Chapter One: Unexpected but not wholly unwelcome results
Vivian would consider himself a rather pragmatic, dedicated individual. He would, if he ever stopped to consider himself. You see, when fighting in a revolution against an immortal wizard as the personal guard and best friend of the revolution’s leader, one has very little time to reflect. The rare moments where he can reflect more often than not occur mid-battle. Vivian found himself in one of those moments.
The clanking and ripping of metal clashing against metal echoed throughout the cathedral, a hymn to the gods of war. Vivian beheaded a mindless drone with a sweep of his maul and watched the glowing runes etched in place of eyes flicker and die.
What would his life have been like if he had made a career in runesmithing instead of keeping it as a hobby? What if he had lived a normal life instead of joining the rebellion?
Vivian looked to the leader of the rebellion, Adrian, who had advanced further into the sea of living armor. The runes for strength and resilience shone on their cheek, painted in charcoal. The markings would last for a few hours yet before they faded. Explosions and fire trailed from their rune-scarred hands as they reduced the drones to scrap metal.
What if none of them were involved in this? Would he have been as close to Adrian as he is now or would they have drifted apart? What would a peaceful life have looked like?
Vivian chased after Adrian, tripping a few drones on the way. The others behind him would deal with the stragglers.
Would he have been forced into the resistance anyways? He and Adrian were capable, too capable, they would’ve been targeted for recruitment to both sides. Would they have been made to fight each other?
Vivian came to a stop behind Adrian, who had finished thoroughly disassembling the majority of the enchanted armor. They turned to him with a bloodthirsty smile, and Vivian saw the reflection of his helmet in their eyes. The runes for explosion and flame, scarred into their palms, flickered like torchlight as the raging battle died around them. Only a few drones were left active. The one controlling the drones was left standing, hunched over the altar. Adrian hadn’t seen her.
What if their target hadn’t been involved in this? Would they have recruited her into the resistance? She’s certainly capable. It’s a shame she had to be captured and interrogated.
The target dunked her hand into a bowl of water, washing off quickly applied rune chalk. The markings, covering the entire palm of her hand, flared to life. Vivian could only read the rune for time before the target leaped over the altar and made a crazed dash for Adrian, hand outstretched.
Why must things be this way? Why couldn’t they all just live by the sea and escort merchants through the mountainside? Why couldn’t they have helped sailors unload cargo and buy supplies in Mohmora harbor?
There wasn’t enough time for Adrian to save themselves.
Vivian and Adrian had been practically joined at the hip since they could both walk. Vivian held many cherished memories of their lives before the war. Vivian could not let Adrian’s life end here.
Vivian grabbed Adrian by the shoulders and pushed them to the floor beside him, looking up just as the target’s hand, palm covered in a constellation of active runes, made contact with his helmet’s visor.
The world exploded in white and pain as he fell, and between each heartbeat he saw himself submerged in the starry waters of Haekira.
Is this how it ends? If so, he’s glad he saved Adrian from this pain.
But he didn’t hear his heart stop. His face burned, yes, but he felt himself falling. The world was blinding, but he had eyes to be blinded.
He fell to the ground with a series of clanks that barely made it past the ringing in his ears. His entire body ached like he had been trampled by a herd of deer. His face felt as if it had been set on fire. He didn’t know how long he laid there.
Where was Adrian?
He opened his eyes and was greeted not by the concerned face of his Adrian, but instead by the decrepit— It hadn’t been decrepit before— walls of the cathedral. The cathedral he had been supposedly killed in a moment before.
Vivian pushed himself into a sitting position, pain dulled by panic and confusion.
The altar was crumbling, the scrap metal Adrian had left in their wake was rusted into unrecognizable lumps of metal.
With a shaky voice, he called out for Adrian. No one answered.
