently before the sway of the quiet winds. A persistent fog loomed above its space, but Enlenia could see a ruined city beyond it, a hodgepodge of half-sunken, dilapidated buildings and domes tinted rustic white.

Enlenia gently lay Cygna before the shore and gazed resolutely at the source of every answer she sought. She could faintly sense the presence of a tainted amidst the Halians' light. The Blade of Humanity was still alive. “What do they seek of the Blade of Humanity?” she asked.

“I was only told the answer would be made clear to me if I could reach her,” Cygna replied. “I guess I'll have a chance after all. I can't believe I really made it this far.”

“In some way, perhaps… nor did I,” Enlenia murmured, contemplating her past. “Never did I fully believe I would live forever—that I would live to be the one to destroy the scourge.” She solemnly placed her hand upon her chest at the thought of Astot's wishes. “And discover our creator foremost.” She raised her hand to halt Cygna's speech. “Come, let us act quickly.”

A single leaf flew past Enlenia's sight as she took a step forward. In its wake came several more—the leaves multiplied until they were innumerable, fluttering and dancing around her in a circle under an unseen influence. But Enlenia did not fear, for the spectacle resonated with a presence she knew well. And as she turned to face it, she gave a nod of recognition. “So you had returned to the meadow after all,” she whispered.

In the middle of the meadow stood a lone tree—the Garden of Mercy's lingering guardian, the tainted tree from whose defeat all began. It had grown massive in the days that followed, tall enough to tower over many buildings. But what remained unchanged was its hollow presence, as though Enlenia were staring into the eyes of a corpse. Its appearance was celebrated by only a shift in the once gentle breeze.

“Do you know me?” Enlenia asked the tree. “Could you sense me all this time?”

But the tree acknowledged her with only an ominous hum rolling from the bark of its decrepit branches. Such was the calling of its lingering instinct, to stand alongside its wonderful meadow as its sentinel for all eternity—no matter what.

Enlenia cautiously drew closer as she spoke, “We seek only a path to the ruins of Old Halia. Will you not forgive our trespasses?”

“You've got to shitting me,” Enlenia heard Cygna mutter behind her back. “We don't have time for this!”

“Who are you...”

Those words manifested as a foreign whisper in her jumbled thoughts. The tree had spoken to her.

“You tell me,” Enlenia responded, venturing to test the tree's awareness.

“Who are you… to transgress within this acreage?”

What was once a foreboding hum erupted into a deafening screech. From its repetitious melody spawned a shroud of crimson fireflies parading in a circle around the space the tree established as its own—an augur of its retribution.

Enlenia shook her head with disappointment, walking ever toward the tree with inexplicable bravery. “So, you do not know me,” she murmured. “Such is from the scourge which condemns you to this graveyard.”

“Our garden is their grave; I am their voice. My word alone… will beckon forth their wrath against the scourge of your sacrilege.”

And from the ground beneath it did the tree's roots extend and lash out against Enlenia, but the Painted Woman diverted them with but the influence of a hand gesture. She kept her hand outstretched as she strolled ever forward, causing every root before her path to crumble unto ash. Her body felt as though it were acting on its own.

“Humans suffer the Scourge as it threatens their existence, and tainted, still, must suffer its maddening embrace,” Enlenia continued. “Your reign as guardian ended as it began. There is no flower here seeking haven from a phantom—no presence beseeching this graveyard's sanctity. I must set you free from these lies.”

“And so, by my word… your blood will nourish our soil.”

For the tree's final act of defense, the fireflies set themselves ablaze with crimson flames. They circled before the tree in unison, blanketing it within a glorious storm. But Enlenia needed only to divert their course with her outstretched hand, and she continued her path unhindered.

“I will grant to you the rest you so deserve,” Enlenia whispered as she touched the tree, “but first… let us save this world, together.”

The garden fell silent before her words. The numerous fireflies fell dead unto the earth as the tree flaked quietly away into the atmosphere; but its power and spirit would live on within Enlenia as the rigor of her rebellion to follow.

“Fear not, child, for I have mercy on your soul. You are already forgiven.”

Enlenia bowed her head solemnly in acknowledgment of its parting words before retrieving Cygna and setting off for Old Halia, hovering steadily above the waters of the lake.

Cygna tightened her grip on Enlenia's shoulder. “What are you?” she asked.

Enlenia hesitated to answer, “I am as naught without the memories of the fallen.”

As Enlenia traversed the density of sunken buildings, bundles of light grew apparent in the air, centered above a circular space still afloat over the lake amidst the rubble. A closer look revealed Halians with wings of light, observing what appeared to be the well-maintained ground of a giant stone altar, along with a single woman kneeling at its center—the Blade of Humanity. The Halian's did little more before Enlenia's arrival than to quietly observe her descent onto the altar.

The Blade of Humanity lifted her head. “You finally made it,” she spoke in a gloomy tone. “I see you made it out with a bit more than just a scratch.”

“Sorry,” Cygna laughed wryly.

Enlenia drew closer to the Blade of Humanity, noticing no obvious signs of mortal injury. But as she drew close, she met with a chilling cold—the scourge within the nameless woman had grown frighteningly unsettled.

“Where's Albus?” the Blade of Humanity asked. “Don't tell me these fanatics got to him.”

“He is—”

Cygna interrupted Enlenia. “He's just staying behind to keep the Halians at bay. We wouldn't have made it here without him.”

The Blade of Humanity glared at Enlenia. “And what brings you here, O faceless one? It's a little too late to have a change of heart. Just look at me; I'm already done for.”

“We were waiting for you,” a Halian woman spoke as she descended to the altar directly behind the Blade of Humanity, a glint of curiosity in her emerald eyes as she lay them upon Enlenia and Cygna.

The Blade of Humanity forced a grin on her face. “Oh, great. Well, you could have at least left me something to be hopeful for.”

“Do you refer to me?” Enlenia asked, examining the Halian woman carefully. Aside from wearing an identical robe to the other Halians, the woman clearly presented herself as a figure of authority, standing tall, well-postured, and with kempt white hair framing a softly-aged visage.

“I am Caevin,” the woman introduced. “If you seek to forever rid the world of the Scourge, than fear not, tainted one, we are not your enemies. We have awaited this moment for so very long—awaited the day you would return to us, to fulfill your destiny as designed by your creator.”

“What do you know of my creator?” Enlenia sternly asked.

