CHAPTER 1: A SCATTERED MOMENT

 

 

   
A triumphant cheer overcomes the Great Six.

 

 

Everywhere across the lands, the people of Alstalsia looked to the skies. Hundreds of thousands of eyes, finally reunited with the prospect of hope as the gentle streaks of light raced across the dark above, like sparks from a grindstone set against metal. It was the mark of victory, to the people. There could be no doubts in this sensation that their people had remained strong, and seen their tribulations through like their duties had required of them. Duty, that had seen the majority of those send dead, or permanently unable to serve from injury.

Awakening I hear the sounds of a climatic battle, the muffled shouting of a worried comrade, I can understand them, they call my name out, as well as the Mercalans nearby.

It feels as though they healed my wounds, so why can I still not open my eyes? I exist here in pitch blackness, steadily listening for any sign that the conflict was over, with a few cheers
it would appear as though it were. I let out a sigh of relief and call out for a status check, my comrade says that with some great effort we appeared to have made it through.

I lay back against the nearest wall for rest, I feel exhausted, I can barely move any muscles and it feels as though my insides are rotting away. I suppose this is the price I must pay for
what I subjected myself to, those thoughts invade my mind once again, the ones just before the decision that would assure my doom:

"You control a power even the gods once feared, you still have a chance, do not hesitate, Aryan."

It was then I decided I would throw everything away, now I remember. I'm sorry my love, I have made a very foolish decision, I promise you I will make it back to say my goodbyes, as
soon as I can open my eyes to see you again. As soon as I can open my eyes, I re-iterate this phrase over and over, but they still won't open, I feel over my face one more time.

My eyelids are open, my fingertips trace over where they should be. They're still there, I realize now just how doomed I was. I lay there, apparently the skies are lit up by starfall,
I laugh quietly to myself as my comrade heavily worries over my condition, I am unable to see whatever this star-lit sky is, the bright future that I risked everything to assure. I'll never be able to see it.

To fade away into nothingness, that was and always has been my fate, who was I ever to try and deny that?

PART 1

At a construction site in northern Kysei,  one of the self-proclaimed 'heroes' that brought down Cornelius rests, licking his wounds.


Almost deflated, he'd seem-  As though unsure of where exactly to go, what exactly to do, now that his quarry had fallen.  The end of an era.  With nothing to distract him...  His mind could only drift to the fallen.

Those true heroes- or villains, in some cases-  who he admired deeply, who he'd sought to support, who he'd aspired to stand beside.  Delusions of grandeur had carried him to where he truly walked alongside them-  But now, he found himself as a last man standing, of sorts.  When all the wings were cut off-  Only he'd remain.  Only he had escaped final judgment.

...One such man he mourned, throughout this week, had climbed from nothing- aimed for the same lofty heights that the Reaver had.  And achieved them.  He was inspired by that hero-  No, that legend of Sigrogana, and done all he could to push him, to aid him along the way.



Now...  That man was lain in a casket.  He who was left behind couldn't find anything poignant to say...  Simply mourning the death, the loss, of such a man.  With the sun's waning, so too did his energy...  And he fell to sleep.

PART 2 

A few days later...  He who was Left Behind awoke with a start, at the crack of dawn.  Loud thuds were heard just nearby.  He pulled himself together, grabbed his gun, and went to investigate.

...Everyone was safe.  Nobody knew what'd happened.  No assailant, or burglar seen.  But, still nobody knew from whence the ruckus came.  An unnerved feeling came over him as the Reaver began to search.  He came to the casket his friend had recently lain in...  And noticed a disturbance.  The lid had shifted just slightly off.  Could that have been the noise?  He approached, staring into the coffin...

The Reaver was struck with disbelief at what he saw.  He brought a hand to his mouth...  Mind racing.  Even with all that he thought about, he could only utter two words...

"....It's empty...."

"Still can't believe that it finally came to an end..."

Those were the words whispered by the man under his breath as he came to a halt, looking over his shoulder to gaze at the sunrise to remind him of the future that everyone worked for, the wind furling his coat and the flowers he kept carrying in his hand. But he had to go, pressing the grass under his boots as he resumed moving forward and let the sun warm his back, hurrying to reach his destination once he recovered from the decisive night just enough to stand up. For once the man looked exhausted, but a content smile behind his scarf was still present with each step he kept making, his muscles still feeling sore and begging for rest.

