Phelain Starr

His eyes opened to the false sky. For a time Phelain simply laid upon the cool stone. Tracing by sight, the cracks of the ancient painting. He waited. Holding out for a storm of emotions. Expecting some kind of reaction to well up from the deep. Only feeling calm and there was a sense of clarity to his thoughts. Overall refreshed. Searching his mind, there was nothing unnatural to be found. No sensation of drugs or magical pressure, of anything that might be affecting his mood. Instead, the recently dead warrior was, by his own reflection, perfectly fine.

After a shrug, he sat up to take in himself. Everything was back to where it should be. His skin looked healthy and the gaping chest wound was gone. Though, his armor had been left behind. Instead, he had on a new set of clothes. They were the same kind that the Sixty had woken up wearing on the first day.

Though he could feel the lack, the impulse was strong to lift his shirt and see the smooth skin. It was as expected. Of course, the normal flush came when he saw his in-shape torso. This changed feature didn’t cause him dysmorphia, but it was always strange to see the belly fat gone.

He stood up and paused. Head cocked, waiting again. It still felt like some great dread should be falling upon him. For some reason, Phelain had felt like standing up might trigger it. As if mortal despair was somehow anything like lightheadedness from rising too quickly. His calm remained untroubled.

A new concern itched at him and birthed worry. Is this my reaction because the fear of death is gone? contemplated the aspiring warrior. Thinking about it... and the same dread is still there. Yet, I don’t feel anything having been through it. Why? A manipulation of this place? Or is it… that there are two more chances…? Phelain looked down at his arm for the gold rings. Only two laid on his skin now. He touched them, but as always, there was nothing to feel.

No answer came to him. No ringing of truth from within. My death, thought Phelain. Tasting the meaning of it. Sinking his teeth into the moment. The expectation being that it would echo through him. To face... to experience dying, and then be so unaffected by it… seems a sin. He played out his memory trying to invoke understanding or any kind of natural reactions. It came as expected, though from another angle.

The aspiring warrior sighed with relief as the reclaimed memories showed him the meaning of his current calm. It was a death I couldn’t avoid, explained Phelain to himself. You could say it was a failing of skill, but that thing was beyond me. Greater than anything the Sixty has faced before... and it ambushed me. I couldn’t escape from that. It was an… acceptable death. Looking up at the false sky, he muttered, “I’m not happy about it… Still, I can’t allow myself to break over it. Hopefully, everyone else escaped.” The sick sense of foreboding flowed over his skin like the chill of the dead.

Inward thoughts became outward regard. He wasn’t alone in the Hall. It was those few who were still too afraid or weak to go through the Doors. They watched him. A mixture of confusion and held-back dread roiled across their faces. It seemed to Phelain, that their eyes told him they knew death had brought him, but they held onto that thought with a terrible will. Hoping against the truth that maybe it was unrelated. Perhaps hoping I am someone new, though they must know my face, grimly he thought.

All except one. A cloaked willowy figure. They stood hidden in their own folds of shadow. Standing confidently on their own. Moonish eyes held steady onto his own. There was an air of anticipation surrounding this person. Something about them caused a knot in the back of his throat. Phelain opened his mouth as questions began to crowd his tongue. He never got the chance before white flashes blasted the Hall.

The crying and gnashing of teeth that the aspiring warrior had been expecting, finally came. Not in mourning for himself, but the others. One by one, the bodies of his party appeared. They formed out of light that burned through one’s closed eyelids. Ghosts made whole in an instant. Phelain’s vision was in ruins, blurred by tears and light burned spots. It wasn’t enough to hide their faces from him.

He recognized them all. Each one a stab in his heart, from Hector to Allen. His people hadn’t escaped. Not a single one and it didn’t end there. Even when his party members were exhausted, the flashes continued. Phelain felt weak at the knees and swayed in dismay. Gods, did I cause this? worried Phelain. Or done more to prevent this? My death was beyond me to escape, but perhaps I could have prepared them better… Was that thing… just that much stronger than us?

Emotions roiled through like water freed from a dam. Pulled into his own emotional turmoil, Phelain let loose of his control on his buckling legs. His sway became a fall and someone caught him. Hector had almost tackled them both to the ground. It was only by the other man’s tremendous strength that they stayed upright.

