Chapter 207

A Love Story That Never Was

It all ended before it even began, Valen noted silently. He stared at the high walls of the capital, and the swarm of men and women guarding it. The battle commenced shortly after, with bolts and arrows flying overhead while zealous souls charged fearlessly toward each other, roaring as to dispel their doubts. The clash was beautiful and yet awful, the sound akin to thunder ripping out, thousands of swords slashing into flesh, causing rivers of blood to spawn and flow.

His heart beat and bled with each swing of the sword, and with each wail of the pained, and with each gasp of the dying. And yet he could do nothing but sit on top of the cliff overlooking the battlefield, inhaling the fumes of death and decay and praying in silence. His fingers curled up against the frame of the wheelchair as tightly as they could, so much so that they nearly bled. He wanted to be down below, with men dying for his cause, charging with them and screaming with them and fighting with them.

His trembling hands suddenly felt clasped in warmth causing him to look to the side where he saw Ryne crouching next to him. She had changed, too. She was taller than when he’d first met her, seemed more dignified, noble, and even more beautiful.

“It’s alright,” she spoke, her lips curling up into a pained smile. “It’s alright.”

“... is it?” he mumbled back.

“... it has to be.” She said. Though she could not see the horrors, the horrors were not for the eyes alone. Some things, beyond the senses of man, could be felt regardless–and the torrent of death below them was one of them.

And yet, not even a full minute into the chaotic clash, something happened–above the two armies, a gash ripped out like a wound by a sword. A flash of light hurdled past the reality, illuminating the world so mightily it blinded everyone for a moment. A cry echoed out, deep and melancholic, and then a roar of a beast–but it wasn’t horrid or terrifying or soul-rending. It was… soothing, in a way. But primal still. So much so, in fact, that all those who heard it felt a chill in their souls, almost akin to the calling of the beyond, that tender thread waiting to be pulled some day in the future.

The rampant energy caused the world to quake and shake, but nobody fell. No trees were uprooted, no rivers distorted, no castles or walls buried. From within the light, everyone felt a surge of something truthful as their wounds began to heal. Eerily, something astounding happened–the dead began to open their eyes, and the same eyes that were glazed in the abyss of death began to churn with light of life. The sight was ghastly, yet strangely uplifting.

Light–light burned like holy fire, yet within that light, a gasp of darkness emerged. At first a flicker, it grew and spread and unfurled like wings–and the day soon became night, grisly and enshadowed. There were, however, no kindling stars to illuminate the sky, nor was there a moon to shine down upon the world. But just as the light gave birth to darkness, something surged within the lurid nothing of obsidian–a kindle of golden fire.

At first a flicker, it grew, bit by bit, and like a hellhound it became all-consuming. Within Valen’s gaze, the world churned in flames–and his joy quickly disappeared. For within those fires… screams began to cry, wails of pain, anguish, and soul-rending despair. Eyes of those hopeful with life ignited with fire, jets of golden beaming from their sockets, burning them away. All looked up to the sky, and tens of thousands of golden jets beamed into the darkness.

The city was inflamed right after, consumed in the howling flames. Everything… everything was vanishing, being denied. Tears began to coalesce in Valen’s eyes, his entire body shaking–for he was not burning. Ryne was not burning. Nothing behind them was burning. Just the city and the battlefield–men and women who marched with him, men and women who wished to deny him the throne… and all the innocents who simply got caught in the crossfire of the civil war… they were all burning.

What cast the hurt even more was that… the sight was beautiful. It was picturesque, akin to a painting that would be hung above the golden throne. The world before him burned, a painting screaming and howling in world-ending agony, and all he could do was… admire it.

From within the flames, a ripping halo appeared–a burning wheel churned molten, liquid fires, quite a lot like the wheel of a watermill. It grew larger and larger with each passing second, soon rising from behind the massive palace, casting a flaming ray toward the rest of the world. It replaced the sun, sucking away the burning inferno below and consuming it all. In its wake, it left ash and dust, corpses of countless souls melted into layers of fine ashes.

Shellshocked, all Valen could do was stare at the infernal halo–it grew to the size of a mountain, its outer edges embossed with an array of flames while its heart continued to churn beams inwardly, forging an ethereal figure. It was that of a young child, a tiny dot in the infinite sea of light and fires. And yet, despite the distance and the size, Valen could clearly feel that the child was looking at him, its eyes glazed in… nothing. For the child was not human, nor was it a god, but something beyond, something temporal, infinite, undaunting, untouched, pure and primal.

Were his legs not broken, Valen was certain he would have knelt toward the figure. But all he could do was stare as he continued to silently weep. For now… now the story was fulfilling its last weeps. This was all because of him, he knew. All these people died because of him.

“I didn’t think you’d be this cruel,” a familiar voice spoke softly as a mirage appeared in front of Valen, soon replaced by the same, broad back that he was all too familiar with.

“You think me cruel, o’ newborn one?” a voice that spoke was not of one, but of infinite. A choir blended together.

“Part cruel, part childish,” Sylas’ voice was calm–it was familiar. So familiar that Valen’s raging heart suddenly felt quaintly calm.

“The contract was fulfilled,” the voice boomed into the sky as the time came to a halt. Valen didn’t know how he knew–but he knew that time had stopped. It froze. It waited, bent under the will of two figures that seemed to transcend it.

“I’m fairly certain that the fireworks show wasn’t part of the contract, though,” Sylas said. “But whatever. You’re done now. Leave.”

“... now who is cruel, o’ newborn one?” The fiery halo vanished in an instant as a figure of a young girl appeared in front of Sylas, floating some distance off the edge of the cliff. She was smiling faintly, though as for what that smile meant… Valen was ignorant. “Do you not think the poor boy deserves the truth at last?”

“Not your kind of truth.”

“What is my kind of truth?”

“Cruel kind.”

“He he. You’ve not known cruelty yet, o’ newborn one. I–”

“That’s enough,” a softer voice joined suddenly as a woman wearing a simple dress appeared next to Sylas, her snow-white hair fluttering in the non-existent wind.

“... speaking of cruelty,” the young girl’s gaze shifted over to the woman, the playful look in them disappearing. “This was not part of the deal.”

“Forgive me, then.”

“... I was blind to his suffering,” the child said. “You have hid it well.”

“We never hid anything,” the woman spoke, tilting her head slightly as she smiled. “Canyons of time cannot masquerade what we do not wish to see.”

“... indeed,” the child said. “In some ways, we are all still rooted in who we first were. No matter how much we change, how far we evolve, what dimensions we conquer… we all come from the primality of man. Boy,” the woman suddenly looked at Valen, causing his heart to freeze. “Faith in you carved out countless souls. These two want to shield you from the burden, but I am not them. For the remainder of your days, know that your reign was cast upon the river of torment. That is a burden you must learn to weigh, whatever the means.”

“... tsk, petty ‘till the end,” the woman clicked her tongue and spoke harshly.

“Indeed. Cruel and petty. Just how it all began.”

“... he forgave you. A long time ago.”

“And yet could never love me.”

“And yet could never love you.”

“... until the next holy cause… Asha.”

“Until the next one, Meredith.”

The young girl suddenly disappeared and the halted time came undone, beginning to flow once again as per the law of nature. The winds began to howl and blow, carrying the mounds of ashes down below in every which direction. The harrowing sight was too much, causing Valen to pass out. Ryne next to him was weeping silently, on her knees, having recognised the brief crack of the voice of the woman in the sky.

“... man. I got so fuckin’ lost there,” Sylas said, glancing at Asha. “What was that about?”

“That?” Asha chuckled, looking up toward the appearing sun. “Just another love story that never was.”