Your eyes are not decieving you. This is a double update (45 and 46) Enjoy.

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-1321 Military Hours
-Vallen Island, Citadel Spires

Serene voices fill the square, alluring with their whispers and incantations. The Justiciars knelt and prayed, their ceremonial garb adorned in the grim colors of conflict. A homage to our past, of the homes we lost.

Soldiers from all shores of life stood at the ready, packed into the confines of the Citadel Spire's parade grounds. The clean cerulean blue of the common warrior ranks fill the masses, their segmented fish-scale armor a noble example of Elven design philosophy.

They remain steadfast whilst the women bestowed their blessings. Words woven in honor of the Crystal Herald, their lips move as one before a sculpted crystal in the likeness of the esteemed Goddess.

"Bless our brothers and sisters, for they answered the call of arms. Heed our wishes and offer them guidance as they sail through sun and stars," they chant in unison, voices echoing across the ancient stonework like a breeze warm and innocent.

The air grows rich with the veil of magic as the Justiciars bound their lips to the ancient dialects of old, a realm of wordplay privy only to them. They all raise an arm, unfurling sermon scrolls through which they spoke the tongue of our ancestors.

Intricate flags of the many Islands flew proudly amidst the solemn winds, each sewn with a small red pin to echo the lingering sorrows of our ancestors. From the grand twin diamond sigils of Grathnir to the humble duskfall patterns of distant Neria, they all were hoisted with honor and dignity.

My lips curl downwards, knowing it will only be mere days until the entire fleet departs. Countless soldiers and sailors gave themselves willfully to the task at hand, who am I truly to avoid this mantle.

And yet, what father would I be to forsake my wife and daughter for such an endeavor? Never will I allow myself to break my vows to them.

I stayed quiet nonetheless, watching the ceremony with the officials of Vallen's high court. The soldiers waited for the final oath, their pauldrons freshly minted with the Elven coat of arms.

"... across the blue and beyond, you shall hold nothing but courage and valor in your hearts," the Justiciars rose from the ground, turning to face the soldiers.

They peer down from the podium, staring at the awaiting soldiers with cold indifference, their faces hidden behind masks of crafted silver. Golden tresses fan out from their cowls, as though a gilded crown to exemplify the beauty they all possess.

Garbed in crimson robes, and with the air caked in the tangy incense of blue lantern roses, the spiritual worth of these Justiciars demanded they receive nothing but reverence in this sacred time of blessings.

" Do us well, as you sail towards... home. To reclaim what once, was ours," the lead Justiciar proclaims, addressing the masses with a grim tone. "You will face the Euralians should fate have it, and survive."

The soldiers raise their weapons, undaunted by the name of the ancient adversaries. Together they heed the words as though a gospel, clamoring as one. "Through words or steel!"

Pride surges through the formation, it was evident even with their backs to me. Countless swords glimmered under daylight's embrace, raised to the heavens by those who wielded one. Archers within the fray brandish their bows, raising them above their heads, equal in pride, their cheers resonating just as fiercely.

They are young, seeking the allure of the greater world as if it were without peril. If only their fierce hearts were tempered with wisdom. I huff away my musings, letting them drift away into the fair winds.

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With a heart brimming with conflicting opinions, I make my departure out and away from the parade grounds. A hand reaches for my shoulder, holding me in place.

The fingers curl into my skin, firm in its touch. "It will not bode well if you do not heed the call. You may be injured still, but you can still serve as Helms Captain for one of Sonarai's vessels of war," Jirell says.

As if to affirm his statement, a sharp breath forces a wave of fresh pain through my chest. It sears through my muscles, even with the best of life mending magic.

I raise my voice with indignation, prying his hands away. The weight of decision stains my soul, and against my will, I can only choose one.

"Surely there are others more suited for such a task, you know my training at the academy is unfinished," I reply, hoping it would dissuade the Grand Cabal from his attempts. Though a dear friend, it saddens me to see him fail to grasp the scale of my dilemma.

"The armada needs more at the helms, preferably ones that are of exemplary caliber," Jirell insists, as we wade through the bastion city's bustling streets.

