Old Man Hadrik, despite his unending kindness, had lied. Grovalt had surmised that from his words. His true name, Esternn, was one well-known especially to veterans like himself. Still, he couldn’t believe it. The kindly merchant that had given him a ride to Imeldra’s mansion all those days ago was the same man who led the Altruin war forces across the Sirithisian desert. Grovalt could vividly recall the mage, clad in the same white garb, sending waves of light and arcane spears across the barren battlefield. And here he was now before his eyes again, clashing violently with the Archmage of Aza across yet another burning landscape. He lamented that history truly had a cruel way of repeating itself.
“Grovey! Watch out!”
At Lumi’s words, Grovalt snapped out of his recollection and came back to his senses. The fiery beast that once was Graves had swung its axe down again, this time aiming directly for him. He swiftly deflected it and jumped to the side, the axe crashing down and cutting a gash into the cobblestone.
Lumi suddenly dashed past her ally and hopped onto the embedded axe. She swung back with all her might, and delivered a magic-infused hammer strike straight into the elemental’s burning chest. Staggered, it ripped the axe from the ground and stumbled backward, crashing into a building; or what was left of it. As it did, Lumi fell to the ground with a thud.
“You okay?” Rook asked quickly.
The girl nodded. She had only gained a couple of scrapes and bruises, though her shoes had slightly melted even from briefly standing on Graves’s weapon.
“That was reckless.” Rook sighed, half of his vision trained on Lumi and the other half on the enemy. “Any ideas, Grovalt? As much as I hate to say it, I’m not so sure we can handle something like this. I mean, the thing already took out entire city blocks.”
Grovalt looked down. A forlorn look darkened his brow. After a moment, he looked at his comrades as if he had come to a decision. “You guys go. Find Zenzi and the others. I haven’t been able to reach her since I woke up. I know you told me not to worry, Lumi, but…”
“We can’t just-”
“Okay,” Rook interrupted Lumi. “We understand. We’ll try to find the others, so you better stay alive until then.”
Grovalt nodded, then turned to Lumi, who had donned a baffled expression. “I’ll be fine. If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s living through things I have no chance of surviving.” He laughed half-heartedly. “Besides, this is my fight. I started it, and now I’ve gotta finish it. I couldn’t live with myself if either of you died because of me.”
With that, the duo departed from the pale-skinned warrior, leaving him to face Graves. It was as if his old boss had become the very personification of Grovalt’s mixed emotions of his past with the Rumhounds.
The being had scrambled back to its fiery feet. It cackled with ire. “The children have fled in terror I see… leaving you to die. How heroic.”
Grovalt gripped the hilt of his greatsword as hard as he could. A sound akin to a tightening rope emanated from his hands. A cold chill enveloped him. Faint, glowing runes appeared on his forearms. The same forlorn look appeared on his face again. “No, Graves. There aren’t any heroes in this world. You’re right about that. This city… it kicks you down and devours any hope you could ever try to gain. I know it all too well…”
A flicker of something lit the fiend’s mind. It wasn’t quite recognition, but Grovalt could tell a sliver of Graves was still in there, somewhere.
“Y’know… I hated every second of working for you. There wasn’t one day when I wasn’t cursing your name, or cursing this city, or cursing myself. But I’ve realized something. Even if your methods were cruel, you still gave me a reason. To live. To walk. To feel something. In your own way, you saved me. When I was buried underneath a mountain of empty bottles, you reached in and pulled me out. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have ever met them…”
The fiery maw that was the being’s mouth sputtered. “No… I couldn’t save anyone. Not even myself. My very existence was pointless, in the end.”
The Archmage, sending bolts of azure lightning at his old mentor, cackled madly. “That’s right! Everything you did, we erased! You are nothing but a dying, controlled flame! That’s all you shall ever be!”
The parts resembling a bird had diminished since Grovalt had first seen Graves this way. All that remained were faint whirls of smoke sprouting from the being’s back, as if its wings had been severed. It let out a horrible cry, and began charging its axe for another devastating attack. Burning, scarlet fire streaked from the axe’s blade-end. It was identical to the fires littered around them, all behind shattered stained glass that once gave Aza its beautiful yet sullen hue. Grovalt knew he couldn’t rely on Esternn. This was something he had to survive himself. He felt as though if he didn’t, he could never continue walking the new path he had found.
