Their voices come from beyond creation. The simple sound of it threatens to rend the soul from the flesh. I believe this is why not all speak with us. We are so fragile, and they so mighty, that we might be slain with a single word.

--A report from Highlord Oswald to the Church, 15th of Harrowing, 452

ARC 4 - RADIANT

CHAPTER 4 - FATE'S PATH

The air had been warming through the morning, yet the tiny droplets of frigid water still stung - initially. After an hour or more Raegn had gone numb to its attempts at eroding his skin. He sat atop his rocky pedestal near the base of the waterfall, his mind empty but his soul full. The Light warmed him - sustained him - when the less fortunate would have been a shivering heap.

A sharp whistle from the shoreline broke him of his peace and called him from the perch. Raegn stood, allowing the still waters of his mind to become like the rushing river around him. He vaulted off the flat rock and bounded on platforms of shimmering gold that appeared the moment his feet would have otherwise fallen into the water.

“Come,” Cenric said as he landed on the grassy shore, “we have something to do before your last lesson with the Templar.”

Raegn nodded and moved to where he’d stashed his clothes, still holding the Light lest he betray his body and succumb to the cold. He pulled on his boots and shirt silently while Cenric waited nearby. He wasn’t good at judging time when his mind was still, but judging by the position of the sun they might make it back in time for dinner. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to miss a meal. Again.

Their return into Elysium and onto the Citadel’s island was without fanfare, just as it had been every other day the past two seasons. The distance traveled had become so common that Raegn no longer felt like he was exerting himself to cover it and without the distraction of fatigue he was acutely aware of the fact that they were not walking towards their usual locations. They’d diverted from the main path that went to the Great Hall, so dinner wasn’t what Cenric intended. Raegn silently cursed his misfortune, but pushed the thought aside. There were always leftovers.

He also noted that they weren’t headed to any of the usual training grounds. Odd, Raegn thought as they shadowed the southern wall of the Citadel’s limits. They wouldn’t be doing any additional training, then, before he would be in front of the Templar for the final time. A bit of a blessing, perhaps. He’d grown used to instructing while exhausted, but being fresh did make things markedly easier.

A circular building with a partially open dome at its top grew out of the tops of trees the further they walked. There would be a single tree inside the rotunda as well, this Raegn remembered, though it was of a different kind than the ones he currently walked under. He’d only been in the Hall of the Fallen the once, when he’d joined his friends at the ceremony for the fallen Justicar. It was a place of solemn dignity and woefully unrelated to their training, yet when the hard stones of their path turned into the gravel the High Justicar paused.

“I’m told you led the First Vanguard for a time,” Cenric said. “Am I wrong to assume you’re familiar with burial tradition?”

Raegn gave a light shake of his head. In the small skirmishes of the Bastion’s valley, it wasn’t uncommon for a warrior to take an unlucky wound. Sentinels fell more rarely, but the Scarred Lands were unpredictable and unforgiving. In his years as part of the vanguard, Raegn had seen his fair share of death. Been part of the ceremonies afterward, too.

“Bulwark has likely held their own observance for all those that died in Bastion, but I received permission for your father to be remembered here,” Cenric informed him.

Raegn stared ahead, through the open archways of the circular building and at the white tree at its center.

“I suppose he’s as buried as anyone could ever hope to be.”

Raegn didn’t smile, though perhaps someone of dark humor might have found it to be a joke. Cenric understood it for what it was, no more than an idle comment from someone anxious to face what came next. The High Justicar laid a massive paw of a hand on Raegn’s shoulder.

“Your father is dead, Raegn. By your hand, yes, but it was a necessity and a mercy. You must come to accept this as fact.”

Raegn took a deep breath and nodded. Before he could take the first step forward, Cenric pressed down against his shoulder and held him in place. The High Justicar slipped something from his belt and pressed it into Raegn’s hand, then released him.

With small stones crunching underfoot, Raegn recalled how Tera had taken his arm and whispered to him when they’d come previously. The Hall of the Fallen was different for every person that entered, she’d said. Some saw it as a place to seek strength and wisdom from those who had come before, while others viewed it as a place for quiet prayer.

Standing inside the open-air room, alone, Raegn wondered what he was supposed to feel. The walls were covered in writing, each segment a name and some small words to remember them by. The first to ever be recorded were at the bottom, a representation of the foundation they laid that the Order, and the Realm, were built upon.

He began to walk along the wall, skimming the etchings as he went. Thousands of names encircled the room, though Raegn found the newest addition in his first pass rather easily. The name he stopped in front of was neatly carved into the stone at shoulder height.

Aerich Edelgard

Lord of Bastion

Guardian of the Realm

For reasons he couldn’t explain, simple words brought a weight to Raegn’s heart. He’d accepted that his father was gone years ago, when whatever corruption in him had stolen his vigor and left him a husk of his former self. This felt like digging up old wounds and bearing them for the world to see. Yet…Raegn studied the inscription again. Guardian of the Realm. At the end, his father had been willing to sacrifice everything to bar the darkness from entering their world. There was nothing more noble in intent.

