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Roen · **10-19-2016, 06:26 PM**

There was a wet hiss of steel as her blade withdrew from the chest of the wyvern. Roen braced her boot against its limp neck to aid in the effort, and as the dark blood of the creature began to spill forth into the running stream, she could feel under her weight the last shudder of life that ran along its spine.

She had seen such spasms before the veil of death finally settled upon any living thing, often followed the release of a final breath, and she imagined that it was the body finally following the path of the soul. The paladin bent to wash the length of her blade in the water, but she found her gaze drifting back to the lifeless face of the dragonkin. It seemed frozen in its rage even in death. Its maw was opened wide, rows of sharp fangs bared in a rictus snarl. She still remembered the Dravanian words that rang through the air as the two wyverns attacked, their proud yet hate filled cry of battle. Did these creatures attack because they represented their opposition? Did they consider all individuals who were not heretics nor Dravanian their enemy--automatically casting their lot with the Ishgardians in this conflict?

The paladin sheathed her blade and whistled for Goldwind as she exited the arch of the bridge. The chocobo had been bouncing with anticipation along the side of the bank from the battle, his adrenaline still not having fully run its course. He came trotting up to Roen eagerly, letting out a nervous wark in greeting. She bent to study Goldwind's legs, then his frame and feathers to make certain he did not suffer any injury. She herself bore a few scrapes and bruises in the clash, but was thankful that her mount had stayed mostly out of the wyvern's reach. She hoisted herself up onto the bird's back, taking hold of the reins. She glanced one last time to the Dravanian corpse that laid upon the stream, half of its body shrouded in shadow under the stone bridge. She had been able to goad it into coming after her physically, daring it to try and deliver on its threat where its roaring flames could not.

He was arrogant and fixated, she reminded herself. The intelligence of Dravanians was a thing of legend, but sometimes it was countered by a marked weakness in temperament. So how had she decided, upon arriving in Ishgard, that these creatures that communicated with each other and waged a thousand year war were unequivocally monsters to be slain? Was it their merciless ways and their determination to see to an end to all life in Ishgard that made it easy to justify no mercy? Or had she just refused to contemplate on it then?

Roen remembered her despair when she had first fled to Coerthas. She had been so desperate to fill her suns and her thoughts doing something, anything, that the Ishgardians call for aid seemed valid without question.

But nowâ€¦?

A long sigh escaped her as she spun Goldwind about, her eyes scanning the landscape. There was no time to ponder these things now. She had yet to find Khadai. She caught a glimpse of him running ahead toward the treeline further north with the larger wyvern in tow. No word had come from him on the linkpearl, so she could either assume he was dealing with his pursuer as she had been, or that he was in some sort of trouble. She had seen him in battle against dragonkin before, and a part of her immediately reassured herself that he is quite capable of dealing with them, especially one to one. Still...

Best be certain. With a swift kick to Goldwindâ€™s flank, they raced for the woods.

***Nero*** · **10-20-2016, 11:14 PM**

Kasrjin had taken a moment to clean the near-acrid dragon blood off of his blade in the stream. Karadwyr chirped merrily with excitement, apparently unfazed in the aftermath of the fight. The Au Ra raised a brow at the chocobo's warbles. Was it expressing contentment at victory? It was true that it was a bird meant to carry knights into battle; perhaps such a sentiment was not totally beyond it.

Once he'd caught his breath and recovered from the experience, his hunting knife severed the largest talon from the headless wyvern's foot. As trophies went, it was fairly nondescript--certainly not as iconic as a mylodon's horns--but it might have its uses and could possibly be used for bartering. Nothing else on the wyvern was practical enough to take, so after blunting the talon against a rock, he unceremoniously shoved it into his bag. The dragon had shouted something audible before its attack, but its language was not something Kasrjin could decipher.

Nonetheless, the memory of it made him curious; the heretics used the Correspondence to communicate with their dragon masters during the construction of Anyx Trine, so it was claimed by this volume. The volume is purported to have been authored by a member of the Church for use by the Temple Knights, but that made little sense. Why would a member of the clergy--a role that was decidedly a non-combat role, as Kasrjin understood it--be writing what was ostensibly a military volume? And if the heretics did use the Correspondence and not some other means in an attempt to communicate with dragons, did that mean that the dragons and heretics had no methods of communication whatsoever? If that was true, how could they even begin to coordinate the construction of something like Anyx Trine? The details did not add up.

The Au Ra and the paladin made a simple rendezvous after he contacted her via linkpearl to relate his location. Roen did not seem worse for wear--a part of Kasrjin wished he could have witnessed her combat against the wyvern for academic purposes--and with little effort and a small amount of rest, they were on the move again.

The shafts of sunlight that pierced the lurid green veil of the trees above them as the sun began to approach its zenith. It seemed odd that their travel, the wyverns, and the combat took up less than half of the morning.

"North would be a better bet," Kasrjin said. "It is more perilous to scale and the cliffs are narrow, but there is less open ground. I think it unwise to approach Anyx Trine directly." They set their birds into a trot, following the river. The bandersnatches snarled but either favoured lonely prey or sensed the blood that the pair had recently spilled; the felines kept their distance in the shadows and brambles of the trees.

â€œSoâ€¦â€ Roen glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. â€œOne of these suns, I should really take you up on that offer of teaching me how to shoot a bow.â€ She tucked a forelock behind her ears. â€œNext time there might not be a woodline or a bridge to use for cover.â€

Her gaze upon him lingered, as if to study him. â€œHow long did it take you to learn? You said you were taught various things before you began your journey.â€

â€œKhadai receive such training for bows for a duration ranging between eight to thirty lunar cycles, though bows are weapons are mostly reserved for those specialised in their use,â€ Kasrjin said neutrally, his head staying on an alert but slow swivel. â€œMy training was expanded for another moon alongside additional hunting skills. The basics can be taught in less than one moon for unskilled volley fire, but accurate archery requires a great deal more practise."

Roen pursed her lips. â€œWell, perhaps some basics then when we can afford the time.â€ She paused, as if she was considering saying something more, but pressed her lips closed instead and fell silent.

The forelands were beautiful indeed, dragons and deadly animals notwithstanding. From a distance, the waterfalls that carved through the mountain could be heard unleashing a furious cascade into the river. As they had drawn closer the roar of rushing water increased in volume. Plumes of gentle mist exuded from the mouth of the river. The Au Ra's emerald gaze passed over the sight almost wistfully; this would be an excellent place to fish.

Kasrjin ducked his head instinctively as he heard the beating of wings--a large dragon, its hide speckled with blue amongst mottled yellow flew overhead--though let out a sigh of relief when it passed them by. He slipped off of Karadwyr's saddle, examining the falls and the river to his right, and a steep mountain in front of him and to his left. The rocks did not appear especially precarious; the slope was harsh, but not strictly vertical.

"We will have to scale this. How confident are you in climbing?"

Roen wrinkled her nose as she carefully approached the edge. It was obvious that she was trying to maintain a cool countenance, but she could not help but fidget with unease. â€œI am good at climbing,â€ she said matter-of-factly. â€œ...As long as I do not look down.â€

â€œWhat do you wish to do with your bird?â€

The paladin chewed her lips for a moment in thought, her grey eyes scanning to the left and right of them as if to look to the woodline. â€œThese birds are well-trained to come when summoned with this whistle.â€ She fished out a small wooden whistle from her belt pouch. â€œAlthough since we are going the direct route, likely you will have to give them sometime to catch up to us. It does have quite a range to it.â€

Kasrjin frowned slightly. â€œWe will use the whistle once every two hundred steps; we cannot afford to wait in this territory. At worse, we will have to find somewhere to deposit them safely. I will anchor. Lighter individuals go first.â€ Kasrjin pulled a length of thick rope from his saddlebags, and two pairs of leather harnesses. "Pull these over your leggings," he instructed as he finished tying a tight knot around the metal fastener on the back of the harnesses' waistband. He then affixed the rope around his own harness. The metal armour was not especially conducive to climbing--he was more used to climbing in furs and leathers--but by now he was well-adjusted to its weight and it offered him enough freedom of movement such that it would not impede him unless the circumstances demanded some extraordinary acrobatics from him.

