From the Celestiarch:

I knew the truth, too late, and it cost us everything.

That burden, that sin, burrowed deep into my core as my fingers gathered soft mud. A storm had gathered its sorrow, shedding its burden. Raindrops droned, soft and quiet, against the statues that surrounded me. The dust that had settled upon these grave markers was all together washed away. The marbled stone gleaming anew as if just polished.

A heavy sigh escapes my lips. A thick lock of hair falls out of place, coming to rest upon my mask. I ignore it wishing I could ignore that damned sin that I can no longer abide nor accept. It was that sin that had driven me into exile.

I blinked, brow laying heavy upon my weary eyes. When had I come to think of this as an exile? It wasn’t that I disagreed, at least not now, but our original purpose had been to venture out into the darkness and search. We were to be a celestial watchtower. A vigilant guard to ensure the Silence didn’t return unnoticed.

“You were all fools…”

An icy chill creeps in through my armor, and I briefly wonder if this place has become attuned to me. I pause, my aching fingers lifting from the shallow hole I’ve dug. Flecks of mug cascade down from the dingy metal of my gauntlet, desperate to reunite with their own kind. My gaze drifts up to the other statues and for a long moment I eye them. Carved grooves. Lines and curves. Features uniting to create the perfect simulacrum of their hosts. Not that I needed that level of detail to remember all those who’d fallen upon the path to this moment.

“We gave up everything… for this?” My head dips in shame.

The better part of me–the part that had fallen asleep until Dominia had pierced the barrier between the abyss and the Midium–knew we had made the right decision. We’d surrendered everything in this pursuit. Everything but my title. My identity. Once more my eyes flick up to the faces of people I would never see alive again. They’d all seen me as something more. The first of my kind but I was simply the last. The lone survivor. My name, the one given to me by my mother and father, was lost upon the altar of the first Wintyr. Cast out into eternal darkness. After that, only one title ever seemed to suffice. All that I was or could be was neatly summed up simply as:

The Archivist.

I shake away the feelings. With a quick flick of concentration, a burst of teal energy juts out. The blade sizzles and pops. Its radiance stains the base of the statue and my own pale armor. The next motion is hollow. Empty. The blade hisses as I force it through a section of my armor. The ornate fixture falls, its scuffed surface marred by the mud. The blade dies as I grab the piece and place it within the shallow hole. The offering is nearly complete. Yet the ache within me is only just beginning.

At least I won’t be alone.

The thought does little to ease the knowledge that I will bind yet another ghostly imprint to follow me for all eternity. The weight of that revelation crashed down upon me, breaking my shoulders as they slumped forward. My hand shot out, slapping against the cold stone. My armor shrieked as it ground against the hard stone. A tremble starts deep within my core. It rises, causing my head to slump. The thunder rolls above me, chanting like some distant angry Aspect. For a long moment I let the storm’s rumbling serenade fill me.

Gathering my courage, I push myself from the statue. My head rises to meet the distant gaze of the statue looming before me. Lightning flashes. The face is caught between pure light and shadows. Yet it’s the name that grabs hold of me. Another flash. It’s as though the thunder comes from the plaque before me. I’m face to face with all that remains of the person I had once called my friend. All the possibilities we could have had were now severed and confined to a simple name.

“Do you remember standing back to back in the Suringaza plaza? The enemy closing in. It was just the two of us. Alone. Us elders held down the fort while the kids rushed off to save the day. Do you know how many you saved that day? I do. I remember counting every head. Making sure every name was written down so that it wouldn’t be forgotten. So that you wouldn’t be forgotten.’

“It was five hundred and two. Five hundred and two souls you ensured lived…” My head falls. The words escape me, “Lived to die another day. And I remember all of them.”

The ache within me grows. It’ll consume me if I don’t resist. I realize that at some point I’d already begun the prayer. My hands clasped together in an ancient, familiar gesture. Part of me grimaces at how easily the prayer escapes my lips. Something that had once taken me a full year to learn, recite, and accentuate properly, now rolls effortlessly off my tongue. The guilt creeps in, tendrils sinking deep into the callouses upon my heart. The only thing I think can pierce them now.

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Disgust wells up in me as I once more watch my devotion wane. Another step down the mountainous peaks I once stood so proudly upon. How long had I watched my devotion wane? How could I have let the fires of my passion be reduced to dim embers? Shame flooded me as I came to the end of the prayer. Once more, the paradoxical cold numbness spreads through me like frost upon a lake.