A hero deserves to be remembered, he told himself. Then, with a lick of his lips, croaked out the words so that creation might hear them.

“We bury the body, returning it to the land that afforded it life. We pray the soul be ferried to the Heavens, where it might live eternal amidst the Light. We offer some of ourselves as token of our prayers.”

He rolled up his sleeve and drew the small blade across the top of his arm where it met the shoulder, directly across the symbol of Bastion inked into his skin. A shallow cut, one that would heal in a few days, but enough to draw blood. He coated his hand with it, then pressed it against the face of the stone.

“Your purpose in this world is complete, father,” he whispered. “May you journey well. Watch over us from the Heavens.”

The words spoken, a personal prayer said, and he found he couldn’t move his hand from the stone. A few tears managed to escape before he could swallow them like the others, though each that made it to the ground carried away pain and left relief in their wake. His exhale was shaky, but when he pulled his hand free from the wall and left the red print behind, all was right. It had been a selfless sacrifice. An end to an unseen fight and a heroic death.

Leaving immediately felt disrespectful, though standing before the wall felt foolish as well. He back away and found a seat on the small stone wall that encircled the well-kept grass around the Evertree at the Hall’s center to wait just a while longer. Cenric entered, but rather than approach him, the High Justicar went to the wall where Raegn had just been and rolled up his sleeve. Raegn leaned to the side and his eyes widened. How had he missed the name right next to his father’s?

Cenric spoke too softly for Raegn to hear, though he saw the High Justicar draw the knife across his arm as Raegn had and leave his own print on the stone. He didn’t linger and he shed no tears, not that Raegn could see at least, then took a seat on the wall as well. They sat for a time, enjoying the peace beneath the branches of the Evertree as though they might share the moment with the two no longer walking the living Realm.

Such a tree was an exceedingly rare occurrence in the world and legend told that Oswald was buried beneath this one, though the account was near impossible to prove. Each of the trees seemed to have its own legend and a name to go with it, but an Evertree was noticeably characterized by its white color, both its bark and the flesh beneath, so most referred to them simply as the White Tree. Regardless of the name, they lost their leaves in the winter seasons the same as any other and Raegn took to watching the first few stars appear through its branches as the sun faded.

“What was he like?” Cenric asked.

Raegn glanced towards the large man without taking his head away from the sky. It wasn’t sorrow that filled Cenric’s voice, though traces were noticeable. Regret was the majority of it, the curious woe of someone who had forgotten their own family.

“Stoic, mostly,” Raegn replied. “The past few years he was more of a father to me than my own. He was a good man.”

“He died well?”

Raegn allowed himself a faint grin. “He was the first man to close a Void portal in our time. Everyone who survived Bastion lives because of him,” he said.

He remembered the last words Ulrich had said, about having much to discuss after the battle, and felt a pang of frustration at being denied that wisdom. Ulrich’s last moments, however, had still managed to reach him as they had every farling in that accursed battle.

“The Horn never sounded so well,” he added. “So pure.”

Cenric ran a hand over the strip of hair down the middle of his head until it found the end of the short braid. The High Justicar had been nothing if not pensive during their time together, but this was different, more solemn. It was a bit relieving to see that the man wasn’t entirely emotionless.

“Do you believe it?” Raegn asked, guiding the subject away from the circumstances of death. “That the stars are the souls of the dead, looking down on us?”

“Sailors use the stars as aides for navigation,” Cenric answered, “the scholars for measuring our seasons, a peasant as a focal point for prayer. In every case, the stars are a benefit to mankind. A constant, no matter our world’s affairs. The only two things I know to be eternal in the same way are the Light and Void.”

While Raegn looked upward at the stars and tried to imagine which might be his father, Cenric gazed ahead at the names filling the walls.

“You need rest,” the High Justicar remarked and rose from his seat. “Two days until the Trial. I don’t recommend laying around in bed, but I’d advise you not to work yourself, either. The next two seasons might determine the rest of your life, Raegn. Perhaps when I next see you it will be at the Trial’s end.”

Raegn rolled his eyes. “Not the inspiring type, are you?”

That brought Cenric pause. The large man halted his exit of the rotunda and half-turned to look back.

“Was Ulrich?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” Raegn shrugged.

The High Justicar studied him for a moment, each absent blink passing the time like hours. Raegn leaned forward, anticipating the words to come.

“I am not my brother,” Cenric said flatly. “Come on, it’s time for you to inspire the Templar.”

As best as he could figure, it had been an attempt at a joke, though the High Justicar’s sense of humor had been unused and buried so deep it fell a bit flat. Still, he could indulge the effort, if there was one.

“Har har,” he huffed and rose to follow the High Justicar out.

