Her Story; Her Memories

“Mama...?”

“Hm? Medrauta? What’s wrong, sweetie?” Morgana turned to see her daughter standing in the entryway of the living room. Pallid moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating Medrauta’s nightgown and giving her silver hair an almost otherworldly glow.

“I can’t sleep...” Medrauta said, clutching a large stuffed doll tightly. She walked toward her mother’s waiting arms, hopping up onto Morgana’s lap as she reached her destination.

“Hm... Would you like mommy to tell you a story then?”

Medrauta nodded emphatically. “Yes please!”

“Very well.” Morgana smiled faintly. She turned to look at the window, gazing wistfully at the full moon. “It starts like this...”

†

Morgana stood upon a desolate hill of gravel and rock. Gray sand and dust filled the air for miles on end, suffocating the ravaged landscape in a cloak of monotony. Her long silver hair billowed in the wind, the gleaming strands like a beacon of hope in the midst of the dismal wasteland she watched over.

Dressed in full armor, Morgana stared off into the distance, their pristine blue the only source of color in this desolate world. Even the sky itself had been hidden by the thick curtain of angry clouds looming above, threatening to release their freezing contents onto the earth below.

In her left hand, Morgana held her signature weapon. A plain longsword with a leather-wrapped hilt, the sword lacked any decorative pieces, its spartan appearance emphasizing its true nature as a tool for dealing death and nothing more. Despite that, there was a certain uncertainty in Morgana’s heart causing her determination to waver.

...Tomorrow is the day. Morgana frowned. The wind howled loudly around her, responding to her thoughts in an almost mocking fashion. Sharp gales deflected against the equally sharp edges of the stones beneath her feet, producing an eerie keening noise that pierced her ears. To her, the sound wasn’t too different from screams of agony before death.

She would know. As a Paladin, Morgana had worked with witch hunters on several occasions, hunting down and slaying the Witch Queen’s most prized subjects in an effort to rid the land of the horrific taint that had gradually spread across it during the Witch Queen’s two-thousand year rule.

Morgana pursed her lips in deep consternation, wondering about her future and that of her compatriots. Though she had lived for long, it was only during the past decade that any real progress had been made to overthrow the Witch Queen’s tyrannical rule. As a Paladin, she primarily concerned herself with protecting what little human civilization was left while the witch hunters actively sought out opportunities to act upon their namesake.

However, the recent appearance of a prolific witch hunter had slowly begun changing the tide, her fighting skills and the sheer power of her Sigil drawing both witch hunters and Paladins alike to her cause. In fact, that was exactly what had driven Morgana so deeply into contemplation.

Just a few days ago, the witch hunter in question had asked for her aid in a massive attack on the Witch Queen’s Spire, the massive black tower atop which she ruled the continent. More than just an impressive reminder of her tyranny, the Spire acted as an amplifying nexus for the Witch Queen’s powers, serving as a basis for the shield towers that the Paladins employed.

However, it was also the Witch Queen’s sole weakness. While the Spire was capable of diffusing the Witch Queen’s power over a vast area, it required her to remain within its confines to function. In other words, it was just as much a prison as it was a symbol of authority, and the brave witch hunter sought to crush her in the very place she held court.

It was a foolish idea, to say the least. The Witch Queen was not the only witch who dwelled within the Spire and the ascent itself would be nothing short of suicide. Yet, somehow, the witch hunter had managed to convince her fellow hunters to embark on the deadly journey, and many Paladins had already sworn to follow.

The crease in Morgana’s brow deepened as she realized that the keening sound of the wind had stopped. Something was obstructing its flow, and though she hadn’t yet turned to look, she already knew what it was.

“Morgana.” An easygoing voice addressed her from behind, prompting her to whirl around.

“...Soleil. I did not think you would come.”

The woman’s golden hair was just as resplendent as her shining armor. Her eyes, also a resplendent gold, seemed to hum with an inner light that spread across all she gazed upon, bringing color and life to the dreary rockscape like rays of sunlight. Her smile radiated warmth, and now that she stood before Morgana in person, the Paladin could easily see why so many had chosen to follow this witch hunter despite her youth.