But he didn't listen to his body, the goal set in his mind and unwavering against his fatigue... till he finally reached the checkpoint he aimed for. A graveyard full of blooming flowers revealing all of their beauty to freshen this noir place, pressing forward as the dull click of his boots against the checkered tiles resonated throughout this place along with the waterfall keeping this place alive with sounds as the gray haired man reached the site, two statues standing tall, one of a fully robed, masked individual as he came to it first, kneeling before it as he reached with his hand into his coat's pockets, pulling out a doll which resembled the statue, but it was hard to discern for the amount of cuts, bruises and just how ragged it looked, several inscribes of some notes along it's back, the only one being 'Return to him when I'm ready to be one' recognizable enough from the many it had. His hand struggled for the few brief seconds to contract it, pressing the doll against his chest as he gave it a small hug with a coarse sigh coming from the giant as he sets it down on the pedestal along with one of the bouquet he prepared while adjusting the few rocks which were there for a while.

And no words were shared with the grave, just a small gesture of his head bowed down, pressing his forearm along his own chest in sheer silence for a good minute as the man pushed up onto his feet once he was done, his soft smile returning to his face as he looked up at the statue one last time before he turns to the side.

Church Address Wrote:"It is true that the events that transpired upon the holy grounds of the Keeper's Terrace -- the Godly Stage where Zera was felled -- did happen. It is of great importance that this not be kept secret from those who were not present, for in the end, the tale would permeate through history. I have lived very.... very long, as many of you are aware; and never have I witnessed so much folly condensed into one man -- though the hubris... The hubris I have seen it time and time again, and I have seen the results. The results in which came ten fold, the demise of Cornelius Schlager, dreamer of usurping the God of Domination's power. It always ends the same way...

He was not chosen. This would not be a tale like Ryart, the Gold Dragon, whom with the love and pity of Our White Lady did he rise to deliver a definite blow to Zera. Cornelius was a fool, utterly drunk on his own machinations on how this world should be seen, viewed, and operated. He thought becoming a despot would solve so many intrinsic issues; that he could control all. Our White Lady does not agree, for She knows hegemony is one way to lead us mortals to damnation, ruin, and squalor. For She knows that binding us and vanquishing us would cancel all that mortals have worked for, all that we of the Church have worked for, to better this world. Cornelius thought he could challenge this, and we answered. Not just the Church, but everyone answered.

Even with Our White Lady guiding us, and this world, through Her scions -- we, the Mercalans --, we must remember that we live, ultimately in a mortal world. And that we operate via mortal means. And that although Our White Lady's blessing is great, She recognizes that we as mortals must rally together and help each other grow -- buttress each other in the face of inimical adversity and dangerous callousness. That we must answer the call when it comes, to better the world, ourselves, and our neighbors. That we must be tempered, patient, kind, loyal, and true. That we must not solely depend on divinity, but also on one another-- that we should look to divinity when the way must be shown, for that is how we as a people evolved and learned all we know. That divinity exists to guide, not to stifle, not to subjugate. Our White Lady would never wish for such a time to pass where Her children would be castrated from the freedom to make mistakes, and learn from them -- to grow. To be pressed under an unyielding, unforgiving thumb. To be capitulated by complacency.

Our White Lady is known as a peaceful, merciful protector -- but even She recognizes that such mercy has its limits, and no amount of mercy is enough to repair an indelible scar upon this world and our people if such evil is left to age.

Let it be known that we should all learn from Schlager's mistakes -- his greatest being his own complacency in pursuing that which is divine so churlishly. That we should all learn from Strega's foibles. That we should all seek to abjure the vindictive virulence of Black Falcon, that we should abate the innermost evil that seeks to seduce our hearts. That through conquering our worst personas can we blossom and proliferate into that which is holy -- into that which is love, and progressive for this world. And that Our White Lady would not have it any other way. And that Our White Lady would not wish to stifle and control, but guide and nurture. That free will, not one governed by a false god just as flawed as we, is imperative to our continued ascension into that which Our White Lady believes we can become.

A people who loves each other, seeks to keep life sacred, and our future bright. That manifests in countless ways, and no such ways exist under the rule of a despot.

And let it be known that no such power that Cornelius thought he could wield would ever manifest properly in the hands of those not chosen or anointed. For such power has only ever truly manifested in the sacred Mehana bloodline -- in Her Radiance, The Voice, in Bright Vajistra, and in those Our White Lady has chosen to help better lead us to a path away from the darkness that seeks to cloister the light within.

He was doomed from the very moment he ever dreamed of grasping divinity and becoming its master.

Heed not the example Cornelius has set for the world to see. Heed not his hubris and misplaced pride, his utter dishonor upon these lands -- upon the Alstalsian people. And heed not the possibility that such beings like Schlager seeking to eclipse this world and restrict all that grows here, all that is, would not be dealt with.

And remember: this hubris, this sacrilege Schlager and his co-conspirators caused... All due to complacency. Complacency that which should be curbed. Complacency that must needs be brought to a heel.

Praise Mercala. Blessed be."