Obsequy
The winds howled along the cliffs of Argrath Vale,
Playing across the steel-grey clouds of the Frez County. Below the cliff seas roared into nothingness. There were no songs, no prayers, no commuters. Even air wasn't even thick of the usual tears and vows.
Twelve figures stood in a perfect circle, circling the white casket. Their bodies were cloaked in white sable clothes, their faces veiled in white linen. Upon each rested a crown of golden of Panax Ginseng leaves. Their swords, hung sheathed at their backs. Flanked by the temporary jagged marble bier were two
Black-armoured hands crossed over the pommels of their forgotten friend and disciple. They did not speak, they did not shift, they did not mourn, they stood just stood like statues, guarding the person standing pridefully between them.
She was a Queen. A golden Laurel Leaf Crown, the carved lion faced epaulet showed her regal authority. Lion Mane sleeves protected her delicate black gloved hands. Amber eyes strayed into the death sky, while the sturdy ironclad boots fumbled into the earth. The Board Chest plate felt heavier, heavier than the royal blouse. The cloak felt longer, longer than the usual royal skirt. Her armour gleamed with early sunshine; the crest of the winged lion embossed her corset.
At her side, quite and in crimson armour, stood a girl no older than the sixteen-year-old body itself. Her gauntlets were scratched, her boots dusted from the long ride, her face was half-shielded by an unkempt sweep of red hair.
And before all of them, upon a low marble dais, rested the casket.
White
Carved from the bones of the star-oak durn, etched with runs of 'Fanrel'. The body lay untouched. His coat was white, his hair, white. Even his closed eyes bore the strange pale hue of his blessed dead white. His hands were folded across his chest. One over the other, both holding the same cane.
Aris von Frez, The Commander of the Cardinal Knights.
The red armoured girl stepped forward. Her breath hitched, as she reached her waist and unslung the wooden training sword, he had once used in the Day Knight's watchful gaze. It was rough, splintered with the kind that made fingers bled. She looked at it for a long moment, then in one swift motion, broke it across the knee.
The crack of old wood echoed across the cliffside.
"SIELD, der Knapuire fällt, toh in awacan on þære wernar epicles."
She placed the two halves gently into the casket, across his chest, tapping the cane, lifting it away to secrecy, leaning forward for a last private batter,
"May in þære nextan life we be unita in same cavalry oath."
The two knights approached in tandem. Small urns at their belts, they each took a handful of ash, pouring it over the Knights feet.
"Mæg þæt þæt we þa ronde table."
The Queen Knight followed, kneeling, she laid a small scoop of mud upon his heart. Water followed, poured gently beading on his suit.
"You were given life by the mother, and to the mother you shall return."
The red girl nodded, her hands closed to fists and with a metal fold from the dias, latched the lid shut.
Then the twelve priests stepped forward.
Together, they drew their blades. One by one they snapped their metal swords with blade. Shards of blessed metal fell to the stone. Then, rhythmically they drove the broken halves into the white coffin. Twelve wounds for twenty-four stabs.
The girl didn't flinched, but the blessed metal ring crumbled.
The Queen, lifted one hand, and so the coffin titled forward, slowly tippling on the cliff's edge. It lingered caught between heaven and the sea, and then it fell.
No splash echoed back, only winds rosed and gulls startled into the sky.
"Let him sleep where no war can wake him."
*
The war room beneath the White Citadel did not burn torches.
Light came from the walls themselves runic veins of mana that pulsed faintly. Six strands ran along the cold granite: ember-red, storm-blue, dusk-violet, viridian, umber, and gold. The six colours of the six elements. The six gifts of the Grail.
They brightened and dimmed with the mood of the room.
A long obsidian table sat in the centre, carved from the heart of a meteoric stone fallen before the empire's founding. Upon its polished surface, miniature armies glinted in brass and crystal.
Around it stood three figures.
At the head: Queen Aria of House Argus, the Lion-Bearer, Sovereign of Aorangracia. Her black-gloved fingers rested lightly on the edge of the table. She wore no crown today, but the carved lion pauldron on her left showed her Prescence.
On her right, taller by a head and broader by three across, stood
High King Knight Algrin Rozenhal. An Umbra-elemental, his black cloak hung scorched at the bottom from a dozen old battles. The pommel of his blade was shaped like a salamander.
On her left stood King Knight Serros Vaelthorn, colder and leaner, another Umbra wind-elemental. Silver lines lined ornamental, with channels of breath-magic that could turn a blade before it touched flesh.
They had been speaking for some time, but the Queen only began to listen when Algrin slammed his fist down.