“Of course I would.” Soleil extended a hand toward Morgana, looking up at the silver-haired woman. “We march tomorrow. Is there nothing I can do to persuade you, Morgana?”

“There is not.” Morgana replied with an air of finality. She had nearly hesitated upon being struck by the sheer force of Soleil’s charisma, but her will was strong and unconquerable. She would not lead her men to certain death.

“Morgana,” Soleil pleaded a little more forcefully this time. “Will you not at least consider my proposition? You are the master of the Chelate Order, one of the greatest Paladin orders to ever exist! Without the fighting prowess of you and your men, all of our efforts will have been in vain!”

“That is not my problem, Soleil.” Morgana replied with an equal amount of strength in her voice. “You are the one who chose to push so deeply into the Witch Queen’s territory. You are the one who drove the Ardinas Order to construct a shield tower so close to the Spire. Not I.”

Soleil shook her head, frustration beginning to rise within her. “Not your problem? The Witch Queen is everyone’s problem, Morgana! For the first time in history, we’ve finally got a chance to oust her from her throne, and yet you refuse to lend your aid!? Think of all the people you protect!”

“It is exactly because I am thinking of those I shield that I must reject your offer, Soleil.” Morgana replied, stones shifting beneath the steel of her armored boots as she made her way down the hill of rocks. “You are not a Paladin, so I do not blame you for not understanding. It is we who fuel the shield towers with the powers of our Oaths. It is we who erect this barrier and drive away the miasma that fills the air. The shield towers are useless should we die. Do you understand?”

“Do not speak to me as if you are lecturing a child.” Soleil snapped. Despite all her resplendent beauty and impressive charisma, her temper certainly reflected her age when things didn’t go her way. “I know how the shield towers work.”

“Do you now?” Morgana asked, an eyebrow raised. “I would not have guessed, for your suggestions are ludicrous and suicidal. You’ve even roped several Paladin orders into your flimsy plans as well.”

Soleil grit her teeth, holding in her fury. As much as she wanted to utter an angry retort, she knew she had to control herself if there was any chance at salvaging this, however slim. The Chelate Order was by and far the strongest extant Paladin order of the century, and Morgana was no doubt one of the strongest Paladins of this era. Without their aid, the attack on the Spire would surely fail. At least, that was what she believed.

“...I apologize for my rudeness, Morgana. Can I start over?”

“You may not.” Morgana replied curtly. “I entertained your request for a meeting because I thought you might say something worth listening to, but it seems that your value lies only in your appearance. Do you know why it is we can stand here in this tainted fog?”

Soleil didn’t answer, lowering her head to hide her rage.

“It is because we stand above those who we wish to protect.”

“...I know.” Soleil said quietly, her head still lowered.

“It is only through the power of my Oath and your Sigil that we can brave the Mist of the mana wastes. If your heart was truly with the people, then you would dedicate your efforts to protecting them, not chasing some impossible dream.”

“...It’s not impossible, Morgana.”

“The Witch Queen has reigned for two thousand years. She will reign for two thousand more, and perhaps even beyond that.”

“You don’t know that.” Soleil said defiantly. “If we strike her down now—”

“If we strike her down. If.” Morgana reiterated, emphasizing her point as strongly as she could. “You would gamble the lives of all those you protect? All those we protect?”

“...I will strike her down, Morgana.” Soleil growled, her hand falling to the hilt of her sword.

“In the end, it has come to this once more.” Morgana sighed. Her sword had already been drawn and ready, precisely in preparation for this very moment. “We shall abide by our previous terms, then?”

“We shall.” Soleil drew her sword, a weapon just as simple as Morgana’s, though its blade was translucent like glass, its core glowing with a faint golden light as if trapped sunlight. “Should I win, you and the Chelate Order will follow me into battle without question.”

Morgana frowned. The weapon Soleil now wielded was unfamiliar to her, and the blonde witch hunter certainly hadn’t wielded it in their first duel. Even so, it’s just a different weapon. What can she do?

“I warn you now, Soleil. The result will be the same, regardless of what manner of blade you choose to wield.”

Soleil merely smirked. “Let us see, Morgana!”