Chapter 80

  Winds Sing the Tales Long Forgotten

"I can't see!" Ryne exclaimed. "Get out of the way!" her tiny hand pressed against Sylas' side and tried to push him, but failed. The latter glanced down at her and smirked before stepping to the side, letting her come up to the railing and look over it. "Wow," her lips gaped in awe at the sight. Amidst the mountains of snow, a lane of clear, though wet dirt stretched flat from the castle to the wall. Twenty or so coat-draped souls shoveled the snow repeatedly further out, widening the lane. "I didn't really think they'd be able to do it."

“None of us did,” Sylas said. “But fear of death is a good motivator, it turns out.”

“Then why aren’t you with them?” Ryne looked at him. “Shouldn’t you be the most motivated one?”

"…" Sylas merely smiled, focusing forward to the cleared-up part of the castle. Did he fear death? His own, no. What he feared was a wall, one so tall it would forever bar him from stepping forward.

“What? Trying to play the role of the courageous?” Ryne questioned with a faint scoff, lifting herself up on the railing. The cold winds shimmered by, causing her to immediately descend and shiver, withdrawing within the castle walls. Her expression fell further upon realizing just how much those clearing the snow had to suffer.

“Don’t you remember? I’m a Guardian of Humanity!” he exclaimed.

“Huh? Guardian of what? What are you talking about.”

“… oh,” She doesn’t remember. No, that’s wrong—she never lived it. God, just how many memories I’ll blend together. “Nothing,” he quickly corrected himself. “But remember it from now on—this guy here, a Guardian of Humanity!”

“I’d be quicker to believe ghouls can fly and worms can use magic.”

“Oh, ouch,” Sylas said. “What do you think Valen? Don’t you see me as a Guardian?” Sylas’ words caused the relaxed Ryne to immediately stiffen as she robotically looked to the side where she saw the young Prince disrobing with a smile.

“I indeed do,” Valen replied. “It’s nice to see the two of you out in the light for a change.”

“Tell me about it,” Sylas sighed, though only partly focused on his conversation with Valen; most of his attention was on Ryne who turned into a mute. It was a remarkably beautiful thing, he mused, how she went from a chatterbox with no reservations around him to a shy, guarded, insecure girl as soon as Valen showed up. “I thought those walls would become my tomb.”

“Well, you do look like someone who walked out of a tomb," Valen joked, joining the trio.

“I always tell Ryne,” Sylas said. “You and the Prince are more alike than you could possibly imagine!”

“Oh? We are?” Valen glanced at Ryne, smiling broadly at the girl. “That makes me incredibly happy.”

“…” on the other hand, Ryne’s eyes widened in wonder and childish joy, her lips trying to part to let out some sounds, though failing. Sylas, realizing this, quickly came to the rescue.

“Naturally, she’s far more adorable than you,” he said. “But you pine that ‘brooding but inspiring’ look down to a tee. Where’d you come from, anyway?”

“A meeting,” Valen responded. “Where else?”

“What did you discuss during this meeting, pray tell,” Sylas asked though turned his head to the side, appearing entirely disinterested.

“… contingency plans,” Valen’s words, however, drew him back into the conversation. Unlike them, Sylas didn't have even thought of failure—not the permanent one, anyway. However, for all they knew, they had one chance—and if they fell… their fall would open the floodgates to the rest of the Kingdom. "That's why I'm happy I found the two of you here. In case things seemed to be going awry," Valen said. “Derrek swore he would escort the both of you to safety.”

“…”

“…” both Ryne and Sylas turned mute for a moment—though for remarkably different reasons. It was Sylas who first broke the silence. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

“F-fu—no, no I’m not,” Valen, taken aback by the crude words for a moment, responded quickly.

“Nah, you’re definitely fucking with me,” Sylas doubled down. “If you think even for a moment it’d be me instead of you in that trio.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“No, it has to be you!” Valen didn’t back down, however.

“Huh? Why?! Who the hell am I to be saved above the Prince himself?”

“Who—who are you? How… how can you even ask that?!” the Prince said through slightly gnashed teeth. “You are our savior, Sylas!! You are the reason any of us are even still alive! Without you… without you, this entire place would have long since become our tomb! And yes, I’m a Prince—but so what?! There are dime-a-dozen of us, out there! But there is only one you. And if my home, my Kingdom, my people are to stand a chance of a future… they’d stand it with you by their side, and not me!”

“What about—”

“I’ve told you repeatedly,” though Ryne tried to chime in, Sylas quickly interrupted her. “I’m just a man, Valen. If you die… I, quite literally, won’t have a purpose. The only reason I ‘see’ things is because of you.”

“You see things because you are gifted!”

“How about you trust a guy who’s seeing things as to why he sees things?”

“I don’t—”

“Because I’m tired of you sacrificing yourself for me!” Ryne, once again, tried to chime in, but Valen interrupted her just the same. “I am decidedly not worth it!”

