Chapter 164

We Who Fought the Thunder

There was a flash of light--accompanied by a burst of pain lodged deep inside Sylas' psyche. It hurt--it hurt even him, so much so that he had to bite his tongue so as to not cry out in pain. Though it hurt, it was very brief--less than a second. Alongside the pain, the white, blinding light was gone too--and Sylas found himself riding a horse through a long stretch of dusty, dry road surrounded by dead, yellow grass.

He wasn’t alone--riding alongside him were hundreds of others, all donning the same, boring attire of brown and ugly gray, covered from head to toe, rushing. There was silence among them, though the sounds of the hooves caused a rhythmic song of sorts to play alongside the sweeping winds.

The mood seemed heavy and dry, as though the weight of the heavens were pressing on the small band. Ever so often, one or two or three would glance back at the dust storm their horses had kicked up, as though wanting to see beyond it, toward whatever they were either running from or whoever was chasing them.

Sylas... didn’t have control over anything. It was like a movie being played out in first person--he was merely a passenger in a long-distant memory, it seemed, bereft of agency. It didn’t matter--he was far more curious what the Shadow’s ‘most important memory’ was rather than being in control over a random one.

The group rode without a break, without a pause, for what seemed like hours. Just as the night began to set and the moon began to swap its place with the sun, they reached a small patch of woods to their right and stopped, tying the horses to the trunks of the trees and starting a few small campfires.

Several groups emerged around them, slowly nibbling away at their rations in dead silence. Most had their heads hung low, staring at the flames, while the few heaved them upward, looking up at the starlit sky with a melancholic gaze.

Were their chests not moving slightly, it wouldn't be a mistake to take them all for corpses. Even Sylas wondered what weighed on them so heavily that the atmosphere was so sullen. Only one thing came to mind, and it came to mind quickly: a suicide mission. These men knew they were riding into death, and they were all making their peace with it... in whatever way they could.

The truth was, Sylas had come to realize, that there was no such thing as ‘fearless of death’. All men feared dying... so long as it was permanent. He’d lost that fear a long time ago, but he could still remember the sensation--his first death in this world, so gnarly, so painful, so awful. It was natural, fearing death.

Then again, for all he knew, he could be wrong. Perhaps, these were all mutes who didn’t know how to socialize.

“How far off?” a voice asked, breaking the silence for the first time in hours.

“Eight miles,” another voice replied.

“We ride at dawn,” the first voice said. “Mumble your last wishes tonight. Tomorrow, I need you hollow-minded.”

“You’re too worried,” Sylas spoke--no, the Shadow spoke. “The Gods will listen. We are their sons.”

“... have some shut-eye,” the first voice said after glancing at the Shadow. “We ride at dawn.”

The dawn came, and the atmosphere hardly changed. It was still heavy and sullen, and in such the riders rode off, moving back onto the road. Eight miles on the horseback didn’t take particularly long, even if they didn’t gallop but rather canter. Some half an hour later, a beyond beautiful sight shocked even Sylas within--stairs strapped with massive chains that anchored the entrance to the ground heaved upward into the sky, leading to a domed temple that was hovering, made wholly of white marble. Everything appeared supermassive beyond reason, making their band seem incomparably small while standing in front of the grandeur.

He gulped, the Shadow, in awe and terror, his body shuddering in a zealous want. There was something ethereally inviting, beckoning, within the marble halls of the temple that stood above the world, looking down upon it.

“Who goes there?” a booming voice caused all horses to temporarily lash out, kicking off a few riders.

“Sixth Legion of Abbamandae’s Flag, Dear Lordship,” a man stepped out and jumped off the horse, kneeling toward the temple above and at seemingly nothing. “We seek audience with His Light, Divine Abbamandae.”

“Why do you seek audience, Soldier?” the voice asked.

“We require His Divine Light’s commiseration,” the man replied. “In these troubling times.”

“... you may enter.” The whole group rejoiced and made forward when the man who spoke with the voice stepped out in front of the Shadow.

“Wait for us here, Abe,” the man said with a faint smile, patting the Shadow’s shoulder. “And... should anything go wrong, run.”

“Captain--what could go wrong?” the Shadow asked curiously.

“... just keep it in mind,” the man said, turning around and facing the temple. “Don’t climb these stairs, Abe. Swear to me that you will not.”

“... I swear.”

The riders ascended through the steps, with the Shadow retreating a bit further back, observing it all from the distance. Though he was bitter and angry, he trusted the Captain--and chose to listen to the man.