"You left to wed your wife, to live a life of peace. That I know, as does the academy. You were one of our best, your scores during the trial of courage and tactics is unmatched to this day still. You may have turned your back on us, but we never will. "

The echoing chimes of a distant chapel rings as I muddle in deep thought, facing a crossroads of my own life. It was just like before. To choose a life of duty, or romance. Things were simpler had the humans not came to our shores.

"I must think about it," I sigh, bracing a hand against my temple. Our footsteps patter against the stonework roads as we weave through men and women alike.

"Two days," he relents, "I need your answer before dusk falls on that day. The fleet will not offer delays, not with the Herald watching over all our efforts."

I pause for a brief moment of serenity, basking in the flow of the open streets. Women watch over their children with loving gazes, whilst soldiers at rest sought to banter over the slightest of things, often accompanied with laughter and gleeful eyes.

"I will leave you to your wife," he nudges me on my better side. "At the very least, I hope by showing you the final rites, you will see the truth. Our lives are tied to this endeavor."

"That is what I am wary of," I whisper.

"You would only presume so," he answers, facing me with a resolute frown. "With a heart lacking in courage."

Without parting words to mark his intent, Jirell he turns sharply on his heels and leaves. He joins the assemble of Marshalls a fair distance away, hands folded behind his back as he weaves into their presence with well known authority.

They begin to discuss affairs of logistics, diving into the details with hushed tones of secrecy, their words stroking the ambers in my spirit.

"They would never understand it." I say, letting the bellowing winds carry my unsaid grievances into the hereafter. The Marshalls all swore life to the realm of duty, never knowing the boundless treasures of love and romance.

I pity their chains...

Carrying forth the burden of decision in my spirit, I make my way home. Back to them. I have no quarrel with those who seek the threads of duty, but I will not be woven into its silk.

I proceed under sunlit skies, through the city's twisting alleys and glimmering domes. A line of merchants sought after my attention, their unyielding voices raging like a river's torrent as they stood by their wares with promises of low bargains.

"Fresh from the depths! Salted Gleamire trouts and bramble sea scuttlers on sale here," a fisherman's daughter announces, flaunting her neat display of packaged seafood with a smile, attracting customers and young men alike.

More traders like her fill the market aisle, their vigor seemingly without end. They carry on, sharp ears perking to every inquiry as I weave through the tight constraints to reach the city walls.

Three guards stood by the gate, watchful of the city's ebb and flow. One of them nears me, pincered helmet over a face, shrouded by black leather. A Lord Captain of the Bastion guards.

"Island of residence, and current destination," the masked Captain challenges, arms folded over his chest.

"Sonarai Island, Meadowseer," I say.

A cold look flushes into the soldier's eyes as he regards my stature. "You were there. When the Marshals led the reckless attack. Where many fell to the outsider's weapons," he states with a spark of recognition, unfolding his arms.

"I... was," I simply affirm, casting my eyes into the underfoot shadows of the tunnel ahead. It was still there, the sharp thorn twisting inside of me. I pray it stems from my wounds, and not from guilt.

'I lived, when others did not.'

Passing through the dark underpass, I breath a sigh of relief as a wash of verdant green enters my vision. The dark sneer that followed these thoughts vanishes into the passing winds as I leave the bastion city's imposing walls behind.

Ahead in the mirage of willows and leaves, soldiers and traders came and went from the woodworks. Their voices added to the ambience, and I am left with a semblance of comfort.

But with every twist and turn down a new fork, their presence grew ever fainter until I am alone. The canopy was empty of birdsong, only the rustling of leaves and groaning creaks of swaying branches catered to my ears. Shadows leapt and wavered amidst the greenery, setting my heart alight with each false visage.

Each darkened mold reminded me of their ghostly visage. Of human soldiers on the prowl, ready to sputter upon those who have wronged them. It was irrational, yet my mind still lurks beneath this undertone of fear.

Soon, peering behind a veil of leaves down the withered stretch of cobble-work, is my destination. The affluent villa of Meadowseer, the place where I sent my wife to. The place of her birth.

The houses here are simple, lacking the grandeur of defensive stonework and domed roofs, yet remains just as comforting to my eyes. Even with the humans' information from the old world lands rousing the rest of Elvenkind to act, Meadowseer remains unbound to the recent happenings.