Their scaling of the mountain was uneventful; it was a matter of luck that the mountain was as stable as it looked, and save for a few odd pauses of searching for handholds and footholds, they managed to reach the top. Only a few segments of the climb had a straight and vertical component to it.

The cliff afforded them quite a view; the branches and leaves of the of the chocobo forest stretched even higher towards the sky. The cresting towers of Anyx Trine could be seen clearly on the horizon. Looming above them was the towering crest of the mountain, its shadow casting its gloomy visage over the land as the sun began to pass behind it. Behind them were crumbling ruins matching the architecture of Anyx Trine. The chocobos held the majority of their provisions, but they carried enough with them to last a day. If their vaunted hearing was worthy of its acclaim, the whistle would ensure that Karadwyr and Goldwind would make find them soon enough.

As they paused to rest and feed, Kasrjin found his gaze drawn towards the ruins. At times, one of the yellow dragons could be spied trotting about inside or hovering around it. "Another roost for dragons," he mused. "I wonder of the lost builders of these places. They have been erased from this world, it seems."

Roen chewed on a morsel of dried meat while she followed his gaze to the stony structures. â€œRelics of time long gone,â€ she pondered out loud. â€œThere are not much written about the years when these were built or about those who constructed them. Ishgard dismissed them all as the work of heretics.â€ She studied them as she took another bite of her ration. â€œBut dragon and men working together. Can you imagine?â€

â€œI cannot,â€ Kasrjin said frankly. â€œThere are numerous inconsistencies in the information I have read regarding the union of man and dragon. I cannot help but wonder what these structures were for, and if they were truly built to accommodate both races.â€

The Xaela was on his feet and the blued steel of the greatsword left its harness in a whish before he consciously acknowledged the presence of danger. His muscles tensed and his gaze faced skyward as a roar resounded from the sky above, beating wings sending gusts of violent wind over both of them. The dragon was not gentle in its landing, its bulk making a considerable boom upon the aging stones. It snarled, glowing eyes scrutinizing the two of them. Kasrjin held his sword battle-ready, but he was tense; they did not have the swiftness of their steeds nor the advantage of terrain. Their backs were to a cliff.

The dragon stepped forward, its hide gleaming with streaks of blue amongst a field of speckled gold.

And to Kasrjin's complete surprise, it spoke.

"Thy form be veiled with the scent of my kin's blood, children of men," the dragon's..."voice" seemed to be a wholly inappropriate term for how the being spoke to them, and yet it spoke with a force and resonance that was unheard of. Each resounding syllable made Kasrjin's bones rumble in trepidation. The dragon snorted loudly. "Thou hast lain low blessed brother and sacred sister, and now thou seek to befoul this summit?"

The paladin stepped up to Khadaiâ€™s side, her shield held in front of her. Her movements were careful, as to not alarm the great beast that now spoke to them. Her sidelong glance to the Au Ra was a quick one, as if to gauge his reaction. Surprise was clearly written upon her face.

â€œYour kin attacked us. We were but traveling through these lands when we were set upon without reason.â€ She adjusted her grip upon her longsword, but held it low and to her side. â€œDo you expect us not to defend ourselves?â€

"Be there no end to thy transgressions?" the dragon growled fiercely, smashing its claws forward. Instinctively, they stepped back in response. "Thou wouldst hound us beyond sea and stone, yet seek fair passage among us? I shall see thy life spilled before me ere you treadeth further among these grounds!"

Kasrjin paused. The wyvern attack. Why had the wyverns attacked? They were but two decidedly random individuals; on any glance, they should not have even registered. And the way the wyverns had fought...anger. Hubris. Dare Kasrjin call it indignation?

"The Ishgardians," he breathed to himself. The war party. Bows, nets, lances. Heavily armed, heavily armoured, with chocobos. Armour caked in blood. "The Ishgardians. We encountered a war party in our travels. They attacked you."

The dragon seemed to pause, though the beast's suspicion was palpable. "With steel and silken screen did they wish to do us harm," it snarled after a long silence that had threatened to stretch to the end of time, or so the Xaela had felt.

"We are not among them. We do not seek conflict with dragonkind."

"Yet bearing arms dost thou trespass upon our domain. Reveal thy purpose, and know that lies beget thine peril."

The pact.

A reminder of the pact.

Kasrjin inhaled. And exhaled. He could see the characters flashing in his mind, even now.

Tsuven Tsenkhai knew exactly what to say.

"Beneath a conflict of swords and wings...we seek the blood of principle, ere it spill upon snow and mountains."

The dragon scrutinized the Xaela closely. It stepped closer. Kasrjin did not react.

"Thy bond is broken, child of man. Thine eternal march be fated to endure. The sea of mist containeth not the testament thou seek."

Kasrjin stared at it.

"It was never there to begin with. Ehs Daih. Allow us to cross to Ehs Daih."

There was a rumble in the dragon's throat.

"Thy words have not been uttered yet in this age, nor the age preceding." The dragon paused as if in thought, before beginning to beat its wings furiously, hovering in the air. "Thy flesh shall fall; thou hast arranged thine own betrayal. Forever a moth to folly's candle. Hie you unto the dark reaches, and snuff all light."

With those ominous words, the dragon ascended into the sky, retreating into the ruins amidst the waterfalls.

Kasrjin's throat felt dry. He held the sword slack, struggling for his waterskin, taking generous gulps from it. "The deepest reaches," he said. "There...is a cave. It will allow us into the mountain."

Roen · **10-22-2016, 08:46 PM**

Roen had watched the exchange intently. It was the first time she had ever heard the common tongue uttered from the mouth of a dragon, much less watch it hold discourse with one not of its own ilk. It spoke with an archaic inflection, each word rumbling with power. Roen's fingers twitched upon her sword hilt as Khadai tried to parley for a safe passage, uncertain whether the dragon might not just choose to immolate them rather than listen.

But then the Xaela spoke a phrase, one she easily recalled from memory.

"Beneath a conflict of swords and wingsâ€¦ we seek the blood of principle, ere it spill upon snow and mountains."

Khadai had spoken those words when they had first met, along with showing her a mystical composition of lines and circles that he had drawn on a stone wall. He was trying to explain to her his purpose of coming to Eorzea, and those were the words that drove him to travel to Coerthas. At the time, he could not explain what meaning it held or that it had anything to do with Dravanians.

But those same words, spoken again, gave the dragon pause. It stepped closer to the Au Ra, looming over him, but did not attack. Roen gripped her sword tighter, ready to summon aether to her side to protect Khadai.

He did not move. He only continued to stare at the creature. There was an understanding in his eyes, steadfastness in his still form. It was as if the very purpose of his journey had steeled his frame in this moment. But then something else happened. As the dragon and the Xaela continued to exchange words, Roen could see his sword starting to lower, and something flickered in his expression. She could not tell what.

Roen let out a breath that she did not realize she was holding when the dragon finally lifted into the air and flew away. As Khadai drank deeply from his waterskin, the paladin watched the dragonâ€™s form disappear from their view. And as its last words echoed in her memory, she found herself growing eerily cold.

â€œWhat do you know?â€ Roen spun around immediately at the Au Ra. â€œWhere is thisâ€¦ Ehs Daih?â€ He had not explained the prophecy before, if it could even be called that. He said he had not the capacity to do so. And yet, during that conversation, there was an exchange of knowledge that she was not privy to. Their words, however enigmatic, seemed to carry clear meaning to the two participants.

And how it seemingly left the usually stoic Xaela warrior shaken. The sight disturbed her.

She stepped closer to him, laying a hand upon his arm as if to press her point. Her firm gaze bore into his. â€œIt warned us. Warned you. Of what?â€

***Nero*** · **10-23-2016, 12:55 PM**

His head was pounding. He could feel the blood in his eyes pulsate. The Correspondence throbbed. Colours flashed before him, but they were not colours that were visible, not colours that could be described. The colour of memories that are recalled unbidden. The colour of unkind truths and pleasing fancies. The colour of grief that had failed to harden into regret. Kasrjinâ€™s mind eye fled across the sea, across mountains and twisting valleys, over frozen glaciers and into black granite. Impossibly smooth stone, so smooth that he could feel the skin of his fingers split, even as they stood at his side.