Raegn’s final time instructing had gone well. Perhaps a bit heavy-handed, but no one had gotten hurt and they’d probably interpreted his attacks as enthusiasm or vigor. With his final lesson given there was nothing left but to wait for the start of the Trial, yet rest eluded him. Rather than lay in bed, he sat in one of the open courtyards deep within the Citadel, surrounded by curving gravel paths and knee-high walls of white brick that held swaths of colorful fauna from across the Realm.

The garden was peaceful. A waste of space, too, if he considered that it took away an area that could be used for training, storage, or some other war-making function. Having such a place was little more than a demonstration of an organization’s wealth and power. Even on the limited land that the island offered, the Order had found, or created, room for things so delicate as flowers.

A few insects chirped and buzzed, hidden amongst the branches of trees or taking shelter beneath the petals and leaves of flowers and bushes. One sounded remarkably close to the bench upon which Raegn sat, apparently unaware that it should be silent when a threat was near. The little bastard made it hard to concentrate and a small chuckle escaped Raegn’s throat. He’d meditated on a rock, freezing and worn down by a waterfall, and now some tiny bug kept him from his thoughts, facing him down like a child might a bear.

With no small effort, he let the single critter’s chirps join the chorus and felt his mind float away. He released the worry he held about hurting the Templar he was meant to train. The shockwaves he’d thrown at their formation had been strong enough to send splinters flying from their shields, but they’d held. Every attack that peeled paint from the wood also tore away at the failure of the past.

No longer would he carry the thought - the burden - of believing he was the catalyst for the end of his home. Nor would he believe the Void would find victory across the world. Bastion’s fall would not mark the beginning of the end. New warriors were rising. He’d taught some of them. Shown them. A shield protected not only the single warrior, but the one beside them. It could protect a home and those worthy of love. Used correctly, those same shields could protect the entire Realm.

A deep breath filled with fragrant air filled Raegn’s lungs and the exhale carried away the last of his doubts. The Order was his future and he would serve well. All that was left to do was become a Justicar and fulfill Camael’s charge. It seemed so long ago that Merced’s mocking of the Justicar had set Raegn’s mind on the path, but the grim Inquisitor had been right - there was no position of a better fit.

Hurried footsteps broke the peace of his mind. He tried to ignore them, but the sound of kicked up gravel only grew in his ears as they approached. Whoever it was, they were running. He opened his eyes at about the moment the person should have crossed in front of him and his sight was filled with white. An intricate shirt with golden thread and a low neckline, fitted to all the wonders of the female form yet surrounded by the embrace of a black cloak, was mere inches from his face - and still moving.

The girl crashed into him, carrying him over the bench and tumbling through the bushes behind. Raegn let out a weak groan as he lay on his back, but when his vision came into focus he found himself face-to-face with eyes that burned blue-green like copper.

The Angel.

“What—”

She clasped a hand over his mouth and brought a finger over her lips to shush him. The tips of blonde hair tickled his face and neck as it draped down and he could feel the way her body pressed against his as she lay atop him. It was a…compromising situation, yet he had nowhere to retreat unless the ground itself would allow him the escape.

Then, as if in a specific effort to make things worse, she leaned in closer. Her chest pressed against him and she brought her head next to his. Blood soared into Raegn’s cheeks as he felt the faint movement of her lips brush against his ear.

“Fate brings us together again, Waker,” she whispered, letting the warmth of her breath linger. “I wonder what end it would bring us. What we might see? What might we…become?”

The last word reached deep into him like love’s bite and Raegn yearned for her to continue. It didn’t feel like she was asking after the unknown; it felt like she already had some inkling of the truth. The words so sweet, so enticing, with their allure of a destiny told. What future would an Angel see for him? Light, he wanted to know.

A voice called out from the bowels of the Citadel and was immediately followed by half a dozen booted footfalls. The Angel sat upright and her face became the statuesque portrait of when they’d first met.

“Never more than a moment alone,” she mumbled and started to pick herself up from atop him.

“Wait—”

She cut him off with another hand over his mouth and a sly smile.

“I’ll find you again, Waker.”

He was left sprawled out on his back, hidden behind the bushes from the Templar that came to retrieve the Angel. He heard them start to scold her, then sheepishly change course into asking her to stay with them rather than run off. The footsteps faded in the opposite direction they’d come, although much more slowly than they’d arrived.

Raegn cursed himself for not forcing out a question - for not delaying her departure. How in Heaven’s name was he supposed to focus during the Trial now? And if those thoughts weren’t enough, the feeling of her had been different, too. There had been a grace to her, even though she’d crashed into him. And Light above she was warm despite wearing nothing but a cloak to shield her from the cold.

Raegn felt the moisture from the grass start to settle into his clothes and his skin tightened as he shivered.

“Well…fuck,” he chuckled to himself and hauled himself out of the grass. Rest wasn’t going to come easy even if he was in his own bed, but there was no sense in being miserable in the chill of the night.