“How is Nasition?”

“Still the same. No emotion other than the occasional bursts of outrage, shouting your name. Mumbling Norai’s name every now and then.”

Stasibel and Faresoenn stare at each other, sighing at the condition of their friend. They sit on a soft couch just outside the room where Nasition is hospitalized. It has already been a week since they knew of the tragedy, finding Nasition in an abandoned field on the outskirts of the city, a lifeless Norai in his arms, while an unidentified, mutilated corpse lay nearby. After an extensive autopsy, they had determined the body to be of a man named Barohail, a resident of the far eastern borders of the shrinking Empire, who had been impoverished by the ongoing conflicts there. Not that it mattered to them now, anyways.

They had planned to test Nasition’s capabilities as a guard as part of the new, experimental examination system set forth by Stasibel to the guards. Norai had volunteered herself, and to Stasibel’s delight, she skillfully imitated every detail of his movement. Yet… who would’ve known that this task, this “errand”, would be her last.

“What did you tell Ms. Ipela about Norai?” Stasibel asks.

“I told her Norai was attacked while helping in delivering supplies to the front,” Faresoenn answers, “We’re fortunate she never told Ms. Ipela about this job.”

“If Ms. Ipela knew, who knows what her response would be?” Stasibel says, a look of uncertainty in his eyes.

They wait. Waiting for some sort of news about Nasition’s condition. Morning turns to midday. Midday turns to afternoon. Afternoon turns to twilight, and finally, night. Although a dedicated team of physicians and nurses have been called days earlier to monitor and care for Nasition, they can only disappointedly shake their head every night when they exit the room. Night after night, it’s just the same.

“You should return to your quarters now,” Faresoenn suggests, “I’ll escort you back. You have work to do, don’t you?”

“No need,” Stasibel refuses, “I’ll wait until there is some sort of news on Nasition from the doctors.”

The door opens, and a fatigued doctor, his eyes almost entirely shut, exits the room. “The patient would like to talk to you, King Stasibel,” he says, saluting weakly to Stasibel.

“How is he?” Faresoenn asks earnestly.

“Captain Faresoenn, I am quite happy that his condition has improved,” the doctor responds, “but his mental health is still extremely fragile. His physical wounds are healing extremely fast, though. We found traces of scorched tissue within his arms, but on the outside, it’s as if he never received any injuries. But his back…”

“What of it?”

“I understand you haven’t taken a good look at him for a week. All I can say is… be prepared.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Stasibel pats the shoulder of the doctor, “You and your team have done well to take care of Nasition. I’ll make sure to pay handsomely once Nasition has recovered.”

They enter the room. Inside, they see a ruined Nasition covered in a thin blanket, his tangled hair a mess, his eyes sunken in, his hands grabbing on the sides of the bed, shaking as he pushes himself up to meet the expected visitors. That’s when Faresoenn notices… Nasition’s wrists are chained to the bed, as if restricting him from something.

“That was quick of you,” he mumbles, “How does it feel, seeing your precious, or shall I say, disposable guard lying useless, helpless on this bed?” Although he could easily pass off as a starving refugee or a weak beggar, Stasibel feels a growing sense of hostility, perhaps even hate, from Nasition. Unconsciously, Stasibel takes a step backward, wary of his situation.

“The doctor told me your condition has improved,” Stasibel says carefully.

“Did he die?” Nasition asks, his trembling gaze looking at Stasibel, “Did he die?”

“Show him, Faresoenn,” Stasibel commands gently, “He already has forgotten what he had done.”

“Nasi, are you sure you have forgotten?” Faresoenn questions.

The name hits Nasition like a blow to the head.

“Do not call me Nasi,” Nasition hisses, “Do… not.” He does not want to hear that name anymore.

“Well, then, Nasition, here is your answer,” Stasibel says, snatching the device from Faresoenn.

Nasition looks at the image with a blank, emotionless stare. The torn up corpse lay on the autopsy table in full view before his eyes. The man’s head, or at least what’s left of it a mush of black and red. The arms and legs slashed to the bone, strips of flesh still dangling off the table like vines. The torso an open cage, the organs cut into little charred pieces piling up inside. There is no blood flowing out. It is merely still, a pool of viscous, volcanic dark red stubbornly sticking to the gaping wound.

“Ah, so he’s dead.” Nasition seems to calm down, his body no longer twitching. “He’s dead.” He no longer cares. He is dead in his own eyes, the same as that man… and Norai.