And in the same instant, the sensations were gone. Mercifully, they had abandoned him.

â€œEhs Daih...it is a place.â€ Kasrjin shouldnâ€™t know this information. He knew for a fact that he had never been there. This wasnâ€™t a case of amnesia, of remembering something lost...it was as if his mind reoccupied his body and found something that another mind had left behind. â€œA cave beneath the mountain. We should be able to reach it...there should be a cave up the mountain path where we can descend.â€

And the dragonâ€™s warning. Every time Kasrjin tried to remember the sensation--a part of him understood--his mind screamed in protest and curled itself away. Was it actually him who understood, though? Or was it someone else who knew what to say and when to say it? The dragon knew.

â€œThe dragon was warning us of danger. Where we are going has things that cannot be fought with steel.â€ A moth to follyâ€™s candle. Kasrjin recovered, slipping the sword into its harness. His balance returned, strength to his voice--and some measure of doubt--and his muscles relaxed. He turned his gaze to Roen, emerald eyes flashing. â€œWhere we are going...it is an extremely dangerous place. It is a place of freedom. Freedom from laws and rulers. All laws. All rulers. Without exception.â€ he repeated as if for emphasis. â€œIf you enter...you may not emerge as who you were. You may not emerge at all.â€

Did he truly understand what he was saying? In some ways he did--Kaarad-El did not permit anyone but Tsenkhai for similar reasons--but in other ways he did not. â€œThe dragon...I believe it wished to do us harm. I managed to convince it of our destination, but it seemed to believe that we would not return. Are you willing to take such a risk?â€ His stare had hardened, as if seeking an answer he could not find. Somehow some of his actions seemed to not be his own.

Roen · **10-24-2016, 11:36 AM**

Roen was not sure whose warning was worse.

A part of her expected ominous portents from the dragon; despite its willingness to forego a fight, it did little to ease the hostilities between them. But the grim questions that were now posed by Khadai, it began to fill her heart with dread.

Her mind raced as she considered the possibilities. His scrutiny and assessment of any situation had always been painfully forthright, sometimes at the expense of civility and patience. But here and now, he spoke of what awaited them with unusual apprehension. And there was a perplexity to his demeanor that seemed wholly not his own. Was it the way he spoke? His explanation? Roen could not quite put a finger on it.

â€œI said I would aid you in however way I can.â€ The paladin steadied her gaze upon the Au Ra and calmed her voice. Her hand still remained upon his arm. She marvelled inwardly that she sounded more composed than she felt. Her thoughts flitted from one thing to the next even as she gathered her next words, wanting find order in the chaos of questions and possibilities that whirled in her mind.

Khadai said that he did not know if they would emerge at all from where they were headed. He looked at her searchingly, as if to press upon her the gravity of their circumstance. Roen had never retreated from such adversities before, not out of any foolhardy bravado, but because she had always been certain in her conviction. Was this any different from before?

The paladin had come to falter in the last year, falling to periods of doubt and melancholy. But she was making her climb out of that pit, step by step. Her brother had been just returned to her. They had not fully reconciled all of their differences, but the rift of a yearâ€™s long absence was just starting mend. She had reconnected with Kiht, Delial, and Kage, all of who had helped Gharen. She was thankful that Gideon was once more back in her life as well, she had missed his friendship and counsel.

But now that Khadai was asking her if she was willing to risk throwing it all away again.

â€œJust why did you enter into a contract with this man?â€ Roen recalled asking Edda the same question she would ask herself now.

â€œWould you not do the same?â€ The noblewoman had answered with a small smile. â€œI could not abandon someone with whom I empathize.â€

The paladin breathed out a sigh. Not only did she feel empathy for him, there was something more. There was an idealist within the stern warrior that she wanted to protect. It was a familiar stirring inside her, one that she had felt long ago, that she could not ignore.

â€œSo. I am in this, with you.â€ Roen took a step to stand before the Xaela, her eyes peering up at him without a cloud of doubt. â€œBut I need to know more. So that we can be best prepared as possible. You never spoke of this Ehs Daih before. And now you say it is a place of freedom. But that it is also very dangerous. Why? What awaits us there?â€

Her words were spoken deliberately as if trying to focus his thoughts as well. If indeed they were headed into great peril, she would do her damndest to not fail this time.

***Nero*** · **10-30-2016, 09:30 PM**

â€œThere is little that can prepare you, physically or mentally,â€ Kasrjin responded almost immediately. â€œIt is a place without laws. All laws. It means that you may see rain fall towards the ceiling. Those who have died may yet live within. Time may flows backwards. Solid stone may melt beneath your feet. Erase all perceptions and assumptions you possess about our world and how it should work. It was a place constructed for absolute freedom. There is little difference between that and absolute anarchy.â€

The Xaela began to stride up the narrow mountain path. There would be a cave leading into Mourn, and within would be Ehs Daih. And within Ehs Daih would be their destination. â€œMy...mm, predecessor had some knowledge of this place. He was Tsenkhai,â€ Kasrjin continued to explain. He could not properly explain his relationship with Tsuven, given that he didnâ€™t precisely know the specifics himself, but given where they were going and the risks they were taking, providing a thorough explanation could not hurt.

Kasrjinâ€™s hand trembled somewhat with trepidation, but also with an odd kind of fear. It felt like a fear from a memory not his own.

â€œThe place my people worshipped--a temple of sorts--works in a similar lawless fashion for all but those capable of using the Correspondence. I have been told that it is easy to be driven mad. The first of the Tsenkhaiâ€™s trials at a young age are to determine whether or not they are capable of weathering such chaos to an adequate degree.â€

â€œWe do not know who--or what--constructed our temple, nor what the templeâ€™s actual purpose was. If my predecessor was correct,â€ Kasrjin winced to himself as his headache throbbed again. â€œThen it stands to reason that this place was built by the same peoples. Though for what, I cannot say.â€

The mountain path was steep, but they managed to reach the opening of a large, deep cave without any harassment. That there were no dragonkin around on their sacred mountain only furthered Kasrjinâ€™s suspicions that they had been sent here to die...or worse.

Before entering the large cave, Kasrjin withdrew a small length of wood--barely the size of his forearm--and a flint from one of his belt satchels, lighting the torch before holding it before Roen. â€œMy night vision is adequate, but you may require this,â€ he said. â€œOnce we enter Ehs Daih, it is very likely that it will separate us. When we are inside, nothing will work how you believe it should. You will...see things, hear things. Everything you perceive is real.â€ Kasrjin held Roenâ€™s gauntleted hand in his and pressed his index finger hard on her palm, as if to drive the point home. â€œEverything. That is what it means to be a lawless place: there are no tricks and no illusions. That is why it is dangerous.â€

The paladin closed her fingers around his hand before he was able to release hers. â€œWhat are you expecting me to do once we get to this place, exactly? What is our purpose?â€

â€œIt will reveal itself to you,â€ Kasrjin said. â€œIt will--or should--know what you are seeking. What you want. Even if you yourself do not know what that is.â€

She stared at him for a moment longer, before releasing her hold. Her eyes narrowed slowly as if in contemplation. â€œI am only here to help you. I do not seek anything for myself. If this will separate usâ€¦ why do you need me here?â€

â€œI have only ever accepted what aid you wish to give,â€ the Xaela responded honestly. â€œThis is a threshold you need not cross, if you do not wish to. You are free to turn back now, as you have always been, should you wish to do so.â€

Roen blinked. She took a step back from him, her brow deeply furrowed. Her grey eyes darted this way and that, before her hand closed into a fist and she straightened. â€œI have come this far.â€ Her jaw was set and she lifted her chin. â€œI will cross the threshold with you. Perhapsâ€¦ it will reveal to me how I can help you.â€

They continued into the cave in silence. What would he see? The colours of the Correspondence might guide him...but they might not. The chittering of dragonkin could be heard echoing through the cavern, but the path before them was desolate, empty.

And then, a dead end. The darkness of the cave stretched out before them, leading to nothing but jagged walls surrounding them on all sides.

Kasrjin could feel it. The aether seeping out, the colours flashing in the corners of his vision. This is where the pulse came from, when he first felt it in Coerthas during the blizzard.