“Do you believe your creator to be a god? He was but a human with a gift worth more than the man himself. Alas, he has long parted from this world, and much of his past is unknown to me.” Caevin narrowed her eyes. “Now pray tell, why have you come? Have you come on behalf of this tainted in front of me? Is it merely the destruction of the Scourge you seek?”

“I will save her and destroy the Scourge,” Enlenia declared.

Caevin chuckled. “'Tis funny of you to say. There is naught to suggest that with the death of the Scourge, all tainted will not soon perish along with it. Surely you have pondered this, have you not?”

“Yes, I have. The Scourge must be destroyed so that we may all finally rest for eternity.”

“Such is your purpose—to bring forth that change. The question is, what will you sacrifice to that end?” She pointed to the Blade of Humanity. “Tell me, what is this creature before my pointed finger—a human or a tainted?”

“She is a human who will lose her identity and become a tainted.”

“Are you to save her as a human or a tainted?”

“She is an innocent who has suffered of circumstances beyond her control. She does not wish to be as a tainted, and so I wish to uphold her humanity.”

A slight smile crept upon Caevin's lips. “Well and just, tainted one; but surely you are now aware that some tainted such as you do oppose the Scourge, and some may even share similarities with humans. What is to say it is wrong to live as a tainted with the power to cling to one's own goodwill?”

“Yet not all tainted are so fortunate and wise, and I will abide by her own wishes.”

“Does your respect of human will—the desire to save humanity—proceed the wishes of your own friends?”

“Should I destroy the Scourge, my friends will accept their fate.”

“But first, a meeting with their creator, no? As I have said, your creator lived and died a man—never will you chance upon this meeting you desire.”

“Could a mere man create a being such as I?” Enlenia retorted. “Even so, is it wrong to believe that such a man, in death, could prosper as a tainted?”

“If he is a tainted, you may yet find him; but who can say how long you must wait? How many more sacrifices must be made to appeal to his favor and earn his audience?”

Enlenia shook her head. “Ne'er have I taken a life in his name.”

Caevin crossed her arms. “And yet you do naught to stay all slaughter by the hands of your companions; you are no less guilty than they. Constius has led many humans to their deaths with the act of deception; Inguis alone has killed tens of millions in the name of your so-called creator, to say naught of the many more lives he had claimed afore that. Even the hands of Astot have been stained with human blood. And the bloodshed will go unhindered for as long as they remain unknown to their creator. I ask you, when will enough be enough? Will you allow them to be as they are for eternity, ever in pursuit of an entity which may well not exist?”

“But I...” Enlenia spoke timidly before lowering her head, struggling to ponder her response.

“Don't listen to a single word she says,” Cygna growled.

Caevin glared at Cygna. “And what of you, exile? Is your own life so precious that you would do naught before humanity's downfall to sustain it?”

“You haggish bitch!” Cygna roared, struggling to free herself from Enlenia's grasp. “Everything I've done was to SAVE mankind! I would have given my life away at any point for their sake!”

The Blade of Humanity sighed. “Give it up, Cyg. None of it matters at this point.”

Caevin breathed deeply. “Yes… for once, this woman speaks true,” she spoke in a placid tone. “At any rate, you come to us for three purposes, tainted one: to destroy the Scourge, to seek your creator, and to save this one tainted woman. We cannot provide you the answers you desire, and killing us will not stay the spread of the Scourge. Knowing this, how are you to act?”

Enlenia lifted her head. “If you cannot stop the Scourge, then so be it—I will save these two and be on my way.”

“Do you hope we could simply leave them be? Cygna is the daughter of an arrant rogue and must be put to death in retribution for her mother's sins. The Blade of Humanity possesses power beyond our comprehension, and should she lose control of it, we may face a calamity far greater than the Scourge alone. And try as you may to restore her humanity, you cannot take that power away.”

“I will not allow you to claim their lives,” Enlenia boldly declared.

“Are these two lives more worthy of your salvation than humanity whole?”

“I will save them because they are the future of mankind.”

“All the while leaving other mortals to their deaths? If they are our future, then you are to be as their greatest foe. To save them is to forgo the pursuit of your creator. Even your own Regnal is well aware of this. So you must decide what you find more important: enlightenment or heroism—your creator or our humanity. There is no standing amidst good and evil—you cannot but confront your own moral chaos.” Caevin lifted her hand in the air, conjuring within it a radiant blade of light. “Make your choice, Enlenia: you will either free these women from our grasp and dirty your hands with our innocent blood, unite with us to stand against the Scourge and the Chariots… or leave us be in the name of your creator.“

“I will not leave them,” Enlenia breathed.

“Then will you slay us?” Caevin asked.

“No.”

“Will you stand with us against the Chariots? Will you abandon your creator and his deluded followers?”

“No!”

“I'll kill them all myself and make it easier for both of us!” Cygna declared.

“NO, Cygna!” Enlenia shouted.

“Decide your choice or I will decide it for you,” Caevin growled. “I will put these defilers to death and enslave you, I swear it.”

“You've done all you can,” the Blade of Humanity murmured. “Just forget about me, all right?”

Enlenia froze, visions of her whole life flashing before her. She cherished nature; she valued all life beyond her own. She sought a means to end her undying existence for mankind to reclaim this decaying world. But she had long become an individual with selfish desires—she shared Astot's yearning to understand her own existence before casting it aside. And beyond that, Astot had proven himself as her friend, a guide that without, she would never know what it meant to dream. She would have strongly condemned her own existence had she foreseen the trial of this very moment, but there would be no escape from her own accursed life. A decision had to be made, no matter the outcome.

Enlenia gently lowered Cygna to the ground and extended her hand to the Blade of Humanity, forcing her own words with what little will remained of her, “Please... take my hand.”

The Blade of Humanity widened her eyes. “What are you going to do?”

“My decision is made—I will save your humanity. But I choose to do so in the name of my creator. And by your hand will I accept my punishment, not only for the sins of my fellow Chariots, but as well for the sins I will soon commit myself.”

The Blade of Humanity grasped her hand without hesitation.

“For now, let us exist as one,” Enlenia continued. “Allow me to bear the burden of your corruption; I will conquer it. And when I am pure, I will pass unto you your humanity—an existence to call your own. You will one day be reborn anew.”

The Blade of Humanity smiled. “Not sure I completely understand, but I like how that last part sounds. I could use a rest if you ask me. And, who knows, maybe we won't need to be enemies in the future?”

Enlenia kneeled in front of her. “What is your name, Blade of Humanity?”

