Hours had passed since the Archon had left his procession behind and wandered into the jungle. The sun had risen into the sky and with it the temperature. It beat down on the Archon through cracks in the foliage and mist, making him sweat and slowing his pace. His fine ornate robes of jade and gold clung to his skin and he frequently had to stop and take a drink of water from the lacquer-ware jug just he kept tied to his belt. He lamented his poor choice of attire, but it was too late to change anything now. He had wanted to show her how high he had risen in the world, but no amount of pride was worth how sticky he felt.

Pushing his way through the dense bamboo and pine The Archon took care to avoid the poison fern, slowly but steadily making his way forward through the living rain forests of his homeland. Tieran was a country of green angles and buried history. Beneath his feet rested ruins of steel and stone, though little of it remained visible through the overgrowth. Occasionally he would pass by an exposed plane of metal, or remnants of statues who’s semblance had been lost to time. All around him he could hear the songs of the many birds that called this wilderness home, accompanied by the buzzing cries of the cicadas.

Through the canopy overhead he would occasionally catch glimpses of his destination, a tall cylindrical mountain pointed forty five degrees towards the day moon. These mountains, narrow and, in some cases, tall enough to touch low hanging clouds, were plentiful in Tieran. They rose from the earth like arms reaching out to embrace the sky.

Even after all these years, the Archon still found Tieran to be beautiful, if a little too warm for him taste, at least at ground level.

It took him most of the morning to reach the base of the mountain. Fortunately, he hadn’t encountered any predators along the way. Pushing aside a brush of bush, he saw it. He was at the top of a steep and flat hill, and at the base of the mountain were the steps that would take him home.

How long had it been since he was last here? Was it almost eighty years now, ninety even? It was hard to believe how quickly the time had flown by. Generations had passed since he had started feeling the seasons in his bones. He had lived longer than he had once thought possible, and had done a lot in his time.

“I wonder if she would even recognize me,” he grumbled, scratching at his cheek.

He was smaller now, somewhat shrunken in on himself when compared with his youth, but he didn’t look too bad for his age. He was still muscular and broad, if a little rounder at the waist. His hair and beard, once thick and dark, was not entirely gray yet. The top of his head still had some color left. He looked like someone in his middle to late sixties as opposed to being over a century old. Maybe that would be enough.

Stepping off the ledge of the hill, the Archon began to slide down, his boots kicking up loose chips of dusty red stone as he moved. The wind passing over his skin felt nice, but the sensation was brief. Arriving at the bottom, the Archon leapt unto flat earth, barely managing to keep himself from toppling over.

“Wow, wow, steady now.”

Only a few strides away were those familiar steps.

Worn with time and neglect, taken over by root and flower, they were to his eyes much as they had always been. Carved from the mountain itself, the Archon followed the steps with his eyes as they wound their way towards the peak, weaving from side to side between the trees. They probably hadn’t felt the weight of a human foot since he had descended them an age ago.

The Archon sighed and untied the jug from his waist, taking a long drink. He still had most of his water remaining, and he would need it.

The prospect of the climb did not excite him. Sure, he didn’t look or feel ancient, but that didn’t mean he felt young either.

“The man who killed a god, frightened by some stairs,” he chided himself, his voice full of gravel. “Stop making excuses, Gen. You’re the Archon! The Archon for Diadem’s sake. Come on big guy, you can do this.” Giving his cheeks a few quick slaps, he straighted his back and regarded the path. “You can do this.”

The first dozen steps were the most difficult, but once he started climbing his feelings of nostalgia drove him onward. As he climbed he gradually began to leave the humid fog of the jungle floor below. The breeze was welcome and cool, and served to remind him why his people lived on top of the mountains instead of at the bottom of them. Every once in a while he would stop and peer down at the dense green forest stretching far off into the distance. Flocks of colorful birds would fly by, probably wondering who this stranger in their midst was. It was comforting how after so many years his feet seemed to remember the grooves and curves of the steps.

As the sun ascended higher and higher, so did the Archon. It took him the better part of the afternoon to reach what had once been his village. There was no sign to mark the entrance, only a crop a trees and a feeling of the familiar. Closing his eyes, the Archon took a deep breath in through his nose and let the scents of his past overtake him. He imagined the smell of roasting meat and lilies, and for a brief moment it was like traveling back in time.