Instinctively, he withdrew the runestone that Tsanai had given him--the colours on its carved surface had faded long ago--and pressed it against the stone wall of the cave, causing the wall to shimmer like water. It rippled, sending waves throughout the surface. And it screamed. An instantaneous howl of pain and agony in a voice whose gender could not be identified, as if someone or something felt the rippling of the stone in their flesh and bones. Bending, creasing, cracking. And then, it ceased.

The Xaela turned to glance at the paladin behind him, his hand still pressed against the wall. â€œAll shall be well if you believe it to be so,â€ he said solemnly, holding his other hand out to her, as if waiting for her to grasp it. He felt her grip in his, and with an expression of grim determination, they pushed their way past into the rippling stone wall.

Roen · **11-08-2016, 10:49 PM**

The sensation of pushing into the wall was odd, not unlike entering a column of seawater. Roen felt her nose filling with the scent of iron and her mouth with the taste of salt. It burned, but just as quickly as they came, they vanished.

She instinctively tightened her grip upon Khadaiâ€™s hand, only to feel it evaporate within her grasp; just as he predicted, they were separated in this foreign place. She did not even see him vanish. The paladin had not even blinked, but he was simply no longer present.

The torch sputtered in the darkness as if the very flame itself was frightened, struggling. The walls stretched and groaned all around, coiling like intestines.

â€œKhadai!â€ Roen whispered into her linkpearl. No answer came. Composing herself with a steady breath in, she unsheathed her sword and held out the torch in front of her. The shadows only dodged and spun away from the lightâ€™s reach, as if it was a pitiful thing.

The tunnel continued. The colors of the wall began to shift like nacre, the blackness giving way to colors that can be seen by the mind but not by the eye. The color of regret. The color of forgetfulness. The color of longing. The strange iridescence forced her to avert her eyes, to focus on the void that opened like a maw straight ahead. Her peripheral vision fled.

Roen did not know for how long she had continued on her path before the cave shattered open with a bestial roar. The paladin threw up a hand in front of her eyes as the darkness gave way to blinding light. It was all colors and none that flooded her vision, and when the glare faded, a bridge hewn from diamonds stretched out in front of her. Below was a seemingly endless chasm from whence gusts of wind seemed to scream forth; to each sides of the bridge were impossibly high spires of ice and snow, jutting upwards toward the sky. The shadows of the cavern fled back to their crevices behind her and the torch finally sputtered, the fire dying as if in submission.

Roen studied the veil of clouds above. She could not see a sun or any discernible source of light. Just what is this place?

The bridge was the only way forward. The paladin steeled herself, her eyes squinting as she looked across the vast structure. There was but one way to go; but once she stepped on it, she knew she would be exposed, like an insect in the desert. A strong draft from below whipped her cloak around her and the paladin paused in hesitation. She took one careful step, and the bridge cracked with brittle brilliance beneath her armored feet.

All shall be well if you believe it to be so, Khadaiâ€™s last words echoed in her mind. She exhaled and took another step.

Visions of the world--the real world--came to her in flashes. It raced by her too fast, as though her mind were flipping through the pages of a book, without fully comprehending what she was being shown. Roen shaded her eyes with a hand, but she continued to advance. The diamonds beneath her feet groaned and its edges crumbled away but the frame held fast. As she crossed, the bridge continued to lengthen, leading her to another tall spire of ice. The clouds parted around it, revealing a celestial haze that seemed to weave itself around the unworldly architecture. Stars shined above this tower, and it seemed to reach the heavens themselves. The light here also seemed different. The ice-crystal walls were invisible behind a luminous fog and the air was warmer.

As the paladin approached the entrance, she noticed that her shadow paced behind her, stalking the boundaries of the fog. When she crossed the threshold of the carved doorway, her shadow did not enter. Roen narrowed her eyes as she saw it remaining behind, as if it was not precisely her own.

A thousand rich and blinding colors filtered through the ice within the tower, like drinking a kaleidoscope. The hues shifted with every step she took into the circular center of the tower, the walls revealing shining corridors that branched out in all directions. In each and every corridor, the paladin saw her own image staring back at her.

KNOW YOURSELF, a voice intoned through the vaulted space.

Roen spun about, but saw no one else. â€œWho are you?â€ she called out. There was no answer. Her own voice echoed through the tower, a strange cacophony made up of her own voice coming from each of the halls.

â€œIt will reveal itself to you,â€ Khadai had said. â€œIt will--or should--know what you are seeking. What you want. Even if you yourself do not know what that is.â€

Roen studied each passageway. What I want. What do I want? Each burned with a different glow, crimson red, sapphire blue, emerald green, and white pearly iridescence. She felt drawn to the one that shimmered with a blue hue as rich as the sky. She was always drawn to that color, it was her motherâ€™s favorite.

But when she stepped in, she found that every facet of the icy wall was hard and with seeming limitless depth. As she continued into the chamber, azure wisps plucked at her senses. A voice reverberated again, THIS WAS THEIR SKY. The room opened, and an icy field spread itself before her. Up above, there was nothing in the terrifying emptiness but a hollow circle, a fierce old thing. The sky looked like glass, and the circle was pressed against it.

It reminded her of another crimson moon in the sky that she had glimpsed years ago. But that was when death rained from above. â€œWhoâ€™s sky is this?â€ the paladin called out again into the emptiness. She was again answered with silence.

The brittle blue barrier shuddered, as if it would shatter with the lightest of pressure. The empty moon suddenly flared red and hungry. The blue of the sky suddenly erupted with several dozen savage spears that rained down and pierced through the ice beneath her feet. Distant screams began to fill her ears and her head spun. She felt her stomach twist; somehow she could feel the fear of those who fell all around her.

Vertigo sent her senses spinning. All around, the field of ice shivered like a bubble. Was this even real? Why did all the terror that she felt that day when the blue sky was covered in smoke before bleeding red with ravenous appetite, why did all those memories return to her now? The sky was now black, as black as the void, and the red moon still burned. It trembled, and its surface cracked open. In between the fissures appeared a reptilian eye, and it glared at her, eager and greedy. The eye blinked, and the sky was devoured under a cascade of flame.

Roen fell to her knees, only to find herself back in the nexus of corridors, no longer in the chamber wrought with destruction. Her chest heaved with heavy breaths, and her vision was veiled with a pale blue tint. The memory of the eye throbbed in her head.

That salty taste returned in the back of her throat. The paladin shakily rose back to her feet, as multitude of her reflections continued to stare back at her from the other corridors. She let out a stuttered breath and steeled herself, this time stepping into the emerald vista.

The green permeated this chamber; it carried the scent of forests and of poison. Green was the color of life, even if it was wild or dangerous. Roen sighed with relief. After the last vision, she needed to see something else; that even after all that destruction, there was still life.

SOMETHING SOUGHT, the voice rang in the distance. SOMETHING LOST.

Roen found herself standing on the edge of a cliff, much like the one preceding the diamond bridge. Before her was nothing but a void of green lights. Rich and deep color of infinite depths and tints. It baffled and delighted her senses. A chilly wind brushed her cheek and she could smell the scent of pine. It reminded her of the forests that surrounded her childhood home. A part of her knew she could wander in this place forever like she used to. The mist was inviting, like a halo of northern lights.

A lone tree came into view, floating in the air; its branches were weeping and pulsing, stretching towards the infinite. The paladin squinted as she spotted something embedded in the trunk of the tree. Some kind of bladed, pointed instrument, carved of jade. From a hollow opening of the tree leaked blood. She did not know how she knew it was blood--it was the same soft shade of green as everything else--only that it was there. And yet, she could not leave it be, it was clearly wounding the tree.

The jade edge was sharper than it looked; even carefully grasping it by the flat of the blade, it cut a gash across her palms. Strangely enough she did not bleed and felt no pain, but the gash was a sickly green. The jagged edges of the instrument shimmered with light. Despite her wound, she pulled it from the bark with ease.

