I erred this morning. I had dreamed last night, reliving a memory of a battle long past. Perhaps it was the message from Lady Lark breathing new life into my feelings of war with its warning. Regardless, the memory was fresh, that of burning slave soldiers alive only to see them smile as they experienced a few moments of freedom in death. The mages around me continuing to cast, even with reluctance clear on our faces. A bitter memory of a bitter time.

Which is why, when I was brought my morning Asrid tea, I decided to test myself. The willpower of a wizard is nothing to scoff about when we regularly work with forces bizarre and menacing. Instead, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling and allowing my melancholia to slowly overwhelm. I am certain that I am not the only person to do so, but when I feel overcome by sadness, I tend to make metaphors. I felt like a lost lamb in a monster-infested forest, a fish in a deep ocean separated from its school. A powerful wizard without the magics to save those he loved.

I continued on letting the sadness carry me into lower and lower places, my heart growing numb. The desire to do anything at all, fading. This was the trap of melancholia. To defeat it, one must accept it and carry on about life, but the emotion itself stopped the desire to carry on at all. Even after the withdrawal symptoms of not taking my tea started to appear, the shivering, the shaking limbs, the painful curling fingers and toes, I did nothing. The pain, welcome and deserved, I felt.

Only when Lilly came to me, did I pull myself from my own depths, “Master, is everything okay?”

“T-Tea,” I grunted through clenched teeth. My arms shaking too much to hold it steady, even if I could get my fingers to uncurl enough to hold the cup.

She rushed to my side and tilted my head up as she poured it into my mouth. I felt abashed to be treated like an invalid, all because I arrogantly thought to test myself. More of the lukewarm tea ended up on my robe and blanket than in my clattering mouth. When the cup was empty, she raced away with it to brew another. That was fine.

In the time it took her to brew more, the shivering stopped, and my fingers uncurled. My arms were still weakly shaking, but the worst of the sadness faded away. I shoved the rest to the back corner of my mind where it normally lay locked away. When she returned with the second cup, steaming and fresh, I was already sitting up.

“Here, master. What happened?” She offered and I accepted the cup with arms only showing a minor tremor.

“Magical reverberations, nothing to be concerned about,” I lied. I wouldn’t be burdening her or anyone with my ailments. Not in this lifetime.

It was already lunchtime when I arrived downstairs, the other residents of my tower observing my solemn demeanor and keeping themselves to quiet whispered conversations so as not to disturb me. Lunch was decently baked bread and spiced chicken and carrot dish, the chicken even mostly deboned. I was extremely thankful that the spices overpowered the carrots enough for me not to taste them. I would need to have a word with Chelsea though to ensure she knew how I felt about the things.

With Lilly focused on teaching Rolf and Kine working through the literature I gave him to study, I was free to do as I pleased. While that would normally mean I would leap into my experiments, today the morning’s experience left a shadow over my mood. First, I moved the frozen corpses from behind the tower to underneath the reflective waters outside the tower walls. I didn’t know if their presence was creating an overabundance of death mana in the area, but given my experience this morning, I didn’t want to risk it.

Even with the skies overcast, the sunlight seemed harsher than usual. With the limited stone left available, the cellar I created for the beast corpses was flimsy at best. With [Earth Manipulation], I could pack the earth around it densely enough to keep the cold in and most beasts or monsters away, but I would need to check in a few days to see if there was more I could do. The entrance was covered with a stone lid, built with a few hooks that ropes could be attached to so anyone could open it if they needed to get within. Heavy enough though that it would take more than one pair of hands to do so.

That task only took a couple of hours, and when I returned to the tower, I found myself standing before the holy symbol of Bi in the room set aside for my mementos and trophies. Most lay in crates and barrels in the center of the room, so I began to unpack. I created alcoves and pedestals as I went, eight of the first and seven of the second. I placed the flag of the 2nd Division Burning Brigade in the first alcove along with the broken warstaff of the lieutenant who commanded it before I was promoted. The mana crystal at the end of his staff was shaped into a blade as long as my forearm still as sharp and strong as the day it was made.

The seventh pedestal stood before the symbol of Bi, and on it I placed my Book of the Dead, with wards and shielding enough so that only I would be able to take it from its place there. Others might be able to turn the pages to read, but even that was only if I were present. This book was, after all, my most valued possession. My eyes watered without my permission as I placed it. No sounds or sobs, and the sadness too muted for me to feel.

I paused briefly for dinner before returning, and by the time I stopped I was only halfway done. Three alcoves were filled, each with the articles of the unit that I served with, flags and uniforms, weapons and gear. Four of the pedestals now supported trophies of great victories. The broken helmet of a slain general. The amulet of a powerful warmage, its enchantment worn away with time. The gauntlet of a slave-priest, its sharpened fingertips used to draw slave enchantments onto flesh. The crown of a prince, the jewels still sparkling.

The sun long set, and only the four guards remained awake. They waited at the entrance to the room, watching me in silence. Their history of military service seemed clear as they held their tongues and stood at attention. All except Meathead, who was scratching his rear, but even he remained silent. I decided I needed to address them, as I could see the burning curiosity in their eyes, despite their discipline.

“I will call this room the Hall of Valor. You join a long history of warriors to serve under me. Something that you may take pride in. When I am finished, I will tell you all the stories of these men and women, heroes one and all. I don’t expect you to be soldiers any longer, and will not require you to fight in any war. I do expect you to treat this place with the reverence it deserves.”

They gave me a salute, which I returned and then set about their duties. I took myself back to the rooftop feeling wearier from today’s work than I have in a long, long time. It was the same feeling as digging graves after a battle. There, I gazed out into the night sky, not really focused on anything, just watching the clouds float by.

It was Mena, surprisingly, who joined me on the rooftop. She walked as if relaxed, but I could see she was hiding a tension. It was a peaceful night outside. No beast attacks or commotion. The residents below barely stirred. The breeze from the top was cool and crisp, a hint of chill dampness.

Eventually, Mena spoke, “Sir, is there anything we can do?”

With my peace ruined, I shook my head, “There’s nothing that can be done. Good night.”

I retired for the night soon after, the shadows of today’s sorrow fading away as I fell into a deep slumber.