A Story in Progress

It is easy for a soul to be blinded by the light and think there is no darkness.

The time following a tragedy seems to be both an eternity and infinitesimal. For those it does not affect, a tragedy is a sad event that becomes nothing more than a passing thought. For those within the tragedy, it becomes a permanent scar, a reminder, or something to repress. All civilizations are the same in this regard. The masses can be reminded, and sadness can be renewed temporarily. However, many will forget, and the rest will either grieve and accept the truth or grieve and deny it.

Time will forget the events of civilization as it is known. Yet somehow, the majesty of the universe in its present state will remain despite the constant unyielding flow of the River of Time and Change. Time forgets, the universe remains, and the balance continues its reign.

The insignificance of a lifespan, whether it be five years or five hundred, will most certainly be lost amidst the River. Peculiar still is the persistence of this life, despite the insignificance. The beauty and grace of life is the perfectly balanced relationship it has with death. All that lives must die. All that is bright will eventually be dark. All that is known will eventually be unknown. Such is the balance. Such is the flow of the River. Such is the way of the universe.

This insignificance brings us our story. Our story of light and dark, of life and death. Do not mistake the light for life and the dark for death. The flow of life and death is independent of where the light falls.

The story does not begin where the flow of Time begins—if Time has ever had a beginning, that is. This story begins where another story ends, as the balance dictates. The story that has ended is not without its lasting effects on the story that is beginning. As with all tragedies, some people repress, others grieve, while the rest have forgotten. This tragedy, perhaps unlike some others, has some distortion to it that is somewhat out of the ordinary.

One piece of tragedies remains yet unspoken. This is the element of hope. This spark of life comes from the ashes of death itself. Hope. It is the key element of balance when the scales have been tipped too far. Rest assured, the Flow will reconcile its error.

With this, our story can finally be told.

The story of balance.

The story of Luxem Langdamir.

Chapter 1: It Begins

“The best and first lesson a thief should learn is trust… and how to avoid it”

~Rashavac’s Guide to Being a Successful Thief

The cobblestone roads weave a mysterious pattern of light in the early morning. I used to think the city was ugly, but now I realize it’s the people within it. The morning rays shine through the cracks of buildings and alleys and flood the street with golden sunbeams that would put a king’s treasure room to shame. The sounds of nature that remain echo throughout the empty corridors in a chorus of bird songs that flow in and out of one another. I’m always sad when the store vendors begin to open their shops. The wooden shutters slide open with an unnatural clacking that inevitably makes me wince. After another moment, the people of the city begin to wake, and with them comes the unwavering tidal force of noise that blends together in a way that can only be described as a forced and unnatural chaos. I spend little of my waking moments during the day on the rooftops, but in the early dawn, I savor every moment I can before the citizens begin wasting their time rushing about the city.

The day began as it usually does, but something in the air was telling me to be wary. I continued watching the city from the rooftops until I heard the first store clatter open. The noises of the stores almost hid the footsteps of the Goliath directly behind me. I didn’t want to acknowledge him. Wolfbaü wasn’t actually trying to sneak up on me—he knew he was too heavy-footed.

The mountain took one final stride to look over the edge of the rooftops with me. “Gray needs to see you again.” The heavy boom of his voice pierced the final moment of silence I was so desperately clinging to.

“What’s the job?” I had been in silence so long that I had actually forgotten what my own voice sounded like. It was a little deeper than I remember, but it could have been Wolf’s voice echoing in my skull still.

“It isn’t work this time Lux,” the tower of muscle turned his head to look at me, “He just wants to… talk.” The hesitation between his words further disquieted me.

“When and where?”

“Now. In the Noble District.” He slowly turned and walked away, but as he got to the ladder leading off the roof, he turned back to me, “Veronica will be there.”

His booming voice echoed in my head, and my face felt like it was in the fires of a forge. It’s not like I don’t admire, appreciate, or even like Veronica. We just have a rich history.

I lingered on the roof, lost in the noise of the awakening streets along with my thoughts. Eventually, I made my way across the tops of the tightly packed buildings. As I jumped from home to store to home again, I watched as the people below appeared blissfully unaware of anything but themselves, despite being amidst so many others. Maybe some part of us is lost when we have the anonymity of a crowd to hide within.

I reached the gate to the Noble district and descended in front of the guard on duty. He jumped when he saw me fall in front of him, but when he saw who I was he shuffled aside to let me pass. I strolled through the carved stone archway and stepped onto the intricate brickwork of the Noble District. I had seen these lush, vast gardens before. The marble fountains and statues that glistened in the morning sun held little charm for me. The fresh coat of dew on the extremely well-kempt grass sparkled like the many jewels that the residents of this area hoarded with glee. The whole place made me sick. I took great care to avoid eye contact, hoping none of the residents would recognize me. After a bit of wandering about, I came upon the Library—the command center of Grayhelm and Wolfbaü’s ‘operations’. The real library of the city is actually in the academic district, but “The Library” has a nice ring to it. The real information in the Library comes from those within it. It has a constant traffic of informants and spies coming in and out.

The ornate scarlet and gold doors swung open. Greeting me on the other side was a large staircase in the center of the lobby and two hallways leading off to the left and right. The guard at the foot of the staircase was dressed in the normal tan tunic and chain mail of a city guard, but this was just to scare off any accidental visitors. Striding forward, I bounded up the stairs two at a time. Upon reaching the top, I wandered straight into the rows of bookshelves and waited for someone to appear. To my left, I could hear the observatory door creak open, followed by the light footsteps of a raven-haired woman. I could almost feel her crystal blue eyes piercing me through the bookshelves. She carried herself with pride, not arrogance; her pride was earned over years of unmatched work and pure skill.