It felt light, familiar, but also... demanding. The tree was where it belonged. It had a purpose, a place. It was misused, and so was the tree damaged. The wound on the tree began to close, and as it did, the jade in her hand began to evaporate into dust. Suddenly, Roen felt a wave of disappointment and despair. Was it coming from the jade? Light reflected off of every speck of dust. The paladin blinked, her sight was dazzled, her perceptions confounded. As the last of the jade turned to dust, the tree began to wither.

Roen stepped back away from the dying tree, and found herself back in the nexus of corridors. From the vista that grew suddenly distant, she could hear mournful howls.

This is a test of some sort. Orâ€¦ some kind of a puzzle. The paladin frowned and turned to the remaining corridors. She had entered this place willingly, she would see this through.

She stepped through the amethyst gallery, where the corridor was deep violet. The hue was like that of a glowing coral and the shadows drifted through the air like fish.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, her perspective confounded her. This place stretched away in every direction through a dusty purple haze, and it was as if she was floating in a cloud. The air was chill and crackling. Vast and shadowy shapes hung lifeless in the cloud, the fluid staining their silhouettes.

Once again, the voice returned, lifeless as leaden type. THERE WERE CASUALTIES.

Her sight suddenly pulled back. The violet haze coalesced together and condensed, smaller and smaller, tighter and tighter. It pulled together and began to crystalize. Roen tilted her head, and a jingle rang out. She canted her head the other way, and the jingle rang again. She blinked as she realized that the violet haze had solidified into a gem, and it chimed softly whenever she looked at it from a different angle. Beneath her feet, the floor had become a mirror, reflecting the purple night sky above, cresting over dry savannah and pillars of sand. The gem, an amethyst, floated gently above.

On the floor below her, were silhouettes, vaguely humanoid shaped. They reflected what was not there. In the corner of her eye, she thought she spied one of them moving--or did it?

Roen found herself reaching for the gem without thought. The amethyst and its teasing chime, it tugged at her memory. But when she closed her fist around the jewel, she felt the shape change. When she opened her palm, within her hand lay a familiar-looking memento, an earring set with an amethyst.

â€œThatâ€™s a little rude, donâ€™t you think?â€ a voice called out from behind her.

Roen · **11-10-2016, 01:55 PM**

The voice sounded inhuman. A shadowy limb snatched the amethyst from her palm. One of the silhouettes set in the floor had risen. The outline was blurred, eerily so, contrasting with the lights and images of the sky above and the floor below. The silhouette flicked the gem--with its hands?--resulting in another chime. It had only the vaguest of humanoid shapes and no faceâ€¦ but Roen could sense a smile, somehow, somewhere.

â€œDo you remember how we came to that place? You were dressed for the occasion in scarlet and white, silver and gold.â€ The voice sounded as alien as it did before, but there were threads of familiarity--tinged with a trace of sadness, like the frost which silvered the night.

Roen stared at the silhouette shimmering before her. She did not want to hope, but her heart ached to believe. Every part of her denied this possibility, and yetâ€¦

â€œThere is little that can prepare you, physically or mentally.â€ Khadaiâ€™s words were recalled with clarity . â€œIt is a place without laws. It means that you may see rain fall towards the ceiling.Those who have died may yet live within. Erase all perceptions and assumptions you possess about our world and how it should work.â€

The gem, tense and contrite, chimed softly.

â€œOf course I remember,â€ the paladin answered without hesitation. Her voice sounded raw and hoarse to her ears, but memories lifted her lips into a wistful smile. â€œYou could not wait to get out of your breastplate and the buckles. You never did like formal wear.â€

Roen stepped closer to the figure. There was a wanting, a wish. Her eyes carefully combed over that shadowy silhouette for perhaps even just a glimpse of the memories she had buried but could not forget. Suddenly, she wanted to remember all that was him more than ever.

â€œWe were trying to forget our troubles, wandering about the woods.â€ She took another step closer. She did not want the shadow to fade away just yet. â€œDo you remember our dance?â€

The silhouette did not answer, but pointed at the floor. When she glanced down, the shapes reflected on the floor began to stand upright, perpendicular to the mirrored reflection. There were so many. She was surrounded by them. She could not tell who they were, and their shapes were only distinct to her peripheral vision, save for the one holding the amethyst gem.

â€œThis place is from you,â€ the shadow whispered. â€œEverything from you.â€

The amethyst fog cleared; the reflections on the floor and the lights in the sky fled. There was silence. Then the sound of her own breath broke the stillness as Roen shuddered at the crushing pressure she felt upon her chest. It all felt so familiar. She could barely see the outline of the silhouette standing before her as it turned the gem in its hand.

â€œListen. Watch. Remember. Snuff all light, and we can help.â€

The figure turned the gem in its shadowy appendages again. A beam from somewhere refracted through the jewel, piercing the silhouette in its torso. A gaping hole widened, and the figure vanished without a sound. The amethyst continued to hover in front of her, as Roen frantically looked around the chamber for the being who was standing there just moments before. Just like Khadai, the shadow had disappeared, leaving only the gem behind. She lifted her hand to let it rest against her palm. She could not tell where the lights came from before, but as she angled the amethyst in her hand, she could see the refractions as it absorbed the illumination around it. Could she make the figure come back?

Without warning, Roen found herself expelled from the gallery, back in the nexus of frosted corridors again. There was now a mirror on a wall that was bright--brighter than the sun, brighter than ten suns. It was not there before. The path leading to the diamond bridge had vanished. I may be stuck here. Perhaps forever. The paladin shivered, as the cold realization that she may never leave this place settled upon her like a heavy cloak. She took a sharp breath in and framed her shoulders, looking to the next archway. Thought to purpose. Do not despair now.

Roen stepped into the next corridor that wafted with soft and pearly fog coiling within. Just as the tower seemed from the outside, the light within the chamber was soothing and the air was warm. The surface beneath her feet felt like the ocean, waves of light gently lapping against her boots. The pink sunrise on the distant horizon was calming, perhaps too calming. A single white spire stood alongside the rising dawn, infinite in its distance. The air smelled of salt.

The soft caress of the ocean breeze whispered for her to stay. She breathed in the moist air, and it calmed her senses. When she knelt to run her fingers over the floor, it had a smooth, glassy texture. The sea beneath the glass brightened further when she studied it, hues of emerald, sapphire, and gold glimmering within its depths. Mountains began to rise behind the spire in the distance, flecked with light, slopes veiled with evergreen forest. Mist streamed upwards and droplets of water rose from beneath the glass floor to fall upwards, each one lined in silver.

One foot, then another, she began to walk toward that spire in the vast distance. It looked familiar somehow, and she was somewhat amused how this place seemed to have some kind of an obsession with spires. But as she continued to walk, the vision seemed to clear further, and it looked tranquil. She yearned for its serenity.

Towers, ramps, galleries, and stairs of ice, raised and spun in impossible geometries around her. The greatest architect would weep at such a sight, she mused. No spider could ever weave so complex a web. The tower looked utterly pristine, untouched by mortal existence. She stepped across the glass surface, walking for what felt like countless bells without tiring.

Suddenly the imposing voice shook her from her reverie. CREATED TO FLEE ADVERSITY, it intoned.

Roen squinted to see what looked like reptilian features dotting the tower, though how she could see them she did not know; she was no closer to the tower than she was bells (moons? years? lifetimes?) before. Then her foot reached the outline of the shadow that the tower cast over the glassy ground. The paladin felt the amethyst tremble in her hand. She had nearly forgotten its presence in answering the spireâ€™s call.

â€œSnuff all light, and we can help.â€ Those were the words of the shadowed figure.

Roen suddenly held the amethyst up, and it trembled in her hand. When the light of this place glittered against the gemâ€™s cut surface, she saw the reflections in the glass floor beneath her begin to wisp away. The light being emitted from the spires was ravenously devoured by the jewel. It was a torrent, a flood of colors being consumed at a dizzying rate. Her vision flashed with spots and her head spun.

The iridescence died, leaving the paladin standing in darkness. Not complete darkness, no; the amethyst glimmered ever so slightly. It reminded her of the gallery, with a night sky above.

The silhouettes appeared on the floor again. One stood up, gingerly taking the gem from her hand.

