Midnight in real-time.
The instant Flare and Mitchel enter the memory, they both see a man standing at the edge of the room, facing the door. The man is just sitting on the floor, wearing light grey clothes with steel armor protecting his front and back sides with two steel sabers in hand. There is the mask that he did not wear, and he left alone on the floor behind him. Instinctively, Flare approached and even circled him, but the man did not notice her.
"Can't he see me?" Flare asks Mitchel, puzzlingly.
"…We are in a memory, Flare. He is no more aware than you, like sand in the desert," Mitchel answers, a bit embarrassed.
Suddenly, Flare could hear something piercing flesh from afar, along with the sound of a man screaming in pain coming from behind that door. The man's scream immediately stopped in a split second. Then, she could hear the sound of loud footsteps approaching behind that door. Mitchel quickly pulls her to the side, which puzzled Flare. She wanted to question him, but Mitchel gave her a slight nod, intended to tell her to trust his decision. So, she stops and observes. The door creaked open, and another man came in, standing there in total steel armor, except his boots, which were made from brown-colored leather. What is most revealing about this second man is his red cape, a full-face helmet that only leaves some slot for his vision, and the red galea attached to the metal helmet. The galea is linked from the front and extends to the back of his helmet.
Then, the two men stand there, looking at each other as the dual-bladed man stands up to face his adversary.
"It's quite pathetic to feel compassion for your enemy in a time like this, don't you think, Tarron?" the second man questions, looking at the first man, who calls himself Tarron.
"Wait…Tarron?"
"Your anger and your insatiable lust for power is to be stopped, that is for sure-."
"…But at least I have the honor to let us meet face to face, Bjorn."
Mitchel glanced at Flare, whose eyes were wide open in disbelief.
"F-F…Dad?" Flare stutters.
"Or should I call you King Edwen, now?" Tarron mockingly asks.
"…No."
"No! No!" Flare shouts at them, to no avail.
Mitchel chose to remain silent.
At this moment, Flare recalls the Talbot's word of what happened in this incident.
"You have allowed that maggot to creep into your head. Look at what you have done!"
"-Look at that coliseum that you call a deterrent!" Tarron shouts as he points his finger at the window, where a coliseum is standing tall, where hundreds of Husks and potential would-be Husks are imprisoned and tortured every single day.
"…"
Tarron looks at Bjorn Edwen, the king of the Whitefall Empire, waiting for an answer.
"Are you hoping that I'll have a change of heart after all this?" Edwen asks.
"We have erected monuments, built culture, brought Whitefall from the edge of extinction by that pitiful man I once called king…then, you left," he adds.
"You sold slaves! Slaves!"
"Those are human lives, Bjorn. Actual, breathing, human lives, and you sold them to slavery to these other races!" Tarron yells back.
"I've told you many times, Tarron! There is no other choice!" Edwen retorts.
"…We both know what that rotten king did to our land! He burned all usable resources into nothing, and we sacrificed a whole land to build back our economy. We even had to sell the Eastern Islands back to its isolating people…and there is still not enough money to bring us back from complete bankruptcy!" he continues.
"We made tons of trade deals with all the races! We could have waited if you were not greedy enough to follow that maggot's council!" Tarron responds.
"We saved Orc lives! That new abomination without a name had destroyed and infested the entire Orc continent! Half of our trade routes were cut back, and we are back to square one with no money!" Edwen defends his point.
"That snitch race of yours will soon grab the opportunity and raise taxes if we continue to trade with them, and how are we supposed to pay that tax with money and resources we don't have!" he adds.
"We had to resort to desperate measures, and you left! You and Neliel left me, and you took my child with me because things have turned for the worst!"
"Don't you point this at me! I have warned you many times not to hear and counsel from that grub, but you didn't listen to me, and look where we are now?!" Tarron responds.
"We have done this. We worked together and achieved much before his appearance, and look what he brought down on us!"
"You erected a coliseum to keep the Husks at bay!"
"You sailed south and pissed off an entire species that we still do not have any specificity on!"
"You lavished yourself with an expensive lifestyle with those banquets and renovations at the palace without caring for your people first!"
"You left the poor behind and then threw them at the coliseum to be tortured!"
"You sold people to slavery!"
"Neliel and I can only turn away so much, but not anymore! And that child is named Terrae!" Tarron continues.
"That grub has corrupted your mind, my friend! Leave him be and change course; it is not too late!"
"Your wife was generous enough to shelter both of us from our previous lives! She was generous enough to forgive you when she learned about the child; she even adopted that child!"
"…It does not matter now! You left! Both of you left when I needed you the most!" Edwen shouts at Tarron, pointing his finger at him in anger.
"…But you had us!" Tarron shouts back.
"What keeps you wandering aloof? Did we not help you enough?"
"I'm so close to it, Tarron. Please! Just let me do this and help!" Edwen pleads while gritting his teeth in anger.