“Why ruin the fun of finding out yourself?”

Alas, the deed was done before Enlenia could insist. The Blade of Humanity faded away, and nothing remained of her but the will she passed on.

“I know it now: your hands, as well, are stained with the blood of innocents,” Enlenia grumbled with her head lowered. “Madcow gave his life on behalf of my ambition; I cannot but walk away and pardon your misdeeds.”

“Enlenia?” Cygna called out.

Enlenia stood up and lifted her head, revealing tears flowing from a pair of silvery eyes, a face wrought with guilt and anger. “I must kill you all. Forgive me.”

So began her retribution. Decayed branches spouted upward from the center of the altar, high as the clouds and burning bright with flame. From that flame emerged innumerable fireflies. From within the waters around the altar spawned grotesque and gigantic branches and roots lashing in every direction. In mere seconds, everything had become smothered beneath insects and rotted wood.

“Use the painting!” Enlenia heard from one of the Halians. Before long, they could let out only screams. Many Halians died by impalement of the shifting branches; others were torn apart by the rancid roots or set aflame by the ravenous fireflies. Enlenia soon grew deaf to the uncountable cries.

She was Enlenia, the Painted Woman—a name gifted to her by Astot of the Chariots. She sought enlightenment and aspired to save humanity.

Caevin had decided upon retreat in the midst of the chaos, gaining a safe distance from the isolated onslaught. But Enlenia had not been oblivious to her survival, and with a pointed finger, she directed a sunken branch through the Halian leader's torso, before her entire body was incinerated unto ash.

She was Enlenia—a name gifted to her by a man known as Astot. She sought enlightenment.

“We must retreat!” One of the Halians managed to announce. He, too, was quickly silenced by impalement.

She was Enlenia—a name whose origins she could not quite place. What did she seek? Why did she exist?

“Enlenia?” called out a woman lying next to her. And although she did not recognize her voice, Enlenia could not bring herself to kill her as she flew away.

Enlenia? Why had that name been mentioned?

What was it? Did it exist?

Unplaced hatred. Uncontrolled power.

Blackness, and nothing.

[vantelieth-blog]

                       Prologue Chapter XIII: The Betrayer’s Stand

Nimbus clouds darkened the skies above a barren plateau with crumbling snags and rustic grass. Astot took each step forward with intrigue and caution alike, closely followed by Enlenia and Madcow. The familiar scent of the once sacred lands lightly touched the air. The Garden of Mercy was but a few paces farther.

Astot looked at Enlenia with a smile. “Do you feel regret having left these lands to oblivion?” he asked with a moment of hesitation.

“If I had never left, I would not have come this far.” Enlenia murmured, silently mourning the withered meadow over what little remained of its scent. “I have no regrets.”

“To be reunited with the air beyond the tower… such a pleasant sensation,” Madcow mused. “And with all I have learned, I may prowl the fields under a greater perspective. You have opened my eyes to the glory of freedom, and for that, Enlenia, I am ever grateful.” Madcow looked at Astot. “We are but strangers to one another, but you have naught to fear from me; you need not hide your companions from me.”

“Oh, dear; if my actions seemed suspicious in any way, I apologize,” Astot promptly responded. “But, truly, I have hidden naught from you. Constius journeyed ahead of us whilst Enlenia sought your aid; I can only pray he has found the meadow. Inguis departed elsewhere with naught an explanation, but I was assured he would return to me in the meadow. Regnal, I pray, does not find us.”

“So it seems one hound ventures far from his leash,” Madcow quipped.

Astot laughed. “Forsooth, forsooth!”

At the precipice of the plateau was a plain of brown grass spanning far and wide, untouched by all but the weather and the scourge. The great lake could be seen before the horizon, and the vague ruins of Old Halia stood beyond a fog.

“How pleasant to see we are among the first upon the meadow as it is now,” Astot spoke while gazing longingly ahead, before he promptly turned his attention to a man dressed in white and a woman in a black coat standing a short distance ahead. The woman was unmistakably the Halian fighting alongside the Blade of Humanity; the man, Enlenia was certain she had not met before.

“Who's there!?” the Halian woman shouted as she turned frantically, facing Astot with a meek expression as he greeted her with a smile.

The man merely observed the trio from behind his back as though their arrival had been long anticipated. “History repeats itself in curious ways,” he mused in a gritty tone, greeting the tainted with a smile of his own. “From upon the day we hid from mankind, our fear has persisted unwavering throughout the ages. Oh yes, we knew, however we denied it—t'was only a matter of time ere a new scourge would come—that of revenge, that of destructive inquisition—to churn the wounds which had yet to heal. But nevertheless, I welcome you proudly. Welcome to the Garden of Mercy, once a beautiful meadow about our humble home, now a reminder of forgotten misdeeds.”

Astot furrowed his eyebrows, glaring at the man with a fierceness Enlenia had never before observed in him. “So you, too, are Halian,” he muttered. “For what purpose have you come?”

The man's eyes shifted toward the horizon. “Have you not guessed already? Be it Old Halia or New Halia, you will not be permitted upon our sacred lands.”

“Assuming you speak in earnest, that is fair enough,” Astot sighed. “But surely you do not intend to best us with your power alone?”

The man drew closer, his arms outstretched. “So I am to die here. What of it? I am but a calm before the tumultuous storm, an eminent preacher who would only observe the coming reckoning. To smite me would be to lay bare your cowardice. I permit my death, I welcome it… for soon shall you all wish you could die as well. No matter your struggles—your efforts to seek truth—you will find those efforts thwarted time and time again. You will live eternally wallowing in your own helplessness, trembling afore our cleansing light in wake and in slumber.”

Enlenia stepped forward. “What would you know of our determination? Ne'er will we cower whilst in trying we lose naught. You Halians will be the ones who learn to curse your own mortality 'till the day comes when not one of you remains.”

“And of course, I must also consider the possibility that you wish to stall us,” Astot added. “Let us be done with this trifling; you may die now.”

But just as Astot raised his hand to personally execute him, the man lurched forward into the ground, the moment heralded by a deafening sound. Blood pooled underneath his buried face from a wound at the back of his head, the assailant standing behind his lifeless body as none other than the Halian woman.

“Is this what you wanted?” Astot asked the woman after a pause, suspending the bewilderment in his expression.