Sylas had already figured where the story was heading--though he didn’t get the full glimpse of it, as he was lacking a whole storm of context for the current situation, that wasn’t what he was promised. This memory in specific was likely what created the wave that would eventually become a tsunami washing over the Empire, destroying the links between the men and Gods.

It was a catalyst whose echoes, it seemed, peaked with Sylas’ arrival into the world. And it all began so long ago that everything around seemed unrecognizable.

Sylas’ expectations were met four hours ago--the Shadow, or Abe as he seemed to have been called--was shaken awake by an ear-blowing explosion coming from the temple. Looking up, startled, he saw smoke rising into the skies, with thunderous shouts bellowing out angrily, filling the skies.

“HOW DARE YOU DEFY THE WILL OF GODS?!!”

“WHAT WILL?!!! YOU JUST WANT US TO DIE SO YOU CAN RECOVER YOUR ENERGY QUICKLY!!”

“AS A SUBJECT, IT SHOULD BE YOUR HONOR, YOU MONGREL!!”

Abe stared in shock, listening keenly to the conversation. They came requesting Gods’ help... and were asked to die instead. Happily bend their necks and die smiling. Sylas understood, partially at least, the anger. The indomitable rage the Shadow displayed whenever Sylas implied he was sent by the Gods.

As always, there was more to the story. But that was the case with everything. After all, he had merely glimpsed at a few days well removed from their context, from the perspective of one person, seemingly a newcomer in the band of riders. Others all seemed like they were riding to their death, likely aware, at least on some level, that their request, at best, would be simply outright rejected. Even they, however, didn’t seem to think they’d be asked to die willingly.

The explosions continued, shaking the temple as well as the stairs and the chains anchoring them. Though Abe wanted to rush in and help them--Sylas felt the burning emotion--he stayed outside, having promised. Sylas read the racing thoughts of the man, they were all on the full display. He was no fool, the lad--he already understood. Understood why he was left out.

The reality, still, wasn't easy to deal with. Likely, it never got any easier. This day haunted the man for hundreds of years after. It motivated everything he did--and created the flood that eventually drowned the world. He and his like-minded sacrificed the Empire to destroy the Cairns. Humanity's connection with the Gods.

Another flash of bright light and a burst of pain later, Sylas opened his eyes with a groan. He was back--back to being himself. Up above, the clouds had cleared up, revealing a sky filled with innumerable stars. He’d never seen a sight like this back on Earth--or he might have, but had forgotten. Here, though, he’d seen it often. Often enough that it was no longer as breathtaking as it used to be.

He struggled to sit up--though he'd spent quite a few hours living through that memory, it seemed only a few seconds had passed here. He could still smell the lingering scent of blood and death in the air and see the dust still flying due to his attack. His body was ravaged beyond normal repair--both his arms were obliterated from the shoulder down, half his organs had stopped working, and his nerves had likely fried since he couldn't feel more than the wind on his eyeballs.

But... he was alive. For most, this would be considered a Pyrrhic victory--but not for him. Though it will likely take days at his pace, he would heal, eventually. He would be back on his feet, as though new. And the Shadow--Abe--would still be dead.

Thinking back, he sighed inwardly; even though the context was quite limiting, he’d still learned new things. And he got to experience the once-upon-a-time colossal grandeur of the religion in this world. That temple... was beyond anything he’d seen in this world. In fact, it made the Kingdom’s capital look like some poor slums that hadn’t been retouched in decades. From all of that... to all of this...

All else aside, Abe and the company... did a marvelous job. They were off by just one. One. Though Sylas didn’t know the exact consequences if they had gotten to the last one, his gut feeling was telling him... he wouldn’t have landed here, or elsewhere for that matter. None of what was currently transpiring would come to pass--there would be no Ryne as Ryne is, Asha would have likely grown up being a normal girl that was never abandoned, magic would have been diluted to the point of almost not even existing, and Valen would have likely never been banished. Perchance, he might have never even been born, as Desdor Dynasty might have fallen.

It was impossible to predict what would have happened--and it was pointless. It didn't. Today, Sylas rejoiced--for he felled a creature that he thought beyond reason shortly after coming to this world. He still recalled those two figures fighting, obliterating the castle. Though by now he'd forgotten their names and everything else about them, he still recalled the fight. It froze him and convinced him he'd never be able to battle that. But today... he did. He battled and he won. While it might be a victory born from cheating, it was a victory nonetheless. And if he could, he would celebrate it. Alas, for now, all he actually could do was lie down and sleep. Sleep while his body slowly patched itself into a human-looking and, more importantly, functional shape.