'It is a blessing above all.' I cradle the muse with a heavy heart, thinking to a time of ease and peaceful shores.

The last of the Evergrowth willows shelter my advance, their towering trunks dwarfing the humble abodes that surround them like children clinging to concerned mothers. Chimneys huffed from atop their roofs, fastened onto the mossy bricks as humble sprouts of hardened clay.

Further away, nestled ominously in a clearing, is an armoured flightship used by the returning humans. Its bladed wings lie motionless, as though a metallic wyvern from the most outlandish of old world legends.

It shreds my soul to bear witness to this mechanical abomination here. Two soldiers stood by its unmoving form, their every gait measured by grim precision and mystique. They turn to face me behind their helmets of crafted black, eyes sheltered behind glazed mirrors.

I keep my focus centred on the short stocky weapons they possess, watchful of their intent whilst my legs nervously ferry me across their field of view. Nothing but silence ensues as their cold gaze sears into my back.

'It's that guy again," one of them murmurs. They were identical in appearance, yet beneath the waters, each of them are different. Even through an incomprehensible tongue, their demeanor shows, portrayed differently in the slightest of vowels and tones. Like people.

I keep moving, lest my musings become known to them. My pace increases almost to a run, spurred solely by thoughts of my beloved and her well-being.

The human soldiers carry themselves with honor not dissimilar to us, and are certainly able to respect the worth of promises. Still, I want to see Mirria, even if she will chide me for leaving without her knowledge. I need to know she is okay.

Children ran across the paved cobble strewn between the houses, untroubled by the presence of the human construct. Farmers and tool smiths tended to their trades, some sparing me knowing glances as I offered them my greetings. Things are not the same with them around.

Above, perched upon the old roots of an Evergrowth, the Pathfingers saw to it that the humans' every move be observed. Like birds of prey they hunt with ever vigilant eyes, searching for signs of renewed malice with arrows nocked and bows embelished.

At any moment, these humans could choose to act upon their vengeance. And they would be just in their cause. So much has yet to be said about their restraint, that aspect of their conduct, I must respect with all of my worth.

I break out of my thoughts as a voice calls out to me. It was clear and beautiful, yet carries a tone of worry and anger. It was Mirria, her features scorned and eyes ablaze like crackling ambers.

I dearly love her, but she still is a women to be feared. Cold sweat clings to my skin as she marches right to me, her expression woven like a harsh thread.

Her gilded hair flickers upon her slim shoulders, tranced by the winds, marking me with a desire to run my fingers through her lush strands, to feel their softness and to know she was indeed in safe hands.

Mirria grabs my hands tightly, clasping it with a strength beyond her size. She gazes into my eyes, trapping me in her verdant green.

"Why did you not tell me?" she whispers, unwashed betrayal reflected in her eyes. She moves her fingers to my chest, resting them softly against the bandages.

My heart sings with heavy defeat upon seeing her disappointment. I sigh, moving to shield her from the prying eyes of the two human warriors. This was a moment they are not worthy of seeing.

I raise a hand to her cheek, steadfast against the wills of her beauty. "You would have stopped me," I say, devoid of lies, revealing only my pure thoughts. "And I would have said yes."

Mirria closes her eyes, releasing a light sigh as her expression dances with troubled thoughts. She says nothing, still gentle with her hands on my wounded chest.

"He tried to convince you again did he not?" Mirria begins, earnest in her understanding of my past.

I nod, seeing no need to offer my beloved the intricate details. She knows me well. No amount of wordplay could truly convey her understanding of my soul.

"But you will say no when the time comes, yes?" She asks, clutching the bandages tighter, her arms almost wanting to embrace me fully.

I answer without a shred of doubt, resolute in this decision. "Of course." With that, her arms wound around me, trapping me against her lithe frame.

"We must talk at once," she murmurs against my chest. Though soft, her voice carries a grim undertone of important. She releases herself from me, her eyes now laced with untold secrets that yearned to be released.

"Inside?" I say, receiving a nod from my wife.

"Yes," Mirria answers, returning her hands to the sides as the wind swept across her ornate gown. She leads me to her childhood abode, heavy on the steps, head cast low.

