The sun rapidly falls as we spend time taking in Marshall's statue. Many people clear out, waiting for the funeral to begin after sundown. But a few of us stay as Tomas tells a dozen and one stories of the old man, most of which involve them fighting together. But not all do. The one that makes him tear up the most is a simple memory of his childhood.
"I remember when I was young. Really young. I could hardly speak correctly, but Marshall was constantly annoyed by others asking if I was his son and a thousand other things. Whenever someone mentioned that, the old man would simply pat me on the shoulder and ignore them. He was never big on emotions. But... he was always there for me. Ultimately, he even called me son, something I never thought would happen."
Tomas falls to his knees, his head falling as his voice breaks. The Wolf's shoulders shake and tremble as he pours his heart out. I almost look away, but I don't. I take in the man's sorrow as my own.
"All my life, he's been there for me. I had no parents or siblings. Only him. He protected me when he had a Territory to protect. He trained me when he had an army to train. He saved me when he had a world to save. He..."
The man finally cracks and sobs as Millie quickly drops to her knees and holds him. She pats him on the back as she whispers something inaudible to me. Sighing lightly, I pivot to Johnny, the partially blind man staring upward.
Johnny seems to spot something, even with his impairment. As always, his gaze is as sharp as an eagle's, regardless of his condition.
"Does the statue feel... odd to you? I know a 6th Sigil was put into it, but it still doesn't feel right."
Glancing back at it and remembering the purplish tint I saw from it previously, I nod.
"Yeah. Do you think it's dangerous, though? Maybe it's a secret weapon?"
The gunslinger shrugs his shoulders before turning around.
"It doesn't seem to be antagonistic in any way. For some reason, it feels comforting. It reminds me of that thing left behind by Marshall's death."
His words confuse me as I stand there. Johnny steps away to greet Edward, who is entering the square with many other people, most of which are Sigiled. But not all are. They hold candles in their hands while they approach the statue. I backstep out of their way as the procession nears and surrounds Tomas.
I stand at a distance, hidden in the shadows cast by the towering statue that stands as a reminder of the fallen General's legacy as the sun's rays fall beyond the horizon of stone. The candlelight funeral before me is a sea of flickering lights, each flame representing a life touched by the deeds of the man we've gathered to honor. More and more bodies enter the square, adding endless lights to the sea. Hundreds, if not thousands, have gathered to pay their respects to a figure who has shaped our lives, even if we've never met him in person.
I see so many faces in one breadth of view that I can hardly breathe. These cities... there are so many! How? How are there so many!?
The numbers only add to the reverence as the air is heavy with a mixture of somberness and gratitude, with people sharing stories, memories, and tales of the General's heroism. However, most of these people have never met or even seen Marshall. The General spent the majority of his life fighting with few breaks. The apparent indication is his many scars. His broken bones, the blemishes visible simply from looking at him. Even his manner of speaking was proof of his way of life. Blunt, brutal, to the point, like that of a fist. Though, some have indeed met him. The soldiers from the train, Tomas, and Millie, preach the deeds of the fallen man. I listen to the hushed conversations that blend together in a symphony of appreciation for the sacrifices made to keep us all safe. The warmth of the candlelight reflects the warmth that he brought to our lives, even from afar.
Looking down, I focus on my left hand. Twisting and moving my wrist, I feel my blood flow to the slightly discolored limb. We walked into that fortress as two beings with hate for each other for what we've done. But Marshall changed that with his precise hand.
He birthed a flame between the embers of the Bloody Palm—Blodwyn—and I. From a tenuous hatred, we've become fragile allies. And hopefully, that alliance will only continue to grow.
I watch as individuals step forward to place flowers, tokens, and notes at the base of the statue. Each offering carries with it a piece of their heart, a tribute to a man who embodied courage, leadership, and unwavering dedication. The General's legend has united us all, bridging gaps in age, background, and circumstance. I don't join them, preferring to stay on the edges. I never liked crowds.
Unsigiled, Sigiled, children, adults, elderly, everyone comes. I even spot a few Outlaws amongst the crowd from a nearby bounty poster, but not a hand moves for them. Peace reigns under the statue of Marshall.
Amid the crowd, I feel a certain awkwardness. I was one of the fortunate few, alongside Tomas and Mille, who had the honor of being personally trained by the Marshall. His teachings and guidance have shaped me in ways that words cannot fully express. And yet, as I stand among those who share their stories and their tears, I find myself feeling like an outsider to their grief.
I remember the rigorous training sessions, the moments of camaraderie, and the lessons he imparted that extended far beyond the battlefield. He believed in me, in my potential to make a difference, and that belief persists as if resonating throughout the square.
As I stand still, gazing back in time to the brutal endurance tests he would impart to me, I feel a weight fall onto my left. Looking down, I find Elizabeth leaning against my side. Her warmth seems to push aside some of the cold left behind by Marshall's passing. I wrap my arm around her as we stand, observing it all from a distance.
Elizabeth doesn't say anything, and neither do I.
Minutes pass as more and more stories enter the air.
"Remember when Marshall broke through the Nahullo and made Northene? He settled it all by himself and brought the poor behind him to make it their home."
