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There were many outcomes you had anticipated before you stepped into the cavernous chamber and the doors sealed shut behind you. The evidence seemed to stack up at the time, all pointing in an obvious direction. A cult. An ambush. The usual.
You’re an old hand at this by now.
You weren't anticipating the towering figure borne of an unfamiliar aether, dwarfing you and your friends. Though, they're family now, are they not? You forged them, after a fashion, through hardship... and yet, history is wont to repeat itself.
The hard thump of your heart punches the breath from your lungs as you take stock of the circumstance you're in.
Lakshmi once more stands before you, or perhaps, Her Majesty, Gunnhildr?
No matter their name, your friends yet again stand trapped alongside you, beneath an enemy of unknown design or origin. Primal, Voidsent, Lightwarden. What is it?
You have no time to ask the obvious. It strikes and your reflexes falter. A pillar cracks open above your head and a shower of debris rains down. Focus!
You choke on the dust, a minor hindrance in the grand scheme of things, but from the calls behind you, it appears your loved ones remain unscathed. Thank the Gods, eh? Pity about yourself, however. Your cheek stings, your knees are bruised. You push yourself up from the floor.
Luckily, your gloves took most of the damage catching your fall. Is this what the Padjal’s call armour? Let's hope your conjury will serve you here. Now, get up! Our adversary will not wait for you to brush off the dust.
The air stirs with unsettled aether, but it is your magic that takes form first — a bubble of protection over your friends as you rush to the other side of the room. A distraction? No, a decoy. Always willing to throw yourself into the fray of danger. Shake off your rattled nerves. Show me I have no need to return!
The creature shifts. It rounds on you with reflexes too swift for something of such size. The temple shakes with the blow, and you barely hear the cracking of the structure over its deafening roar.
Your ears ring. They strain, searching for a position in a space, too loud, too full of noise, in the aftermath of yet another near miss on your life. Through the dust, you catch a glint of metal in the feeble light cast by your staff. It seems that claws are not the only weapon this thing wields.
Take. Care.
It's in the midst of dodging another spell disrupting blow, that you hear the familiar chime of the linkshell in your ear. You roll to a stop and pick yourself up out of the dirt. The call connects with a brief press of your finger against your bloodied ear.
"We've located an exit! That thing’s thrashing opened up a crack in the southern wall. We can fall back into the halls." The words are distorted, but the voice is unmistakably Alphinauds. How they managed a signal this far underground is a mystery best left for when a lance isn't flying straight towards you.
You move. A swift dash in any direction that isn’t the one that will get you killed. Good. A sitting target is a dead one. Keep moving.
"Circle back! We'll guide you out."
You shake your head because you're an idiot, and a stubborn one at that.
"We can't let that thing reach the surface!" You shout. Sod the linkshell, your voice echoes through the chamber like a gunshot. "Warn the locals! I'll buy you time for reinforcements."
The coms buzz with outrage in your ear as your foe hones in on your voice. Alphinaud protests, though not so loud as to overshadow Alisaie hissing into the mic. Her fear is a fervent promise to revive you just to end your life if you so much as think about dying.
"I'll be fine." You tell them, ever the hero, ever the fool. But that's what you do, isn't it? Soothe over their worries. Promise the impossible. When will you learn not to shoulder this alone. We are stronger together!
Dissension clouds the line, but you tune them all out, willingly deaf to their anxiety as you land blow after blow of elemental fury against this behemoth, and still this thing seems none the weaker.
What is it?
Where lies its weakness?
The floor buckles beneath your feet and you stumble on broken cobblestone. Perhaps it's luck that has you avoiding decapitation as a blade swings over your head. Focus, dammit!
Distraction will be your undoing. Let me help!
Have we not done this song and dance before? How much have we faced together? I understand why we fight, but not for want of help. You cannot do this alone!
I can protect you!
Your wounds heal under a green glow, sickly and ill in the dim chamber. But will they heal fast enough as your aether drains and the magic comes weaker? It's hard to tell with the dust and grime plastering your skin and clothes. You and your wounds will be buried amongst the rubble if you keep up like this, one more corpse under a tomb of stone.
Gods damn you for a fool. Where is your sword?
