Long Ago.
The two men dashed through the rain-soaked streets, their laughter cutting through the dim quiet of the city night. Ahead, the bar came into view, one of the few buildings still brightly lit amidst the darkened ruins of Mesir. Its lively hum spilled into the streets, an oasis of revelry in the aftermath of war.
Inside, the bar was packed—a chaotic blend of civilians and soldiers. The band played a jaunty tune, the kind that lifted spirits after long battles. People danced, sang, drank, kissed—grasping at life as if to defy the horrors they'd endured.
Ljoran and E.K. stepped inside, immediately drawing the attention of the crowd. Cheers erupted:
"Happy Freedom!"
"It's finally over!"
"Is that The, Flower of the Night? No way!"
E.K. gave a polite smile, shaking hands as they reached out, nodding but saying little. He moved through the crowd with Ljoran, heading for the bar. Once seated, he turned to his friend. "So, what should I order?"
Ljoran chuckled, already signaling the bartender. "Two Gahali," he said with a grin. Moments later, the drinks arrived—small, curved glasses filled with a luminous amber liquid.
E.K. eyed the drink like a child presented with a peculiar new food. "What... is this?"
"Just take a sip," Ljoran said, unable to suppress his smile.
E.K. cautiously raised the glass to his lips, taking the tiniest sip. Instantly, he choked, coughing into his hand as his face twisted like he'd bitten into a lemon.
Ljoran roared with laughter, slapping the bar. "Come on, man! You can't be serious!"
Still coughing, E.K. glared at him, his pride slightly bruised. "It tastes like a campfire smells."
"Exactly!" Ljoran laughed harder. "Now chug it. Don't be a coward!"
With a resigned look, E.K. raised the glass again. "Fine." He tipped it back, draining it in one go. His face tightened again, but he swallowed it down.
Ljoran's jaw dropped, then he burst out laughing. "Yes! That's the spirit!" He raised his empty glass. "Another round!"
And so it went for hours, the two of them drinking, laughing, and swapping stories.
As the bar thinned out, most of the remaining patrons were soldiers, their laughter quieter now, voices slurred from exhaustion and alcohol.
"So..." Ljoran began, his words unsteady. "How... how wash the whar for you, Mr. Flower of the Night?"
E.K., less drunk but still warm from the alcohol, leaned back in his chair. "Whell... You know... new..."
Ljoran nodded vigorously, his head bobbing with exaggerated movements. "Yeahsh... new... No warrr like that befwore! Only li'l squirmishes!"
E.K. chuckled, swirling the remnants of his drink. "Yeah... 's funny, though. If Hangelea had shtuck with Navaa, they'd have been... unsto-opable!" He sighed, his words thick but tinged with sadness. "Shame... Only ush left... fr'm the squad."
He glanced over, waiting for Ljoran's reply, but his friend's head had slumped forward onto the bar. Soft snores escaped him.
E.K. shook his head with a faint smile. "Figures." Rising, he hauled Ljoran onto his shoulder, steady despite the alcohol.
The rain had stopped as he stepped outside, the streets quiet save for the distant sound of wind. E.K. adjusted Ljoran's weight, muttering to himself. "Guess this is normal..."
As he walked toward the still-sleeping city, he cast one last glance at the glowing bar behind him. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, E.K. allowed himself to feel the faintest flicker of hope.
---
"Hmm, this is a lizard... thing? And that is a.... human? It's presence feels not human, facinating. Yeah so now what? They don't look like those three guys, well he does... the human." It pointed to E.K. who was bound to a pole, together with the Deiianian. "But a lot of beings look like them, so it is hard to differentiate them from each other..."
"Yeah that is true, but he does keep his whole body hidden. Maybe we should take his armour off, humans have like a hole in their lower abdomen, so we can look for that."
They nod.
"Good idea..." They approach E.K. slowly, weary of him.
"Okay. Slowly. Here I g-" It stopped talking. He barely touched his armour, and he was gone, no trace left. The other backed off, not very suprised.
"Well, I guess we will not do that again. It is probably Khulains; that is like a very strong metal; it is made of anti-matter; it erases anything that it touches. So yeah, now what? Should we call for the big guy?"
They looked at the one talking, E.K. did too unnoticed.
"That son of a slime? He is one heck of a being though, maybe he can help us, yes, call him."
One of the guys walked out of the room. And came back with a pale looking guy.