And so what? The emptiness still remains, the wound still stays, a scar destined to drag him down for life. He cannot reverse what is already done. He cannot go back in time and save Norai, perhaps even shielding her at the cost of his life. He cannot… he cannot ignore the fact that he had dodged, dodged the shot that eventually pierced Norai, ended her life. He had neglected his one job as a guard.

No… it shouldn’t have been Norai.

“Why was Norai the decoy?” he asks, looking at Stasibel.

For a while, Stasibel is silent, only staring into empty space, as if pondering for an answer. “She volunteered to be the decoy of my idea,” he finally responds, his voice broken into chunks, “I… had decided to test the ability of my guards, starting with you.”

“W-Why?” Nasition finds himself stuttering. He feels his back heating up, his bones aching with pain.

“I wanted to see whether all of you are capable of defending me alone,” Stasibel admits, “Or rather… Whether you have the heart to defend me in the first place.”

“Faresoenn… You know about this?”

Faresoenn nods lightly. “I approved of Stasibel’s test, even if it were to be significantly more expensive and risky than the traditional one. The scene and people may be fake images, but the shots and blades are all as real as the air you are breathing.”

“Norai was perfectly able to copy me, down to the personality and actions,” Stasibel adds, “There was no reason for me to refuse.”

“Even when you knew there was a chance she could be killed?” Nasition presses.

“I had explained the risks. She accepted them all.”

“So you’re saying it’s Norai’s fault that she is killed, then?” Nasition’s tone completely changes, his heart rate rapidly increasing. He feels a searing pain from his back as he pushes himself upright, Even his eyes seem to change color, the irises turning to a sickening yellow as the pupils constrict. The temperature abruptly rises in the room, as if Nasition’s anger has engulfed the room itself.

“Nasition, what are you doing…” Faresoenn finds his voice trail away as he sees pale smoke rising from Nasition’s back, slowly condensing into hundreds of small crystals hovering around him like a cloud.

“Is it her fault that she is dead?” Nasition screams, “Look at yourself, Stasibel! Your high-and-mighty face without a shred of guilt or sadness, only an unnerving silence when one of your dearest friends had just died in your place! Norai’s corpse should’ve been yours!” The crystals gather around his arms, breaking the chains that hold him to the bed. “And you, Faresoenn,” he accuses, “You approved of this madness? You actually allowed for all of this to happen? What are you, a slave to Stasibel?” Blood begins trailing out from his eyes, his nose, and his mouth, veins bulging from his neck as more crystals form around him, a complete fog of insanity and madness swallowing him whole.

“He has unconsciously released his Gate,” Stasibel murmurs, “You haven’t got long to live, Nasition.” He stands unfazed, his noble stance unchanged as he faces the monster before him. He may have never once encountered the so-called “magic” in his life, but he does not find it frightening. The Gate can only be released for so long before Nasition collapses. As long as he survives that short duration of time, he will emerge unscathed and safe.

“Faresoenn, kill Nasition,” he orders calmly, “Take him out of his misery. If you still do not want to harm your fellow brother, at least knock him out, breaking his spirit.” Stasibel turns his head away. Nasition was partially right, after all.

He had seen Norai’s body, her lifeless mouth still open in shock. Faresoenn himself had taken great care to clean her body, wiping away the traces of blood. Yet as Stasibel looks at the dark hole in her head, he finds himself vomiting in disgust. It should've been me.

He takes another look at Nasition, his dear friend spiraling into madness from guilt and pain. He had taken Nasition in all those years ago, building him up from a shy child to a more confident man. Not once did Nasition disobey his commands. Not once did Nasition question his authority. Yet now he is raising the axe himself, killing his most loyal friend, his true brother. I’m sorry, Nasi.

He turns away for the last time as Faresoenn unsheathes his sword, meeting the head of Nasition.

998 AA

“Have you heard?” a soldier gossips to his comrade, “Nasition managed to regain control of yet another unruly province!”

“How?” the other soldier asks, “It’s already his third successful attempt this year to somehow persuade the provinces to remain loyal to the Empire!”

“He just seems to know exactly what the provinces want! It's like he’s read the mind of the dissidents!”

“And he’s just a personal guard of King Stasibel too…”

“Shush! He’s coming!”

