"Stand, Times. I wish to see your face."
The Vyurborne warlord followed Aleph's order and peered at the Praeceptor's eyes with as much solemnity as he could possibly muster. To be honest, he wants to beg the human to have him meet his father for the first time in more than a decade, but duty calls both men, and they have no time on heartfelt wastes of time.
Well… Though General Times thought they wouldn't be wasting any more time and going straight to dealing with the usurper god and his treacherous giants, it seems like the Praeceptor has a different idea in mind.
Aleph took a deep breath with his eyes closed, grinning as he felt the fresh air rush through his body. Whenever he did so, the plants would move ever so slightly towards his direction, and when he releases his breath, the plants move away instead.
"Breathe with me, my general." Aleph took more air into his lungs and expelled it after holding it in for a few seconds. "Do you feel that? Come on. Do it with me. Breathe, Times. What do you feel?"
General Times looked at the Praeceptor with a confused gaze for a few moments before humoring his new superior's order. He then reported what he felt with utmost honesty, "… invigorated, my Lord Praeceptor."
"Precisely how I feel as well! I feel alive." Aleph clenched his remaining hand while pointing his severed arm into General Times. This innocent gesture made the Vyurborne warlord step back slightly. "My blood runs wild within me, and my heart beats like the twinkling of the stars. Do you know what that means?"
"Enlighten me, my Lord."
"It means we're alive. It means we still have time to deliver our love into the world. It means our hearts still open themselves for love. It means our body is ready to fight for those we love."
Aleph chuckled as he reopened his eyes and directed his gaze into General Times. Both of them remained silent as they breathed in and out in harmony together. Oddly enough, the nervousness dormant in General Times' heart earlier slowly diminished. Aleph must have noticed this as he continued speaking.
"Never forget the reason why we breathe. The air we release can kill a million souls, but the world requires such foul air to survive. Let the world relish in the poison dispersing from your lungs. The Gardens is dead, Times, and it needs the death we bring forth to stay alive. It craves our skin, our decomposed carcasses, and spits our bones. But we breathe because we don't want the soil to swallow us just yet. We breathe because we still have years of love to release unto these barren lands, and with the air from our insides, we will breathe life into the dead; we will breathe life into this wasteland."
Both of them then breathed in and out again; the flowers and leaves danced around them as the muffled sound of bells and wings flapping continued to erupt around them. After a few more breaths, the Praeceptor finally stops, and a layer of sadness replaces his carefree smile. He continued,
"But how can we love after knowing that there are misguided beings unfortunate enough to reject our ever-lasting affection? This Garden is vast, and it carries far too many broken hearts for us to ignore. We have a mission to save these barren lands, Times, but the Dead Gardens is not the only wasteland that longs for our love. There are more wastelands in the chests of our enemies. Do you hear them, Times?"
Aleph once again closed his eyes and whistled an unfamiliar tune. He then cupped his hand around his ear and leaned forward as if trying to listen to the agony of millions with a pained expression. However, General Times could only hear winds, wings, and bells; the Vyurbornes are known to have senses better than humans, but not even his ears could detect what the Praeceptor is referring to. It didn't occur to him that maybe Aleph's words are more metaphorical than literal.
"Unfortunately not, my Lord Praeceptor, their cries are absent in me."
"Well, I do. I hear them loud and clear. Sobs tremble upon the logs and send tremors about the marshes. My people are crying without me, Times. And they need my love to find joy, to know that they are not forsaken. The longer we ignore their prayers, the more dust will spring out of their nightly wails. Who am I to ignore these loveless souls? What sort of god would I be if I ignore their wretched calls?"
"That…" General Times didn't know how to answer the Praeceptor's question. He tried to think of a polite answer, but Aleph was already continuing his words before he could do so.
"And so, my warlord, I order you. By virtue of your new Praeceptor, I command you to unleash the might of our love straight to our enemy's doorstep! Remind them of how vehement the beating of our hearts can get so they may remember where their piety belongs to; the thorns their heretic god spews out of his lying mouth have insulted us for far too long! And if the giants would not permit words to pass through the walls around their hearts, then I am compelled to allow my weapons to do the talking for me. Hack their chests, burn their corpses, and let the craven crows feast upon their remains so they may remember the ardor of a god's affection. Only then can we save the wasteland in the giants' hearts; only then can we breathe life into their lives. Just like how the flowers require the poison we release to bloom, the giants need to suffer our blades to attain their full potential. That's right, Times. We must remind them of my Love:"
Aleph's voice raised and grew rougher with a wave of cruelty splashed on his deep voice.
"The truest Love,"
Affection no longer exists in the Praeceptor's voice as a nasty scowl contorted on his face.
"An everlasting Love,"
Then, he raised his arm into the air and paired his inglorious scowl with a gritting sneer.
"A Love that shatters the universe!"
A strong gust then flew out of the Praeceptor's body, killing the fireflies and driving the chamber into the cold hands of darkness once more.
"Everyone must experience this love! With blood and steel! I want the heretic god's head! Off with the man who sucked the life away from the giants. Bring down Bismarck."
Every word he uttered, his tone grew rougher, his voice deeper, and his volume louder.
"Bring. Down. Bismarck!"
He enunciated every word until it began to echo rapidly in General Times' head.
"BRING DOWN BISMARCK!"
General Times heard the Praeceptor's words loud and clear. "YES, MY LORD PRAECEPTOR!" He fell on his knees once more. Adrenaline flew all over his body; it was a sensation that he had never felt for a long time, but all his mind needed to reawaken was his father's kill order.
General Times' knew exactly what he would do; in his mind, he's already rallying troops, readying their formation, and flying towards the enemy. Skystead Keep has been passive for far too long. But now, Lord Dominion is back, and the heretic god's farce must now come to an end. His father is home.