The words he had forgotten, or had tried to forget, began coming back to him. Inara’s visage, which he had blurred and locked behind black chains even in his own memories, began to grow clearer. He recounted what she had said to him that day outside the Winter Manor.
“Grovalt, I have to tell you something.“ Inara stood amidst the frosty landscape. Her hair was a silvery blue, and her eyes held an azure coldness that seemed to stop time whenever he looked into them. To anyone who didn’t know her, her icy glare would likely stop them dead in their tracks with fright. But for Grovalt, whenever she looked his way, it warmed his heart like no other had.
“What is it?“
“I love you.“ The way she said it wasn’t without passion, but due to her reserved manner of speaking, it came off as more like a factual statement.
Grovalt hesitated, slightly stunned from what the woman had said. He composed himself, then replied. “You shouldn’t. I haven’t earned it. Besides, don’t you remember why I came here in the first place? Why I met you?“
The young girl nodded, her hair dangling weightlessly in the freezing breeze. A sadness fell upon her face.
It was the last time he spoke to her. The one time he had neglected his duties, he had been too embarrassed to face her. He wandered the wastes as he often did when a troubling thought clung to his mind like a tumor.
It was then that he saw it. The frigid, hunched figure that twitched with wicked vigor. His cold breaths sounded like death rattles, and his body moved like a spider. Grovalt was met with primal fear in his heart. Whatever this thing was, it was not a man nor a beast. The figure suddenly lurched toward Grovalt and with a flash met his blade in a clash between steel. The enemy wore ancient armor and had a hood on that clouded any resemblance of a face in shadow. His skin was a pale blue, clad in ice. Grovalt met his attack with a quick riposte and a shove of his sword, but it only managed to keep the thing at bay for a couple seconds. It launched a flurry of attacks in rapid succession, each blocked by Grovalt in a fit of frenzy. A familiar feeling engrossed him.
In his days of war across the desert, he fought many foes that took a liking to the same aggressive style. Grovalt had seen it many times but had never felt this twinge of empathy for his foe like he did in this moment. This was not the terrifying horror he once thought it was, it was a dark reflection of a soldier, a warrior he had met on the frontlines countless times before.
As they struck swords in a whirlwind dance of ice and steel, Grovalt felt a sad smile tugging at his lips. He wondered if his foes, his victims had ever felt this same surge of emotion. How can something so sad make him smile so? Faking a right slash, he tossed the blade into the air and rolled through the damp snow to catch it behind his attacker. With the blade at his neck, the forgotten warrior of the wastes knelt down and inserted his sword into the ground in front of him, giving up his life.
“Why must I be the one to pity you? How long have you been out here, searching for a reason to live? A reason to fight?”
The warrior knelt silently in the snow, the cold wind cutting across their bodies in the open icy field. A moment of absolute silence took hold.
Grovalt sheathed his blade, the twinkle of a smile fading from his lips, the joy within his eyes slowly dying. He ran into the oncoming storm and braced himself. For the first time in years, he had given mercy to an adversary. Perhaps it was the woman on his mind. For the first time since the war, he felt as though he could make his own decisions. He could give her an answer.
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He parted the freezing veil and made his way into the heart of his homeland: Frostmaw, guarded by its baron, Yemiiron. Only, Yemiiron was nowhere to be found. A crowd had gathered at one end of town, below the Icespire Citadel. Grovalt pushed past the mass of bodies, fear rooting itself deeply in his heart. The terrible murmurings of the crowd shook him to his core, but even so he continued to push and shove his way through to see the source of the commotion.
On the soft, snowy ground lay Inara. She was silenced. Her body was unmoving, with but a single streak of blood oozing from her stomach. She was gone, her spirit adrift among the Blissful Sleep.
It was then that the townsfolk cried out. “Wechuge! It’s the wechuge!” They pointed at Grovalt, though Grovalt did not appear as himself.