â€œBetter,â€ it said. The voice was still inhuman, but seemed stronger, more distinct than before. The shadows that made up the silhouette were slightly less pale than before, seeming thicker and darker. â€œNot quite a pleasant experience, that.â€

Roen studied the figure in silence. The words this being spoke the last time, his demeanor, she was so willing to believe it was who she wanted it to be. But she knew, she could just be looking at the product of this place. Of her own thoughts and desires.

Everything you perceive is real, Khadai had said. But how could it be?

â€œHow can you help me?â€ the paladin asked in a neutral tone, careful to guard her emotions this time. â€œWhy does the light have to be snuffed?â€ Doubts and confusion swirled with a smallest tinge of hope, that this place could give life to the most impossible of wishes. â€œWhat are you? How are you here?â€

â€œThis light banishes all shadows. Such as we are, we cannot come into being,â€ the silhouette gestured to the surroundings. â€œWe understand this place, this time. We can help through our knowledge.â€

The shadows twisted around her, like children dancing in a circle. The darkness making up their featureless forms flickered. â€œWe are drawn from memory, yet something of the original remains. Moths molded to shape around the candle. Snuff all light. Lessen its hold over us, and we can help.â€

The figures began to melt away, save for one. â€œTalking in riddles is something of a requirement,â€ it intoned mournfully, its voice hollow, before it too melted away.

Roen blinked and found herself back in the central room of the tower. There was the mirror on the wall still, and it shined blindingly bright. But the light being emitted from the hallway where the iridescence once shimmered had faded away and died.

With the crimson corridor left unexplored, the paladin noticed one doorway that she had not seen before. Steam puffed and churned from this portal.

The entrance to the hall was flanked by churning cranks. As she entered, she was bathed in a cerulean light, thick as cream. It warmed her skin and filled her mouth with the taste of iron. She could hear the clanking of her boots on a metal catwalk until the hallway expanded to a large room. In front of her was an impossibly huge steel wall, filled with gears of varying shapes and sizes, revolving, spinning, and groaning. Each gear had a pale azure light that flashed between the teeth of the cogs.

ONE OBSESSION REPLACED WITH ANOTHER, that distant voice boomed again.

She did not hesitate this time. She lifted the gem up against the whirling machinery.

The cerulean glow being emitted by the gears swirled. The mechanical wall screamed and creaked as the cogs began to slow. They twitched, as if doing so was against their will. Steam bursted from unseen pipes, whistling once in great tufts before dying. Azure liquid leaked from the wall. The amethyst trembled in her hand, and the liquid swiftly became dead and colorless. The lights from behind the gears died and the mechanisms ceased their eternal churning, at last.

The shadow beings did not appear, save for one. It plucked the amethyst from her hand. â€œAnother piece added,â€ it commented. â€œSuch as it is. Quite noisy, though.â€ The silhouetteâ€™s form was now deeper, more tangible, and less transparent. It still had no features, and the voice was still alien and hollow, but it did not seem as formless or as faded as it once was.

â€œThese places are from you,â€ the figure said quietly. â€œAll places. Drawn from you. Gears spinning forever and ever, doing so because they believe they must, even if this mechanism powers nothing. What drove you, as these machines were driven?â€

Sounds of metal upon metal began to scrape against her ears and the wall before her began to fall apart. The sound was intense, painful. Roen clamped her hands to her ears to stymie the cacophony of destruction as the gears slid off, impacting on the metal flooring beneath her feet.

Once all of it fell away, it left her with a single window. Inside, she could see a lone office, with a lamp. A man who must have once been relatively handsome was bent over the desk, feverishly writing something she could not see. He was surrounded by mountains of paper, eyes feverish with the gaze of madness, cheeks and hands gaunt and worn, streaks of gray running through his hair. His hands were bloody with the force with which he gripped his pen. The paper shifted to gears and metal. The gears and metal shifted back to paper. Again and again.

Roenâ€™s breath steamed the glass as she pressed close against the window, her eyes fixated on that man.

â€œYou were willing to kill for him, once, so you thought.â€ The shadow whispered in her ear. â€œTo have him look at you, acknowledge you, to have him see you as anything other than complicit in beginning his obsession.â€

The silhouette stepped forward through the looking glass into the office. The old man said nothing. The ghostly figure tapped the man, and the manâ€™s form melted into a puddle of azure liquid. â€œAll who obsess become what they obsess over.â€

The shadow crossed over again, dropping the amethyst at her feet. â€œKnow yourself. Challenge the mirror when you do.â€ The form evaporated, again leaving her in darkness with metal beneath her feet.

One final chamber.

Soon as Roen entered the crimson cavity, she found herself standing ankle-deep in a red river. A gentle white snow--at least, it appeared to be snow--fell around her in an arctic landscape. The sky above was similarly bloody and ominous as the water all around. The very color of this place had made her avoid it early on, but this was the last passage that she had to cross. The paladin found herself unable to move, as the red, viscous liquid lapping at her feet begins to churn and swirl. CRIMES ARE FORGOTTEN; THE SHADOWS REMAIN, the voice intoned.

The liquid at her feet bubbled, and she could see it stir. Rising from the depths were what could only be described as corpses. They were all bleeding from fresh wounds. The paladin dared not raise her eyes to look at any of them, lest she recognized the bodies. Some were short and squat, others were large and burly. One of the standing corpses jingled when it moved. She reflexively glanced up in time to see a gnarled hand, splotches of flesh falling off of it, reaching for her chest.

Roen felt the amethyst shake and tremble; she could feel its glow before she saw it. Time seemed to freeze. The crimson hue tainting the scenery became a muted, dull grey, and she could sense the light draining away.

Instinctively, she withdrew the amethyst, seeing its deep purple take on a gradient of wine red. The silhouettes appeared as the torrent of viscous red liquid crawled up her body, being vacuumed into the amethyst with great force. The shadows stepped forward as if to match the shapes and forms of the standing corpses that she had refused to gaze upon.

â€œSuch as we were,â€ the inhuman voice murmured, its presence becoming more and more familiar. â€œWe shall not be again.â€ Roen felt compelled to look to the rest, to stare at the cadavers as they trembled and shook, even as entire chunks sloughed off of their skeletons. â€œYour fear. Your horror. That your sword ran red when it didnâ€™t need to be. That bodies fell when they could have stood with life. There are few born who are ever gifted with such precision. Complicity, guilt, these things are related. You were ready to charge, until you realised what the sight of blood meant to you.â€

She could feel the gaze of the silhouette boring into her, the layered alien voice speaking softly. â€œOne who fears the worldâ€™s workings will always fear themselves most of all. Know yourself, your obsessions, and your fears.â€

Roen · **11-12-2016, 10:16 PM**

Roen blinked and found herself back in the nexus of frosted corridors. The mirror on a wall remained scintillating, brilliant, while the crimson entrance was no more.

But this time, the icy hall around her began to melt. Streams of viscous blood began running down the walls. The entire tower threatened to shift, as if to crush her beneath its weight.

â€œI did all that you wanted!â€ The paladin shouted to the vaulted ceiling, anger twisting her visage. â€œWhat more do you want?â€

She felt the scenery pull away. She was again on a cliff. A lone tree floated in the air, its branches weeping and pulsing, stretching towards the infinite. Its hollow opening leaked blood--her blood. Embedded in its trunk was a jade sword--her sword.

The amethyst pulled the vibrant green and earthy colors away from the scenery. The tree withered and died rapidly, the rough jade weapon turning to dust. The blood hardened and froze into an amber-like substance. It all seemed to happen in less than a blink, and yet it seemed to happen too slowly. The silhouettes appeared again.

â€œYou always sought something, always seeking, always losing something in return.â€ The shadowed figure knelt, holding the amethyst in its hand. She did not remember when she had dropped it. Its shadowy hand jabbed itself into the resin-like remains of the blood. â€œSeek a familyâ€™s affection, and what have you lost? Seek a blood relation, and what have you lost?â€

The silhouette grasped the sword. â€œYou sought the justice of the sword, and that was lost.â€

Though the compelling voice did not return, she remembered its words.

SOMETHING SOUGHT. SOMETHING LOST.

â€œYou sought purpose, again and again, only to lose something in return.â€

The shadow approached the tree, grasping through the bleeding hollow to withdraw a still-beating heart.

