The archangel collapsed, dropping to the ground heavily. Leus—who’d witnessed the exchange with increasing incredulity, since the prince had dragged in the demon commander by the scruff of his neck and deposited him with Nicon—dropped the bandages he was holding and quickly ran over and checked the archangel’s pulse. He was alive—just unconscious. Leus heaved him onto his shoulders with the aid of a couple of elves, and dragged the prince into the area where they were treating the wounded. The wings on his back hung limply, and Leus instructed one of the elves to carefully lift the massive wings so they didn’t drag on the ground.
Leus placed the angel on the bed, lifting the upper body upright so the wings were not crushed, and the elf who worked in the area moved closer to inspect the wounds on his body. She immediately grabbed a fresh roll of bandages and began to bandage the wounds on his legs.
Leus peered more closely at the archangel and noted that his previously deep blue-black hair was streaked with crimson. Regardless, he noticed that the archangel had a well-sculpted face with prominent cheekbones, as well as long dark eyelashes that cast a shadow under the eyes.
He really is beautiful, Leus thought, Just like him…
Leus blinked when the image disappeared from his mind, but he still couldn’t help himself from thinking about the handsome archangel and of the person in Sanobar with similar facial features.
A moment later, a familiar voice called out from behind him, “What are you doing here?” Leus turned his head slightly, seeing Altein standing there, leaning against one of the walls, looking very concerned.
“I was just bringing an injured warrior here for treatment. Are you all right, sir?” Leus replied.
“No need for honorifics… just call me Altein,” The dwarf grunted.
Leus continued, turning around again to face the angel, “Since I don't have any powers, they did not deem me fit for the battlefield, so I've been treating the wounds of the injured soldiers here."
"The elf in charge was very surprised at my skill in bandaging quickly and efficiently," He added, somewhat defensively.
It was something of a sore point for him that he'd been the only one in their little group to not awaken any powers at all—even Lirya had awakened a circlet, although she had no powers she could make use of just yet.
Feeling parched, he reached for his water skin and took a big gulp.
Altein raised a bushy eyebrow, peered at the unconscious archangel, and remarked, "That being over there basically turned the tide of the battle and won it single handedly. He captured the first demon commander and made the other one turn on its own kind and destroy the entire army—and the succubus obeyed!”
Leus choked, spat the water out, and descended into a coughing fit.
“He did WHAT?!” Two voices shouted in unison.
Lirya walked in, her face the picture of astonishment.
<--<< >>-->
The archangel had vanquished the large demon, sure, but he looked pretty frail. To get a demon commander to obey him…
Lirya strode over to the unconscious archangel and peered at him.
She frowned and lifted a strand of the archangel’s crimson hair.
“Did his hair get more red?” She wondered.
It’s not just a little bit, either! Maybe it’s an archangel thing…?
Lirya turned around and peered at Leus, letting the archangel’s hair slip from her fingertips.
“Leus! Do you know the legends about archangels? Why is his hair more red?” Lirya asked, remembering his studious habits and appreciation for literature.
The noble looked up and thought for a moment before saying, “Well, I don’t know all that much, but I read something about them in that book by Etios, a famed elven historian. ‘Chronicles of Creation’ is the name of the book, I think.”
He frowned for a moment, gathering up his thoughts, then continued, “Archangels were created in Lord Pelos’ likeness. They live for hundreds of years—even their coming of age is when they turn a hundred years old! That means that one archangel will live through many generations of beings on Dargon! Lirya, you said this archangel said he was a prince, right?”
She nodded and Leus said, “Well, that means that he’s descended straight from the first archangel, Cassiel. Hmm… if we take into account how long they live, he must be the third or fourth generation. Can you believe that? Lying there is a being who’s lived for hundreds of years and could be the grandson or great-grandson of Cassiel! Do you know how much knowledge we could get about the past from him?”
Leus’ voice rose in pitch as his studious interest was peaked.
“The archangel is not a subject for you to study,” Altein remarked dryly, just as wounded soldiers started arriving in droves—some walked on their own two legs, while others were supported or carried entirely.