He had become a terrifying beast of snow and ice, and a storm conjured by his loneliness, wrath, and grief assaulted Frostmaw and sunk it into a stupor. It took Darriel and his fellow mercenaries to knock him out and bring him back to his senses. They skewered him with thorns, wrapped him in wool, and left him to melt beside a campfire.
Nevertheless, he had become just like the forgotten warrior he had met earlier that day. No manner of inspiration nor obligation could rouse him. A weight had taken hold of his soul. A sinking feeling pulled at his heart. If the world was hellbent on denying him his happiness, why should he give it another chance? The risk of losing someone precious once more was much too high.
Time was up. Graves’s axe came down ruthlessly, threatening to bisect Grovalt with ease and sear his flesh all the same. The next etchmark on the blade glowed fiercely, heralding the display of power that descended upon the lone warrior.
“...Grovalt? Are you listening? Geez, when you said you were a bad student, I didn’t think it’d be this bad. Falling asleep on me is quite rude, y’know.”
A beautiful, otherworldly voice came from deep within his psyche.
“If… if something happens to me, don’t be sad. I know it’s selfish, but you need to live for yourself first and foremost. Living for someone else is cute and fine by me, but there are beautiful things you might miss if your eyes are shut. No one really knows what could happen. That’s what keeps me going… that every day has the capacity to flip your life upside down. Like when I met you by chance on that snowy walk in the wastes. Hehe. So, don’t cry. But, if you have to, cry with a smile. And open your eyes. Feel the air on your skin. The warmth of your heart. Sorry… I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I’ll let you get some rest. Just be sure to wake up someday. For me, and for you.”
A terrible clash of fire and ice scorched and froze the very earth the two warriors stood upon. A cumulonimbus of smoke and frost exploded outwards from the two, igniting their silhouettes in the brief shattering of light that followed.
Standing there, struggling with regained determination, was Grovalt. He was clad in brand new, ornate armor resembling the old Frostlanders he had heard about when he was a young lad. His greatsword cried out in pain, pushing back the monstrous Graves and his flaming war axe. The blade glowed an icy teal color.
“This struggle… is meaningless! Why must you continue to suffer when we are fated to die regardless!?” The fiend also struggled. His axe, too, screamed in anguish.
Grovalt, through it all, smiled at his old boss. His tormentor of the past seemed so small to him, now. A moment in time that had long passed. He grunted and chuckled. “Yeah. We might die here. But we always have a choice, boss. Would you rather prove him right, and die like some hound? Or die free, unbound?”
“N-no! It doesn’t matter. Aza must burn… or my life would have been for nothing. Even if it’s exactly what she wants, I must destroy it all! It’s the only way.”
Grovalt pushed back against Graves, his blade gradually freezing the axe that had caused so much damage. His blue eyes radiated. His very look could put out a wayward flame. “I’ve always walked a dark path. Alone. Crushed by the weight of reality. The conflict I felt made me hate the entire world. And in the end, all I had was my own voice crying out. But there was always a faint light in my life… And that light… was what kept me going. Even now. That’s how I know… there has to be…”
“...Another way.”
The two men loosened the grip on their weapons. The respective fire and frost in their eyes calmed.
“Heh… yer one annoying brat, huh. Can’t leave an old man alone…” The flames that had consumed Graves started to pull back, revealing the humanity that had long been forgotten in his wrath. “...I still can’t let it be, Grovalt. This city… must be destroyed. But, the people don’t deserve this… none of us do. So, let me do one last thing. Burn one last building. For me. For all of us.”
With a nod, the northern warrior took a few strained steps backward. The toll of his magic started to dawn on him, and the armor materialized from his rising emotions vanished from sight.
Graves raised his axe of flame, as he had when he’d first found it, and a deafening chime rang from its blade. The final five etchmarks burned fiercely, then all of the raging flame the axe could hold poured into Graves’s half-human, half-transformed body. A truly blinding light emanated from him, bright enough to bring everyone in Aza to a sudden stop. Even Esternn and Zandos, locked into a battle of wit and magery, stopped to gaze upon the source of the heavenly brilliance.