In the grip of his dear friend, the aspiring warrior felt the storm recede. The worry lingered, but Phelain was alright with that. It would be a pinned message to discuss the issue when the Council next met. His focus turned to Hector. They trembled with sobs. “Hector,” called Phelain gently. “We’re alive. I’m alright… I don’t know what your death was like… but, I’m ok. I wish you had lived, though.”

The hugging man pulled away. Not with their arms, only to gain eye contact. The grip of those strong hands wasn't loosening an inch. It was a pressure more reassuring than painful. A stream poured down each dark eye that held Phelain’s questioning look. A slight tremble of the lips before Hector found his voice. All in a rush, his battle partner flung out, “You were torn apart!” and kissed him fiercely.

Surprise. That is how the aspiring warrior felt first. Before curiosity left him wondering at his reaction. It wasn’t disgust that he had expected, but a positive response wasn’t either. His mind flashed through the few women he had dated. Comparing those precious intimate moments with them to the one happening now. On reflection, it was identical.

I never thought of men as an option… thought Phelain as he opened his eyes to Hector’s waiting face. There was a heightened strain of nervousness shaking through the bold man. Waiting to see what way the reaction would go. I suppose with a father like mine… why would I ever risk the thought? He had enough reasons to beat me as it was. Well, I’m thinking it now... and I believe... this is worth exploring. Another adventure in this miraculous place.

His hand fluttered up to cup Hector’s warm cheek. The aspiring warrior hesitantly kissed the other man back. They both reacted like it was their first time to give and receive a kiss. Phelain grinned as a glowing feeling flowed through him. For an instant, the two of them were alone and outside under a real sky.

There was only so long they could ignore the world. Their eyes couldn’t see past The Pit. The grim mood returned shortly. It laid back down upon their shoulders with the intention to stay a while.

“Did you… die trying to get revenge?” asked Phelain to break the silence. Hector held his hand. Squeezing it a moment at the question. Reassuring himself that I am here, the aspiring warrior guessed. They stood close now, observing the others that had been brought back from death. Most still slept, unmoving on the stone floor.

“It was too much for me,” sighed Hector. Choking on a sob, they added, “That damn thing played with us and I let it! When, when I saw you… I just rushed in like an idiot!”

“It’s alright,” assured Phelain, a small smile for Hector. “Our deaths were promised. Literally carved into stone as The Commandments. As long as you learn from it, one life is a small loss. When we have two more lives in the bank.”

Hector flinched away from him in horror. “How can you say that?” exclaimed Hector. “After experiencing …? The darkness, an endless void! I felt nothing and was nothing. I never want to feel that way again. It was only a second or two, but … I don’t want… Just not again. I won’t fall so easy again!”

“That’s a good promise and I hope you keep it, Hector,” nodded Phelain. He paused mulling over the thought before continuing. “It wasn’t so bad for me. I remember the darkness. Even the void. For me, there was a sense of… familiarity to it. Like I had looked out into that void many times before. I had moments in my life where death definitely seemed the better option. Then the light came and everything came back to me. I feel good. Ready for another day!”

“I don’t know I want to go back out there if there are more things like that out there,” hissed Hector.

“I will,” stated Phelain plainly. “There are ninety-nine floors to go and I want to see every single one of them! Death isn’t gonna slow me down.”

The first man he had kissed looked at the aspiring warrior with a bewildered look. Divided between being inspired and a growing horror that braving the tunnels again wasn’t really a question. Phelain was confident that Hector would be at his side.

There were screams once again in the Hall. He turned to see who, but Hector was already moving. Awakening from resurrection seemed to take different times for individuals. Amiyah woke up next, sat up, and started crying uncontrollably. Axton woke up laughing. Rising slowly to her feet, Analia looked thoughtfully about and walked away. Dawson lay staring at the false sky while Allen cursed loudly at nothing. A mournful cry broke from Leon as he sat up to clutch at his chest. Kai took to his feet quickly and prowled towards the Doors. The proud acolyte moved to leave through them, but stopped after looking at the unstained tunic.

