“–ord Hero? Lord Hero, can you hear me? Are you awake?”
I blinked groggily as the world slowly came back into focus. A hairy paw tipped with viciously sharp claws was shaking me gently back and forth. Slowly, the blurry black-grey mess that greeted my eyes resolved itself into an equally hairy face.
Rover was alive.
“Told you…just…Hero,” I murmured, lightheaded, as my mind gradually whirred back into motion. The face bared long white fangs at me in what I knew, thankfully, to be a smile.
“Ha-HAH! You are! I knew it, I knew you’d be alright! HEY–HE’S OK!” The gruff voice, which I now recognized as Rover’s, called out into the distance, before fixing its focus back on me.
“Oh man, that was amazing! You, you were…amazing!” The wolfman gushed excitedly, tail wagging furiously back and forth. “You just stabbed it, right through the eye!” Rover, backed away, miming the motion, then shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve never seen anything move that fast!”
My blood froze.
“That was so, so…COOL!”
I frowned, blinking once more. He…wasn’t suspicious? I stumbled to my feet, grimacing whilst rubbing my still-sore head, slightly dizzy.
“Where are…the others?” I asked, blearily. Then my eyes snapped fully open.
“Thaum!”
“What?” Rover startled at my exclamation.
“What happened to her?!” I asked, looking desperately towards the freshly collapsed spire, seeing nothing. “She bore the brunt of the Champion’s attack,” I went on, “I saw it!”
“I can’t…imagine anyone surviving something like that.” I shook my head slowly, shivering as I recalled the image burned into my mind, twin lasers piercing seamlessly through space.
“Is she safe? Is she alright?” I asked, frustrated as I searched visually for the young Master. The crash had so disoriented me that I must have forgotten about the event entirely.
“Don’t worry,” the wolfman placated, drawing my attention. “She’s unharmed.”
I raised my eyebrows at him incredulously.
“…for the most part,” he admitted, wincing. “Protecting us cost her much. She lost consciousness briefly after the attack. But physically, she’s unharmed,” he repeated.
Rover cleared his voice, timbre deepening once more.
“You should see her for yourself. Oh, by the way, we retrieved your sword for you,” he growled, holding out the aforementioned blade almost reverentially before me. Fang looked no more worse for wear, despite being shoved unceremoniously inside of a massive mechanical serpent.
As a matter of fact, he was positively euphoric.
My Soulbound Weapon howled joyously in the song, serenading my waking mind with thoughts of glory and triumph and loyalty and gratitude. I felt as if I could almost see him before me, prancing joyously about my bruised and battered form, jumping up to plant steely kisses upon my forehead. I shook my head back and forth to clear the illusion, but couldn’t stop the grin from forming on my face. His happiness was infectious.
“Except…that’s not just a sword, is it?”
Instantly, my smile disappeared, my head snapping up to regard Rover, who stared right back at me.
“…Excuse me?” I said, warily. The wolfman held up both hands in front of him.
“I don’t mean to press, but…but I know weapons,” he explained. “Runic ones, especially. The one benefit of my upbringing,” he said, chuckling humorlessly. “And that one…” Rover jabbed a clawed digit towards Fang.
“Telekinetic control, dimensional storage, durability and sharpness enough to slice Entropic steel like butter…not to mention, speed enhancement? How you moved so fast, I reckon.” He ticked the items off of a list on his fingers as he spoke, shaking his head as he did so.
“Too many effects. Too many. No ciphic weapon does that. Not all that. Not all at once. And the detail on those runes…” Rover trailed off, before eyeing me curiously. “I’ve seen Grimnir’s best, and that’s close to it.”
Then he tapped a finger on his chin, thoughtfully, before smiling slyly at me. “But what really gives it away was what you just did there. Just…just now,” he said, pointing at me.
“You smiled,” he accused. I raised an eyebrow at him, incredulously.
“And not like you’d just gotten back an heirloom weapon, either,” he hurriedly stated, waving a hand in my direction. “No, no. No.”
“No, you were greeting a friend.”
I didn’t respond, instead staring at the lycan with an entirely blank expression, but he paid it no heed, continuing all the same.
“Put it together with everything else, and the answer’s clear as day. I’m right, aren’t I?” He pressed. I remained silent, eyes still narrowed.
“That sword…it talks to you.”
I didn’t want to give away any more than I needed to. I could still salvage this.
I hoped.
“I knew it…” Rover whispered, nodding slowly, grinning broadly, taking my reticence as confirmation. “I knew it. Ever since the first moment you showed off…him?” He asked, hesitantly. I still didn’t reply. Rover whistled, gaze locked on my blade. Fang was still cavorting about innocently, ignorant to my distress.
“A living weapon…” he murmured, eyes tracing up and down its breadth.
