When Destiny Burns, Ep. 2 A Halo and Inheritance Cycle Crossover [Discontinued]

Chapter 20.2 Proper views pt. 2

"Be swift, for we are eager to witness your ideals," Islanzadí replied with a smile.

Maine nodded and left the presence of the Menoa tree, cursing under his breath as he nearly lost his balance by stumbling over his feet. Was it so hot in the forest, or was that just him?

After a quick walk through the forest, he made it to his barracks. There he used a swift spell to levitate his creation and bring it back to the active festival. He was very careful not to allow it to hit anything on his way back, as the thing was very delicate and extremely easy to damage. Upon arrival at the site, Maine found that the elves were waiting for him with eager expressions on their faces. But when he gently placed his work on the ground and stepped back to let them see for themselves, everyone grew quiet.

And it wasn't a very comfortable silence.

'I think,' Aeraleth said as she bent forwards to sniff at his creation, 'that this took lots of magic.'

'It did.'

'How many image-stones did this take?'

'I burnt through twenty-three fairths to create this.'

'It is...touchable. Solid. No image.'

'I know. Hence the burning part. This took a lot of energy and fairths.'

He had used many fairth-stones to create a three-dimensional fairth whereupon the last battle of Arcadia was pictured. It wasn't a very large structure; it was roughly seven by seven feet large and it only depicted about one-hundredth of a square kilometer. It was very accurate though; the structure had at least a hundred figures create on it, all of them erected from the pigments on the original fairths which he had stacked and forced together. There were twenty-five marines, two warthogs, one tank and one commanding officer. There was also him, in his suit, surrounded by Elites with swords. It had been three years ago that the city had been destroyed and the planet had been glassed, but he could still remember what had transpired those days with great clarity.

"What...is this?" One elf softly asked. The pointy-ears didn't look very happy; most of them looked shocked, while a few others were looking at the image with sad eyes, perhaps understanding what it depicted.

"Spartan, what have you done?" Islanzadí softly asked, approaching the giant fairth.

The battlefield existed out of ruined buildings, destroyed vehicles of both sides and natural rock-formations. It should have been clear what it was.

"This bloodshed...is this a mockery of our ways?" Another elf female asked, reminding Maine of the elves' aversion to violence.

"It's my past," Maine replied without pulling a muscle. He looked at his structure, where the UNSC forces were clearly being overrun. "My people have been locked in one-sided war for nearly three decades. Our enemy was a collection of alien races, bent on completely exterminating us."

The elves started whispering and Aeraleth lay down on the ground behind him, her snout pressing against the side of his right leg. 'It is a beautiful and frightening representation of your fights, little soldier.'

"This," he continued, "is the fall of Arcadia, three years ago. One of the many dozens of planets that the Covenant destroyed."

That seemed to shock the elves even more. The ones who were slowly approaching the depiction jumped backwards, as if it had just threatened to bite their nipples off.

"Dozens?" Islanzadí asked in a very hushed voice. "How many worlds did your people have?"

"Not enough," Maine replied. "At the end of the war, more than half of our race had been exterminated. Burnt by a relentless foe."