The woman lowered the weapon held in her trembling arm. “My mother... she took me somewhere far away to be raised by a human family,” she thoughtfully murmured. “I loved my family; I didn't know what I was before I decided that I wanted to try to save the world, just like the man I always thought of as a father. If that means taking a stand against my entire race, then that's okay to me, because I never was one of them as far as I was concerned.” She turned to face the horizon. “And I'm not here to listen to anything they have to say; there's something there for me and I'm taking it by force.”

Astot drew closer until he stood beside the woman. “I will confess that I had wished to use you to slaughter the Halians from the beginning. I did not foresee that you would willingly commit to such a task alone. Would you not consider us your enemies as well nevertheless?”

“I've experienced enough to know that not all of you are enemies. In fact… maybe we could even work together. What do you think?”

As Enlenia and Madcow walked toward the precipice alongside him and the Halian woman, Astot smiled assuredly. “Though one day we may truly be as enemies, perhaps we had best be concerned with that another time. You may call me Astot, wayward Halian.”

The Halian woman gave Astot a wry smile. “My name is Cygna.”

Madcow proceeded to introduce himself as well. “I am Madcow, an advocate of wisdom.”

And with some hesitation, Enlenia stated her own name. “And I am Enlenia, a tainted birthed within this very meadow.”

“Enlenia and I, as do all of the Chariots, seek only to understand the truth of our existence,” Astot explained. “Old Halia was the seat upon which everything began—of that, I am certain.”

Cygna's eyes widened. “So if I follow you there, I could find a way to stop the scourge forever. And you're really okay with that?”

Astot nodded. “That is what I wish, so long as I am given a chance to meet with my creator before embracing death eternal. If only would you grant me this will I see your own desires fulfilled.”

“But how?” Cygna worriedly asked.

“To speak frankly… do not destroy the scourge before the moment I deem it fitting.”

Cygna narrowed her eyes. “Can I trust you?”

Astot raised an eyebrow. “Can you be trusted?”

“We have not the time to argue trust amongst one another,” Enlenia finally interjected.

“Oh, how could I argue with that?” Astot sighed before pausing abruptly. “Ah, Cygna... has the Blade of Humanity not come along with you?”

“Yeah,” Cygna answered. “She's the one I'm trying to save. Maybe her life is more important than mine, but that's not why I've come this far. I'm just trying to save a friend, that's all.”

“I want to save her, too,” Enlenia spoke before looking directly into Cygna's eyes for a lasting moment. The Halian woman gazed sharply upon her featureless face as though making a futile attempt to read into her thoughts. In the end, Cygna acknowledged her with a slow nod before looking away, the two having silently agreed to express themselves through actions rather than words.

A pillar of black miasma had spewed upward into the sky from a higher plane standing a small distance to the West. The lands quaked from its gargantuan force, and Astot faced its direction with a frantic look. “Constius!” he shouted. “Let us go with haste ere the Halians vanquish him.”

As Enlenia and Astot rode the winds on the way to the presumed onslaught, Cygna rode atop Madcow's back and the two followed closely behind them. Though the strife had settled by the time they arrived, they had found Constius as Astot predicted, standing by the side of Albus the guardian hound. Hovering above them in opposition was a sizable creature shrouded in black flames, its shape reminiscent to that of a phoenix.

“Regnal?” Enlenia whispered.

And by the sound of Enlenia's voice, the creature, or rather the entity that had claimed its form as his own, glanced carelessly upon her with unmistakable blue eyes before descending ceremoniously to the earth like a higher being ready to pass judgment upon mortals. Regnal drew closer to Constius and Albus, his every step followed by a resounding tremor, and he spoke first to Constius, “Sight the faces of those who pay audience to your abasement ere aught else, Lord Constius. Abandon your pride; bask in humiliation; know humility and enlightenment in turn. And claim my words as your own blanket of comfort should you look back fondly upon your glorious days ever: I alone—now and eternally so—shall smile upon you who was but destined as ornament to the dirt I tread upon. To embrace one's fate is such a beautiful thing.”

Constius stamped the ground in a display of defiance and valor, trembling with anger. “Oh, you would smile upon me nevertheless?” he growled in a low tone. “Then hearken my words, traitorous caitiff: I would be so beholden as to carve painstakingly every letter of my name into your defiled skull once I have mounted it upon the tip of my BLADE!”

“To think I would die alongside this many of my foes,” Albus cackled as he poised himself to lunge.

“What's going on?” Cygna whispered to Enlenia.

But Astot would be the first to respond with a slow clap, as all three of the battling tainted turned to face him. “You should be praised in having found this place before me, Regnal,” he began with a wary expression. “Now, pray tell, why are you here?”

“To emboss your path with the bodies of your foes, Astot,” Regnal answered without the slightest of emotion present in his tone. “I knew you would come, as did I know the Halians would await you,“

Astot furrowed his eyebrows. “Then allow me to speak my mind forsooth—what has Constius done so deserving of your wrath?”

“Heed not one word this traitor speaks; he is gone beneath all reason,” Constius hissed.

Regnal ignored Astot and Constius as he spoke to Cygna, “If you, Halian, would seek the Blade of Humanity, then look to the garden and think naught of my own presence; you do not concern me.” He looked up into the cloud-blotted sky. “Yea, the Chariots have returned, yet Inguis has not come… or have my eyes been so cruelly deceived?”

Astot quietly sighed before closing his eyes, as if to brace himself for what was to come. “I do not take comfort in being left without Inguis… but 'tis as you say.”

And in the very instant Astot had finished speaking, Regnal outstretched his powerful wings, sending torrents of errant flames and volatile winds forth. “Oh, yes… I am fortunate.” He looked into the faces of his distraught spectators in respective moments of pause as he called out their names, “Herald Astot, Enlenia the Painted, Lord Constius, Guardian Albus, nameless beast I newly meet… I shall walk the path to Old Halia alone with the existences of each of you cast unto my own, along with the burdens of your impossible fantasies which I will so proudly bear in remembrance of you. Is it not that we all would wish to be free from our own wants?”

“Enough!” Enlenia finally spoke out as she stepped forward, facing Regnal directly. “Regnal… what of your own fantasies—your own existence? Or are you naught more than what you design to imitate?”

Regnal lowered his head as he gazed before Enlenia with eyes that seemed longing for resolution. “You, Enlenia, whose own spirit is as the recompense of mockery, hold not the right to cast judgment upon me.”

Astot frowned. “Few could know of her power. I did not think to count you among them.”