I furrow my eyes, and follow her in.

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-Meadowseer

"The other Seers see it... this bright future," she quietly begins, drifting between hesitance and honesty. "Visions of the old coastal cities, ruined, but being rebuilt. We grew, took back the legacy of our ancestors, and shed ourselves of past grievances."

She stops, peering out the window, to the two humans who still stood by their flight ship, and those residing in the abode given them for their brief sojourn on Vallen. "As was planned by the Crystal Herald."

I refrain from looking out, too weary from the events of morning to pay further attention to these outsiders. The warmth of her tea lingers as I place the cup down, sensing a certain conclusion from these harrowing words.

Mirria's green eyes held steady through the window as she continues. "The pages are flickering, and it is not them who dictates how the story unfolds. Do you remember when I told you about that dream, on the eve of the Solemn Festival?"

I trace my memory back to that time, remembering it as if it were recent memory. "I do, it was your first vision about the outsiders," I recalled.

She takes my hands, cupping them with own. "They were pawns, nothing else. Not conquerors, t-they... could never be. They do not bring an army, only knowledge."

A small pang of empathy resonates through me as I listen to my wife. Deep down, I had known this to be a truth unblemished. They were an act of divinity, a spark destined to shimmer once, then fade into the deep. Pride demands that I snuff out this rebellious notion, until now it seems.

"They are to be consumed, an unwilling sacrifice to the wills of our Goddess," Mirria finishes, her fingers drawing endless circles on the back of my hand as she awaits a response.

Her eyes bore deep into mine, searching for anything I may hold as a secret. I lean forward, nesting my forearms on the table's rugged surface.

"Truth or otherwise, they killed over a hundred warriors on Sonarai. Most see them as no better than Euralians," I say. "That they have no right to be here."

"And yet the black, quiet ones are," Mirria counters. "For the moment."

"That is all it takes," I reply, keeping it simple. There is little to gain through this line of talk, not with the scouts ships having already weighed anchor. What the humans have said, it can not be taken back. More than the worth of gold, was the light they helped shed on the old lands. Of how our ancient cities lay dormant, spared from destruction, slowly forgotten by those who once sort our end.

Just as we conclude, the sound of light feathery steps draws our attention to the left. Without the radiance of a beaming smile, nor the charm of her blossoming women-hood, is our daughter.

Lumina slowly shuffles closer to the two of us, her mouth locked in a constant frown. "They're demons, all of them. Why even talk about them," she scowls, her voice laced with frustration.

"For all the warriors who's lives they have taken. Why still believe they are deserving of even a shred of pity?" Lumina questions with an earnest tone, set in her vision.

The stern, almost accusing tone leaves us beneath the waves as her young eyes flickered with uncharacteristic fury. She hugs herself, baring her frown out the window, and into the distance. At the humans most certainly.

"My dear..." Mirria stands up, fanning away the embers that threatened to consume what remains of our daughter's poise. A wedge ensues as Lumina backs away, unsheathing her defiance.

Losing strength, she drops her head down low. "I... don't understand," she admits, tears threatening to build in her eyes. "It is all my fault. Maybe I did this. I shouldn't have tinkered with their flying machine."

Lumina's odd choice of words captures my intrigue. "Did what?" I say, unable to quench my curiosity.

"I saw them first, before anyone else did. They followed as I ran, I know they did. How else did they know of our village so quickly. All because I was there, gripped in my sorrows, lamenting my role as priestess in the Church of Life."

"Merciful heavens," Mirria exclaims, holding back a sigh. "You hold onto burdens which could be cast aside. It may not even be true, we simply don't know how they perceive things, even now."

"Listen to your mother," I add on, cautious on revealing too much. "The lives lost on Sonarai can never be replaced, but it will never happen again. The Grand Marshall's agents... have seen to that."

"You really can't tell?" Mirria turns to me, her pleading look tempering at my resolve.

I shook my head, resolute in this matter. "We've already discussed this. Just know such measures, are worth the price of our morals."

They need not know of what has been done to the human leader. The truth lies in the abyssal depths, where it shall remain. It was better this way, to know the magic of our most forbidden hexes will help keep the humans content.

'At least, until they leave our shores tonight.'

===End===