“I’m home,” he whispered, opening his eyes.

He was standing on the last step, on the precipice of the single dirt path that was the marker of what had been. Resolving himself, the Archon walked forward and through the trees. To either side of him what remained of the village came into view. Rotting and collapsed wooden homes, mostly made of bamboo and of the single room variety lined either side of the path. No roofs remained to keep out the weather, and the moss and grass had long since reclaimed the land. Flowers bloomed in proliferation in the nooks and crannies, and the Archon wondered how many of them she had planted once upon a time. An eerie calm lay over the ruins, and the only sound present was the low howl of the wind passing by. Bits of bone and armor could be seen jutting up amongst the grass, along with the occasional fallen spear or dropped hunting tool.

Taking each step with deliberate slowness, vague memories of the names and faces of the people who had once lived here flitted through his mind. One of the houses he passed had belonged to the village smith, and another had been home to a girl a few years his junior. That girl had married the smith, and they had lived happily for a short time. One of the homes he passed, little more than two walls and some beams now, was the house he had been born in. He could barely recall his mother’s smiling face, and his father’s constant frown. It hurt him to see it like this, but he had known it would.

“You knew. That’s why it took you so long.”

The village consisted of about twenty homes in all, and all of them were directly adjacent the path. It was a shame that his village was so small. He had no excuse to take his time. His trip down memory lane had been a brief one. Only a few short strides away from the edge of the plateau and the sheer drop to the jungle below, was an old dying pine, and a stone at waist height.

The Archon stopped before the stone, and examined it. It was surprisingly clean and free of growth. Almost as if someone had come to tend to it. Clasping his hands together, the Archon spoke.

“Hello my loves,” he said. “I’m home.”

The stone was all that marked where he had buried them. To anyone else it was just a rock. Behind the stone the land stretched out as far as he could see towards every horizon.

To the east was the expanse of crimson woodland known as the Ruby Way, through which ran the old pilgrims road. A forest composed entirely of colossal trees with crimson leaves, the Ruby way marked the border between Ryedyn and the rest of Diadem.

To the west lay Tieran with it’s many mountains, mist and fog swirling between them like flowing water. Some people called it the Sea of Spears, while others called it the Grasping mountains. Once, in this very place, his wife had told him a story about how Diadem, the god for which the continent was named, had raised the mountains in order to reach the moon. It was just a folktale, probably, a result of how the mountains seemed to angle towards it. Yet, she had loved the view from this spot, as well as that story. That was why the Archon had chosen to bury her there. She had always told him that it was like standing between worlds.

The Archon looked down at the stone, at the grave. On it’s face were two clumsily etched lines, still clearly visible in the stone surface. At the time, he hadn’t known what to carve, and hadn’t known how to read or write, let alone etch properly. He had walked away from this grave and set himself on a quest for revenge. He had achieved it, and must more, but it hadn’t been an a fair trade. Nothing could have been worth her, worth them.

“Gods,” he groaned. “I was so young then.” Lowering himself before the stone, the Archon Sat down and crossed his legs. He regarded it for a moment, even though he already knew what he was going to do. Reaching into his pocket he took out a small chisel and pin hammer and set to work. As he worked, he began to talk.

“I’m sorry I let so much time pass,” he began. “As soon as the war ended there was so much to do. I wanted to rebuild a nation, but you were always in my thoughts. Then time just started…” He said, the contrition twisting his mouth. Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to be entirely honest. “Slipping away from me…”

The Archon told her his story while he worked. He told her of everything he had seen and done since leaving, of the friends he had made and the friends he had lost. He talked about the war, and of governance, and how he had never truly been able to find happiness again. Despite his best efforts, a gentle sob would occasionally creep it’s way up. It wasn’t a pleasant story to tell, but as the Archon told it he felt a sense of guilt, but also relief. It was little like setting a bone. It hurt, bad, but he knew he would be better for it.

By the time he had finished, the sun had begun to set, and the day moon began it’s transition to the night moon, turning from white to violet.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he examined his handiwork.

It was a simple carving, granted, but it would do. It was of a woman holding a baby, with her husbands arms wrapped around her shoulders from behind. Next to the carving were two names, Lily, and Tyhr. Though he hadn’t had the chance to name his son, he thought he might have chosen Tyhr. It was a good name, a proud name.

