It is said that age eventually catches up with a person, more quickly so during prolonged periods of conflict and stress. The whitening hair, the deepening wrinkles, the drooping eyes, the bouts of anger, the shallow breaths, the weakening muscles…
The war has already been going on for twenty one years.
Nasition sighs, looking at the lists, reports, and files clotting up his display, blocking any time and space for rest. He brushes up his hair, silently skimming through each one of them. Pos in New Rule control. Casualty report. Request for merging battalions 2-4-3 and 2-4-4 due to heavy losses. Replacement needed for the losses of generals Nurav, Poruvien, Vieli…
“If only I didn’t have to sift through so many useless files…” he mutters. Yet he requested every single file to be reported to him, didn’t he? The worry of having gaps in his knowledge, of disloyal officers who withheld information from him, of being left behind… He’s becoming more irritated by the day, certainly not befitting of a faction’s leader.
He picks up the old locket lying on the table, opening it as he stares into that aged photograph. The same smile, the same calmness in her eyes. It’s already been decades, yet her face, her voice is still deeply etched within his subconscious. Even after so long, he can’t forget. He is incomplete without her presence.
But he can sense it already. All those memories, all those shattered parts of himself are eroding away. He’s nearly forgotten the mundane conversations, the days when they stroll around the Paladeia, sometimes with Faresoenn. The moments when she’d read some book while he stood behind for no reason. The innumerable times they’d just sit on the grass, staring into space. He can’t allow himself to forget, but the etchings, the carvings are all weathering, crumbling bit by bit. The dust of amnesia is already setting in. If he lives on, then eventually… he’ll forget her.
Maybe, after all these years, I should’ve…
A knock at the door, disrupting his thoughts. The sounds. It hurts.
“Come in,” Nasition says tiredly.
“Common Leader, I assume you’ve received our report? The report on officer casualties.” Two generals enter, dressed in their impeccable uniforms despite having commanded the defense of Pos for the entirety of the battle. The left, Hrenul, has been a general for over a decade. Despite commanding only on minor fronts for most of his career, the shortage of officers has made him one of the core generals in Nasition’s cabinet. The right, Paeil, is a relatively young general, having been promoted after the assassination of her superior. They do not possess a particularly strong tactical or strategic mind, but there is no one else to replace them. The years of war have already killed the Confederation’s best. And Nasition’s most loyal.
“What do you have to say about it?” Nasition asks.
“An alarming amount of officers have been slain in the struggle for Pos, as you may know,” Hrenul explains. “Over two hundred, with a particularly disproportionate number of them being company or battalion leaders. Most of them were found dead in their sleep.”
“We postulate it may have to do with the legendary figure known as the ‘Black Maiden’ that the troops constantly discuss, an assassin near exclusively targeting higher-ranked officers,” Paeil adds. “It is quite possible the assassin comes from the independent refugee camp near the battlefield and is under the contract of the New Rule. I’ve talked to some of the troops, and despite all of them having night shifts at Pos at some point in the battle, only some of them can definitively say they have seen a feminine figure lurk around our former camp. A figure wearing all black, her features concealed by a mask… and a blade resembling our designs.”
“Therefore, we suggest that we investigate the camp with several squads to find out whether such a figure exists,” Hrenul says. “We cannot allow more talents to be killed in such numbers, especially when the tide is already against us.”
“Is that all you have to say?” Nasition asks, his eyes still staring at the locket.
“Yes, Common Leader—”
“We have just lost a crucial location, and you’re suggesting we investigate some possibly fictional character?” Nasition suddenly lashes out. “Do you know how spread thin we are, generals? Our soldiers have fought valiantly to hold the line till their last breath, and here you are, thinking about some assassin who may not even exist? Ridiculous! Just ridiculous!”
“C-Common Leader…” Paeil says. “Without a proper command hierarchy, our troops will collapse—”
“Then let them appoint their own leaders if they must!” Nasition shouts. “We are fighting a war here, generals, not some detective mystery. Hrenul, you’ve been a general for years, knowing me far better than even some other generals, and you dare have the audacity to request this? Have you become so used to your position, your salary, you have forgotten what it feels like to be at war? To see your comrades killed? To feel anger whenever we lose a battle?”
“Wait, Common Leader, listen—”
“I have no time to listen to two idiots removed from reality!” Nasition suddenly feels a sharp pain racing up his back. Smoke rapidly exits from his body, engulfing him in a yellowish fog. He stands, towering over the generals as his bleeding eyes look upon their terrified expressions. He feels it, the crystals forming inside the fog, bending to his will; the Gate creaking open, corroded and allowing gaps for his energy to escape; his muscles tensing, his blood boiling, his vision blanking out.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
He’s going to kill them. He mustn’t. But his body… it’s already moving on its own. The fog has already surrounded the generals, the crystals pointing toward them, poised for their innards. Again, it’s happening. He’s losing control. His arms are moving on their own, dictating his magic. He can’t afford to lose these two pawns, but he simply can’t stop. The Gate is dictating his actions.
No… The crystals are released, charging for their torsos, the two generals completely frozen in abject fear.
Stop.
The crystals abruptly halt, hovering just for a moment before they dissolve, the fog dissipating as Nasition collapses on his chair. The Gate closes, the magic retreating back into his core.