E.K. his eyes widened, he did not expect to see this. 'An angel? What?' even E.K. was caught off guard.
The Angel scanned the room, "So? What did you call me for?" It held a half-eaten apple in its hand; it looked bored.
"Well, we told you about the guy we found."
The Angel nods.
"Well, we want to take of his armour, but it is made out of anti-matter, so can you maybe take it off for us?"
It sighed. And the look on his face was one would expect it to be, annoyence.
"Fine. That guy in the black armour i assume." It looked to its side, then his eyes widened, and he shot back at the guy bound to the pole. It inspected him, he dropped his apple, turned to the group of armoured guys, grapped them all, pulled them close, and started to whisper.
"Why in the actual fuck, is he here?"
"What do you mean? That guy?"
"We found him outside the gate."
The Angel started to sweat a little. "That guy? Don't call him That Guy! That is him, the one and only fucking knight."
"I have seen knights before; what's so scary about that?"
The Angel facepalmed. "He is very dangerous."
The group was confused. "So? You're an angel; you are strong!"
"Yeah, aren't angels like absolute beings in their respective concepts? Like Flekek is the absolute death across all orbs. So why would you worry?"
It sighed, "That is true, but I am the Angel of fucking trees! Trees! What am I going to do against that?!!"
"Oh..." They all said in unison,
The Angel stared, its expression screaming 'Obviously' with a mocking edge sharp enough to cut the villagers' obliviousness. The wooden pole binding E.K. and the Deiianian groaned under the strain, its rotten stench finally cutting through the lizard-thing's blindness.
The group bickered on, absorbed in grandiose plans for their captured "Knight."
"Psst." The Deiianian's whisper was a dry leaf skittering on stone – unnoticed by all but one.
"What is it, lizard?" E.K.'s voice was glacier-calm. His armor rustled faintly as he turned his head. Even sightless, the Deiianian felt the phantom smirk.
"The pole... it's gonna snap. Any second." The whisper strained against the tension.
A low chuckle escaped E.K. "I know. Sitting here's a courtesy. Wouldn't want to ruin their..." He inhaled sharply. "...building? Smells like trees. Shocking." His tone dripped dry contempt.
'Of course you knew,' the Deiianian thought, rolling unseen eyes. It squirmed futilely. Its vision bled back slowly, revealing a barren room: the creaking pole, five chairs, and a half-eaten apple on the dusty floor.
The group finally reached a consensus, a chorus of synchronized "Ahhs" preceding their advance. They formed a hesitant semicircle, expressions unreadable masks to the Deiianian. Only the pale Angel radiated understandable tension – cold sweat beading on its brow as it stepped forward.
"Right. So." It pointed a shaky finger at E.K., then hastily tucked it away. "First... what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be... retired? Far away?"
E.K. tilted his head, considering. "Yes. That is true."
The Angel offered a brittle, nervous smile. Cleared its throat. "Okay. Secondly. Why are you here?" It jabbed both index fingers emphatically at the ground, scanning the room as if the answer might be etched on the walls.
The villagers murmured agreement. "Yes, Knight, why?" "Why indeed?"
The Deiianian held its breath. The air thickened, silence pressing down like a physical weight. Heavy. Suffocating.
E.K. opened his mouth. "Behind you."
'Behind them?!' The Deiianian's mind blanked. What kind of answer—
But the Angel knew. Knew the weight behind those words. It vanished in a warp-flash, pure instinct.
The villagers didn't. The hammer tore through the rift like reality ripping open. It smashed through the first three men before they could flinch, pulping bone and flesh into a crimson mist. Momentum carried it screeching across the floor, stopping a hair's breadth from E.K.'s boots before vanishing back into nothingness.
"Ism," E.K. murmured, a flicker of dark amusement in his voice. "How unexpected. Not really." The ropes binding him simply ceased to exist. He stood.
The Deiianian stared at the carnage, expression wiped clean. Then it erupted. "SCREW YOU! YOU COULD'VE SAID SOMETHING!"
E.K. dismissed it with a wave. The comforting scent of trees was utterly obliterated by the raw copper stink of blood and the deeper, colder reek of voided bowels. Familiar. Too familiar.
He left the Deiianian tied. Stepped over the ruin of the villagers. One by one, he knelt and closed their staring eyes. The last face... familiar angles, a ghost of Gonk in the slack jaw. Not him. Close enough.