Leus quickly moved forward with open arms, ready to assist. He laid down the wounded soldiers and began to treat their wounds as best he could.
Lirya joined him, heading over to the supply chest to retrieve the rolled bandages.
When she turned back, she noticed that Altein had slipped away.
<--<< >>-->
A day passed. The succubus, after finishing her bloody business, allowed herself to be locked up by the archangel prince after he regained consciousness. The bodies of the fallen soldiers were retrieved from the crimson battlefield and were laid to rest in the forest. A seed was planted over the heart of each soldier, which would nurture a new life. Tarbork was handed over to Aira, who kept him securely chained away with her magical vines.
Civilians slowly started taking down their barricades and fixing the town.
Taryn was one of the first to return from the battlefield and walk into town, but as he did, he was surrounded by the townspeople, desperately asking about the battle.
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How had the battle gone? Had their loved ones made it?
His heart ached at the thought of all the soldiers who had lost their lives on the battlefield and had a loved one waiting for them.
Taryn sensed a presence behind him and he immediately spun around, one hand on his sword. He saw his younger brother standing there and he relaxed, but only for a moment. What he dreaded most was the inevitable—for there was no easy way to break the news of their mother’s death to Aranel. Within Taryn, there were still many emotions he could not clarify whenever he thought of Dethemina. Though she had birthed him, she had not been a part of his life she’d been for Aranel.
“Brother, where is mother? I’d like to visit her… see that she’s fine,” Aranel said, glancing up at Taryn.
<--<< >>-->
His brother was clad in a massive suit of silver armour, and he looked so tall and regal. He had an air of both confidence and sadness since the battle. A small part of Aranel’s mind whispered that he was glad he’d not have to fight Taryn over succession rights. He was glad that Taryn’s sudden presence in his life would not change his birthright.
When his brother did not answer his question, he asked again, “Where is mother? Is she alright?”
Taryn snapped out of his daze, but would not meet Aranel’s eyes.
A chilling sense of foreboding swept through him and he repeated the question, more urgently. His heart beat oddly fast.
Nicon pushed his way through the crowd and knelt by Aranel, his serious grey eyes unwaveringly meeting Aranel’s golden ones.
He sighed, “Aranel… you already know, don’t you? Dethemina’s gone. And she isn’t coming back.”
With those devastating words, Aranel’s world crumbled.
For a moment, he felt strangely numb.
T-That can’t be true, right? She’s probably just a bit injured or s-something…
Mother’s gone…?
Dethemina had always been there for him. A pang of sadness shot through him as memories came to him unbidden—cherished memories of precious moments that could never be replicated, now that the person he shared them with was gone.
Aranel sank to the ground as great tears rolled down his face. Nicon pulled the boy into a gentle hug, motioning with his hand for the others to leave them some space.
“Aranel, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but Dethemina’s spirit will live on in the Ether. You will once again meet, although you were parted too early. Today, we will hold a funeral to bid her spirit a safe journey to the Ether. It is your choice whether you want to be there or not,” Nicon said gently.
He stood up and Aranel darted away, wiping his eyes furiously.
Anger and sadness coursed through him.
<--<< >>-->
Before long, a massive crowd had gathered by the forest edge, where the funeral rites were to be spoken. Among them, looking awkward and out of place, were the young guardians.
The sky was streaked in red as the sun set over the treetops.
The golden rays glinted off three glass coffins trimmed with ornate gold detail. Laid out in the glass coffins were the bodies of Jaron and Dethemina, as well as Euiridas, who had perished before the true battle began. Cleaned and dressed in pale green, their bodies exhibited an unnatural pallor. Their eyes were closed and they appeared to be asleep, looking so delicate and fragile within their glass coffins.
Nicon appeared, dressed in plain mourning green garb with no embellishments, and made his way to stand before the three coffins.
He raised his left arm silently and held it, palm facing the three coffins, then spoke in a soft voice, “Ic aum telo ot reas.”
