Chapter 2: Beginnings
Seven years ago
They were diabolical constructs. Aberrations of steel to cage the lifeblood of the world, tools to sap away the land's very essence in an effort to rival the power of Eikons, of gods. Abominations -- nothing more. Yet the twelve remained silent, watching as lands burned and civilizations fell one by one. There was no counter to their madness, no way to fight it. Those wise enough to submit were spared, and those that resisted were erased from existence. It was not long before the countries of the north were abolished, and in their place stood a mighty empire. Garlemald.
It was a cold, dreary day. A perpetual rain had fallen all morning, leaving the ground covered in mud and small puddles. There were no breaks in the clouds, only the gentle rolling grey of rain clouds as far as the eye could see. Thunder drummed gently in the distance, echoing the approach of rougher weather. Sadly, it was pretty much like this every day. There was rarely a break in the clouds or the rain. Eventually it got to a point where one would just accept it, and grow to have a strange fondness for the gloomy atmosphere.
"Ser." The soldier barked out, standing at attention. "They refuse to stand down. Your orders?"
The Hyur the soldier was addressing remained silent. It sent a nervous chill down the soldiers spine, and rightfully so. Their leader always seemed so cold and detached. Garbed from head to toe in the empire's finest armor. The unique, horned, ornate helm he adorned instilled fear in all that crossed his path, even his own men. No one even knew what he looked like behind the mask. Even his true voice was obscured, carrying a deep metal ring whenever he spoke. On top of it all, he was notoriously skilled with the Gunblade. A crack shot and an incredible swordsman all mixed into one twisted machine. An elite soldier of Garlemald, trained since he was a young child. A fearless leader.
"Crush them." The Hyur dismissed the soldier before turning to face a Lalafellin who had been standing behind him the entire time. As the Hyur's adviser, he too was garbed in a similar fashion, though he wielded a strange staff instead of the empire's famed Gunblade. He spoke no words to the Lalafell, but his companion still knew exactly what he wanted to say. He did not need to see the Hyur's face or hear his voice to know. His silence spoke for itself.
"Unfortunate, yes, but this comes directly from command. The resistance must be destroyed, less it gain momentum. We cannot afford to spare more soldiers on this front. Their leader is a rather powerful Conjurer -- you know what you must do." The Lalafellin droned, turning to face the village.
And he did know. There would be no surrender from this enemy, regardless of how futile resistance was.
The ring of battle echoed throughout the village as the Legatus slowly made his way through the muddy streets. Bodies fell left and right as his men advanced, overwhelming the resistance's fighters. The air was filled with the heavy, beating drone of Juggernauts as they circled above, making certain there would be no escape from this battlefield.
Though even as chaotic as it had become, the Legatus kept his slow pace, walking calmly through the field of battle. He occasionally lifted his gunblade, firing with pinpoint accuracy into the throngs of resistance members that engaged his men. They dropped like flies.
It was not long before he came across the resistance headquarters. A simple discharge of the aether-cannon mounted upon his wrist sent the guards out front tumbling to the ground, allowing the Legatus to waltz into the building un-opposed. He knew he was walking into a trap, but it did not phase him. Several resistance members leapt from their heading spots, though they quickly fell upon the blade of the Garlean.
And there he was - the resistance's leader. He was not forty years old, and garbed from head to toe in a simple brown robe. His hands were tightly clutched around an old, gnarled staff, and he bore a simple look of determination upon his face. All it took was a glance to see he was a humble man. A leader of great potential.
"Why do you do this, demon? What purpose does this serve?" The man was as calm and collected as the Garlean before him, even as he moved to attack. He unleashed several darts of aetheric energy at the legatus, though they bounced harmlessly off his magic-resistant breastplate.
"The empire offered you their ultimatum, their protection. You refused. As a blemish on Garlemald's landscape, you must be cleansed."
All calmness that was present in the conjurer quickly melted away, and he lunged forward with a burning madness in his eyes. A massive wave of fire engulfed the Garlean with enough force to reduce even the hardiest metals to nothing but cinders. Yet against all odds, the soldier emerged from the flames almost completely unscathed. The gauntlet on his left arm had been literally burnt away, and his tabard singed slightly, but nothing more. He lunged forward, plunging his left fist into the stomach of the Conjurer. The sheer force of the blow sent the Conjurer tumbling back several feet into the wall. It was no ordinary fist that had pummeled him, but an arm of metal -- gifted with the strength of ten men. A Magitek Prosthesis.
He began to make his way to the collapsed Conjurer, but was stopped by the sudden laughing of the man.
"You're not even Hyur anymore. You're a monster -- of course they would send you to do their dirty work. You just don't get it, do you?"
The Garlean remained still for a moment before reaching a hand up to remove his helmet. Gentle locks of brown hair cascaded down, framing around his face as he shook them out. His features were smooth, albeit slightly pale. The only discrepancy was a lone scar that ran over his left eye. He appeared young -- not even twenty years of age. Yet already he was a ruthless killing machine, twisted by the empire's ways. A lost cause.
The Conjurer continued to laugh as the Garlean began to come closer once again, coming to a stop with his Gunblade resting against the Hyur's forehead. "Nothing but a demon."
Bang.
The shot rang out through the building, and the Conjurer's slumped to the ground in a pool of his own blood. Though his last words had initially had no impact on the Garlean, that all changed within a matter of seconds. The wail of a young child pierced the air. It was the key he had been hunting for. All it took was the horrified look upon the child's face to unlock the memories that had been repressed long ago.
Those words would forever be burnt into his memory.
Endemerrin bolted upright, chest heaving heavily as a cold sweat covered his body. He remained in his shocked state for a moment before slowly relaxing his tense muscles, coming down from the abruptness of his waking. It was then he realized he was not alone. Popo sat at the Hyur's desk across the room, smoking his pipe, eyes fixed upon him.
"You had the dream again." Popo confirmed, seeming to not need an answer from Merri. The Hyur still nodded regardless. Popo exhaled smoke from his nose slowly, falling silent again. There were no more words to be said.
Some cuts went too deep. Some memories could never be repressed.
![[Image: 7Ho5y7x.png]](http://i.imgur.com/7Ho5y7x.png)