"…Close to what? What has that maggot filled your head with?" Tarron asks.
"Close to what? You never told us!"
"Is everything you do is out of spite, Bjorn?" Tarron adds.
"It's not spite that's driving me, Tarron. It is courage. The courage to solve this country's problem!" Edwen retorts.
"Courage for what, man? There's no one left in your life to care!" Tarron mocks.
"God damn you all! I can handle this!" Edwen stutteringly curses.
"You idiot! Ever since you council with that maggot, all you do is tear things apart when you could be building things up like we always do."
"At least build yourself up, if nothing else!" Tarron points at Edwen.
"Change course, Edwen! Change your bloody course before it is too late!"
"Shut up all of you! Shut up…and die already!"
When their heated argument stopped, both men raised their spears with both hands holding it, pointing the tip at the opponent directly in front of them.
Once, the king might've sat down and asked Tarron, why?
Why did Tarron leave him?
But their ties are forgotten when Bjorn stabs his spear, and Tarron manages to block it.
Bjorn quickly pushes Tarron's sabers to the ground. He attempts a second attack, but again, he is parried by Tarron as the elf tries to launch his attacks. The king blocks it and continues to cast a barrage of attacks, using the pole and the tip of the spear he is using. His multiple continuous attacks began to overwhelm Tarron. Once, before all of this started, Tarron could have avoided every single blow the king tried to land on him, but now, it seems the king has grown stronger than him. The elf, despite his looks, is old. Despite his age, the elf still manages to give the king a run for his money. The king, again, attempts to stab the elf, but the elf quickly parries him. The spear stuck to the brick wall, giving Tarron the needed opening. However, the king soon jumps backward before drawing his sword. His white, platinum straight sword, blessed with potent magic and enveloped in shining platinum, was unsheathed from his sheath as the two continued fighting.
"…That sword…"
"It looked the same as the one back in the keep," Flare utters.
She is surprisingly quiet, or rather…shocked, to see this happening before her eyes. Her feet felt like they were nailed to the floor as they trembled in terror. Mitchel is just silently watching her as he painfully observes the fight. It seemed he had already known what had happened and had seen this scenario repeatedly.
"How dare you use that sword?" Tarron storms as he dodges the king's multiple attacks.
Despite his swiftness, the elf was scratched all over his body. Blood was slowly dripping out as the elf mustered his strength to stop his old friend. They had come far together since Bjorn was a minor lord with a small throne. The ambitious king needed a wise council, and Tarron came in to help. Tarron made Bjorn the man he is now, a king. Still, he is paying dearly for it as the king's continuous attacks gradually become more and more effective, leaving deep wounds instead of scratches. Within a minute, the elf was defeated by the hands of his closest friend, who, to him, had grown too conceited and arrogant that he had to leave. Meanwhile, the king, deeply rooted in his conceit, felt betrayed.
"That sword was meant to uphold the peace! It symbolizes the freedom and unity among our people after what we had achieved-."
"…But now…it shows nothing more than the conceited nature of its wielder," Taron scowls.
"Fine words for a traitor," Bjorn retorts, resting the sword's blade on Tarron's throat.
Judging by Tarron's wounds on his chest, the elf didn't have much time to live, yet Bjorn kept the man at the edge of his sword. As if he was waiting for something, waiting for Tarron to spill something out, something that he would know.
"Where's is she?"
"Where's my daughter, Tarron?" Edwen asks.
"It doesn't matter anymore; it's too late now. They had left," Tarron wheezes, trying to grasp every inch of air he could.
Then, Bjorn's expression looked more…troubled than before, which puzzled Flare.
"It wasn't supposed to be this way, Tarron."
"It is when you heard that maggot's council more than mine."
"I told you that man could not be trusted. Look at what he had done to this land. Look at what he has done to you, Bjorn!" Tarron musters up his strength and grips his hand on Bjorn's wrist.
"…How dare you speak of regret when this is what it has come to?" he adds.
"Am I even speaking to you now, Bjorn?"
Suddenly, Flare instantly dashes towards them while pleading…
"Stop…"
"…That's enough…"
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" she screams, begging her father to stop.
Alas, she failed. In just an instant, Bjorn Edwen pulls the platinum sword and slices Tarron's throat wide open. The blade is covered with dark red blood, the same blood that is squirting out uncontrollably from the elf's throat. The man's survival instincts kicked in as he quickly tried to cover his throat with his bare hands while writhing for air.
Once Flare saw what happened, she hated her father, who was staring at the dying Tarron with dead, empty eyes. Her fists are clenched until her veins reveal beneath both arms' skin. She was about to draw her sword but stopped because she knew it would not make a difference.
The instant she wanted to turn away, suddenly, something…peculiar happened.
Her father's eyes, his dead, empty eyes that Flare had seen since the beginning of their fight, somehow…felt like they shined and came back to life.
Flare thought she was seeing things until she saw what happened next.