"What about when Vallens was constantly under siege? Our farmland was in danger as Qune hadn't started to produce yet, and he took the field. The man brought no one but himself and pushed the Pygmies back after two years."
"I think the greatest thing he's ever done was far more recent than that. That storm? The talks of the Sigiled are that it'll last decades, perhaps centuries, before breaking apart. He gave Vallens an unbreaking wall for years to come. Even past his death."
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
The atmosphere only grows more sacred, as if Marshall were to become a God simply from our admiring. But as everyone grows more heartfelt, a sickening feeling enters the air. Dense, mighty footfalls with the sound of metal cut through the air as the crowd parts, revealing a maddened man cloaked with a white mask.
Myriad.
Everything pauses as Tomas, Edward, Johnny, Lennon, and I grab our weapons. Lily seethes in my hand with a cool sensation, wanting to devour the soul of a human. She knows I don't like to kill people, but this one would certainly count.
This madman has killed countless and caused near-infinite amounts of suffering. His half of Blackreach is nowhere near the level of peace as this one is. They are constantly preparing for war, forcing even children to wield weapons. And while it's not entirely his fault, as his own Power has broken his mind, it only adds to the credence that he must die. He won't accept any level of surrender from anyone, only complete destruction of whatever way is not his.
Yet, as we all prepare to fight, furious that Myriad would come to ruin this time, the Angel steps forward, staring upward at the towering figure built above him. My fingers tremble in anticipation around Lily's cool handle while the crowd cowers in fear, stepping back as Myriad continues his oddness.
The Angel slowly kneels, causing a gasp from many in this field. Myriad then removes the hat from his head, lowering it to his chest as the madman speaks. For a moment, it seems as though Merl Dair has returned to sanity.
"A truce, Edward. In honor of this great man. We have much more to deal with than our opposite ideologies. We both want reform. We both want change. We both want life for us all."
Myriad stands, his back shifting to face the statue as he addresses us all.
"Enemies are coming. And fast. They are coming to kill Ed, trapped by Weiss. But those above the Powers and Virtues are seeking something other. I propose that we save the old man and strike back at them all. They hung Ed on a spire and prevented me from even approaching with those dolls. Now, the man is hidden once more within that building."
Myriad pauses as he beckons for a reply from Edward, who is amongst the crowd. Meanwhile, Earl's eyes meet mine as we share a thought—the Vessels. One of them must be here, commanding those Mannequins.
Edward steps forward, heading straight for Myriad as all shifts around him, not wanting to slow him or impede him in any way. In but a beat, the Bloodied Beast stands before the Interminable Mask.
"You want me to ally with you? You have killed thousands of the people under my protection. You've slaughtered children, women, elderly. Unsigiled are grass for you to slay—"
Myriad cuts him off with a hint of frustration.
"Estatesmen. They hold no mercy against us. We shall keep none against them."
Edward shakes his head with evident anger. But he cools himself before speaking. His long brown hair, with tints of crimson red, hangs softly as he sighs.
"You are... impossible. Though... I suppose the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Only for this we will ally in honor of Marshall. You must keep your psychos and clones to yourself. If any of mine are hurt by yours, you will die swiftly. Myriad, of that, I promise. And... those that you force to fight against their will, let them free."
Merl Dair smiles widely, the grin stretching far too inhumanely for a person, only noticeable as it extends beyond the edges of his mask. Then, he lifts his hat, and the man vanishes, the clone dissipating into smoke with little effort.
The atmosphere hangs heated for several moments, but Edward spins around, gazing at each and every figure within the square that numbers in the hundreds before speaking. Thousands more stand in the streets as his voice is amplified by some skill of Ether.
"All of you enjoy tonight! We have made a truce with Myriad to retrieve Ed Summers from the Iron Veil in honor of Marshall Travis! Rejoice! Tonight is both an evening of remembrance and mourning. But that does not mean we must be sad! Live! Breathe! Enjoy every second! Soon we will be utterly free without attackers!"
His words reverberate through every inch of the square and echo outward into the city, informing all those who stand on the streets and pay their respects. Cheers roar through the air as peace is established on this very night. It's not an eternal peace between the Revolution and the Rebellion, but it's close. And it's the first ceasefire they've had in months of brutal back and forth between a multitude of cities while at the same time striking at the Estates.
I stand in silent awe as the solemn funeral slowly transforms into a vibrant celebration of the General's life. The transition is surreal, almost jarring, as mournful faces give way to smiles and laughter. The atmosphere shifts, the weight of grief lifting as if by some unspoken agreement. Music erupts in lively melodies as I spot Rich playing a tune on his guitar beside Tomas, alongside a few other musicians from the city. Marshall's adopted son slowly recovers from his grief, at least temporarily, as he witnesses just how many people cared for his father.
The sound swells, filling the air with an energy that's both infectious and cathartic. People begin to dance, their movements full of saddening joy. It's a spectacle of life and vitality, a way to honor his memory by celebrating the very essence of existence. It's odd, I'll admit, but Blackreach is known for its parties, and that's not merely because of the gangs that used to run it.