“And you did well to stay from me your knowledge, Astot,” Regnal interjected. “But of what little you knew that she and I are as opposites. And opposites are ever drawn to one another.”

And so began the conflict of the Chariots and their betrayer.

[vantelieth-blog]

                                 Prologue Final Chapter: My Gift to You

The sun shone brightly above the clear morning sky. Fluttering butterflies and chirping birds gathered before the backyard of a grand stone temple in a thriving city. One man alone bode his time in its garden, wearing a modest apron over his ornate robes. He hummed complacently, singing along with nature as he tended to the various flowers of the garden with a watering can.

“Greetings, Astot,” a relaxed voice spoke from the shadow of a tree behind the man—Astot. “Have you summoned me?”

Astot smiled as the voice reached his ears, turning to greet a long departed friend. “Oh, dear Vox, how I have longed to see you!”

The woman rewarded Astot's smile with one of her own, her gentle violet eyes providing him a hint of comfort. She was a beautiful woman, wearing a fur-wrapped black dress to complement her brownish skin. Long black hair framed her delicate face. Despite the presence of four decorated black horns protruding from her head, she exuded an air of wisdom and solitude. She was known as Vox, the Sanctuary Gatekeeper. It was her belief that only in death could the Chariots unite with their creator, and so she had retired to a solitary life, awaiting the end of her undying existence.

“How fares the other Chariots, my old friend?” Vox asked.

Astot's smile had briefly lowered at the mention of the Chariots. “They are quite well,” he answered with another smile. “Rather, I should say it is all as you foretold.”

Vox chuckled with a wide grin. “Then Regnal has at last betrayed you?”

“So he has; so he has. 'Tis why I was meaning to summon you sooner.”

Astot followed Vox as she strolled to the back of a fountain in the middle of the yard to observe the sky. “So, then… where has he gone?” she asked.

“Rest assured, he is dealt with for now; but 'tis not to say my summons were wasted on you. I would welcome you what I pray you will see as your new home. Welcome, Vox, to Yeon, the city of the Chariots.”

The city of Yeon, once a human civilization untouched by the Scourge, had become home to the Chariots and the humans who worshiped them as gods. In the days prior to the arrival of Constius, Yeon's inhabitants delved into arcane research, seeking a means to command the power of the Scourge. The Chariots had made good use of the pentagram in their temple of worship, a device that could amplify a tainted's power. Astot in particular had used it to widen his influence, and with that he had attempted to summon the faraway Vox along with the other Chariots. He could only lament that she had not arrived sooner. His link to the city would allow him to return to it within an instant no matter his distance, as he had done before after his final meeting with the Blade of Humanity.

“Do the humans serve you?” Vox asked. “Twould explain why my presence is not feared.”

“I now have many reasons to be grateful of Constius,” Astot expressed. “I pray he will not leave us after all that has happened. Speaking of which… you may both come forward, Albus, Cygna.” Astot peered over the fountain and waved at the two new arrivals.

Cygna acknowledged Astot with a slow nod. She wore an eyepatch over her left eye, underneath which was a curious black marking. Her long, closed black vest concealed all but the boots of her restored legs.

“How fares Albus?” Astot asked.

Without a word, Cygna drew attention to a large hound standing behind her. Gentle black flames comprised his body, leaving only his glowing yellow eyes to distinguish him as a living being. Albus stepped forward with a prominent limp, having yet to grow accustomed to his new body.

“You look like Regnal,” Vox remarked with a frown.

“Forsooth he does,” Astot added, “but 'tis pleasing to see he has regained his form. 'Tis thanks to him we had conquered Regnal.”

Vox gave Astot a curious look. “You nigh speak as though Regnal has died.”

“We have much to discuss in regards to Regnal. Constius and I, along with Albus, did battle with him in a land known as the Garden of Mercy. Albus was wounded and later consumed by him. Constius and I did our best to survive, but t'was a battle which may well have lasted eternally were it not for the miracle of Albus' spirit. Though Regnal claimed his body, he strangely could not void his will. What you see before you is Albus in command of Regnal's body and power.“

“I cannot contain him forever,” Albus said. “I cannot even manage to free my own brother.”

“But you did manage to cease the spread of Regnal's corruption within Cygna, once she had returned to us,” Astot assured. “She would now be as a tainted if not for your knowledge.”

“I can still feel the power of the Scourge inside me,” Cygna sighed. “I guess I can't really say I'm much different from all of you now.”

Astot laughed. “But rejoice, for you have gained immortality! And has a being ever existed both a Halian and a tainted?” he gave Cygna a more serious expression. “But even so, what will you do now?”

“I can't just return home with this body of mine. I'll travel the world alone under a new perspective.”

Astot smiled kindly upon her. “'Tis a shame. You would have made a worthy Chariot.”

“Would you object to my joining you Chariots?” Albus asked.

“You need only answer this one question, Albus: how do you propose we earn the audience of our creator?”

Albus growled. “Do you jape? We need only look for him.”

Astot lifted an eyebrow. “Can a divine entity be sought as any mortal man?”

Albus responded after a moment of silence, “Divinity—tis' naught without the eyes of its witness. And if we may bear witness to it with worldly eyes, surely can we venture to it with worldly bodies.”

“Who are you to propose such incongruity?”

Albus blinked slowly before he solemnly responded, “I am Albus, a mere wayfarer then and now. I do not await an answer—I seek it out believing naught to be beyond my reach.”

“You would aside such freedom to serve the will of our creator?”

“I would agree only to honor a small favor. I am bound by naught but the shackles I place upon myself.”

Astot nodded in respect of those words, not alike that which he preached to his fellow Chariots. “You do not cease to amuse me, hound. Very well, I name you on behalf of your spirit alone. You will henceforth be as Albus, the Defiant Guardian.”

“I welcome you as a Chariot, my brother in arms!” Constius announced from the roof of the temple.

“'Tis pleasing to hear such ardent words from you, Constius,” Astot smiled. “Can I take them to mean you will not abandon us?”

“You will learn to refrain your tongue,” Constius spat before turning away. “I will watch over Albus 'till the day of Regnal's resurrection… and I will dominate him for having stamped upon my pride. Your so-called creator is of no concern to me. That is all.”

Vox turned to Astot as Constius shamefully walked away. “What did you seek?” she asked.