May you feel no pain.
Nicon continued, reciting the ritual prayers fluidly like a song for the dead, “Ic aum pol ot bayem.”
May you know no fear.
“Ic aum unteja ai Ether.”
May you enter the Ether.
“Ic Ziocrat ethyl aum fornysam.”
May Ziocrat judge you fairly.
“Ic aum otojo pol ai rylom e Heresh.”
May you never know the realm of Heresh.
“Ic aum otojo unlo cyrdaeus.”
May you never be reborn.
“Ic aum vyl untoth.”
May you rest eternally.
“Ic auma sael yil untah fuh sen ai rylom e ai Ether…”
May your soul fly ever free in the realm of the Ether…
A hush fell over the crowd, before they echoed the final sentence in a light, whispery sigh.
Nicon lowered his arm, then turned to face the crowd.
He spoke his final words, “Euiridas protected our city and kingdom for many years, and Jaron and Dethemina each fought to save this kingdom that Euiridas protected. They were all my precious friends for many, many years and I wish them all the best in their next journey.”
Nicon solemnly said, “With this, we shall now return them to the arms of mother earth and let them nurture new life-”
“Wait!” Jason pushed his way through the crowd and barrelled to a stop in front of Nicon, breathing heavily.
“W-Wait! Can I say a few words?” He asked.
The crowd muttered, unease rippling through their ranks. Jason’s outburst had been in common, a language the majority of the elves had little or no understanding of. His desperation was the only thing that stood out, and it was unsettling.
“Yes, you may,” Nicon helped Jason up, then addressed the crowd.
“The young gold guardian wishes to speak! All is well. I will translate his words for you all!”
<--<< >>-->
Jason took a deep breath and composed his thoughts.
Jaron’s words were important… and I have to relay them, He thought.
“H-Hello,” He stuttered, mentally cursing himself for the nervousness seeping in as he noticed the elves intently staring at him, “My name is Jason Kai- Bladesworn. As you may or may not know, I’m the gold guardian.”
Nicon relayed his words to the crowd, speaking Ovaal, “Au reis Jason Bladesworn. Aris caav varnei.”
What a pretty language, Jason thought.
He continued, “You know, I can see the spirit for a bit, after they die. And I was there when Jaron’s spirit left his body. Jaron… said some words to me, before he faded.”
Nicon’s translation in the background was tuned out as Jason focused solely on the words he was to say.
“He said, ‘Find paradise… find Sagar. Use the key.’ before his spirit left for the Ether,” Jason said, failing to understand Jaron’s final words himself.
But if, out of any words he could have said, he chose to say that, it must have been important.
“Aus ousai, ‘Xael rakyni… xael Sagar. Nui ai cen.’ ausun selum unteja ai Ether,” Nicon uttered the last words in Ovaal and a hush fell over the crowd.
Jason’s eyes wandered over the crowd, taking in a variety of different facial expressions, before he jolted. The young elven boy, Aranel, stood at the back of the crowd, with downcast eyes.
He’s… Dethemina’s son, isn’t he?
Immediately, he felt a feeling of empathy for the young boy.
That boy is a bit like Ed, I think.
He sighed.
This is probably wrong, but I think Dethemina would have wanted it…
He raised his gaze and said, “Dethemina’s last words were ‘Tell Aranel… to live well.’”
Nicon’s eyes snapped to his, bewilderment obvious within them, and Jason only gave a tiny smile.
The elven king let out a sigh, then translated Jason’s words in Ovaal.
<--<< >>-->
Jaron and Dethemina were laid to rest side by side and the seed of a giant tree was planted over their grave. Euiridas was laid beside their grave, another seed planted over hers. It was a common elvish belief that the bodies that housed the spirits could nurture another life, if given a chance, after a spirit left the body. Thus, a seed was planted over every grave, and over many years, beautiful trees sprang forth.
As the last dying rays of sunlight flitted through the trees of the forest, the crowd dispersed until only one was left—Aranel, who whispered a few parting words before turning and leaving with quick strides.