Then he began to cry in earnest. What started as a few tears quickly escalated into weeping. The sobs now wracked his chest, deep enough to sting.

"I’m sorry," he wailed as he pounded his fists into the dirt. “I didn’t want to come here to tell you my stupid story! I wanted to tell you how much I miss you and how much it still hurts! I wanted to tell you that you’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, inside and out, and that I wish it were me buried here instead of you.” Again and again he hammered his fists down, pounding them until they bled. “I needed you, I still need you. They say I’m strong but I’m weak! I’m just a man, and you were the only thing that made me anything more then that!” he screamed. “I miss you both so much…”

The Archon wasn’t sure how long he cried and beat his fists into the earth, but eventually calm began to return to him. An overwhelming sense of tiredness and exhaustion hit him all at once. There, in front of his wife and child’s grave, the Archon curled up into a ball and fell asleep.

***

“Gen?” said his Lily, the gentle touch of her hand resting on his cheek. She had the softest hands. She looked at him with her golden flecked brown eyes and smiled, taking his breath away. He couldn’t help but smile back. She was just like he remembered, with her scattering of freckles that always stood out in the summer, her almond colored curls with that single streak of silver in her bangs, and her wry, full lips. The Archon’s heart fluttered in his chest, awakening dormant feelings he had thought dead. “Why are you crying, Gen?”

“I missed you so much,” The Archon replied. “I missed you so much that every day without you was pain. Gods you’re beautiful.”

His Lily blushed and turned to the side. He reached out to her, running his fingers over her cheek and through her hair.

“I’m here now, Gen,” she said as she traced her nails over the skin of his arm. “I’m here now, but not for long.”

“Why me? Why was I lucky enough to receive your love?”

“Idiot.” She gave his hand a playful slap. “You earned it. Wooing was one of your few talents, as we both learned.”

“I suppose we did,” he looked away. “But I failed you. I failed to protect you, our son, and this village. I…”

“Shhh,” she cut him off. "Some things never change, no matter how many years go by. You are as still as hard on yourself as ever… You’ll find any excuse to shoulder all the blame, so stop that. You should be happy to see me, not moping about what can’t be undone.”

The Archon regarded her. There was no scorn in her words. She had always been like that, direct and to the point. It was one of the things he had loved about her. It was this quality in her that had allowed him to grow as a person. Even after she had passed, her words had kept him going, kept him moving forward.

Reaching out, she cupped the sides of the Archons face and pulled him in. She hugged him to her breast as if he were a child, and it was pure bliss.

Once upon a time a young hunter had fallen in love with a stranger that he had stumbled across in the woods, and together they had made a family. The Archon had been happy then. He had been happy, and ignorant. He had not known of the encroaching threat, or of what was unfolding on the world stage. The idea that tragedy might strike had never crossed his mind. In their final moments together, as she lay dying in his arms, she had asked something of him. She had made him promise. This was why he had come after so many years, but he was afraid to bring it up. He was afraid that when he did he would no longer be able to smell her or feel the warmth of her touch, that she would stop holding him and he would never see her again.

He was afraid, but he was also just Gen. A man who would have tried to move mountains for his wife. He knew somewhere deep down that she wanted to him to ask. It was why she was here, after all.

Placing his hands over hers, he removed himself from her bosom and took a step back. He wanted to look her in the eyes. Her eyes were his truth.

“Lily, my love, have I kept my promise?”

The Archon swallowed a lump in his throat.

Now she would stop running her fingers through his hair, holding him, comforting him. All of the things he had spent years longing for would disappear, beyond the reach of his power, and his will. He didn’t want to lose her a second time, but that was impossible. She was already dead, and this was just a dream he had conjured.

She stared back at him for a long moment, not speaking. She was about to say something unpleasant. The only time she ever paused in conversation was when she was about to say something he wouldn’t like.

"Not yet, my love."

And there it was, the thing he had not wanted to hear.

“I see.”

“You already knew the answer, Gen, so why do you seem so disappointed?”

“Because I’m old, and because I’m tired. I’ve lived a very long time, Lily. Maybe too long. I miss you, and I miss our son. I want to rest now. I want to see you in whatever comes next."

“What if nothing cames next?”

“Then I just want to rest.”

“Such a cranky old man you’ve become.”

“Emphasis on the old.”