“We sought enlightenment from the ruined city of the Halian's forefathers, Old Halia. T'was there the Halians held captive a human with the power of the Scourge; she was known as the Blade of Humanity. Alas, I was hindered by Regnal's betrayal and could not make the journey there myself in time. I had arrived to see naught remaining of Old Halia or the Blade of Humanity. Ne'er will I know what the Halians truly sought, nor their purpose of protecting their homeland of old. Mayhap we had all played our parts in their plot all along.”

“If Regnal was so bold and presented such a threat, then has Inguis abandoned us as well?”

“To be spoken of by you leaves me very blithe indeed,” the voice of Inguis resounded in the sky. “So much so that I wish you look upon me in all my cowardly glory.”

A void parted the skies in front of the sun, shrouding the yard underneath its shadow, and the head of Inguis peered down from its opening. The quaint sounds of nature were obscured before the screams of the humans comprising his necklace.

“I am pleased you have at last returned, Inguis,” Astot spoke in a lower tone. “Have you come with tales of your tumultuous journey?”

As Astot and Inguis glared upon one another, Inguis broke the tension with a muffled laugh. “Have I come timely enough to hear tales of your own journey? No, you need not answer; I had witnessed every moment of it in the safety of my sanctuary.”

“As you could not—or rather, did not wish—to aid us, I cannot say what has become of our dear friend.” No matter his effort, Astot could not bring himself to speak her name. “Is this what you had wanted all along?”

“T'was only to maintain a fair count of Halians in this world. To compare our knowledge of the Scourge to their own is to compare a newborn infant to an eminent sage. Why not for now leave the Halians be and ascertain our creator through observation?”

Astot managed a subtle smile of amusement. “What irony that such words slip the tongue of a destroyer.”

Inguis leaned further from his void. “Will you not forgive that I did not save her?”

“You have done naught to require my forgiveness. I cast blame upon my own impotence.” Astot approached a small stone monument standing in front of the fountain, amidst a gathering of flora. “I do not believe she is lost, Inguis.”

“Then what has become of her?” Inguis asked.

Astot kneeled before the monument erected in her honor. “She will conquer her madness and be free once more, because I have faith; that is all I can say of her fate. She cherished mankind unlike any other tainted. And I do swear there will be no human slain in the name of our creator for as long as we are apart. 'Tis my greatest offering in honor of your memory, Enlenia.”

“If I may, Astot… who is Enlenia?” Vox carefully asked.

“I knew her as Enlenia, the Painted Woman. She was—”

But Astot suddenly found himself choking on his words. His vision blurred as warm liquid trickled from his eyes and down his cheeks, and finally unto the flowers beneath him.

“What is this?” Astot murmured while running a finger down his cheek. And upon his realization, he laughed hysterically. “Tears!” he exclaimed. “Goodness! Look at this, all of you! A TAINTED is weeping! So this is what it is to lose someone dear!”

But just as suddenly, his laughter became cries of sorrow. As Astot hopelessly sank his head before the monument, the others surrounded him in silence.

“My faith... keep me strong,” he cried.

Enlenia would not return in the passing of many centuries. But not once had Astot abandoned his faith in the day they would meet once more.

[vantelieth-blog]

                               Prologue Chapter VI: Blade of Humanity

Be it from the presence of the tree or the challenge of his own journey, the master would not soon return to the tower. Enlenia could see nothing of interest from the tree in his place, and so she would do all in her power to banish it from whence it came—if only she could find the proper means to do so. Her two options were to call upon the aid of her Chariot allies or merely await a favorable outcome. In doing the latter, she could at least present herself more time to her studies ere the tower eventually disappeared from one cause or the other.

The tower's long history was marred with stories of humans wandering its corridors out of daft curiosity. They would be tasked with ringing eight bells hung upon the walls of eight rooms each, whereupon an emissary would appear and bestow a great reward. Those unfortunate men and women blindly paved way to their gruesome deaths by the hands of the tower's bestial guardians, their bodies maintained as trophies for the ever-slumbering master. From what Enlenia could tell, only two guardians yet remained in the master's absence, sealed within respective prisons. She was already familiar with Albus the Hound; the other, she would concern herself with later.

“Stumbled upon a cave... saw a tree come up outta nowhere... and then I ended up here, somehow. Guess we're on the same boat.”

“Shouldn't we just stay here and wait for rescue? The others should be on their way by now.”

Enlenia had become nigh omniscient within the tower's boundaries, a power she surmised was a gift to the master's subjects. She could perceive every sound no matter her own location. She could not believe her own senses the day two foreign voices suddenly appeared.

The toll of a bell would soon follow those voices, followed by another, and another still. Before long, the trespassers succeeded in ringing all eight bells.

“Those fools,” Enlenia muttered to herself. Who were these trespassers? What did they seek? None of it mattered when weighed against what was to come, or so Enlenia thought. The tower remained silent, its guardians unaroused by the toll of every bell. With that, she was presented with a comforting opportunity.

The trespassers would await their reward in the Chamber of Trophies, a grand hall before the master's statue. Antiquated coffins lay in rows against the walls as adornments, the remains of all those who had come before the unknowing pair.

One of the trespassers, a woman with messy blonde hair and curiously red eyes, looked upon her surroundings rather anxiously. “I did everything right, didn't I?” she asked.

Her fellow trespasser, a rather staunch woman sitting plainly upon one of the coffins, looked at her with an amused grin. “Don't look at me, that was all your idea.”

“Right...” Seemingly trailing off in thought, the red-eyed woman sluggishly approached the entrance, but she would not step far before the Painted Woman stood in her path, taking form in an instant. The woman's instincts then overtook her, and Enlenia sighed as she turned to flee, before Enlenia herself could utter a single word.

“You are a tenant, I presume?” Enlenia inquired, inquesting the woman's knowledge.

The woman paused with the first word Enlenia spoke, looking at her partner, who merely gazed curiously, before turning around to respond; or rather, answer a question with a question. “A tenant?”

Enlenia's fears lay bare before her—trespassers who knew not of the consequences of stepping foot upon this accursed dungeon. What was more, that did not appear to be among the humans she had seen before, those who lived in the tower's territory. They did not dress nor act as though ignorant of any danger. Tools that Enlenia presumed to be weapons were clenched tightly under their grip. Were they warriors who wished to bask in the glory of heroism? Where had they come from? How long had it been since Enlenia found the tower?

“We're just looking for a way out,” the red-eyed woman continued. “Who are you? Can you help us?”

Help them? Did they not know of whom—of what—they were speaking to?

“Perhaps,” Enlenia hesitantly responded. “What do you know of our master, he whose statue you now stand before?”