The war-table shook. Miniature banners toppled. One — the Arlion standard — rolled into the River of Alerion, painted there in faint platinum lines.
"They've declared themselves," he growled. "Thrazgar, Thrainak, and most recently, Kardruk. The Arlian states now march under their own war seal. They're turning their cannons inland. Towards us."
"Not us," Serros corrected, "But to You. The throne."
Algrin did not turn. "Give us Override, Majesty. Just the fields along the western marches. The leyline there are still unburnt. Let us strike before they become a second revolt."
Queen Aria said nothing at first.
Her eyes wandered across the map, to a speck of white marble along the cliffs of Argrath Vale. The place where Aris had been laid to rest.
When she finally spoke, the golden strand on the wall brightened behind her.
"You would make gods of your soldiers for five breaths of battle."
Algrin's teeth ground together. "Better to be gods for five breaths than corpses for eternity."
"Or monsters," she whispered.
Serros bristled, "Majesty. The nobles have begun to speak. They ask why the demand the next attendance of the Cardinal Knights and their commander and the Dainkarlian Gala."
"They funeral was in secret, Aris is dead."
The Queen's eyes narrowed, "Do you think he is?"
The mana in the walls held its breath.
She stepped away from the table. "Aris von Frez was no ordinary knight. He bore mana thresholds even the Watchtower couldn't calibrate. His induction rate shattered the north circuit. His propagation field kept the Gate of Dawn from collapsing. And when the Override touched him…"
She turned to face them. "He didn't just burn. He changed."
"A mirror."
Neither knight spoke. The golden strand behind her shimmered again, but faintly violet began to pulse beneath.
Aria raised one gloved hand and traced a symbol in the air. A glyph neither of them had seen in two decades. The sigil of dual capacity.
"One in ten million knights are born with the Grail's Favor," she said. "They carry too much. So, the Grail does what it has always done."
She turned back to the table, and this time her hand fell not on any Arlian state, nor imperial bastion.
It fell beyond the map. Onto a shadowed coast drawn in faded ink and old runes.
THE VEIL OF DUSK.
"...It splits them," she finished.
Serros's eyes narrowed. "You're saying Aris was... zweildias?"
"That would be possible," Algrin whispered.
"I'm saying the Grail does not create. It reflects. One Aris remained in Avalon. The other…"
She tapped the edge of the table, where the Veil curved off into myth.
"...crossed."
Algrin whispered, as if the thought pained him. "But then who did we bury?"
She smiled faintly. "A question with no answer."
"When we sealed his coffin, the ring of blessing of his consort cracked. Cracked. Like glass holding two faces."
Serros glanced toward the wall "He's not dead," he breathed. "Not truly, zweildias find it difficult to die. When I gained the favour of the goblet, I lost the sense of longing and life, the same could be said of Aris. If the veil caught his reflection, he nevertheless could be alive, but not in Avalon."
Aria didn't confirm it.
She walked toward the war-table's edge and picked up a small crystal figure, the one bearing the sigil of a dragon's Wing. Aris's old mark.
She placed it atop the Veil.
"Let him return to domus," she murmured,
"If he must. But not before the world is burnt. His frost would burn desire and his umbra would envelop the continent and his familiars would overrun the country"
The stone halls of the Royal Citadel smelled of old ash and polished steel. Far above the council chamber, the stained-glass skylight glowed amber with the setting sun, blurring patterns of swords and knights in hues of organs and greens.
Rin Lament stood behind the bronze panelled doors of the inner sanctum, one eye pressed to the seam. Through her ears she caught only the fragments. But at this point, she was confident that her commander wasn't dead.
"—Override isn't a luxury," came the voice of High King Knight Algrin Rozenhal
"They are not wasted," came the Queen's answer. "They are preserved. Power is best used controlled. A single knight who awaken lux or tenebris under stress could tear open the ley-lines of an entire Arlian province."
"In name of the first Monarch and God, the reflection would return to the seat of Cardios."
The second King Knight Serros Vaelthorn, grunted. "And what would you have us do? Wait until the Arlian secessionists are building cathedrals with stolen Imperial relics?"
Rin's breath caught.
She leaned closer.
And in that moment, her boot slipped.
The sound was slight
The door snapped open.
Sir Serros stood there, brow lifted, hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword. His grey eyes locked with Rin's fiery ones.
"Cardinal Vice-Commander?" he asked, voice dry. "You've taken up espionage now?"
Rin straightened, her cheeks flush with heat. "I wasn't—"
"Spare me," Serros said, stepping aside. "If you're going to eavesdrop, do it properly. Come in."
Before she could protest, Queen Aris's voice rang clear from the chamber:
"Let her enter."