It runs deep, all the way back to the liberation wars of the past.
I find myself caught in the whirlwind of emotions and music, caught between the remembrance of loss and the celebration of what was gained. The juxtaposition is strange and beautiful, a poignant reminder that even in death, life persists. The dancers, most amateur or inexperienced, just like I would be were I to join, move with a fervor that echoes the music alongside.
A hand wraps around mine, prompting me to glance down. Elizabeth is the only person near me, and I find her smiling brilliantly up at me. Her dimples bulge as she calls to me.
"Wanna dance?"
I twist my head, unsure, as I see many other people already doing so.
"I don't know how to."
The woman grins and pulls me softly. Her force is a hundred times less than what is needed to genuinely force me to move, but I can't resist her.
"I do. Let me guide you for once."
Laughing, I grab her hand back and step toward her.
***********************************
Blake 'Deathguard' Nightingale
Standing beside Johnny as hundreds of people enjoy their night, I feel so uncomfortable I could die. He smiles at me before turning to Edward beside him, discussing something with the man. I lean in to listen, but a hand on my shoulder pulls me back.
I twist around to find Primrose glaring at me, Earl's head wrapped in her elbow like they were wrestling. The genius tries to fight and maneuver out, but Primrose isn't an easy lady to outdo. All his attempts are null as she whispers harshly at me. Her words make my heart skip a beat, and my eyes glance at the figure beside me rapidly.
"Girl! If you want something, just take it! I guarantee you he won't refuse a dance! Go on! Enjoy every second, as Edward said! Who knows which will be our last? Do you want to die without even dancing with him?"
I tremble under her gaze and fire back immediately. I can't. I can't. I can't dance with him. His wife... she's long passed... but I can't. My stutter reappears, and I fight through it to get my words out.
"I--I--I don't know how to dance. I g-g-g-grew up in Sinscreak, remember? And... what about his wife? H--he still wears the ring."
Primrose scoffs at me, shaking her head while Earl's face turns red from lack of air. The woman lets him go when she notices and pats him on the back.
"Don't know how to dance? I'm sure he knows. Let him guide you. Worse case, move like one of those snakes you know so well. As for his wife... that ring was a gift from his daughter, not his wife. And while he speaks little of his past, he talks to me. His wife told him to move on before she passed decades ago. You will only be helping him. So, go on!"
I tremble even harder as my normal eye rotates over to Johnny. The gunslinger is tall and resolute, facing Edward. Swallowing a heavy nervousness, I step forward slowly. As I do, a great force from my back pushes me into Johnny as the man turns to me with concern.
"Is there something wrong, Blake? Are you alright? Surely you couldn't have drank too much already."
His eyes glow a dim golden, slowly recovering to their full splendor. I reach a hand upward toward him and ask my question. It stutters the whole way out, but he waits patiently for me. I can't even use Heath's technique to restart the word as I'm too anxious.
"W-w-will y-y-y-you d-d-d-d-d-d-dance w-w-w-w-with m-m-m-me?"
Johnny grins, wrapping a tough hand around my calloused hands, and nods.
"Of course, Blake. I'd love a dance."
He gives a quick wave to Edward and steps aside with me, but his voice doesn't sound like how I want it to. It's that kind tone he uses with everyone. I want my own. Is that selfish? I hope not.
My steps are unsure, and I can feel my cheeks flushing as Johnny pulls me along. I take a deep breath, mustering the courage to tell him the truth, but the man always knows. He always knows.
"I know you can't dance, Blake. Want me to lead?"
Smiling wide, I nod happily. We begin to move to the music, Johnny's presence and guidance providing me with a sense of comfort. Many around us distract me, but his patient guidance helps me find my rhythm. And with each step, I become more attuned to the music and the sensation of being in his arms.
As we sway to the melody, I catch his gaze and hold it, willing him to see me not just as the girl from Sinscreak or one of his friends but as someone with more to offer. With every step and movement of our dance, I try to convey my feelings through my gestures, hoping that he'll understand the unspoken words between us. I feel his gaze soften, his eyes searching mine as if he's trying to decipher my intentions.
With each passing moment, I find myself drawn closer to him, our bodies moving in sync as if we were meant to be on this dance floor together. The distance between us gradually diminishes, and before I know it, we're standing short inches apart. My heart pounds in my chest, the proximity intensifying the connection between us as my nose comes close to his.
The world around us rampages with a flurry of movement and music, but I hold still in his gaze. Johnny's golden pupils stare deeply into mine as we pause momentarily.
"Blake, I—"
He goes to talk, but remembering Primrose's words, I just take what I want. I lean forward as if guided by an invisible force, meeting our lips. Johnny is surprised for a moment, hesitating, but he quickly returns it with his total devotion. The world around us seems to fade away, leaving only the two of us in this magical moment. The kiss is soft, sweet, and filled with unspoken emotions that have been building between us for so long. As we pull away, his eyes search mine, and in that gaze, I see a reflection of the feelings I've kept hidden.
His lips curl upwards, smiling in a way I've never seen before. I've seen him joyful. I've seen him laughing. I've seen him relieved.
But I've never seen him happy.
And now I have.