Fifteen of Somataius

Year of 1205 of the Sixteenth Cycle

Ravenwatch.

Reymond stares at the corpse by his feet, his heart heavy with grief and anger. Damos was the last one left to fight for their house and now he too had fallen. Reymond runs, driven by a fierce determination to escape the pain and loss that threaten to consume him. He runs and he runs, pushing his body to the brink of exhaustion, and then he pours his Light into it, animating it with power and purpose. He’s broken and tired mess by the time he reaches the well by the hill. Where they would always meet.

Reymond's heart swells with warmth as he sees her, just as beautiful as the first time they met. Her long, flowing hair spills over her shoulders in thick, black waves that seem to drink in the light around them. Her arms are long and slender, and Reymond knows her touch to be gentle and kind. For a moment, he is lost in the memory of their first meeting, when his father had introduced him to the Patriarch of House Tarant and their eyes had locked across the room. Despite the gap between their Houses, they had become close friends and allies in a world that seemed to despise them. Her face, usually a dejected and sorrowful sight, lights up with joy as he steps over the hill towards her. She’s surrounded by a ring of flowers, carefully cultivated over the years so that she can lie among them.

Perfect red roses, grown from a single flower stolen from a Tressa Verdomancer’s garden. As Reymond approaches her, his head is on a swivel, scanning the grassy field for any potential threats. He is alone now, and the traitorous houses could strike at any moment. It may be foolish for him to leave the safety of Ravenwatch, where the guards still patrol, but what's the point in staying? Two of his brothers died from their injuries inside the keep, and he will not be the third.

He slumps besides her and he feels the pain start to dwindle. The sight of his dead brother start to fade just a little from the forefront of his mind. He reaches out a hand and she takes it. This is not love. It is something much simpler. They have played in the flowers and swung from trees. They have placed raw eggs into the discarded shoes of nobles. Such happy memories seen so far away now. Reymond looks into her eyes. “They are all dead.” He says, the anger giving way to sorrow in his voice. “I am alone.”

She smiles, squeezes his hand, and gives the rarest gift she can give — her voice. “We are alone.”

House Tarant is dead too. They had been falling at a rate that only matched House Daai in speed. How strange that on this day, their Houses had died together. They begin to cry together. They cry enough to fill the entire Oxbow once and once more again. It is when the crying stops that the anger returns.

Reymond stands tall, his eyes blazing with fury and determination. He stares out at the horizon, his gaze fixed on Ravenwatch, the seat of his family's power. His chest heaves with emotion as he takes a deep breath, and then he lets out a primal scream that shakes the very earth beneath him, thunder and lightning made manifest. The sound echoes across the land, stirring the forest creatures from their slumber and sending them running for cover. The wolves howl in response, their cries joining in a haunting chorus that reverberates through the air. As Reymond screams, he pours all his anger, frustration, and grief into the sound, until it flows like a river of pure emotion. When he finally stops, his body is trembling with the intensity of it all. The world around him is eerily silent, but he knows that everything has changed. He has changed. His tears are gone, replaced by a steely resolve.

He puts a hand back out for Era's hand, and she lets him take it. “I want… want them all to die. I want them to suffer and be cast down from history. Why did this happen? Why to us?”

She shakes her head, then squeezes his hand. They sit like that for what feels like hours. They are so still and so quiet that a small bird lands in the field in front of them, stabbing its beak down into the ground, hunting for worms. It’s blue feathers practically shine in the sunlight. It’s then that Reymond begins to laugh.

“Of course! Of course!” he says to himself as much as Era. She furls her brow as he looks at her and then points to the Bluefeather Raven. “They’re secretive, ravens. They stay to themselves. But in truth they’re noble and smart birds. The first time I ever saw one was when we met. This is the second time.”

Her eyes read comprehension, and her smile upturns, even letting out a small puff of air. He looks upon her and feels… an regretful sorrow. She had discarded all suitors, and seemed to hate all men around her that were not family. All except Reymond. He was the only one who did not see just her beauty but the soul beneath it. She looks at him now with those piercing green eyes full of life and intelligence. For all the pranks or mischief they had played over the years of meetings and talks so full of hidden spite and false piety; she had been the mastermind behind them. There was always another idea, another thing for her to suggest.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“What will you do now, Era? What will happen to House Tarant?”