“Grimnir’s only managed to make the one,” Rover went on, “only seen it once, myself. There are others, probably, but I’m guessing…Relic?” He chuckled. “A functional one? Must be, I suppose. Gods, I can see why you wouldn’t reveal such a thing. Your family, too. A ‘Crat like you…the Cells’d be all over you.” He nodded, finally seeming finished, before looking up at me.
My posture relaxed slightly. Another crisis avoided, thank the Priest. I’d no idea at all what a ‘living weapon’ was supposed to be, but it seemed far from what Fang actually was. My Soulbound Weapon’s true nature, and thereby my own, was in the clear once more.
That is, supposing the rest of my companions didn’t harbor suspicions of their own.
“Well, fear not!” Rover assured me, a broad grin spread across his face, no doubt misattributing my prior distress. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
I nodded once, drawing myself up in what I hoped was a noble and magnanimous manner despite having no idea what the therian meant by any of it, and holding a hand out to him. Rover clasped wrists with me, still beaming as he did so.
“Oh, it’s just so exciting! First, I get matched with the Immolator, now this! Perhaps, you might allow me to commune with the creature? Later on, of course, of course. I’m sorry, it’s just–why, it’s like I’m part of a legend, truly–”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Lord Hero, you live.”
A strong, clear, enhanced voice boomed out from above, cutting through our conversation and putting an abrupt end to Rover’s tirade, though not his excitement. The aforementioned Glare had apparently doffed his Hard Light Armor, descending with just a slight plasmic hum before dropping down in front of the two of us. Despite the devastating blow I’d witnessed him suffer prior at the hands of the mechanical boa, the handsome mage displayed little in way of injury, save for some minor scrapes and blemishes upon his robes.
Better yet, and in great contrast to this morning, his disposition seemed to have recovered, returned to its habitual geniality, only a scant few ill humors persisting in the very depths of his song. Perhaps the battle had done him good.
Or, perhaps he was simply composed enough now to once more mask his deeper emotions from my view.
I didn’t care. To be honest, Glare was the easy favorite of all my current companions. I’d grown to respect the man greatly, both in capability and character, over the course of our expedition. Despite his meltdown in front of Quarrel, he remained a bastion of safety and reliability to me, and I was happy enough to just see him acting normally again.
“That was quite the impact,” Glare continued, smiling as he clapped me firmly on the shoulder. “I must say, I grow more jealous of Brute Blessings every passing day. Both of yours,” he added, directing an equally dazzling beam at Rover, who glanced downwards, shuffling his feet in an adorably shy manner, clearly uncomfortable at receiving such praise from someone he so idolized.
“To recover from such grievous injury is no mean feat.”
“You seemed to do just fine without one,” I countered, grinning right back at him.
“You honor me,” he retorted, waving off my praise. “I’ve had a half-decade of experience fighting monsters, yet all I managed was to serve as the Champion’s target practice. You, milord, struck the killing blow.”
“It’s true,” Rover added, eagerly. “You did. You didn’t even hesitate, not for an instant. You really are…” He stopped, pausing for a moment, before glancing downwards at the medallion resting upon his neck. “Um, you’re…”
Slowly, still staring at the medallion, the wolfman’s joviality dimmed. It drained away, departing him as if evacuating a desert basin under the heat of a scorching sun, his endearing enthusiasm evaporating all at once. He clenched his paws into tight fists, then–sagged.
“I…I couldn’t…get close to the thing,” he murmured, softly, staring all the while at the intricately crafted medallion. Its silver moon winked back at him, glistening under the midday sky. “Couldn’t put a single scratch on it…no matter how hard I tried…even the first floor…”
Rover wrenched his gaze upwards to lock eyes with me directly.
“But you took it down with a single blow.” Rover’s eyes darted back and forth, between the medallion and myself, struggling to hold my gaze for long.
“You saved us. All of us. It’s true,” Rover tilted his head, in a gesture that normally would have been adorable, but now just seemed…sad. His song overflowed with so many emotions that I could have never put a name on what precisely he was feeling. There was admiration, and envy, and regret, and rage, and guilt, and fear, and above all else…
Longing.
“You really are…strong,” he concluded, simply.
It felt like a confession and an accusation. It felt like a thousand things were loaded behind that word. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t advanced enough to read his rationale directly from his song, open though it was, so I didn’t know how to respond.
A mundane ‘thanks…?’ seemed inappropriate.
Especially seeing as I’d been set to abandon him not moments ago, should the fight have turned sour. So I just stared back at him, speechless. If what Rover felt was weakness, I didn’t know how to console him. Further training, greater experience, raising his Attunement–none of it would matter, not really. And I could never tell him why. Ultimately, our Blessings were worlds apart.
I was a Noble, and he was…not.
“What does it mean, to be strong?”
Fortunately, it appeared as if I wouldn’t need to reply at all. Glare, having attentively listened to the Brute throughout his speech, was no longer smiling. His expression had dimmed considerably, but strangely, he seemed to give off no less warmth.