The wall explodes behind you, and like hail in a storm the debris falls thick and fast. The cloud of dust is a far cry from the bright La Noscean fog, but it hinders your vision all the same in the dark. You can't see a blasted thing! Mercifully, your hearing recovers faster than the dust settles. Less merciful are the sounds that come with it.
They're calling for you. Your friends. Your family. They're calling your name from beyond the chunks of battered wall that now barricade the few exits that allowed them to escape. Your heart catches in your throat.
You told them to leave an eon ago. Why are they still here?
Because you're not with them.
You knew that. You knew they wouldn't forsake you. Not after everything. Not after Norvrandt.
And now? Now, you're scared.
For you can see the shadow that turns in the swirling dust. You can see the first step it takes towards the worried voices beyond the wall. You can see it raise its arm aloft, lance poised to—
No.
You won't let it happen again. Not like Bozjan. Not like Gyr Abania. Never again will you be helpless to save your friends.
You sprint.
You pray.
Through burning lungs and aching limbs, you cut between them and thrust out your arm.
Halone— Hydaelyn , give you strength!
White light engulfs you, The Echo, a shield in the dark against the executioner. And oh, how the axe weighs heavy above your neck. Too heavy. A pressure unlike anything you've faced before, and this time, you're alone...
There’s no one here to fight beside you, no Echo shared amongst like minded fools. No Scions stand with you through adversity, kept at bay behind collapsed walls. No heroes from beyond the rift will heed your friends call, bereft of the power of Syrcus Tower.
You are alone.
Your barrier shatters.
.
.
.
This isn't the first time you've been mortally wounded. This is, however, the first time a blade has speared clear through your chest and pinned you to the stone where you stand. You’re reminded of Coerthas, and the frozen landscape of draconic corpses skewered in place.
The click of Icehearts heel echoes in your ears, but you feel anything but cold. How could you, when the heat of your own blood is soaking through your armour?
Can you heal through this? You’ve lost your staff, and the aether answers in silence.
Perhaps it’s bloodloss, but you think the Padjals must have had a morbid sense of humour.
White robes cut with red. Mostly red, at this point...
Your loved ones will find you like this. They’ll be hurt. Heartbroken. You try not to think of Haurchefant and the gaping hole you failed to close in his chest. You’re a healer, aren’t you? Krile asked you that once, as Y'shtola's blood stained the sand.
No, that’s not fair. Your friends are in danger. The very being that you failed to fell still stands, and it will try to kill them all if you can’t find the strength to stand. They’ll die and you—
You will watch it all through unseeing eyes. Your corpse, a monument to your failures shrouded in the dark.
The thought of Emet-selch’s disdain pierces sharper than the lances blade between your ribs. Is this really how you'll honour your promise to the Ascians?
Is this where you waste a century of G’raha Tia’s enduring hopes?
Is this where you die—
— ENOUGH!
The farce ends here.
I won’t allow this. You need me.
You need me, dammit, and this is not where we die!
.
.
.
Your stubborn belief in the cause you love was always going to get you — us — killed. We’ll call this a relapse, and I’ll stay my tongue on the matter of your self sacrificial tendencies. Focus, now. This despair is not our own.
Listen to my voice.
Listen to our heartbeat...
All those lessons we learnt through the journey, as through the battle. I learnt much and more from you, as I hoped you learnt from me. Do not forget that everything you hid from sight, I bore witness to. Gave voice to. And you? Of course you retaliated. You grew stronger with every step. Resilient and confident in your answer.
I know you. I know the strength of your will.
The abyss that I draw power from... You reminded me that this was a flame borne of love. That the places, the people, the purpose we fight for was forged in that heat. Made strong in those fires.
Do you understand?
Death reached out to you in Norvrandt. Almost took you, too.
I stayed silent. For you, I kept at bay and let you play the hero as your strength only served to grow with every person that we hold dear standing there at your side. Fighting by you. Fighting for you. Fighting to protect you.
Do you realise how loved you are?
For every person who calls out to us for aid. To those who achieve the impossible in our name. The legacy we have borne to not one world, but two...
Do you realise?
For the ‘you’ who cannot protect yourself, I will. This body is ours. This life is ours, and I will not see our blood drained through the floor for the unwelcome presence that dares touch our mind. So, though the aether that gives me form may be weak, let this be a message. I will see us to the end. This is not where we die.