The caring man that he was, Hector had rushed to Amiyah's side. Offering every comforting word possible. Phelain looked at his team and was conflicted by the array of responses. He took a breath, reminding himself to be the leader they deserved. At the exhale the aspiring warrior was ready to take it, one person, at a time. Axton he ignored. Analia and Kai could wait as they seemed to have a hold of themselves. It was to Leon that their party leader moved to first. A friendly whisper and a hug was enough to calm the barrier acolyte. There was a hunted look to the man still, but it was a start.

Hector and Phelain shared a look over their charges. Their smiles bright before they moved on to the next people. Amiyah was now just hiccuping and no longer bawling while fiercely shaking her head. The aspiring warrior went to Allen next while the other half of his shield duo comforted Dawson. The fire acolyte stared as if seeing a ghost, but on the sight of Phelain turned from curses to apologies. It took an effort to end this new rant, but after assuring a disbelieving Allen that everything was alright they fell silent.

With his party taken care of for the moment, Phelain turned to the other five that had appeared. No more had flashed in some time, so it was a relieving, maybe too easy, assumption that the beast had been destroyed. Or just escaped if the Sixty were unlucky. Added to the fallen were spearman Lyric Rodgers, swordsman Marceline Kant, acolyte Anastasia Pascal, archer Vihaan Tavade, and Julia Sarcos.

At Julia, the aspiring warrior’s heart broke a little. The strange short woman that had been so terrified, but had faced the frontlines with him. Unrelenting in driving forward She has been a better fighter than me from the start, considered Phelain. I’m not sure I can ever catch up to her. Never thought she could even fall… her death will hurt us the most…

“Kai!” roared through the Hall as Vivian slammed into the waiting man. Their embrace was intimate and violent. The healer switched back and forth from punching her lover before caressing their cheek. The proud acolyte allowed it all with a grin. They whispered while moving towards their rooms. Kai’s voice was lost in the angry waterfall of Vivian’s hushed rant. Phelain smiled at the reunited couple, but lost it the moment Malachi came through the Doors.

LIke a graven king, the leader of the Sixty marched into the Hall. Hollowed eyes scanned the newly returned. Phelain expected some lightening of the mood at this, but there wasn’t. Instead, their shoulders seemed to gain weight. It was a feverish gaze that found him and there was a feeling of trepidation when Malachi locked in on him. The pace of the sword acolyte’s march quickened with purpose. Others passed through the Doors, but his attention was solely upon his grieving friend. Like a storm aimed at him.

Malachi stopped in front of Phelain and looked him over. A smile that didn’t touch the eyes appeared for a brief beat. Awkwardly, as if not knowing why, they returned the scoured shield. The aspiring warrior looked down at it faintly surprised. It felt good and right to have it back, but unsure why it had been brought so seemingly urgently.

“I’m sorry Phelain,” said Malachi lifelessly. “This is my fault. I acted with more concern for time spent than our safety. I promise it shall never be allowed to happen again.”

This was a new surprise to Phelain. It felt strange for everyone to be so concerned with him. It feels weird for anyone to care about me, he admitted to himself honestly. Do they not realize we have more chances against death? He looked up from the shield to reply when his eye got caught. Something that was missing. “Malachi!,” gasped Phelain. “Your arm, dude! What happened?”

“Ah’ Yes, I lost it,” replied the man unconcerned. “It was the price I had to pay to end the Dead Thing.”

“Dude… how can you be so chill about this?” asked a flummoxed Phelain. “Your arm is gone! It was your dominant hand too, right?”

“Don’t worry about it, Phelain,” said Malachi, seriously. “I’ll make do. It is a small thing in comparison to all of you dying. I hope to my distaste, that you can forgive me for putting you in that position. I know, I won’t be able to do so for myself.”

“I don’t blame you,” frowned Phelain trying to get past that. “The loss of your arm is more real to me. Y’know… if you died, you would get it back, I think. We’re all whole after dying.”

Malachi flinched. With a raw anger under the surface, replied, “You would sell our lives far too cheaply! I will not waste a life or a drop of blood for a new arm. I will make do, as I said. If you can’t talk with any sense, then I have nothing more to say. Know that I am sorry to have put you in the position that led to all of this.”