“No, I don't know anything about this place. I was just... sent here to investigate a tower that appeared a few kilometers from a settlement. Something happened on the way, and when J woke up, I was here.”

From what Enlenia could make of the woman's foreign speech, she and her accomplice had been captured by the Garden of Mercy on the way to prospect the tower for some unspoken end. Was the Garden of Mercy itself what they sought all along, to vanquish the tower's presence from the territory of humans?

“What last had you seen ere you found yourselves here?” Enlenia asked.

“A tree, I think.”

“So all becomes clear.” Enlenia turned sideways and pointed to the entrance as the woman looked bewildered. “Our master is no longer present, for he has abandoned his servants. In his place now lies the Garden of Mercy, a meddler whose presence we do not desire. If you would vanquish it here, this tower may cease to be. If not, I shall aid you as you will aid me.”

“So I guess it's a fight after all, then,” the staunch woman griped while approaching the two. “C'mon, Cyg,  let's go.”

“How can you be so sure of yourself?” the red-eyed woman asked. “What IS this place, exactly? Can we trust what she's saying?”

“Hey, this ain't my first rodeo. Ain't like we got many other options, anyway.”

Enlenia admired the woman's courage and pitied her ignorance just the same. She was of no help to these two trespassers. The Garden of Mercy would have no such mercy for those who violated its grounds. She was merely leading these two to their deaths, for humanity would never overcome the scourge.

But that fateful day, something would happen which Enlenia never deemed possible. The trespassers attacked, and the garden resisted; but it the end, the garden was vanquished, felled by this newfound might of humanity. And in vanquishing the garden, those two women would be branded as oddities, worthy pawns for the games of the Chariots. Their heroism had doomed them in ways neither they nor Enlenia could ever have imagined.

[vantelieth-blog]

                                        Prologue Chapter IV: Albus

A black tower stood as an ominous fixture within a forest of crumbling snags. Since the day it appeared from the depths of nothing the tainted swarmed in countless numbers. Nearby settlers cowered in fear, knowing well of their powerlessness before the plague. What the humans saw as a calamitous augur, Enlenia saw as an opportunity. Such an elaborate structure must surely have belonged to a creature of purpose.

The interior was like an eerily quiet, elaborate dungeon, defined with grand windows and bells hanging from its intricate walls. She made her way through its dark corridors until she felt a presence beyond a pair of sturdy metal doors. She curiously caressed their cold, dusted surfaces before gently pushing them aside, the resultant creaking echoing throughout the corridor.

The moonlight peered from a lone window behind steel bars. What lay in that small, solitary space was a slumbering beast, a silvery hound with three tails. A pen and parchment lay on a wooden table in the corner of the cell, the pen writing upon the parchment seemingly of its own accord.

The beast calmly opened its gleaming gold eyes before Enlenia's presence. It observed her silently like a tame animal, but she would not be so easily deceived by appearances.

“Do you sense me?” Enlenia asked.

No response.

“Can you see me? Do you hear me? Do you know who I am?”

No response. A moment of silence.

“Shall I then ask… what you are doing here?”

With a prolonged deep breath, the beast stood on its legs, tall enough to reach Enlenia's shoulder, before turning away and lying back down with a low-toned growl. But Enlenia did not falter. She could sense the creature's mounting frustration, and so she would need only remain in her spot until it would finally acknowledge her words.

“What is it you seek to gain from me?” the beast finally asked.

“I seek only to know you understand my words,” Enlenia replied.

“You had known this already; I need not speak. Now begone with you, for we do not seek your lecture—we do not need it.”

“How strange. What lecture have you in mind? What is more, what 'we' do you speak of?”

“Have you not paid heed to the anguished clamors of our tenants? Are you yet deaf to our master's calling? Then you are oblivious, and now I understand why you dawdle in my presence.”

“You speak half-truth. Indeed, I knew naught of your so-called tenants. Your master, however, beckons well my curiosity... and so I am here.” Enlenia lowered herself to align with the creature's turned back. “Pray, odd creature, tell me all you have seen.”

Finally, the beast turned until it met Enlenia face-to-face. “All you need do is await my master's calling, and hearken. I have naught to gain in prattling for one such as you.”

“You know it as your master, but dare I wonder that your choice to remain with it is not of your own will?”

A grating noise came from the pen and parchment behind the creature as the pen began to carve through the parchment along with the table underneath. “Impertinent wench, I COMMAND my own fate!” the beast roared.

“Ah, you appear to loathe being likened to a feral beast bound in a cage. But, truly, you try so little to be any different than that. 'Tis such a pity.” She stood up. “Very well, lost creature, I will leave you be. Should you least possess a name—”

“My name is Albus,” the creature interrupted.

“Ah, Albus. If anything at all—pray tell me this, at least—what could I have done to earn your favor?”

“Know only that I stay in wait of amnesty.”

“Amnesty?”

Albus closed his eyes and let out a weary breath. “A pardon of my own foolishness. But only I may provide that pardon.”

“And so you retire yourself to this degrading den,” Enlenia softly mused. “Now I know all I wish to know from you. You have my gratitude.” With that, she simply took her leave of the isolated room, closing the doors behind her and allowing the creature to once more wallow in its self-imprisonment.

[vantelieth-blog]

                             Prologue Chapter II: Prospective Grave

Many lands would be known by her; many seasons would come and go with nothing to be found in their wake. With few answers the woman found were many more questions to come. Many remaining civilizations fled from the mere sight of her; some others would take arms and stand against her. But even as she wandered the barren lands, her shadow was ever followed by an assembly of robed individuals bestowed with powers of magnificent light. Proclaimed by themselves as adherents to the reclamation of their dying world, they were known only as Halians by the powerless seeking the shelter of their sacred might. She had soon given up and forfeit her life to the Halians only to discover that she could never truly die. Such could be said for all creatures tainted by that curious plague.

War persisted between humanity and the tainted, but the woman could not say she belonged to either side. All things she knew in life were taken from the memories of the meadow, along with her curiosity of the world and desire for peace. Before that moment, she was but a meaningless wayfarer, her emptiness well embodied by her faceless visage. And in some way not yet fully clear to her, she was unique amongst even the tainted. Surely the others did not share her beliefs, but neither were they alike in how they came to be. The tainted were creatures born merely from humans; they had little recollection of their former identities, but nevertheless they began with purpose and yearning. The faceless woman from birth possessed no such concepts—only from the flower was she given an identity, for such was the gift her power could bestow upon her. From that power alone could she forge an identity to call her own.