You needn’t do the heavy lifting this time around. This is a battle I will finish.
Rest a while.
For our own sake.
And know that you have failed no one.
.
.
.
Consciousness creeps in like tar, slow and sluggish, as though waking you from a millenia long nap. Try as you might, your thoughts slip from your grasp at a pace too rapid to catch. If you could just hold onto a…onto a thought.
You’re surely dreaming… but then where’s Tyr Beq? It wouldn’t be the first time she’s ducked her wings into your headspace and kept the nightmares at bay. Yet, you can’t feel her presence.
No, this feels different. Not a dream. It’s heavier… You’re heavy. Weighted down and it’s hard to breathe, but why? You’re not sure. Why are you so tired, so… so exhausted?
You open your eyes, or you try to. ‘Heavy’ comes to mind again with the amount of effort required. You ache. You frown and it hurts. You whine and something pulls in your throat. A sharp stab in your chest follows your next breath, and your pulse quickens as horror sets in.
No, no! If you turn into a Lightwarden here, they won’t be able to stop you. You'll lose control and—
— and —
—and you’re a long, long way from Norvrandt.
You’re safe, or so say the voices you can hear at the surface of your muddled mind. They’re comforting. They sound like family and leave you… warm. Your breath slows, and each one after comes clearer than the last. And though the tightness lingers, the weight lifts a fraction, leaving you lighter for it. The panic fades, and so too does the fog from your mind.
You open your eyes to squint at a low familiar ceiling in a too bright room, and though it tires you to turn your head, you can’t help but seek out the person healing you.
G'raha meets your weary gaze with a strained smile, their exhaustion and relief etched in every feature.
“Good morning,” they greet you. “It’s good to have you back with us.”
It’s good to be back, you think, with an overwhelming rush of relief. You’d tell them as much too if you had the energy for it, but you don’t. The details of what brought you here sit blessedly just out of reach, though you are certain that that particular memory will catch up to you all too soon. You'll deal with that then.
For now, you allow yourself this, to rest a while, to recover.
For your own sake.
— — —
Location: ???
Description: The Nyuma’han tribes have been in uproar over a series of unexplainable disturbances in the Nuhrud't Forest. Y’shtola suggests seeking out the tribal elders to learn more information.
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“From what I’ve gathered, they say that she was called ‘Nuk'tunya’. It’s an archaic term, but roughly it translates to ‘fear’, or ‘despair’.” Alphinaud explains, hands at the ready in a placating gesture. His smile does little to sell reassurance. “Now, before you jump to conclusions, they do say that she brought great comfort to the people who worshipped her. For in confronting their deepest fears, they would find peace within themselves.”
Luckily for you, and your waning energy after days of pestering the locals, Alisaie says exactly what’s on your mind before the words can even reach your tongue.
“And so, what, exactly, are we to do with that information?”
“Ah. Well....” Alphinaud’s hands lower, and his smile wavers. The thought alone of what might come with the next sentence tires you further. Raha kindly pats your shoulder. Though you find no solidarity in those wide, excited eyes. “That’s the complicated part. If i’ve correctly understood, it sounds as though the temple ruins have become rather active as of late. Ruins that seem to be hundreds of feet below the surface… Inaccessible to most people....”
“A Primal, then?” You guess. It’s usually a Primal, even if the natives call them by another name in languages you have yet to learn.
“Voidsent?” Alisaie offers. An equally valid and unsettling suggestion.
Raha opens his mouth, and you politely poke his jaw closed before the name ‘Sin Eater’ can reach the air. Norvrandt is too fresh, and you really, really don’t want to overthink what you saw in Amdapor. He pouts.
Alphinaud shakes his head. “Without enough evidence, we can only guess. We’ll need to find more information for ourselves, and carefully. Let’s not walk too hastily into trouble without a plan.”
"Because so many of our plans go off without a hitch."
You muffle a snort behind a cough, and Raha rolls his eyes at your ill disguised amusement.
“We’d best go gather the others then," he says, nudging your arm.
Unfortunately, Raha’s right. You sigh, and march merrily on your way to ‘rally the troops’ for your next adventure. Now, where did you leave them last?