What Happened to Home - from Isolde

“Thank you again for this, Jaswyn. I hope this isn’t asking too much…” said Isolde from behind Jaswyn’s wings.

“It’s no trouble at all. Can’t leave you stranded and away from your folks, right?”

“I’m so late though, they’re going to kill me!”

Jaswyn laughed. “That just means they love you enough to worry about you. You should appreciate it.”

The cold air hugged her, wrapping her in an inviting embrace that purred, “Welcome back.” The luxuriant mountains of Arenard were grand and captivating, but few things soothed Isolde more than sheets of purely white snow that stretched to infinity.

“Oh, believe me,” she responded to Jaswyn, “I do very much so. Without them, I don’t know how I’d cope…”

It wasn’t an exaggeration.

“Oh, Gwennie! Look what I got!”

Isolde said one morning, just having returned from gathering meager wages around the village. Her stomach growling, she carried a small basket of freshly-baked apple pastries, its cinnamon aroma blessing their noses – and Gwendolyn, who was practicing weaving on a rug, had her hands inside immediately.

“Ahem, hold on a minute! What’s the magic word?”

“Please! Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Isolde smiled, handing her little sister her favorite treat that costed her another two hours of work. But for her smile, it was worth it. She gave her nose a boop then said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to eat dinner with you again… I hate leaving you alone so often.”

“It’s okay, it’s not too bad anymore,” she grumbled in-between chews, “You’re just trying to be responsible. Hey, don’t you want any?”

“Oh, no! I already got something to eat, now I’m stuffed. This is all for you.”

“Really?” her longing eyes shifted from the basket to Isolde, “You sure?”

“Yes, silly. Go ahead and eat up.”

While Gwendolyn was about, Isolde would rummage the storage for food – not counting the little they did have, which was only enough for one person, unbeknownst to Gwendolyn. Most searches would end in nothing, or if lucky, some scraps.

But so that her sister wouldn’t go hungry, it was worth it.

It didn’t help the home was full of belongings that made the memory of them only more painful. Knitted quilts from her mother, hunting knives from her father. Two pairs of boots laid by the door, underneath their wool coats that still had their scent. Her eyes would twinkle with tears – but then there was Gwendolyn, who felt her sadness.

She’d wipe her eyes and smile, shutting the wounds like a Mender. And when she was awake at night, contemplating whether life should be lived, Gwendolyn would say she had a nightmare – then she remembered she couldn’t be selfish and leave her alone.

For her sake, life was worth it.

Gwendolyn got older, and with it came awareness. She smiled less, eyes always downcast, acted as if the world had a grudge against her. Isolde couldn’t shed much light then, no matter how many pastry baskets she brought.

Through it all, she could never allow the mask to slip. Her secret weapon in dire times, but it had its terms. Trapped by fire in a forest in Arenard, with a little boy seeing her as some hero? Effective. But if there was no one to depend on her, from which she gained her strength…

“That’s good, Isolde,” Jaswyn said, her tone turning wistful. “However, before we say goodbye… I’d like to leave you with something. A piece of advice, if you will.”

“Yes, I think I could use that right now.”

“I know you’re not intending to give up on your parents. I see that fire in your eyes, the unwavering look of determination… But let me ask you this, is it worth the sacrifice?”

“Are you still saying this is too dangerous? That I should let it go for my own good?”

“Those things are true, but no, that’s not the point I’m making now. You’ve been away for over a month, and with the end of the Nexus underway… Shouldn’t you be prioritizing the time you have left with those still around?”

“I… I actually never thought about that…”

“I figured. I don’t mean to be harsh, I just believe… It should be considered,” she flew slower, submerged in thought, before re-awakening to the world as she said, “Don’t have the same flaw as me, cherish your loved ones as if they could die the next day. Otherwise, if you ever make a mistake… They may hate you forever.”

“Do you mean, um… Madigan?”

Jaswyn nodded slowly. “I hurt him, in a way I can’t even forgive myself for. And it’s the greatest regret of my life… If I was better, we would’ve been struggling, yes, but struggling together. As one.”

Isolde patted her hair, an odd act of comfort for someone nearly twice her age, but was received. “I don’t know what happened with you two, but… I think it's pretty obvious how Madigan actually feels. Just by the way he looks at you.”

She felt Jaswyn’s body relax, her wings fluttering delicately. “Well, I’m glad you’re certain of that, because I’m not.”

Isolde’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the distinguishable lowlands bordering her village. It felt like a thousand years since she was home last. Olga would probably beat her with a shoe, Gwendolyn would pretend to be unaffected only to cry later on… Not the most conventional welcome-home, but she preferred nothing else.

“What’s… This?” Jaswyn said.

The landscape was ragged, strange marks embedded into the snow, like something large was scratching against it. As they progressed, the clear snow became dotted with blood. Further ahead, dead caribou scattered the ground.

“N-No, it can’t be…”

Then, there was what Isolde never expected she’d see – tens of anomalies, swarming her village. Guardians clashed with them, swords and arrows blazing with perseverance. Both villagers and fighters lay like the caribou, as buildings were reduced to devastating rubble. One anomaly was on a roof, its ugly hand reaching for its back – and recognizing the motion, Isolde shouted,

“Dodge, Jaswyn! Now!”

Jaswyn swerved in the nick of time, the spike just barely hitting her cheek. But beyond that, she couldn’t afford to be airborne – not even to flee, as more anomalies deemed her as a target.

“Hold on tight, and don’t panic!”

She dived to the surface, landing less than gracefully as a spike clipped the very edge of her wing at the last second. Isolde tumbled into the snow, but she didn’t even process the sharp cold on her skin. Gasping for air, she scrambled onto her feet, and out of sheer rashness, darted into the heart of the village.

“Isolde! What are you doing!? Come back!”

Jaswyn chased after her, grabbing her arm – but the ground beneath her split, dropping her into a hole, and before she could escape, it was covered by a layer of earth.

Isolde moaned from the pain of what she just did, her hands already aching. “I-I’m sorry, Jaswyn! I’ll come back for you, but you can’t stop me!”

She continued running. On all sides, anomalies snatched up Guardians as their brethren’s heads were cut clean off. But she didn’t register any of it, her pulse racing as she headed to the one place she had in mind. She tripped over something, she’d mindlessly get back up. An anomaly leaped to devour her flesh, and by a stroke of luck did a Guardian intervene and prevent the worst.

She ran, and ran, and ran. Breathless, she kept going. Until, there it was… Olga’s home. A pile of splintered wood.

“No, no! Nooo, no, no! Please, no! Oh my gosh!”

Isolde frantically searched through the remnants, trying to find anything, any sign of life. But there was only ruin.

“Gwendolyn! Olga! Don’t do this to me! I’m here, I’m back!”

Yet there was no response, for how could the dead speak?