She shakes her head, then shrugs. “Nothing. Everything.”

Reymond hates himself for what he is about to say. “They will take you away. They’ll sell you off. You’ll be the wife of some nobleman. Or the third wife of some southern merchant.”

Her eyes are full of fear and uncertainty, but also a look of resignation. Era nods in understanding, her gaze returning to the grassy field. “What else?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Reymond stands, and takes a few steps down the steep field. “You know what I would do with this field?” he says, then turns to her. “I’d make it a training ground.” He says, his heart beating wildly in his chest. “I’d put a large fence around it, and I’d train my son here. I’d train him to be the strongest. To be the best, to be better than I ever possibly could. I’d do anything I could to help him, even if it made me hate him.”

She stands too, stepping over the ring of flowers and standing besides him. “Why?” she asks. “It’s beautiful.”

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “You’re right. It is beautiful. But beauty can be fragile, and without strength, it can be easily destroyed.” He takes a deep breath and reaches for her arm, sliding his hand down until he reaches her hand. Then, he kneels and pulls out a large ring of gold, his mother’s ring. His brother had told him to keep it and find a girl he loves one day, and give it to her. “Let me show you that I’m strong enough. Let me defend you. I know that you may not feel love in the same way others do. I know you’ve never felt these feelings before. But please, stay with me in Ravenwatch until the day comes that I am defeated. I know a member of the church that isn’t corrupt—one that will marry us, even now.” He gazes up at her, his heart pounding in his chest as he waits for her response.

Her hair barely moves in the wind, with only the occasional loose strand flowing into the air. She speaks slowly, carefully. “I don’t wish for House Tarant to perish. I want...a child. One that I can love and tell stories to. One that I can help to grow strong, and who can carry on the legacy of our family. All my family was strong, but simple strength alone accomplishes nothing.”

He gazes up at her, seeing a goddess in her presence. “You have always been wiser than I am. Let my strength merge with your mind, and together we can teach our child the power of determination. We can brave him against the harsh world, give him all of the tools he would need and more. He could be great even if we will never be. He will be prepared for any challenge, any task. Please, join me. I can do all of it… if you’re there by my side.”

Her delicate fingers wrap around his, and she pulls him closer. "I'll join you," she says softly. "Not for the sake of House Tarant or House Daai, but for us. For our child." Reymond looks up at her, dazzled by her smile. It is so rare now that her family is dead. She’s looking at his own smile. He hadn’t realized he was smiling. When was the last time he had?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sixteen of Volinikus

Year of 1255 of the Sixteenth Cycle

Ravenwatch Keep.

Era watches Reymond get closer. Sweat positively swells from his face, which has a passive and angry lean to it. Era knows his feelings, even if the void between them has grown. They had been fourteen when married, and they had tried for a child for forty years since then. They had kept trying, but they had given up. She’d felt in the the way his lovemaking had dwindled, how his thrusts had become shallow. She didn’t understand the want for this, but she understood the need. He drags his arms behind him, his footsteps are slow and heavy — yet there is a lightness to him when he catches eyes with their child. They hadn’t even known she was pregnant until a week past, and the child had grown remarkably fast. When he stands beside the bed, and watches her with his dark brown eyes, a silent conversation flows between them. The terms of the alliance are fulfilled. They both have what they want. After years and years of trying, they have it. A son.

He puts a massive hand down towards her, and she notices the scars upon it. How many times has he needed to Repair it? How much pain has he endured to bring this to fruition?

When was the last time he had smiled since that day?

He lifts the boy up into his arms, and he stares at him his face unchanging. With his other hand, he bathes the room in a warm light, a beacon of hope. Era places her hand on his thick arm, feeling the layers of muscles underneath war-torn skin, and then lights her own beacon, adding to his. The boy begins to squirm, feeling the warmth of the light, and Era can see the resolution return to Reymond’s face. No longer is it a sour and bitter face, but one full of hope that lies behind a shield of anger and pain. Then the light goes out, and the man stumbles before catching himself. His eyes don’t leave the boy. He turns, and he slumps to the ground, keeping the boy level. The wind blows softly, rattling the window.

“Kyallan.” He says. The name of her deceased Father. She smiles, even though he cannot see it in the dark.