â€œYou sought love, only to lose. Gaining what you sought required losing something in return.â€

The heart stopped beating, and turned to dust.

The silhouette held the amethyst jewel aloft, the gem jingling as it did so. All the ghostly shapes were almost solid now.

â€œKnow yourself. Your obsessions, your fears, your doubts.â€

Those words barely left her ears when the scene changed again, and she found herself in an icy field. Up above, there was nothing in the terrifying emptiness but a hollow circle, a fierce old thing. She was back in the chamber of destruction again. The red moon pressed against the sky, as if attempting to break through the fragile window that was the horizon.

Again, the amethyst appeared of its own accord, the colors being sucked out. It went by quickly, smoothly, as if the colors were never meant to exist there in the first place.

â€œThis was their sky. The sky of those who fell that day, the sky of those who would fall again. Memory is a fragile thing, yet it is held onto so fiercely.â€ The red moon revealed a glowing, reptilian eye, glaring balefully at the surface below. â€œBeneath everything was a wish. Beneath the hungering moon was only a wish, a wish that had been destroyed the day it fell. The memories of those lost, the memories of what it wrought. You remember the hungering moon. You should remember their sky. This is where you began to seek. Seek what you could not have. This is where you witnessed the first of the world smashing itself into you.â€

The silhouette held the amethyst towards the crimson eye, and she could hear a tremendous roar in the distance before the eye shrivels and died. â€œIt hurt you. Left its mark on your soul. A part to be cast off, and yet you cannot release it.

â€œKnow yourself. Your obsessions, your fears. Your doubts, your pain.â€

Roen pressed her hands onto both sides of the head, too many visions and memories assaulting her senses. This place was hammering her with one scene after another, one emotion after another. She shut her eyes tight as if to try and shut out all the things they were trying to tell her and show her, to try and gain some kind of composure for herself. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that the floor had become a mirror, reflecting a purple night sky above. The amethyst, floated gently in the air and silence had fallen again. The silhouettes were now solid, opaque shapes. They still lack features, save for one; the shadows of his form wrapped around his body like a skin-tight suit. She could see the black tendrils clamour at his neck, reaching for a jaw crested with a pale black goatee. Fiery locks mix themselves with a nest of black soot. Piercing ice-blue eyes stared at the sky above.

It was the face that haunted her dreams. His face. The voice boomed in her head again. THERE WERE CASUALTIES.

He held the amethyst aloft. His voice was no longer alien, no longer inhuman, no longer layered like the cries of a million souls. It was clear and crystal, just as she had remembered it. â€œThis place is your regret. This gem, your regret. Your guilt. Your wish to do everything again. Save those you lost.â€

Roen trembled. All she could was stare.

â€œKnow yourself. Your doubts, your pain. Your regret, your guilt.â€

With another blink of an eye, the paladin found herself back in that all too familiar center of the tower. The glow being emitted from all the hallways had died, leaving a room wreathed in darkness, save for the mirror on the wall shining brilliantly.

The silhouettes gathered in a semicircle, all of them careful to stay out of the spot of light being emitted by the mirror. He--wearing the face that burned in her memory--stood near her, pointedly away from the illumination. â€œIâ€™ve always said, nobody knows me better than I know myself, havenâ€™t I?â€ He grinned. â€œThis place has no laws and no masters. Itâ€™s shown all of this to you under the assumption that it knows you better than you know yourself.â€ He winced slightly. â€œIâ€™m getting a little tired of hearing that phrase.â€

The man reached his shadowy hand towards the light, recoiling as it evaporated some of his fingers away. â€œWell, none of what this place expects from you matters. If it were me, Iâ€™d just break the mirror. What it knows about you--what I know about you--does not matter. All that matters is what you know.â€

The mirror had grown in size at some point, to the size of a doorway.

â€œThey say mirrors are gateways to other realms. I donâ€™t think anything is stopping you from stepping through, in the end.â€ He shrugged in his ever nonchalant fashion.

Roen lowered her gaze from the blinding glow, her long forelocks hanging heavily before her eyes. â€œI entered this place, believing I was doing so to help someone else.â€ She snorted bitterly. â€œOnly, Ehs Daih had other ideas.â€

The paladin glanced at the figure, that face that she both longed and hesitated to look upon. He was drawn from my memory, she reminded herself. â€œWhy is it urging me to know myself?â€ She glanced from the figure to the mirror, her eyes squinting at its luminescence. â€œWhy is it showing me all this? You say it is a gateway. Where does it want me to go?â€

***Nero*** · **11-15-2016, 04:20 PM**

The silhouette shrugged. â€œIâ€™m surprised youâ€™ve never heard of the mirrors bit. Itâ€™s a very common superstition. Old wives believe that when you gaze into a mirror, youâ€™re not looking at a reflection, youâ€™re looking through it to somewhere else. A parallel world, maybe. Who knows if itâ€™s true or not? Weâ€™re in a place without laws. It might be to your destination.â€

The silhouette shifted, the edges of its form flickering. â€œAs for the â€˜whyâ€™, who knows? Maybe you donâ€™t know yourself as well as you think you do. Maybe it wants to eat all of your memories. Maybe itâ€™s testing you. Does it matter why? If you know yourself as well as you think you do, then this shouldnâ€™t be a problem.â€

The silhouette reached forward again, the amethyst in his hands. â€œIâ€™m not a figment of your imagination, mind. Your memory is the basis, yes, but it is more of a beacon than a template. This place doubles as a conduit to the lifestream. It uses your memory to draw fragments of the relevant soul to manifest here."

A smirk. â€œAlthough, at least I know that youâ€™re not here purely out of altruism. Iâ€™ve known you long enough to be aware of that. Youâ€™re still using this quest as an excuse to run away, to run away from what you did to me, to run away from Ulâ€™dah. Did you know that? If not...â€ he shrugged. â€œThen this place is more helpful than you think.â€

Roen · **11-16-2016, 12:17 PM**

â€œHelpful,â€ she shot back bitterly. â€œI never asked for such an aid. And just how is it supposed to help me? How am I to reconcile for what I did? I know people died. Do you think I have forgotten about the people that died under your orders? Those deaths that I was complicit in? Do you think it no longer weighs on my soul? I know I lost people. I ran away from that red moon, I fled for my life from what happened at Carteneau. I am still not certain how I lived when so many others died. And thenâ€¦ and then I lost you.â€ She spun away, hating that familiar heartache that robbed her of her breath. Her voice had risen and her hands trembled by her side.

â€œNo, I killed you,â€ she spat out, turning back to him. â€œI drove a blade through your heart because I was convinced that you wanted nothing but more blood to get your way. You screamed at me saying the same thing! Begging me to do what I must do! I was not going to let someone else stop you when it should have been me all along!â€

She was screaming at him. At this man whom she reached out for so many times in her dreams and nightmares. For him to stay a bit longer, for him to understand. Now that he was standing in front of her, pulled by her memory from the lifestream itself, perhaps the closest thing she would ever get in terms of speaking to him againâ€¦ she was pouring out all of her anger and regret at his ghost.

â€œIâ€¦ could not bring you to my side. I tried. I thought I did all that I could. You evenâ€¦ you even wanted to. Why could you not tell me that? Why did that have to be in a letter after you died?â€ She stepped toward the figure, away from that damned mirror. Her voice had lowered to a hoarse murmur. â€œAnd still I could not save you.â€ Her face twisted in pain. â€œSo I killed you instead.â€

The paladinâ€™s head hung low and her shoulders shook with silent sobs. She reached down with her hand to linger near his that held the amethyst. â€œSo tell me. How am I supposed to reconcile that?â€ she croaked. â€œI do not need that mirror to see. My choices led to so many losses. I hoped, after that red moon, that my new path in life would be my way to repay for my mistakes.â€ She slowly shook her head. â€œBut it only led to more regrets.â€

Roen stared at the amethyst in his hand. She had not taken it back. â€œI do not wish for any more regrets. Losing youâ€¦ it nearly killed me. It took all that I had. I cannot do that again.â€ Her finger lightly brushed it as if wanting to hear its chime once more. â€œAnd yetâ€¦ I no longer wish to feel so lost.â€

She breathed out a long sigh. â€œI cannot go back. But trying to move forward, it still feels like running away.â€ She looked back at him, her eyes imploring. â€œSo what am I supposed to do?â€

***Nero*** · **11-16-2016, 11:11 PM**

The silhouette stared. â€œVery rarely do people know to ask for the aid that they truly require,â€ he said neutrally. â€œLet this go.â€ He held the amethyst up, the deep purple colour having nearly turned completely black. Barely perceptible colours swirled within.

