Into The Rift

In The Name Of Her Majesty (42)

-1532 Military Hours
-Tartarus Base, 10th Day of Springfall

I stand before the plaza of tempered grey, eyes bewildered with the sight of their Valors taking to the air. The two constructs bellow proudly, like distant thunder upon a bleak sky. The air brushes past me, sending my hair fluttering to the unsung tune of the winds as my gaze rests upon their retreating forms.

Constructs of metal, speed and air. They stand to me like armoured dragonflies of dark silver, carapace hardened, and flaunting broad wings. Away the pair soared, seeking the southern coastline and then, the great blue beyond. To the Island bastions of the Elves, of whom I once thought to be but legends, fated only for folklore and ancient parchments of history.

Beyond the oceans, Jerome and his men worked on endeavors that were reckless and yet noble. Tired and weary they must be, seasoned elites of tinted black, alone in lands not their own. Perhaps that is why the Valors hurriedly took to the wings, to ferry them back. All of them, what remains of their brethren.

The rumours whisper firmly like shield against spear. They told of an expedition thwarted, of their brave warriors captured and Lore Savants questioned relentlessly. Truth or otherwise, I know the four will return having did their very best.

Time runs swiftly against us...

"Fate deems it so... we may yet meet again," I mutter over the retreating gale, thoughts flowing freely like blood through veins. It seemed like entire seasons had passed since we last met within Drossal's Royal Palace, two warriors basking in the realm of luxury and refined comfort.

As mere smudges against blue skies, the two Valors loom over the southern mountains. They fly higher, taming heights that were once reserved for dragons, wyverns and birds of prey. Soon, they vanish over the jagged peaks, their deep rumbles following shortly after, fading into the silence of a quiet afternoon.

The skies now lie empty. I peer between the shapeless clouds, meeting daylight's blue... and nothing else.

Curiosity sated, I went about the rest of the day with senses sharp and thoughts clear, serving as a faithful mediator between our Prime Scholars and the humans. Across the cocooned fortress I watch over them, with eyes ready and staff clutched in both hands, an example of readiness and adherence to duty.

My skills with the pencil were no longer needed by the Scholars, all that we could glean from a distance, we did so. Far removed were the days spent leering at ancient Elven artifacts and human weapons of battle, now me and my fellow scouts simply serve to oversee and protect. It was a role... barely worth our attention.

Sooner would the world stop turning than it will be for the humans to deem our esteemed sages a threat. They are keepers of wisdom and knowledge, donning robes of dark fabric and gilded silver, with beards frayed as the scrolls they hung upon their work stations. They care more of mystery and intrigue than the edge of blades and danger.

Yes... without provocations, no harm will come to any of us. I silently thought, nature's scent wafting all around. If only that were our intentions, to simply lend aid to them.

Within the vale, I could briefly pretend there were no wars to poison my innocence. That my hands were free from blood. That I was still the young girl before my fated departure from home, and into war.

"War..." I say, tone laced with cold venom. The word itself drives a wedge into my soul, a spiritual shard of pain and resentment... echoing like the waves upon a shore.

As the northern sky fills my distant vision, I think of my battle brothers and sisters across the desolate wastelands of Norsera. A forest carelessly set ablaze by the quarrels of combat. Pitched against Yhunia's feared machines and beasts of battle, it is the Kingdom's young sons and daughters that bore the greatest of sacrifices.