She cherished nature; she valued all life beyond her own. And so she would discover a means to die, a means by which she could banish the tainted along with herself. She would journey in solitude to her perspective grave, thinking fondly of a world without her—a world whose blessings would thrive forevermore.

“Do you sense me?”

“Can you see me?”

“Do you hear me?”

“Do you know who I am?”

Upon a barren tundra in the middle of a storm, a man would one day approach her bearing those four questions. From but a glance the woman could feel his tainted presence, yet strangely he harbored no ill intent. The smile he wore on his delicate face left the woman at ease and oddly content, as though her journey had already reach its conclusion. At last, with some effort, she could speak her first word.

“Yes,” she replied to no question in particular, her voice echoing as if it had spawned from the land itself.

At this, the man was overwhelmed with joy. “Finally, my efforts have not been in vain.” He solemnly offered his hand to the woman. “Have you a name, O' faceless woman?”

She shook her head after a moment of contemplation.

“Then henceforth… you will be known as 'Enlenia, the Painted Woman.' Stand alongside me and you shall never again be alone or lost.”

“Enlenia? That is a beautiful name.” And without the slightest of doubt, she clung to his hand, eager to unravel this mysterious identity before her.

[vantelieth-blog]

                     Prologue Chapter XII: A Master and His Subjects

Much time had passed since Enlenia last set foot upon the tower. Nothing had changed beyond the corridors that felt oddly quieter than before. As Enlenia stepped into Madcow's lair, she was first greeted by resounding groans.

“Madcow?” Enlenia whispered in front of Madcow's prison.

And by the sound of her voice, the groaning ceased. A pair of gleaming red eyes opened from beyond the darkness of the prison and drew closer until the face of the weary yet familiar beast could be seen. At the sight of Enlenia, Madcow briefly tilted his head, his nose tilting as he scented the air.

“Enlenia? Do my eyes fool me?”

Enlenia answered his question by resting her hand atop his snout.

“Ah, my only friend, that I so yearned for the sight of you all these years,” the beast whimpered in response.

Enlenia affectionately stroked his nose. “I had only slept for so long; t'was not at all my wish to abandon you so.”

“And so, you at last return to me. I am ever grateful to be treated with such kindness. Albus is gone, and my master, still, has yet to return to me. I do not take pleasure in being alone, not with only my musings for company. I have done little than prostrate my life in the hollowness of this forgotten structure. Is this the meaning of a life without purpose? Is this my fate for the remainder of eternity?”

“Albus has gone, as you have said already. Why will you not do the same?”

Madcow shook his head. “'Tis because I cannot,” he murmured.

“Yet there is no master to keep you here,” Enlenia retorted.

“Oh, but there is, if only you could see. My master remains—along with his teachings—engraved in my spirit and in the walls of his tower. Until he commands something more of me shall I remain as well, for how else could he know my earnest gratitude?”

“What then if your master is never to return?” Enlenia asked in an elevated tone. “Would you obey the word of a master with naught a care for your own needs?”

“My master still knows me; his teachings tell me this much. I do not fault him as I fault my own ignorance—my own inability to understand his judgment. Perhaps this is the design of his trial, one I must overcome to prove my loyalty, for 'tis only then may I be with him once more.”

“Madcow...” Enlenia paused to consider her words carefully. “T'was your own words that set me free from subordination, and for that I am grateful. My plight was one which now you know well. 'Tis for our similarities and my own debt to you that I wish to be of aid to you in any way I can.”

“In some ways we are alike; in others, different,” Madcow retorted. “You were lost in that you did not know what a master is to his subjects, nor a subject to his master. From my own words did you come to understand the man you once called master as but a guide, chosen by your own whim. My master is my master, for the beast I once was had been rightly conquered by his might, abandoning arrogance and finding wisdom in turn. 'Tis because I am wise that I may acknowledge a greater being; 'tis because I am in the presence of a greater being that I remain ever by his side, proud and loyal. And although we may be separated with naught a say of mine, I will go forever the way of my faith in him.”

“Faith and loyalty… I know those words well,” Enlenia solemnly mused. “T'was in my faith to take Astot's hand, and t'was for my loyalty that I remained by his side no matter my own wishes. Your meaningful words are why I followed my heart, to help me see that he believed in my will above all else. T'was following your heart, not heeding your master's words, that shaped your comprehension of his ambitions in regards to you. You were conquered by his might and soon set free from the cravings of a ravenous beast, because in your den of humiliation, you began to see something more within yourself.” Enlenia's frantic tone softened with each word she spoke thereafter. “Madcow… I am not your master, and so I can only lecture my own understandings, not speak in his place. And what I understand is that your master seeks not your subordination, but a sign you have learned all he has to teach—a sign you can now pursue wisdom on your own, free from the shackles of both a servant and a beast. Can you one last time follow your heart to understand his teachings?”

Enlenia anxiously watched as the troubled beast lowered his head and thoughtfully closed his eyes. “It would seem you, as well, hold wisdom beyond my own. Despite my efforts—my centuries committed to solitary prostration—I remain but a poor lost lamb without the guidance of another. Can you not say what I am to do were I to leave on my own?”

“Experiencing new things, however heedless you may be of the outcome, is part of learning,” Enlenia answered. “I, too, am left with much to learn. I would not ask you to serve me to repay my guidance; all I ask of you is to lend me your power.”

Madcow's eyes widened curiously. “And to what end would my power be used?”

“Whereas you seek wisdom, I seek knowledge. I seek to know the beginnings of the scourge which birthed us, and with that, a means to destroy it at last.”

Madcow chuckled. “After all this time, your misguided spirit has yet to fall. You have yet to convince me of any merit in your ways, but I do hold interest in witnessing the outcome of such a journey with my own eyes.” Madcow stood tall before the edge of his prison. “Then so be it. For my own interests, not mere servitude, I grant you my power for as long as it is needed.”

Enlenia extended her hand beyond the bars. “Then come with us to Old Halia, my friend; the Chariots welcome you with open arms. Take my hand and I will lead you to them.”

Madcow placed his nose in Enlenia's palm. “I look forward to meeting these so-called Chariots.”

And before Enlenia could set off for Old Halia, the master of the tower finally came to her in a vision for a fleeting moment before leaving without a single word spoken. But Enlenia knew by heart what he had entrusted onto her: his last faithful servant along with his own blessing.