Nasition walks slowly past the soldiers, giving a polite nod as he encounters them. Behind, a shorter, younger girl follows, her immaculate clothes contrasting with her dirty skin.

“Come on, Tevlaia,” he calls, “We’re almost there. I’ll treat you to a good meal after we have a little talk with the King.”

The soldiers look in awe. “He’s taken in another child from the victims of war,” a soldier states, “That’s another one saved from the tragedy of our border provinces.”

“I heard he takes care of them with his own salary too,” another adds, “I know the guards’ salaries are handsome, but to take care of so many… He’s absolutely selfless.”

Nasition ignores the soldiers, leading a nervous Tevlaia to a simple pavilion where Stasibel sits, overlooking the gardens below. “Now, now, don’t be so nervous,” he reassures, “It’ll just be a quick talk.”

It has been five years since that tragedy, one that Stasibel deliberately erased off the records of history. Norai’s grave, per Ipela’s request, is in a patch of woods, where her ashes are scattered in the ground, feeding the growth of new life. By some miracle, Faresoenn had managed to knock out Nasition, saving their lives in the process. Nasition seemed to have forgotten about the dangerous “magic” that he once held, at least from what he revealed, to the relief of Stasibel and Faresoenn. Everything seemed to return to normal. Nasition returned to his loyal self, preserving the Empire internally with his newfound charisma. Faresoenn, meanwhile, continued to fight bravely abroad, although he stayed inside the Paladeia more often now. Stasibel destroyed all public records of Norai, her remaining presence only a lingering thought in their memories. It was as if it was all a dream, that Norai had never existed in the first place.

“Ah, Nasition,” Stasibel waves, “You decided to adopt another orphaned child?”

“I found her sitting atop a pile of rubble while the soldiers were cleaning up after the battle,” Nasition explains, “I hope you don’t mind me training another child to eventually become a guard.”

“What is your name?” Stasibel asks, looking at Tevlaia’s eyes.

“T-Tevlaia,” she stutters shyly.

“And how old are you?”

“Twelve years of age.”

“She reminds me of you, Nasition,” Stasibel smiles, “So shy and quiet when we first met.”

“I take that as a yes?” Nasition asks.

“Certainly,” Stasibel answers, “Please do tell me if you need a raise, though. I’m sure the others won’t mind as they know your situation.”

“I will,” Nasition says, “Anyways, I’ll be taking Tevlaia to her new home now.”

“I’m looking forward to the fine guards that you raise, Nasition,” Stasibel calls out as Nasition begins heading out.

Eventually, the two move out of sight, strolling in one of the many roads in the Paladeia. Nasition looks at Tevlaia, her fingers twitching every now and then. He still remembers the moment when he found her, her little body sitting atop the rubble… her hands holding a knife still lodged in a man. The man, he later realized, was the leader of a small rebelling faction, and Tevlaia the man’s niece. When he had reached out and rescued her, he could hear the faint words, “It is all for the greater good.”

“Why did you take me in?” Tevlaia questions, “I am a weak little girl.”

“You are here to fight for the ‘greater good’, Tevlaia,” Nasition replies, “I will make you strong, that you will find a purpose in your life. After all, as Stasibel said, you remind me of myself when I was young.”

“So you heard what I said,” Tevlaia mutters.

“Is it alright if I call you Tevi?” Nasition asks, changing the topic.

“I don’t mind,” Tevlaia answers.

“Then I shall call you Tevi whenever I like.”

Nasition walks on in silence. He had never realized Faresoenn to be that powerful, able to defeat him with pure force alone. He still itches for that moment of release back then, when he felt the smoke rising from his body, cloaking him like a fog. But he mustn't use that “magic” hastily, especially in his precarious situation now.

He looks at Tevlaia, a reflection of the future in his eyes. Along with other children, he shall raise them as his own, as his own soldiers, loyal only to him just as he was loyal only to Stasibel. By painting a picture of wisdom and selflessness, he will capture the hearts of the citizens. Eventually, one day, he will finally amass enough strength to dismantle this corrupt Achien Empire, and from the debris, build a new society ruled only by the people.

He clutches his locket, dangling from a chain hidden within his clothes. He has not forgotten that day. That day when he realized the heartlessness of the King. That day when he lost Norai. That day when he, in his madness, finally discovered the truth behind the one single constant in the world: death.

Just as death comes suddenly to a person, so too will it descend upon the fallen Empire.