“I don’t remember my family at all. Heck, I don’t even know what their faces look like. My earliest memories are of Ascalon, the forest, and a constant feeling of… exhaustion, I guess. It’s hard to explain, you know? To describe that constant hunger gnawing all the way down to your bones. To explain that sort of hollow feeling that sits right in the center of your stomach. Ah, I’ve never been good with words, but you get the idea: It wasn’t a very pleasant time.

“But despite that, I never really felt any fear because I knew Ascalon would always be there for me. When I got so thirsty it felt like daggers were digging deep into my throat, he’d be there, rocking me back and forth while giving me the last bits of water we had. Whenever I got so hungry it felt like my insides were trying to rip themselves out, he’d sing, comforting me with old fables while stuffing my face with the nuts and berries he could find that day. It wasn’t a great life, but I felt happy. I depended on him. I trusted him.

“And then he left. When he got those damn wings, when those knights came and proclaimed him as the next Ruler of Freedom, he abandoned me and shut himself off in that castle. No matter how many times I tried to see him, I’d always be turned away. He didn’t want to see me anymore, and that thought hurt more than any hunger or sickness I felt in the forest.

“Did he truly love me, or was I just some substitute for him to play hero? Every time he sung to me, played with me, did he see me as his sister? No, I was just a doll. My only purpose was for him to feel good about himself and to stave off his own loneliness. Once he found other people and no longer needed me to be his helpless little damsel, I was tossed away. He had an entire kingdom’s worth of people now to tout his heroism. I was just a reminder of his dirty little past.”

- Surasha Power, Templar of the Mending Virtue

———

The Knight

“How’re you doing under there, Lorelai?”

“I’m fine. Thankfully, it’s a cool day today. The wind feels nice.”

After Annalay’s release from the gaol, the Knight strolls along with curious steps upon the busy roads of the city’s districts. A large, dark cloak currently covers its body, and while it is interested in seeing the reactions of the common people toward their beloved Throne, Ascalon wishes for its identity to remain hidden for now. “The time is not yet right,” he has said. “We must wait for when your return bears the most celebration. The funeral shall be that moment, to shine a ray of hope amidst the gloom of mourning, and so I must apologize: only the court and those of upper stature shall be privy of your survival.”

Ascalon is quite the schemer. It has no qualms with such a plan, but to use only a cloak to serve as its covering is… a rather curious choice. The Knight stands out greatly, especially within this district of refined air and elegant architecture. The people walking about are dressed in tight suits of all sorts of colors - ties covered in patterns ranging from flower petals to wings - while their briskly walk conveys that of a practiced mannerism. How does such a populace react to a suspiciously concealed stranger? With suspicion.

Fortunately, Annalay’s presence limits the worst of their skepticism to passing glances and faint murmurings. None dare to approach for as long as she is here; her appearance is easily recognizable, after all. And after listening to stories of her exploits, it doesn’t fault the people for having an apprehensive gaze. The Throne in question is unbothered by their stares, however, and proceeds to stomp through the streets while excitedly babbling on as its tour guide.

“This place’s where the Virtues are mostly huddled up,” she says. “It’s not that bad, but I’ve never liked being here much. All of the districts maintained by the knight orders tend to be real strict with their rules. You can tell how posh they try to act just by looking at the people lingering about.”

“Hehe, I imagine the entertainment district is where you much prefer to be.”

“Aw, am I that obvious? There’s no better place if you want to have some fun. The only things around here are hospitals and medical ateliers, and I’m not really suited for the healing arts. Surasha’s much better than me—ah, right. Do you remember Surasha at all?”

“I’m afraid not. Is there anything I should know before we meet?”

“Well… nah, you’ll be fine. The girl’s adored you since she was up to my knees. The real problem is going to be that hag waiting for us.”

There it is again: a sudden shift of pure hatred in her voice. Whoever they are, they must have committed a serious slight to have garnered such disgust from Annalay. While she is rather eccentric, the Knight has never seen her act with intentional malice. Hidden beneath her rough facade is a caring soul, laid-back and carefree, and a thick skin unbothered before contempt. She is not one to be offended so easily.

“Your tone is quite harsh,” it inquires. “Who exactly are we soon to meet?”

Annalay pauses for a moment, hanging her head back and grumbling with an indecipherable gibberish. She looks apprehensive, standing still while tapping the end of her sole against the hard pavement, but eventually an answer parts from her lips.

“My mother.”

Ah, I see now. A tale as old as time.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Do you want me there? By your side?” it asks.

“… Yeah. I’d appreciate it. Don’t think I could stomach her otherwise,” she says while closing in for a thankful hug. “Damn. Speaking of which, looks like we’ve made it. Hah, I was hoping to stall for a little bit longer.”

The two stop and are greeted by a large fenced gate. A courtyard blanketed in greenery lies yonder in which hurried footsteps of those wrapped in white and red robes plague the ears. An endless mass of healers and apothecaries trickle back and forth, but lying farther beyond, a giant mansion watches over them all, and a stone effigy of a staff covered in snakes hangs above the rooftop. It is an odd figure, especially for those who proclaim themselves adheritors to medicine, yet strangely it fits well with the antiquated building.

“Weird sight, isn’t it?” Annalay says beside it, her eyes also fixated upon the aged sculpture. “There’s a reason for that ugly thing up there, though. Poison and Venom: They seem harmful at first glance, but if you mix them up just right, even those toxic things can become a medicine. The problem is in finding the right dosage. Heheheh… trust me, it’s not a fun time.”