They shared a short laugh.

It was true, he had long since outlived his generation. The idea of dying at this point seemed almost inviting. Almost everyone he had fought alongside had passed on, save for one, perhaps, but he didn’t know where she had gone to anyway. It should have been his time.

"Don’t dwell on what you can’t change, my love. It’s towards the future that you should be looking. Let the past, and me, go. You have done a lot for the people of Diadem, and especially Tieran, but there are still actions to take. When the end comes for you, if something does come after, I’ll be waiting."

The Archon smiled, and a little hope bloomed in him. Dead or alive, there was nothing that he couldn’t do for his Lily. He steadied himself like he had been taught, drawing in his breath and finding his center.

"What must I do, my Lily? Tell me and I will see it done."

"I have no doubt that you will. You’ve always been strong, even though you’ve always been too dense to see that. You will know what to do when the time comes. You’ll know what’s right without even thinking about it. You’re careless, brash, and impulsive, but you’re also kind, just, and stubborn. You’ll help those in need, whether they want you to or not. That’s what I love about you." His Lily reached out for him one last time, pulling him in close and kissing him gently. She still tasted like raspberries. "Have faith in yourself, Gen. You are a good man. We will meet again, maybe." From somewhere off in the distance, an unfamiliar voice called.

A child’s voice…

“Mother!”

The Archon’s heart leapt into his throat as a tear rolled gently down his cheek.

“Is that?” he asked, unable to help himself. His Lily smiled that smile that he loved and then turned her back to him.

“Goodbye, Gen,” she said, vanishing into the nothing from wist she had come.

“Goodbye,” said the Archon, staring into the void.

She was gone, and he would never see her again. Even now, there was still so much he didn’t know about her, or what she wanted. Maybe he still had time to learn.

As the Archon of Tieran he had accomplished many great things and led his people into an era of peace. He had kept war at bay, along with famine and disease. He had ushered in advancements in both technology and spirituality, and was proud that he would leave behind a legacy worth of the promise he had made. Yet, he would unwind it all in a second for one more day with her.

“Goodbye, my love,” he repeated. “Tell our son I say hi. I never even got to meet him…”

***

His eyes opened to the night moon, casting its ephemeral purple light over the mountaintop. The Archon took a moment to stare up at it for a long moment. He did not want to move. He imagined that Lily was still there, laying next to him, seeing the same sky, the same moon overhead. He imagined the two of them lying there and looking at the stars, like they had when they had been lovers.

He had buried her facing up, after all.

The Archon shivered.

The temperature had dropped considerably while he had been asleep, and a chill was blowing. Turning his head, he looked at the grave of his wife and child, and then at his bruised and bloody knuckles.

“Blood will is supposed to be a gift, but mine feels more like a curse,” he grumbled. “Still, I got one final kiss, so we’ll call it even.”

Rising to his knees, The Archon brushed himself off, he took one last scan over the horizon, over his Lily’s favorite view.

“I never want to see this view again,” he thought. The Archon squinted.

Far off, in the depths of the Ruby Way, a thick white plume of smoke was rising. At first the Archon thought he might be seeing things, perhaps his vision was still muddled from sleep, but his instincts told him otherwise. Channeling his blood will, he focused it’s power into his eyes. His vision grew clearer as he tried to locate the source of the smoke.

From this distance, it was impossible to see it’s source. He blinked, and the sight of a large obelisk flashed into sight and was gone. Yet, the smoke remained. It was highly unusual seeing as the forest wasn’t home to anyone so far as he knew. Was it Ryedyn? Were they up to something in the forest?

Rising to his feet with a grunt the Archon gave his robes a brisk shake and pat down. He wasn’t keen to enter the Ruby Way, but it was hard to resist the call of the unknown.

“Well, no rest for this old man I suppose. I just can’t catch a break…”

The voice of his Lily played once more through his mind.

“Not yet, my love.”

This many years later and he still had no idea what she had wanted from him. She had left his life as quickly as she had entered it, but even still… She was his everything, and he would not let her down.

“You know me too well, my love, but you could have at least given me a moment of rest first…” he mumbled, And with that, he turned his back on the grave, and made his way down the mountain for the last time. The Archon did not bother to say goodbye to his wife and son. Instead he chose to believe he would see them again someday. Lily had always been his driving force, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.