Chapter 20 - Silence

The present day, 21st of Eirm'Haiir, year 13,126, in the angelic main kingdom of Saint Zagra. We find ourselves in an abandoned military camp, where the equipment lay buried under curtains of dust left behind by time. Sunlight shimmered against the ancient trees, illuminating their upper branches. Their wounds, their scars, all the dust drifting in the glow, now seemed proud, with nothing left to hide.

A broken circular target, once used for arrows, was struck precisely at its center. Following the shadow of the one who had fired it, we reached Kaela, who held a bow strung with arrows. She loosed another shot and pierced the exact same point, shattering the previous shaft. Beneath the target lay the remains of many ruined arrows, proof that Kaela had been at this for some time. She drew a deep breath and fired again. The same result.

At last, she gathered her quiver, closed it, and began to leave the forgotten place. Yet, the image of Tarnael surfaced again and again before her eyes. She felt herself fading within his vision. Once a bright child, free of malice, he was slowly transforming into a monster draped in divine beauty, the truest image of the devil. Behind him, she often glimpsed a towering version of him, a vast silhouette with countless wings. With each passing day, this vision grew clearer. Perhaps she came here so often because she felt abandoned by him. Like a mannequin crumbling under the fragrance of lost memories.

"I expected to find you in a place like this, Kaela," came a voice from beyond the deserted camp.

"Marshal Arnkhael," Kaela replied, recognizing him at once. Arnkhael, tall and broad-shouldered, with long golden curls, a pair of dimples gracing the left side of his face, clad in white armor reminiscent of Ovidius. He looked at her kindly as he approached.

"Something troubling you? I hope you've no dissatisfaction with the new life you've been given. With your brother as king, you're closer to the throne than ever," Arnkhael said.

"And what brings you here, Arnkhael? This camp has been sealed for eighty years. Shouldn't you be somewhere far more important?" Kaela asked.

"This is the most important place of all to me," Arnkhael answered.

"Oh?" Kaela reacted with surprise.

"You may have been coming here for a few years, but I've been returning for more than two centuries. This is where I was forged as a soldier, where I earned the rank I hold today. These relics you see abandoned, within me, they are not forgotten," Arnkhael said, his voice rich with nostalgia.

"I see," Kaela replied softly, her gaze lowering.

"Are you unhappy with your new life?" Arnkhael asked.

"I wouldn't call it that. Only... a little overwhelming. This is the one place I can clear my thoughts, and the only place I feel close to my mother," Kaela said.

"Fair enough. The change in our royal throne was sudden, even shocking. Tarnael's self-proclamation as king still leaves a heavy impression on me. I can hardly imagine what impact it has had on you," Arnkhael said, his tone laced with quiet sympathy. Kaela looked at him shyly, uncertain of how to respond.

"You said earlier that I stand closer to the throne, but it feels as if I've drifted farther from Tarnael. He's no longer the brother I once knew. Even Eliael seems changed. I don't know what to do anymore. Their decisions often strike me as utter madness. I'm lost," Kaela confessed, torn within herself.

"A change so far from the ordinary does not come from nothing. It demands a cold, unyielding heart. Tarnael is the most fitting candidate for such a burden," Arnkhael said.

Kaela listened, hesitant and subdued.

"What you can do, Kaela, being the skilled warrior you are, is to trust your brother, no matter what. Even if his choices seem irrational or cursed, his aims are just: to rid the world of the Uanamangura as swiftly as possible. Of course, to do that, he must step beyond himself. He must adapt to his duty. I'm sure he suffers inwardly as well. He is not entirely without a soul. You must try to see through his eyes. He has his part, and you have yours. It is that simple," Arnkhael said, gently brushing a strand of her hair as though she were a child.

"Very well, Arnkhael. I'll keep your words in mind," Kaela said, holding back the tide of sorrow that threatened to well in her eyes.

"Good girl. Care to train with me now?" Arnkhael asked.

"If... if it's not a bother to you," Kaela replied, a little shy.

"Hahahaha! Now that's the spirit," Arnkhael said, smiling with guileless warmth as he walked with Kaela through the camp, like a father eager for his daughter's best.

On the other side, within the Dominion lands, there lay a cemetery, or rather, not a literal cemetery but more of a vast memorial. A colossal expanse stretched across the horizon, filled with hundreds of thousands of wooden crosses. Atop each one burned a small flame, a fire that remained alive at all times, undisturbed by the relentless winds of this land. As far as the eye could see, only endless rows of the memorial stretched into the distance.