â€œDo you know why you feel lost? Because you are obsessed with being a saviour. A hero. Time and time again. You were going to save your father from his madness. You were going to save the Deneiths. You were going to become a Sultansworn to save those in need. You were going to save your brother. You were going to save Ulâ€™dah. You were going to save me. Only this time, you have nothing to save. Nothing to be martyred for. You are not a saviour or a hero. And the reason why those thoughts pain you so is because somewhere, some part of you thinks you should be. That is why you feel like you are a failure. â€˜I should be a saviour, but I did not save anyone.â€™â€

The silhouette glanced towards the hall of gears. â€œYour obsession. It led to your regrets, your doubts, your fears. Your regrets that you could not save anyone. Your doubts that you could ever accept yourself as anything less than a saviour. Your fears that you condemned people rather than saved them. Everything here, tied with saving."

"So stop accepting responsibility. Acknowledge that there is no guilt that is yours. You can mourn the outcome, you can feel sorrow, feeling regret and guilt...that is arrogance. Like when you tried to break the mirror. You believed you could save me when I was wholly intent on self-destruction. You believed that you had the power, that you not only could have saved me, but should have.â€

â€œThat is how you move on. That is how you find yourself again. You accept that my death was mine alone. You accept that the fates of your mother and father are theirs alone. The fate of your brother is his own. You accept that Khadaiâ€™s fate and the fates of their people are their own. You are responsible for nothing but yourself. Mourn, weep, lament. You can do all of these things while accepting that their salvation and their damnation belongs to them and them alone.â€

â€œYou feel as if you should have prevented the death of the Yoyorano household, but you never could have prevented it. You feel as if you should have prevented me from going on the path I went down, but you could have never have prevented it. For one reason or another, you are mortal, and your power is limited. Accept that you did the best you could under the circumstances, and let go of all else.â€

Roen · **11-18-2016, 04:16 PM**

Roen trembled at hearing those words. He was releasing her from any blame for his death. Her knees felt weak and her vision blurred as tears began to well in her eyes. Only now had she realized how long she had ached to hear those words, and yet how much she had refused to even consider forgiveness. The weight of guilt that was always there pressing upon her soul was like a constant invisible vise, and now that it threatened to fall away, she felt like she would fall apart in its absence. But even as a part of her wanted to accept his absolution, another wanted to refuse it with all her might.

She did not want forgiveness. Would that make the void in her heart that his absence had left behind eventually fade away? She longed for it and rejected at the same time. She did not want to admit that the pain reminded her why she loved him. It was because of his laughter, those rare glimpses of peace and genuine warmth, and those precious fleeting moments of closeness that his death hurt her so. In allowing his forgiveness, she was allowing to forgive herself, and that frightened her most of all. She feared that she would forget why her regret was so profound. For all the goodness that he hid within him, what if no one else remembered him? Or remembered him for only his anger and want of vengeance? Would that not be the most grievous wrong she would do against him?

Yet she also yearned for mending of her own heart.

Once more her head lowered, her expression pained as she felt the pull from both sides. Could she forgive herself? Could she let go of her need to save others? The paladin found herself shaking her head, no. If she could not save anyone, if she could not do all she could to help those in need, than what was her purpose?

But that was not what he was telling her to do. He was telling her to surrender the guilt in losing those that she tried to save.

Roen still wanted to protest. She wanted to jab her finger against his chest and make him confess that he too wanted to save the people of Ulâ€™dah. That he accepted the responsibility for their salvation, that he took it upon himself to dedicate all that was his life to that purpose. Would he have been so willing to accept the consequences of his failure?

Only, that anger quickly evaporated when she was reminded of where his obsessions led him.

Now she just found herself staring at the figure of a man she would have given anything to see again a year ago. How many moons did she lament all the words of resentment in Aleport? How many nights has she wished that they had said something else? Anything else?

â€œWhat is a measure of a lifeâ€™s worth?â€ The paladin let out a long sigh, her tone turning wistful. â€œYou asked me that long ago. Have you found the answer?â€

***Nero*** · **11-18-2016, 10:45 PM**

â€œThe answer is that you cannot begin to â€˜measureâ€™ any life but your own... and even then, all too often you will fail to see what others see in you.â€ The silhouette turned the gem in his hands, sending beams of myriad light refracting through the chamber, even as the inky blackness within the gem threatened to swallow it.

He cracked a sad smile at her. â€œNow youâ€™re the one going to extremes. I can tell; I know that expression on your face. You can still save people. I believe that that is, perhaps, just a part of who you are. But you cannot save everyone--especially from themselves--and you must accept that sometimes your best simply is not enough. Do not carry that guilt with you, and do not expect yourself to be able to produce the same salvation as the gods. Do not feel that your purpose need be summarised in a single word. Life is far too complex, with too many nuances and paths to take for you to resign yourself to a single, all-defining purpose. Very few of us, even your Khadai, are ever blessed with such certainty: teach yourself not to expect it.â€

The silhouette exhaled, though no breath was being emitted from his face. The shadows that comprise of his body gradually began to creep up his neck. â€œI hope you understand all that Iâ€™ve told you. It would be a shame if I was brought here to have my very intelligent insights fall on deaf ears.â€ A characteristic smirk split across his face.

â€œDo you know yourself? Are you willing to abandon your guilt and your arrogance? Can you accept that your fears come from your ego, your ambition to save? Can you accept that your doubts are simply a result of the world acting as it is?â€ He gestured towards the mirror. â€œHave you understood all that has happened, and all that will happen?â€

Roen · **11-19-2016, 02:39 PM**

â€œI think a part of me has always known,â€ Roen murmured softly. â€œItâ€¦ is my coping mechanism, of sort. I lost my mother. I was losing my father, so I thought if I showed him my worth, he would come back to me. And when I discovered I had a brother, when I thought I was all alone here in Eorzea, saving him meant that I had another chance to save my family. It is how I made sense of the loneliness and the loss. That drive is what would guide me back into the light.â€

The paladin studied the figure, as if she was trying to memorize every detail of him. Her breath caught every time she recognized even the briefest glimpse of the vibrant man he used to be. His smiles, even upon his ghostly face, still made her tremble.

â€œYou saved me,â€ she confessed with a bow of her head. â€œDid you know that? When I met you, I had justâ€¦â€ She paused, starting over again. â€œI needed to believe in something. Someone. I needed to do something that banished the paralyzing helplessness that I felt at my core. I needed to know that I could make a difference again.â€ Her grey eyes rose to come to rest upon his face fully, this time without trepidation. â€œYou saved me. In your own way. I never did get a chance to tell you that before.â€

She stepped closer to him, her movements slowed and careful as if a wrong gesture would scatter the shadows that somehow held him whole. Her hand shed her gauntlet as it rose to hover near his cheek, and her fingers trembled. She canted her head as she traced his jawline, before she closed her hand into a fist to still their shaking. Grief flitted across her face, but she subdued them with a firm press of her lips.

â€œAll the things you said, my need to save others... perhaps even my need to be a martyr,â€ Roen added with a quiet snort. â€œIt had not chained me. It had not crippled me. At least, not until I lost you.â€ A sad smile emerged. â€œIn trying so hard to fix you, I broke myself.â€

â€œI do know myself. Perhaps it is time I accepted it.â€ She inhaled deeply and glanced at the mirror from the corner of her eyes. â€œI do not know what may come, or if I will even understand it.â€ She breathed out slowly, a calm settling onto her frame. â€œButâ€¦ I am ready for what comes next.â€

The blazing light of the mirror called to her, and Roen knew what she had to do next. But she could not move. Her hand had dropped to her side, and her feet remained rooted where she stood. She did not want to move. She glanced once more at the man, her eyes filled with sorrow.

â€œWill I see you again?â€

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