I shrug the feeling off. I have to focus. My friend deserves at least that.

“Korra en Sevra. Korra en Judiarc.” I intoned, finishing the rite.

Lifting my gaze, I stared into the heart of the storm. The rain slips down the curve of my mask. The rain would make it difficult to light the candle. My face hardens. Hands clench. Mouth opens and teeth are bared. My back arches as my lungs swell with oxygen. The roar that manifests is primal. Frustration and desperation made carnate. The dark, swollen clouds break. They turn and flee, becoming thin warped lines. They had come on so slowly, so subtly, as if trying to ambush me. Now they remind me of the sight of a terrified army fleeing before my presence.

And why wouldn’t they?

This is my world. My Domain.

Within several breaths, the sky clears. The world silent. I retrieve the candle from the pouch at my side. For a moment, I hold the candle in my hand, admiring its beauty. I always loved the beauty of simple things. My finger traces against the runes etched into the metal inlaid into the supple flesh of the wax. A burst of my will ignites the wick into violet flame. Its light is far more powerful than it has any right to be. The candelabrum’s crystal surface glimmers. A king’s jewel in a beggar’s hand.

The flame dances. Twisting and writhing. It’s such a quiet thing. Small and fragile. Yet it burns effective against the darkness that would surround it. All these thoughts coalesce within me as a brisk gale nearly extinguishes it. My shoulder drops. My hands pull the candle into my chest plate. I use my body to shield that tiny life. My head turns once more to the grave statue. To the name.

All I have to do now is set the candle upon its holder within the statue’s solar plexus, say his final words, and walk away. My shoulders shake as I fight back the tears as a sudden fear grabs me. Its claws dig in, gripping me in their frenzy. I’m paralyzed. Bound and smothered. Something within me is building. It’s like there’s this river and it’s all dammed up. It building. Rising. Ready to burst from overflow.

And then it does.

The release is hot and winding, dripping down my cheeks.

How many times have I done this? A thousand? A thousand thousand? I know the cycle now. Seek. Find. Bury. Isolation. Seek. Don’t find. Still bury.

What if this is it?

What if I do this forever?

The thoughts strangle me. My twin hearts pound within my chest. The edges of my vision blur as though reality was tearing itself apart. My knees buckle. I barely stop myself from smothering the flame. I grit my teeth and use my free hand to grab my friend’s statue and pull myself up.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I could have…” the words trailed off and I hate myself for it. Hate myself for the truth they represent.

I reach out and place the candle within the statue’s upper stomach before anything else can happen. I wouldn’t dishonor my friend like that. He still needs me. I have to carry on for the both of us now. The flame now dances at the base of the ribcage. My gaze scans the graveyard. Hundreds of lights spread out around me like fallen stars. Each set within their own altars. Their hidden constellations stretch out from the edges of the horizon as they pierce through my like hooks. I’m trapped by them, but they were trapped without me.

Then one by one, they come to life. A ghoulish glow. Pale and sickly. It washes over each statue before stepping away. My ghosts have awakened. Revulsion chokes me as I stare into these pale imitations. Yet I am unnerved by those soulless eyes. Part of me, the part that remained awake for all these millennia, is glad to have their company once more.

I return my focus to the next ghost.

“You will not be forgotten. Your memory shall live on through me, old friend.”

It is finished.

Yet I’m gripped by a sudden urge to stand there. To not turn my back and leave. I know what will happen once I do. For a moment, I imagine myself standing here forever. Becoming another statue within my graveyard. How bittersweet and fitting that would be.

“I know what has to be done and although I don’t want to do it, I know only that I can do it.”

A sudden surge of energy rushes into my mind. Dominia. Her eager young voice fills my ancient labyrinthian mind. Echoes down its decrepit halls. It’s like seeing colors for the first time in years.

“Archivist, I need you. I’ve made contact with the other side.”

I shake my head. The decision is made. I send a confirmation and gaze into the fair features of my friend once more. With that, I force myself to turn and leave. The fears fall away as an old defiance reawakens within me. I take a step. Then another. And another.

As I walk away, I feel his ghost rising. It follows me. It joins them. My ghosts. I make my way through the graveyard, eyeing the lights that surround me. Each one a friend. Now a hollow image eager to join this black parade. His imprint catches up to me.

“Welcome, old friend. Welcome to the masquerade.”