As the light faded, Graves’s axe fell to the ground with a cold, metallic thunk. His discarded, burnt clothing littered the cobblestone in crinkling pieces. In his place was a fiery, feathered, glowing mass. It raised and spread its mighty wings, releasing a wave of glittering embers that shot across the city. Graves, no, the phoenix spoke no more. It only emitted a fiery screech. Any sense of humanity had left this being, along with its once human shape. Graves was gone, and this thing was all that was left of him.
“Fool! What are you doing!?” Zandos cried out to the creature as if it were still that pathetic man he had abused and manipulated for so long, but to no avail. The beautiful phoenix paid him no mind, and emanated a calming warmth as if all were sitting in front of a familiar hearth.
Grovalt could almost make out the sad plinking of a lute. It brought him back to the many nights he couldn’t sleep when staying at the Rumhound hideout. Every so often, though, his boss would sit at the fireplace and play a sad yet warm melody that could barely be heard through the cold, stone walls.
The phoenix, having spread its wings and flittering fire, rose into the dusklit sky with ease. It was almost as if nothing tethered it to the world, even gravity. With a quick flap of its wings, it dove into a piercing strike. Its body resembled a flaming, crimson lance that sought to drive all of its remaining pain and confusion into one burning structure that still stood over all. Before any could tell where it was going, it had already pierced its target. The creature blew through the Imperium with the same weightless elegance it had flown with, annihilating the remaining height the tower had.
The firebird, a bit frailer, was still burning with a wondrous aura. Even though the attack had peeled and torn its feathers and skin, its freedom could be felt even from the ground. With a final push, it flew even higher into the sky, amidst the yellowed clouds, into the smoky atmosphere, nearly to the stars and the looming moon.
As it reached the highest echelons a being could reach, it came to a realization. The sullen yet empowered warrior it had once known had driven those meaningful words into its mind. Words that could even transcend forms. From one life to another, those values still clung to its mind and its soul. That there is always a future, be it man, bird, or otherwise. And even when you’ve been buried yards underground, bones decomposed, there’s hope for you. A new life awaits you. One with a much more beautiful lens and second chances. It’s never too late.
And so, it dove. A fiery streak cut the world in two, ending in an instant at the base of the great tower now reduced to rubble. Its dwindling existence was vaporized. Another blinding light assaulted the senses. A dull silence followed, though perhaps the sound was too much a burden on human ears that it could not be sensed at all.
In its wake, as the light faded again, the Imperium was gone for good. Nothing remained of its shadowy corpse. In its place was the remnant of the great phoenix. Its essence had gone, though specks of its light remained in a pillar above the destruction it had wrought. The specks resembled butterflies, fluttering in the air without a care in the world. Perhaps they were just oddly shaped embers, but even so, they spoke. As the fire fizzled, they whispered a poem to the Azanites that had returned or come out of hiding. It rang in their minds as a sad melody, as if sung alongside a slightly out-of-tune lute.
A dreary city once soaked in crimson light
Now ablaze, a ferocious incineration
Fear envelops all who served the cenobite
and fire revels in a combustive congregation
A woman in black laughs from the depths of imperium
and gazes upon the havoc wrought from within
Her iniquitous beast intones a foul drum
and the duo departs from their great sin
But from the ashes hope is found
and the past is buried among the bones
Will and drive once chained in black are unbound
and their dead minds awaken to atone
From the ashes a pact is born:
To build a home that will never be forlorn
Grovalt, already exhausted, made one final push. He placed his hand on the ground, grasping in desperation. Another chime rang out, and following it, a field of ice scattered from his palm and spidered about the city, choking the life out of the remaining fires that persisted. With that, he fell over, the exhaustion finally reaching him. Though he tried to stay awake, he needed to rest. He finally had the time to, after all. As he drifted away, a faint black shape entered his vision. It slowly made its way to him, descending from the same sky the phoenix had colored in an orange hue. Tiredness took him, and he quietly slipped into unconsciousness.