Between him and the generals, there stands a young woman, her arms outstretched as if to protect the two of them while she stares directly into Nasition’s eyes. Her determined gaze, gone from Nasition’s vision for so long, burns into his mind.
This isn’t like you, Nasi.
Nasition sits stunned, speechless as he stares at the figure before him. Everything seems to freeze in place, time stuck in this precise moment. The generals’ mouths are still gaping in fear, their arms still holding out to shield themselves from the already gone crystals.
“Impossible…” he barely manages to utter. The face in his locket, the eternally young expression, the remaining memory of what he once was stands before him, her ageless smile still beaming towards him.
You’ve changed so much.
“Norai…” Nasition crumbles, his vision growing blurry as a tear falls, then two, three… until streams of water trickle from his eyes. His mouth is open in shock, in disbelief as he tries to make sense of it all.
It’s been so long, isn’t it? You look like an old man now.
She laughs, her hair flowing and fluttering despite the still air of the room. It’s just an apparition.
“Twenty eight years,” Nasition chokes a little. “Twenty eight. And you haven’t changed a bit.” Of course.
So much has happened since then.
Nasition looks at his hands, the creases already so deep. “I wish you’d aged with me.”
But I can’t. This is what I look like in your memory, Nasi.
“I’m sorry I didn’t—”
It’s not your fault. It’s not. You’re the one bearing all this on your own. You’re in pain, aren’t you?
“I… I don’t know if I have the strength left. Twenty eight years, Norai. And I still can’t wipe them out. I’m weakening. I… I just don’t know if I can still do this.”
Is this all to avenge me?
“I can’t forget. They used you. You weren’t supposed to…”
But I’m no longer in pain now.
“Even after all these years, I can’t… I can’t accept the fact that I’m still alive. It still haunts me. But I must finish what I started.”
There is no need.
“But I must. Everything that I’ve done… I can’t stop now. I have to seize complete victory, that maybe, perhaps, the world can be a gentler place, removed from the Empire’s corruption. If I stop now, he will take over, his coldness and ruthlessness shrouding the world as the Empire once did.”
Are you really fighting, torturing yourself for the sake of the world? You used to be so gentle. I can see the sadness in your eyes. The sadness, the emptiness as a result of mourning and regret. Ever since I died.
“No, Norai, the world—”
Nasi, I’m fine in this state. There is no need to continue hating the Empire, hating Stasibel, hating Faresoenn… when they’re all dead already.
“Norai, I… I just can’t forget. I can’t forget when I lie on my own bed. I can’t forget when I talk to people I barely even know. I can’t forget when I wander the halls alone.”
You’re suffering, Nasi. I don’t want that. You’ve done far more than enough. Please… we've been separated for too long.
“I can’t give everything up now,” Nasition cries. “I want to take a rest, I want to see you again, I want all of us— yes, all of us— together again, but I’ve gone too far. I’ve killed too many. I can’t step down. Norai, forgive me. I can’t give up my mission. Not until he is dead, the last remnants of the Achien Empire going away with him. No matter what you say, I can’t just turn back. So, please… forgive me. I have to finish this.”
There is a pause. The apparition stares at him, her eyes rapidly blinking to hold back her tears. She approaches him, stretching her arm to reach for his forehead, but it simply passes through, the two unable to come into contact. Even though they are in such close proximity, they are worlds apart, separated in two different planes of existence. Soon, defeated, the apparition retreats, still keeping up a pained smile as they stare longingly at each other.
You’re beautiful.
“What brought that up?” Nasition laughs softly, his voice intermittently broken with choking tears.
Just an observation.
Nasition reaches towards her, embracing her outline as she leans closer. “I thought you had become a star.”
I haven’t, and I won’t. I still have my emotions, after all.
“Please wait for me.” He releases his embrace, his eyes still locked against hers. Despite such a brief reunion, a peace is already settling inside him. The turbulence is subsiding, his mind substantially calmed, the madness and chaos all flowing out through his tears. The emptiness is filled just a little bit as a genuine, joyful smile forms on his face. Although Norai before him may very well be a product of his imagination, he does not care. Away from the war, the corruption, the chaos, the tragedies, he finds a small respite, a temporary shelter reviving him just a bit.
Of course, Nasi.
The apparition fades into dust, leaving Nasition with Hrenul and Paeil again. They blink, their bodies still in shock as they cower before his eyes. Yet instead of some outburst of rage, Nasition just looks at them in disappointment, sighing in slight remorse over his words.
“I’m sorry for lashing out at you two,” he apologizes, much to their surprise. “The war is taking a heavy toll on me, as it is for you. Do as you wish, but remember our priority is to reinforce the Pass now that Pos is taken.”
“Y-Yes, Common Leader,” Hrenul replies, stunned by Nasition’s sudden change in temper. “We’ll continue to report any new developments to you.”
“If such a ‘Black Maiden’ truly exists, then capture her to be tried before a tribunal,” Nasition adds.
“As you wish,” Paeil answers.
“Leave.”
Confused, the two generals depart the room. As the door slowly clicks shut, Nasition is finally left alone in his solace, his hand still tightly clutching the locket.
He sobs.