“Staring, Langdamir?” She smirked her way over to the shelves, leaning against the end of the row with her arms crossed.

“V, don’t start,” I walked past her and she grabbed my arm.

Her smirk had vanished. “Before you see Gray… just keep an open mind.” She turned away and dropped her arm back to her side.

Confused and somewhat nervous, I turned towards the observatory. The door creaked open and I could see the light glowing through the shutters where the telescope pierced the heavens. The aging man that was pacing the room did not react to my entrance. His frame was thin, yet defined. For a man of his age, he was surprisingly fit. Without breaking his stride or looking over at me, he spoke, “You need to know more about your true self.”

“Hello to you too Gray, I’m good thanks for asking. How are the kids?”

Ignoring me, “Your full potential has still not been realized. Something inside you must be awoken,” He stopped his pacing and faced me, “You need to be reminded of the legends that foretell your coming.”

My eyes rolled, “Gray, we’ve been over this. I’m not a ‘Champion’. I may be a descendant of the old king, but he died long ago and so did the truth of those legends.”

“Damn you child, the legends are truth! And you are the Spirit of the Light incarnate!”

I blinked, and he was then mere inches from my face. I was taken aback by his sudden aggression, and as he stared me in the eyes, I could see my reflection in the black pits that pierced through me. I stared back at him and placed my hand on the hilt at my side as a warning, “Easy Gray, we’re on the same side here.”

“Don’t test me,” he sighed and shuffled to the door. He walked out without a word, which was my signal to follow. Weaving through the maze of bookshelves, Gray reached a shelf near the back right of the library. His eyes scanned the four rows until he reached for a black cover on the bottom shelf. Holding it up to the light and quickly flipping through the pages, he handed it to me.

The book showed me an age long past. The night was illuminated by a pale crescent moon. The world was slightly out of focus. Images of soldiers marching toward the kingdom faded in and out like the flicker of a candle. The night sky was the only image I could make out in its entirety; it was clear these pages had aged substantially, the art was incredibly preserved though.

The small troop broke formation, and the buildings at the edge of town were ablaze in a purple flame. The flames engulfed more and more of the village. Silhouettes of large bird-like creatures were outlined in the purple glow. I couldn’t see any villagers. I started turning through the images, trying to find the lone soldier that kept appearing as he ran through the scorched land. There were no buildings untouched by flame and still not a body in sight. The pages carried me through the closing doors of the castle and up the stairs to what I assumed was the throne room. The towering, gold-inlaid doors were open, and the soldier had collapsed at the feet of the king. I could feel the soldier’s last words, “It… It is… here… your child…” The dead man’s words rang inside my head. I could hear that voice and those words. I remembered them even though I couldn’t have been alive for the assault that took place hundreds of years ago. The king stood and the images became clearer and more fluid; it was almost as if I was watching the events unfold in my own memory. The queen grabbed the king’s hand, and they ran up a staircase behind the thrones. The sound of a child crying echoed in the halls. I could almost feel the sobbing in my own throat.

The king kicked down a door and unsheathed a glowing white sword that seared the air with its light. A blurred figure stood over a child’s crib; the nurse was unconscious on the ground. The queen cupped her hands together and screamed in rage as a jet of blue flame ejected from her palms and slammed the hooded figure out the open window from which it most likely came. Grabbing the child, the queen screamed something that I couldn’t make out at the king. The king raised the sword to the sky and a beam of pure light energy pierced the entire castle. The king collapsed, the queen forced her sobs aside, and the sword was gone. The castle began to crumble as I followed the queen down a secret passage that led into the castle dungeons. Her jet black hair flowed behind her as she ran.

She took a final turn past the last cell in the dungeon and faced the wall. After kissing the baby on the forehead, she traced a strange rune into the wall and it exploded outward. Stepping into a downpour, she began to run towards the woods Northeast of the castle. The sounds of death echoed on the howling winds. Beneath those winds, another sound could be heard—horses. They were gaining on the queen. Her pace quickened, and she cast a spell in between breaths that caused three separate duplicates of her and the baby to run in different directions. A massive suit of armor jumped off of its horse and tackled the queen. The image dissipated, and the real queen darted off into the woods.

The shelves of the library slowly came back into focus as I turned the final page. Gray looked grimly at me as I set the book down. A darkness had fallen over him, and he seemed to be in great pain. I waited for him to speak, but many moments passed without him saying a word. I glanced behind me and saw Veronica hiding behind a bookshelf with her head low. I turned to face Gray again, but he had vanished from the room. My chest was tight from the last scene in the book. It had all seemed too real near the end.

“That was the old castle to the Southwest, wasn’t it? That must mean those were my ancestors. That baby must have been my great-grandfather? Gray… Gray!” I was talking to no one.

You’re wrong.

Then explain to me what that was. A prediction of the future? Some asinine children’s book? Why was my heart beating so fast?

Seek out truth.

No. I don’t know if I want truth. What happens when it’s what I expect it to be?

You’ll figure it out when that happens. Find the truth. The real answers are buried with the past.

Veronica placed a hand on my shoulder, “Mind if I tag along? I’ve always wanted to see the old ruins.”