She absentmindedly reaches out to her neck and scratches. Her gauntlets grind against the armor, but she notices not its futility. Scratching, grating, harder and harder as the screeching metal begins to attract attention from the surrounding people until, eventually, her senses return. And all that remains is an anxious crowd and a dazed Annalay.

“Hells, I really am coming back here, huh,” she mutters to herself, more as a dry statement than any other. “Wonder how she looks now. How many years has it been again? A lot. A damn lot. Stars, I don’t want to see her face…”

“Annalay,” the Knight says, patting her shoulder with a soft touch. It seems to work, for her nervous ramblings start to settle. Then she goes quiet and turns to face it. “Annalay, are you listening to me?”

“Oh. Um, yeah. My bad. I just—”

“I don’t know why you’re acting this way, nor do I wish to pry into your private matters. But know this: Whatever you are feeling right now? It will get better once you go in. What shall soon occur, what is going to be… do not let those thoughts scare you away lest you be filled with regret of what could have been. I will be with you, so let go of your worries. Trust me.”

“I—” Annalay starts to protest. But her body betrays her will, and so she slumps over. Silence reigns for a time, but then a deep, rumbling groan emerges from her being. It escapes with a quiver, rattling the gate’s bars and toppling the less-balanced onlookers flat onto their rear, then a large smack silences her voice—a smack wrought from her own hand onto the side of her face. “You’re right. I should see her at least one last time. I owe that much, at the very least.”

With a firm step, she walks up to the gate and breaks through the bars. It’s not as if she’s stopped by a lock: the metal poles simply crumble and bend as she moves past. How very… like her. The destruction draws ire from the more daring Virtue knights, but they are quickly silenced. She only needs to stomp once upon the ground to bring forth a quaking tremor, and soon, none are left standing beside the two marching Thrones.

They reach the entrance door, and then they step inside. An atrium of blood-red carpets and crystal chandeliers reveals itself, along with a horde of the Virtues quickly filling in the space and approaching them with weapons raised.

“Gahaha! Quite the opening reception,” Annalay says, and for an instant, the Knight can see a blazing green glow emanating from her helm. “You lot have gotten ruder over the years. Not sure if that’s Surasha’s influence or that hag’s, but I like it. Makes me feel better for what I’m about to do.”

A shrill voice echoes from behind the crowd. It is familiar, and the Knight needs not wait long before the source is revealed—slowly striding forth as the Virtues part to the side. “Please don’t, Annalay. I’m already drenched in enough work as it is. What in the Stars name are you even doing here, anyways? I thought you despised this place.”

The Knight Templar Surasha stands before them, arms crossed and glaring at the Nature’s Throne with a mixture of amusement and wariness. “Wait a minute, aren’t you supposed to be imprisoned? I thought you’d stay down there for a couple of days at least before breaking out.”

“That was the plan. Unfortunately, I’m here on official business. Preferably in private.” Surasha quickly catches on and waves the others off. The Virtues hesitantly return back to their duties, and the three make their way towards a small office on the upper layer. The space is decorated oddly, but it has a certain charm to it: dark wood makes up the furniture while cabinets bursting with papers are shuffled off to the corner. There are even the occasional potted plants placed here and there, although the arrangement is rather disorganized—a bit messy.

“So, what do I owe the pleasure?” she asks, turning her head to the still-veiled Knight. “Doubt you came here just to visit little ol’ me.”

“Ah, come on. Do I really need a reason to see my favorite lass?”

“Annalay. The last time I tried to bring you here, you threatened to wipe this place off the city map.”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Is this about Celia? Did something happen to her?”

“About that… the survivor wasn’t Celia.”

“Huh? Oh. That’s—um, your judgement’s usually pretty good. That’s a surprise. Wow, so she’s not back? I—Stars, to think I actually had a little bit of hope there. Celia… well, who was it then? Someone from the Virtues?”

“Well, it’s better to see for yourself. You can take off the cloak now, Lorelai.”

“H-Huh? Did you just say—”

The Knight tosses away its shroud and lets the golden sheen of its armor shine bright amidst the dimly lit room. It cannot see Surasha’s face, but it can hear her plainly—hear her guttural cry as she jumps up and crashes directly into its chest. Her hands grope alongside the sides of its helm and latch on with a tightness determined to never let go. Desperate. Crazed, as if teetering on the precipice of insanity.

“F-Face. I need—I need to see your face,” she chokes with a delirious whisper. “Please, please, please, I—you won’t trick me. I won’t be deceived by false hope. Not again. Not until I see, ugh, see your—”

Surasha practically rips off the helm from the Knight’s head and sends it flying away. Once its features have been bared before the world, she stares at it. She stares at the burn mark, she stares at the gouges, and she stares at its severed lip—slowly tracing her finger along the lines and across every surface of its mutilated skin. But far from being repulsed, she shivers at the touch, treating every jagged surface as if it’s a delicate sheet of glass. She caresses its face from top to bottom until there is nothing left to be touched, breath gasping in delight at every moment.

“It really is you,” she says through her tears. “You came back. You came back to me.”

“… Yes. Yes I have, Surasha,” it soothes, rubbing her back and lending its shoulder for her to cry upon. “And I promise: I will never leave you ever again.”