“Bah, all of this is a pointless, trite discussion,” Sylas shrugged it off. “We won’t lose. We can’t lose.”

“That’s why it’s a contingency plan,” Valen said. “If we fall… the rest of the Kingdom needs to be warned.”

“Why don’t the both of you go and I stay here?!!” Ryne, finally out of patience, yelled at them, temporarily drawing their attention to her. However, they had… strange looks in their eyes. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I mean, you’re an Exorcist,” Sylas mumbled.

“And a young girl,” Valen added.

“So what?” she protested. “You,” she pointed at Sylas. “Are a Prophet! Someone ten times more valuable than an Exorcist! And a young girl?” she turned to Valen, facing him straightforwardly perhaps for the first time since they met. There were no reservations in her gaze nor her posture, just pure determination. “You’re barely older than me! By what? Three? Maybe four years? Not to mention a Prince of the Kingdom, dead though you may be to it for now! My life isn’t intrinsically more worth than either one of yours! So, why am I getting saved?”

“… wow, you weren’t kidding,” Valen smiled lightly and turned to Sylas after a stunned moment of silence they shared. “She truly bites.”

“I kept telling you,” Sylas shrugged. “But she did get one thing right.”

“What?”

"You're both young pups," Sylas said. "And I'm an ancient crook. The world's wrong if the old get to live while the young die."

“I—”

“You can’t be—”

"Enough, from the both of you," Sylas' voice shifted suddenly, turning lower and harsher, his gaze piercing through both of them. Neither of the two ever truly felt Sylas was much older due to how he generally gelled well with them—but they understood, at that moment. Those eyes… the wrinkles in the stretched face… the raspy voice… "I already said there won't be a need for any contingency plans. Ah, here it is."

“… w-what?” Valen braved a question.

“A gift,” Sylas cracked a smile. “From me to you.”

“What gift?” Valen leaned over the railing and faced down, noticing that several men have walked forward—two of them holding musical instruments, and one appearing to be the castle’s bard, though it was difficult to say underneath the numerous layers of clothing.

“Pipe down now,” Sylas said. “A show’s about to start.”

The guards in uniforms soon appeared as well, lining up the sides of the cleaned lane. Though they were shaking and shivering in the blistering and cutting wind, they stood rooted in place. Just as the last one lined up, the belting of the drums began—it was low and slow at first, slowly picking up the pace. It burned through the sounds of the winds and reached many curious ears that have come out to listen, be it through the windows or at the castle's entrance. The drums' beat peaked and fell silent for a moment, and within that silence, a soft, melodic voice belted out.

O’ woes of men and woes of Kings

Stately walls to guard us deep

Amidst the snow the fire seethes

The light in dark to guide our fears

And when the cold comes rapping slow

And dead come knocking at our doors

And when the dawn that seemed so close

Falls behind the curtains drawn

In the men’s most unholy hour

When the dead drown out our choir

And when the life all seems so lost

Come forth the Prince to save our homes

Light the torch to guide our way

The Savior of the Maidens Fair

And build the ship to sail away

From the darkness that now sways

And when we falter, he shall rise

The handsome Prince who never lies

His promise—

In the meantime, Sylas was grinning gleefully, Ryne was doing her best not to burst out in laughter, and Valen was standing rooted and frozen, red in the face, his thoughts a hodgepodge of insults and pleas he had directed toward Sylas. What’s worse, the ‘song’ only got worse from that point on—with the highlights, at least for Valen, being ‘a man above all other men; and not just above the belt’, and ‘he who’d slain a thousand ghouls, yet pure in soul he now returns’, and gems such as ‘maidens fair now worship him, and who could fault them for their sin?’.

At a certain point, it simply stopped being even a song—it was just a very loud voice with some muted drums explicitly praising every single inch of who Valen was and, well, mostly wasn’t. Lines such as ‘his touch can heal the sick’ and ‘his lips made all women who touched them pregnant’ and many, many, many more lines like those. In the end, unable to bear it, Valen crouched and rammed his head into his hands, screaming.

Ryne herself danced between embarrassment, joy, and embarrassment again, yet had to admit that it was unlike anything she’d ever seen before.

On the other hand, Sylas was quite proud—especially of the ‘kiss may make them pregnant’ and the ‘above the belt’ lines. He had quite a lot of input into the song, to the point he had to reassure the bard repeatedly that he wouldn’t be beheaded for uttering some lines aloud.

“Hm?” he frowned for a moment, his gaze drifting from the celebratory mood down below toward beyond the wall. He felt the disturbance in energy—and he wasn’t alone in it. Ryne had stopped snickering, her face hardening, a look of faint horror emerging in her eyes. Derrek shot out of the castle and looked up toward Sylas, nodding. “Wake up,” he kicked Valen gently. “They’re coming.”

“---huh?” Valen mumbled.

“The dead,” Sylas said. “Are here. And boy… are they here…”