No, in fact, though his grin was barely present now, the Immolator seemed somehow…more sincere than ever. He didn’t clap Rover on the shoulder as he had done me, with faux-familiarity, nor did he attempt to charm with pure charisma. Instead, Glare spoke quietly and calmly to the man, devoid of pomp or circumstance.
“What does it mean, to be strong?” He repeated, rhetorically. He didn’t give either of us time to reply.
“My Blessing grants me considerable strength,” Glare continued, neutrally, eyebrows raised at the wolfman who refused to meet his gaze. He snorted. “Of arm, at least.”
“I did nothing to earn this,” he stated firmly. “None among us choose our powers.”
I kept my mouth shut tight.
“It has allowed me to accrue renown upon the Frontlines,” he went on. “Great renown. I command a repute that, even to myself, beggars belief.” He shook his head.
“I have barely seen twenty namedays, and yet,” he chuckled, gesturing in Rover’s direction. “Songs are sung of me. Of my exploits. Occasionally, of whom I’ve saved. I like those songs.” He smiled at the wolfman.
“The Light over Lynchausen,” he said, sardonically. Then his smile twisted.
“But mostly, of what I’ve slain,” he spat. “A Dance with Demons. Sev’ath’s Fall. Of the scores of Spawn I’ve killed whilst little more than a child.”
“Slaughter sells,” Glare said, nodding once more. “Slaughter of monsters, in particular. People wish to hear of our victory over the Titans. What little there is. And it’s true–I have killed Spawn.”
“I’ve killed many Spawn.”
Glare fixed us both with an even stare. It wasn’t violent, but for some reason, made me shiver all the same. It brought back unwelcome memories of facing off against the indomitable Flange so many months ago. It was confidence, and experience, but most of all, brutality.
Glare might have had only a few namedays on me, but we weren’t the same. We hadn’t seen the same things.
The Immolator continued.
“I’ve traveled all across the Cells, all along the Frontlines…And would you like to know what I’ve seen?” He asked. Neither I nor Rover interrupted him this time, and so he answered himself.
“People.”
Glare said, spreading his arms wide. “Some Blessed, but mostly Mundies. Many slaves, but not all. Not even most. Some are there for money, some for glory, some for duty. Doesn’t matter.” He paused, for a moment.
“They’ll never have songs sung of them. Not ever. Not mundies, nor weak Blessed. They’ll never kill as many Spawn as me, either. They’ll never be called strong.” He glanced at me.
“They’ll never be called heroes.”
“But they’re there. When I’m sleeping, or traveling, they’re there. When I’m training, they’re there. When I’m reporting to Patrusc, they’re there. And even now, while I’m off gallivanting around the Coterie–”
Glare stopped once again, flushed, drawing back, collecting himself. His passion startled me. He actually seemed angry to be here. Did he…did he want to return to the Frontlines? The mage swallowed slowly, sighing, then spoke in a far more level voice.
“Even now, they remain. Manning the walls. Fighting the tide. Sacrificing their lives and futures, if only to delay the inevitable.”
The Immolator leveled an intense glare at Rover. “So, then. You tell me. What does it mean, to be strong?”
“Is it luck? Being graced by the Gods with a potent Blessing? Is it triumph, with little effort?”
“Or is true strength to fight weak, despite your fear? To fight, knowing full well you might die–but doing so all the same?”
The lycan’s eyes were shining. He hung on the High Inquisitor’s every word as Glare delivered his last.
“You were willing to fight, despite your fear. You hesitated no more than Lord Hero did, despite the difference in your capabilities. You did not strike the killing blow, but the battle is over, now, all the same. Every one of us did our part. Are the parts themselves more important than the outcome?”
Glare produced a smile once more, but it was more humble than usual. A soft twitch of his lips, a slight crinkling at the edges of his eyes. He breathed in deeply, tilting his head back towards the cloudless sky. He glanced between me and Rover both.
“It was well fought.”
Such a simple phrase, and yet I couldn’t help but be moved by his words. I looked toward my canine companion, who almost seemed moved to tears by the praise, and suddenly it hit me all at once.
I mirrored Glare’s movement, taking a moment to inhale.
The cool air, no longer fetid this far from anything biological, was crisp and clean. For all their monstrosity, the mechanical creatures had done nothing to pollute the ecosystem. And this far from the impassable canopy, the sun’s rays fell upon us fully and freely. I closed my eyes, allowing its warmth and light to wash over my weary, sleep-deprived form.
I allowed myself to truly relax after the past twenty four hours of hell.
For a moment, the three of us merely stood there, taking in each other’s company. Taking in the atmosphere. And for a wondrous instant, I felt…something. I felt, like Rover, as if I’d stepped into one of those many stories I’d dreamed of, one of mighty heroes vanquishing insurmountable odds. I felt as if our unity, our victory, would never end.
I breathed in once more. Savoring the moment. Savoring the camaraderie.
Savoring the delve.