“Vashante,” Cartaxa urged her to focus.
The Eidolon turned in her saddle, astride a six-legged beast of war. Her dozen eyes fixed upon his, and her posture turned tense. He had caught her succumbing to sleep. They rode side by side through the ruins of Cruiros, which had fallen further into collapse with each passing day, leading a small band of loyal armsmen.
“You need rest,” he said.
Cartaxa, clad in star metal armour, met her gaze with his shimmering, compound eyes. With a slight tilt of his head, he directed her attention back to the streets that lay before them. The Eidolon, momentarily lost in the depths of her tormented memories, refocused. She lifted her gaze to the skyline, where billows of black smoke veiled the bone sky. This dark gloom obscured the distant titans tasked with upholding the world’s weight and cast a shadow over the City’s pulsating electric lights and the natural glow of its bioluminescence, plunging the endless tangling vines of Cruiros into the murk.
Fear and realisation touched the Eidolon’s mind.
Turning the reigns in her hand and kicking her heels, the Eidolon spurred her mount into a swift gallop. The creature beneath her, compelled by her command, let out a fierce snarl as it dashed through the city streets, navigated a junction, and charged across a plaza with the Eidolon’s cloak billowing behind them. Together, the beast and its rider ascended the ramparts and traversed the plateau, weaving through shrines erected in homage to faith and order over the ages until they arrived at the towering edifice that housed the temple of the Sisters.
It was ablaze.
Flames spiralled into fierce vortexes, erupting from the structure and caught in the swirling updrafts unique to the City’s interior, fueled by the myriad air pumps embedded within the bioscape’s depths. The air was thick with the acrid stench of scorched skin and singed hair, yet the Eidolon remained undeterred. She swiftly dismounted from her agitated mount, which reared and neighed in distress. Standing firm, she unleashed a silent, jawless scream towards the blaze, her entire being quivering with a lifetime of pent-up fury against the cruel reality of her world.
The contingent of soldiers that arrived soon after was momentarily stunned by the inferno engulfing the age-old sacred site. Swiftly springing into action, they coordinated their efforts, sourcing water to combat the flames. They worked tirelessly to contain the fire to the best of their abilities until the intense heat burned down to fading embers.
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Afterwards, when the smoke had cleared and the rubble was pulled apart, the Eidolon stared down at the dying sparks in the husk of what had once been the Immortal’s effigy, now molten scrap. Its electronics had been the original source of the fire. Metal scraps had been cast into its power lines and short-circuited it violently. The fires had spread throughout the structure upon deliberately piled detritus and flammable oils. This was a deliberate act of arson.
That night, when the biolights dimmed, the Eidolon and Cartaxa sat apart from the soldiers to discuss their next steps. Twenty-five warriors set to camp in the shadow of the burned-out husk, fortifying the columnar stone with artillery and barricades.
“There was no body,” Cartaxa said, scrubbing his metal blade and applying a fresh coat of oil. “Do you trust this Vat-Born? She could easily have started the fire and fled.”
The Eidolon leaned forward upon the rubble claimed as a seat, her elbows on her knees as she stared at the ground.
“Vashante.”
She lifted her head and glared at him.
“How many barrows must be sealed?” He asked quietly. “We can’t keep chasing every false hope. If not the Lord of Bones, if not the Pilgrim, this mutant?”
The Eidolon stared into his faceted eyes, working her hands tightly together. Her prehensile teeth clicked together in nervous habit.
“And if, by all the roads to Paradise, she is still alive but she proves to be just as wicked, what then?” He asked.
The Eidolon stood in response, leaning forward as if to challenge the war leader. His antenna twitched as he fastidiously treated his blade, refusing to indulge her hubris.
“I will always consider you my friend, Vashante,” he said, mandibles briefly rubbing together as he examined the edge of his sword. “A winding road we tread, but one that must be walked all the same. I ask only caution and temperance, if not for my sake...”
They both looked towards the encampment.
“... Then for their’s.”
Cartaxa turned the blade over and offered it to the Eidolon by the hilt. She paused before taking it in hand, looking it over herself. Satisfied, she tucked it beneath her ragged cloak, replacing her own lost blade.
And she yielded a single nod.
The fallen Dame pivoted, her tattered cloak billowing as she walked away from the burgeoning encampment. Soldiers on watch glanced her way, their eyes following the ordained warrior’s exit. Murmurs and whispers spread among them, filled with speculation and curiosity about the implications of her departure.
“You need rest!” Cartaxa shouted after the Eidolon. Then, glancing over, seeing her resolute in her passage, he turned his head down and muttered. “Then I shall pray that you find what you seek, Vashante.” A tut. “To who, though? To whom?”