The leader of the Sixty turned to go, but Phelain stopped him with a grip on the arm. “Malachi, don’t take away my agency in this,” urged Phelain. When the other man gave him a confused look, he continued. “Your decisions do not rule our every action and breath. Leave room for chaos and luck. Discordia will always have her say. So, please don’t take it out on yourself. You can’t take everything on your shoulders. It’s not healthy, and frankly, insulting to the rest of us. There was no predicting that monster. It happened, think more on how we move forward again.”

They went still at the words. Seeming to listen completely while distilling the meaning. Phelain saw a shift in Malachi’s body language. Tenison loosened and the dark aura weakened. For a moment, their leader looked sane and rational. Grieving, but in a healthy manner. Then their eye flickered and got caught. The beautiful transformation that the aspiring warrior had seen reversed and grew far worse.

Before, Malachi had stood tall and strong under the weight of his remorse, but now he looked wretched. A low sob escaped clenched teeth. The bearded man was staring down on the slumbering Julia. Phelain felt he was seeing a heart breaking and wanted to look away. There were no words that felt right in face of that grief. He could only watch in silence.

Their leader moved to Julia’s side in a manner that combined kneeling and crumbling. There was a pregnant hush in the air as Malachi stared down at the shieldmaiden. Moving as if underwater, he took her hand gently. It was a broken man that waited at her side.

Swallowing, Phelain forced himself to say something. Anything to bring back some strength to the man who seemed so unshakeable. “She’ll be alright,” said Phelain softly. Feeling a little empty about the platitude. “People seemed to wake at their own pace. Julia will be fine.”

Silence. No answer for too long, but before he could try again, Malachi spoke. “She shouldn’t have to be here like this. I was too slow. You can shift some of the blame off my shoulders, but not this. I was too slow and it took her. I couldn’t even take the time to check on her. There wasn’t a moment to spare. Too many lives on the line… But hers, damnit, why did Julia have to be one of those I couldn’t protect?” The bearded man weeping as he looked up for an answer. Demanding an explanation. Phelain had nothing.

The two of them held eye contact while Malachi held Julia’s hand like fragile porcelain. They may have just stayed there, unmoving. Locked by their own lack of words. They were saved when Clarissa was suddenly there in a burst of bluster. The redhead shook them free with a loud declaration, “Why is my Ju Ju on the floor?!” Phelain looked away with shame-brushed relief when Malachi turned his attention to the archer.

“You are right,” agreed their leader solemnly. “Her room would be better.”

“Damn right!” said Clarissa with a sour face. “Get outta my way. I’ll be the sensible one here, apparently.”

“No, I will take her,” growled Malachi. “I have to be there when Julia wakes up.”

Phelain was relieved to hear the steel and fire in their leader’s voice. His strength hadn’t left him. It will come back, decided the aspiring warrior. Just gotta give him some time.

Clarissa looked over Malachi with a frown, but waved it off. “Fiiiine, but I’m coming along. I want to be there for my friend.”

The bearded man thought it over himself, but nodded his acceptance. Malachi with Clarissa fussing, picked up Julia. All three disappeared into the hallway of the dorms. Phelain was left alone with his thoughts. Most had woken up and the rest of the Sixty had returned. There was a new sense of dread in the air. The aspiring warrior could feel a divide between those who had died once and the rest.

I didn’t think it would be such a big deal, considered Phelain. We knew dying was going to happen… Why was no one prepared? He shook his head in confusion. Hector wandered over. There was a question on their face. “I guess, we have some stuff to talk about,” offered Phelain with a smile. Both nodded at the statement, but didn’t move.

“My room?” asked Hector.

Phelain took a look around at the listless way many wandered about the Hall. He didn’t want to think of it as fleeing, but there was some truth to the idea. “Yeah, let’s go,” accepted the aspiring warrior. They followed several others towards the rooms. In passing, he caught sight of the cloaked figure again. Their aura of expectation and concentration was still there. Yet, there was now a tinge of pleasure to their stance.

It oddly made Phelain feel better.