Before one of the crosses, kiwi peelings were being discarded. The brown skin of the fruit spoke of a life thrown carelessly aside, much like this place, abandoned by the living. The faint sound of peeling could be heard, it was Marshal Mildura, carrying out this act. He stared intently at the fruit as he stripped it clean, the peel falling to the ground in curling fragments. Then he began to eat. With every bite, green droplets fell to the earth. The droplets reflected the engraved name upon the flaming cross before him: Salazar Bringgs, the marshal before Mildura.

He stared at the name as he chewed the kiwi, swallowing slowly, deliberately. When he finished, he checked his pocket to see if he had another.

"Hm!? Out already," he muttered to himself, eyes turning back toward the cross of the former marshal. A trace of sorrow and nostalgia drifted through his gaze, silent, restrained. A storm hidden within, unwilling to reveal itself in that moment.

His eyes wandered then to the other crosses, their flames still burning. What meaning could such fire have now, when it warmed nothing? What was the purpose of a cold flame? Such were the thoughts that passed through Mildura's mind. He lifted his gaze to the crimson sky, the burning heavens where black clouds drifted. He drew in a deep breath. And then, a loud growl echoed from his stomach.

"Damn, I need to find a toilet," said the marshal, unfurling his wings and flying off in haste, pressed by urgency.

Note: Dominions, like angels, do not die of sickness. Their lives end only in war or through the passing of age. Both dominions and angels live for up to a thousand years. After death, their bodies are preserved within hospitals, following an autopsy. Demons, on the other hand, never die of age. They can be killed, but they are otherwise ageless, almost immortal, in a sense. This is because they are reincarnations of angels, and as such, their sole fate is to suffer eternally...

In the Dominion military headquarters of the Tamasi kingdom, Igorus had just finished signing the crimson parchments in his office.

"I want to see Kaies. It's been days since I last met him," he muttered to himself, wearied by exhaustion. His eyes lifted toward the chandelier overhead, brimming with candles. Though the sun's rays clearly lit the office around him, the candles still held their flames, unwavering.

"General, is everything all right?" asked his secretary as she entered the room.

"R–Riona! Yes, everything's fine. From the looks of it, you've got plenty of work yourself," Igorus said, noticing the heavy stack of files she was struggling to carry at her side.

"What can I do? We're used to this much work by now. Heheh," Riona answered, slightly flustered.

"Don't worry about anything. Even if you make a mistake on one of them, I'll help you fix it—no problem," Igorus said with a smile.

"I appreciate that, General. Forgive me, but I must go. The officers are pressing for this week's reports. Have a good day," the secretary said as she hurried off.

"Goodbye," Igorus replied in parting.

He exhaled deeply, trying to release the weight of the stress within him. He cherished the peace of his office immensely. He wished he could remain there alone, far from death, far from negative emotions, just far away. Rising from his chair, he began to don his armor, which hung neatly upon a stand, much like a coat or cloak upon a rack. Then he left the office, closing the door behind him and leaving the chamber in utter silence.

From the military center, he took flight toward the research headquarters. Within minutes, he arrived at the institution's front gate, where Stravna greeted him.

"Stravna, hello! Is Kaies in his office?" Igorus asked.

"General! Yes, Master Kaies is in his office," Stravna replied warmly.

"Thank you," said Igorus, passing through the entrance and ascending the stairs to his brother's chambers.

"Hey, brother! You won't believe what happened to me today. I received a document, covered in scribbles, signed by a military commander, made absolutely no sense at all. Commander Alemont. And do you know what I told him?" Igorus began to speak before he had even entered Kaies' office, raising his voice as he approached.

"I told him: 'What the hell are you signing, you fool? This is a—'"

Igorus stopped mid-sentence. A suffocating silence descended, different from the calm of his own office. He froze completely in that instant, when he saw...

Kaies. Dead in his chair. A gaping wound torn through his chest. His eyes glazed in the color of death. Blood seeping from his mouth and from the dreadful wound, soaking the parchments in a crimson flood. His head tilted back slightly, his gaze fixed upward, as though searching for something.

A silence sharp enough to pierce the ears. A silence one wished had never existed. And the only sound that dared break it, the soft, dreadful drip of blood falling from his lifeless hands...