A weary sigh escaped him as he stood and walked out the door, leaving the gore-streaked silence behind.
---
Ism
"Then BAM! Right through the temporal echo! Easy!" Ism swung his hammer through imaginary foes, cackling. His companion trudged beside him, face a mask of weary resignation, nodding like a broken automaton.
They walked. Ism claimed to follow a "trail of time," visible only to a "master" like himself.
"Hold up." Ism froze, head cocked. "Felt... something. Familiar." He scratched his head vigorously. "Nah. Impossible. He'd never come here." The laugh that followed was too loud, too sharp. He resumed walking, whistling tunelessly.
"Stuck with this lunatic," the companion muttered to the uncaring void. "Of course I am."
-
Illirim
His hands were coated in thick, iridescent Wyvern-slime – his own designation. A structural tweak to the sickness-causing agent, and the majestic creature was breathing easy, heat radiating from its scales once more. Now he soared, clinging to its back, wind whipping tears of joy from his eyes.
Below, a river snaked through the desolation – glowing an impossible, vibrant purple. "OH MY GAWD! LOOKIT!" Ilirim shrieked, leaning perilously far over the Wyvern's flank in excitement.
Then it hit him. Like a physical blow. A presence. Dense. Ancient. Cold. It choked his laughter, silenced his voice. He trembled.
"I'll make you proud, Momma," he whispered, the words raw. With a nudge, he directed the Wyvern south, towards the oppressive weight.
-
Ajnido
He floated above the ash-choked wasteland, conjuring miniature suns between his fingers. His singsong voice cut the silence: "One, two, burn right through... Three, four, char the floor... Five, six, watch it fix... Sev—"
He choked. The presence slammed into him. Solid. Real. The manic glee drained from his face, replaced by a predator's sharp focus. A slow, devious smile peeled back his lips.
"HEY!" His shout cracked like thunder. "FOUND HIM!"
The two figures below, combing futilely through cinders, looked up, relief warring with dread. "Finally," they sighed in hollow unison. Ash puffed from their clothes as they rose to join him.
Ajnido pointed south, a burning arrow igniting in the direction. "Move." He shot forward, a comet of white flame.
"This'll suck," one muttered.
"Yep," the other agreed, trailing the inferno.
---
"FUCK YOU! YOU SPECIFICALLY! JUST YOU!" The Deiianian's voice rasped, raw from yelling at the empty room. Still bound to the groaning pole, vision blurry, it writhed like a hooked fish. Muscles strained, tendons protested. A final, desperate heave revealed the glint of a fallen blade, just within toe-reach.
'He'd mock me for this,' it thought bitterly, hooking the weapon with agonizing slowness. The ropes parted with a dusty sigh.
It waddled to the door, drawn by the sliver of light. Stepped outside.
A village. Empty. Silent. Just weathered wood, dusty paths, and a pathetic little pond. The crushing weight of solitude settled back onto its shoulders. 'Idiot. Hoping for what?'
A hand clamped down, lifting it effortlessly. Instinct screamed teleport! – nothing. A panicked punch thrown – met by armored indifference and a scoff.
"What are you doing?" E.K.'s voice was flat, devoid of concern. He dumped the lizard back onto his shoulder.
"YOU GODDAMN IDIOT! YOU LEFT ME WITH THE—" The tirade died as reality twisted. Teleportation. The nauseating lurch, the sensation of being unmade and reknit, stole its voice, leaving only stunned, trembling silence.
---
Hortus Dei
The old man wheeled himself forward, the chair's rhythmic squeak-thump echoing his muttered complaints. "Annoying. Shouldn't need this damn thing." Still, a grim satisfaction settled in. Alive. Unlike... "No matter. Worthy cause. Do it again in a heartbeat."
A sharp smirk cut across his weathered face as he rolled towards the command center's imposing bulk. He needed to talk to Kek. About the mission. About the days when his legs worked. He chuckled, a dry rasp. Good joke, Heli. Real funny.
Custodes flowed past him like a swift, silent river. Younger faces. Eyes slid away, avoiding the relic in the chair. They don't know. Don't know Heliterna when he walked. When he bled for them.
Nearing the towering Yllian doors, he caught it – a shift. A handful of faces didn't look away. Eyes widened, almost… shining. Recognition? The Heliterna, eh? He raised a gnarled hand in a casual wave.
They waved back, earnest. Surprise warmed him, brittle but real. "See this, Gonk?" he murmured to the empty air beside him. "They remember. They'd remember you too." He rolled through the doors.
Chaos. Controlled, armed chaos. Custodes moved with urgent purpose, not the usual disciplined calm. Weapons strapped, armor sealed tight. Armed? He frowned. "Missed something, did I?" He didn't come often, but this? This screamed war footing. Higher ranks too, geared for blood. He gave a slow, grim nod. "Yep."
Hands gripped the back of his chair. He didn't startle, just craned his neck. "Young man. Purpose?"
"Kek called for you, Sir Heliterna!" The young voice was tight with urgency. The chair surged forward, weaving through the crowd. Fun, he thought absurdly. Like a chariot. Gonk would've laughed. The warmth faded. If I see him again.
They burst into the inner sanctum. Kek dominated the Nova chair, reality itself seeming to hold its breath around him. Dozens of eyes snapped to Heliterna – sharp, assessing, mostly unfamiliar.
"New faces," he observed, voice gravelly but carrying. His gaze snagged on one figure.
"You! Seen you before." A flicker of warmth. Then, louder, scanning the room with forced cheer: "Ytoia! Where's that old rascal? Friend's here!"
He saw it then. The look on Kek's face. The same look he'd seen when delivering casualty reports after the Mewrïn campaign. A cold stone settled in his gut. He met Kek's gaze. "I see."
The young custode pushed him to the head of the table, beside Kek. A handshake. A nod. Respect, heavy and silent.
"Heliterna," Kek began, his voice a cheerful blade. "Called you to lend perspective. To them." A sweep of his hand indicated the assembled ranks – Stella, Stella Inferior, a lone Altus Stella. They felt thin.
Frail compared to the giants he'd served beside. He could rant. Could spit names like Gonk, Kima, Ytetra, hell, even E.K, shame them with the shadow of the Golden Age. Sound like a bitter old fool, Heli. He kept his mouth shut. Offered a curt, respectful wave. Hesitant waves answered some. Polite nods from others.
Then, the one he recognized – the Stella – stood. Sharp. Precise. And saluted. Not the modern fist-to-chest. The old way. Left hand flat over the heart. Right hand covering the bridge of the nose with an angle. The salute of the Crying Legion at Merïen. Of brothers facing oblivion.
Heliterna's breath caught. A spark ignited in his old eyes. He returned the salute, mirroring the motion with stiff, practiced grace. The room held its breath. Kek broke it.
"Right! For those scratching heads," Kek chirped, "This is Heliterna."
Blank stares answered. Gone. All gone.
"He's here to help. Voice of experience. Now, as you know," Kek leaned forward, the cheer dimming a fraction, "we sent the Knight after the Walker. But the dark's getting restless. Sparks popping up like weeds. Slaughtering local powers. Burning worlds. Can't have that."
Heliterna felt the shift. The cold focus settling over the room.
"So," Kek continued, bright again, "we're hitting back. Armed patrols. Squads. And this man—" He jabbed a finger at Heliterna. "—joins one of your squads."
A ripple went through the ranks. Whispers, sharp and low:
"That old man?"
"What's he gonna do?"
"Don't like this..."
Heliterna kept smiling. The same weathered, unreadable smile that had seen a thousand doubts. Take it personal? Waste of energy.
"Vote time!" Kek declared. "Squad with most votes gets him. Except you." He pointed at the Stella who'd saluted. "Sit this one out." A conspiratorial wink.
"I'll take him."
The voice cut through before the vote could start. Heads swiveled. Mayera. Her expression was steel.
Kek raised an eyebrow. "Sure?"
A sharp nod. "You brought him. Means something. My squad."
Kek clapped once, the sound like a gavel. "Done! Everyone else – gear up. Move out!" The unified "Sir!" echoed, followed by the scrape of chairs and bootsteps.
Mayera approached Heliterna's chair. Her smile was thin, professional.
"Come on, old timer." Her hands replaced the young custode's on the chair grips.
As she pushed him towards the doors, Kek's voice followed, light as a poisoned dart: "Good luck, Heliterna! Try not to lose anything else!"
Heliterna didn't turn. Just raised a single, trembling hand above his shoulder. Middle finger extended. Clear as crystal. A final, defiant spark of the man who once walked.
---