"No, no, no, no, no…!" Edwen shouts as he quickly tears a part of his cape to apply pressure on Tarron's throat.
"Come on, old man!"
"Help!"
"Anybody?!"
Tarron was a bit shocked to see this. Flare could see through his eyes that he was puzzled and confused, just as she was.
"Is there a healer?!"
"…B-Bjorn…"
"Not now, Tarron. Just rest," the king tried to comfort his opponent.
"Come on! Anyone? Medic!"
He turns back to face Tarron, applying more pressure as blood continues to squirt through.
"C'mon, stay with me, old man."
With all his strength, he managed to grab the king's wrist, trying to cover his large wound. Bjorn turns to face him, trying to make sense of his airing noises as Tarron wheezes, trying to say something. The elf looks at him right in the eye, and his eyes are filled with…regret. However, before Tarron could say anything, despite Bjorn's desperate methods, his grip loosened, and his arm dropped to the floor, lifeless.
"No! No, no, no!"
"Tarron!"
"No, no!"
"NO!"
Then, again, something…weird happened. It felt as if…the world around her just stopped. The world inside her mind just stopped. The wind and atmosphere just…felt like it came to a standstill. Mitchel, her father, and herself are the only moving things. At that moment, even Bjorn, who was grieving, felt like something was wrong and stopped to look around. Mitchel walked and stood next to his sister, just looking at the open space, waiting for something. He offered his hand and helped Flare get back up.
Suddenly, from thin air, something is forming. The space in front of Bjorn looked like it was merging, intertwining. It was something that Flare could not comprehend, nor did Mitchel. The young Bjorn Edwen is just looking at the space as she is, and then…
A man popped out. A man with short, brown hair, wearing noble clothes, just came in out of nowhere through the shifting space and just walked towards Bjorn, chuckling.
"…O Whitefall, we stand on ground for thee...," the man, who is, sinisterly, chanting the Diving Faith hymn.
"For Whitefall…ever Whitefall, let our voices ring with pride…" he skips a few paragraphs, smiling at Bjorn.
"…For Whitefall…" he points his finger at Bjorn as he kneels on one leg, facing the grieving king.
The man chuckles as he looks at the king, laughing at his pitiful state.
"...Lincoln…?" Bjorn laments, still holding his friend by his arms.
"Lincoln? The Archbishop?" Flare mutters.
"Hah hah…Oh Bjorn…," Lincoln, who looked a bit different from the one Flare knew.
Lincoln stands back up with his arms wide open.
"Hey, only you could have gotten this close, my King," he states.
"What…what are you talking about?" Bjorn asks, puzzled and powerless, as he raises his head to look at the snickering Lincoln.
Lincoln points at the lifeless Tarron with his index finger.
"Only you could've gained his trust," Lincoln continues.
"No…"
"I was always only ever you," Lincoln then points his finger at Bjorn, stabbing the air three times.
"No…"
"What did you do to me?" Bjorn hisses, gritting his teeth.
Lincoln regained his normal posture and walked towards the window. Once the sun shines on his face, he turns around and faces Bjorn. The shadow covers his face as he looks at Bjorn, still snickering.
"Good work. You did it!" Lincoln mockingly congratulates him.
"You killed the biggest hole in my project."
"You've made your sacrifice," he adds.
"What did you do…?!" Bjorn groans, slowly standing up as he rests his lifeless comrade on the floor, tears of grief rolling down his cheeks.
"You have no privilege to ask on the matter, nor do any leverage to use," Lincoln smirks.
Immediately, Bjorn grabs his platinum sword and lunges towards the man. With an instant, he slashes straight on his body, only…
"…"
Bjorn passes through him and crashes on the floor.
"Come on. Do you think I would be here saying this?" Lincoln mockingly jokes.
Bjorn stands back up again, slashing the man. Still, all his slashes pass through him, not dealing any significant damage.
"…What trickery is this?" Bjorn asks begrudgingly.
"Oh, me being here? Of course, I am just a projection in your mind," Lincoln states.
"Planted it to make sure you be like this when the job is done," he adds.
"…"
"The…well…what happened. It's not magic."
"The human brain is a fascinating thing. Once you start poking around in there, it's surprising what you can get it to do under the right circumstances," Lincoln marvels.
"…"
"W-W-Why?"
"Why would you ever do this, Lincoln?" Bjorn asks, angry and confused.
"Huh…"
"The answer to your question is fascinating, but…"
"Unfortunately, I have been stalling, my King," Lincoln chuckles.
"What…?"
"Your best friend, Tarron, is dead-."
"-By your OWN hand."
"With all due respect, my King, you're weak now, but you're not alone yet," Lincoln states.
"There's still two more…"
"…"
"No. No, not them…"
"Ah…you're finally getting what I am saying," Lincoln claps his hands.
"Good, I was worried you turned soft, which is good either way…"
Once the king knew what was going to happen. He instantly activated his circuits and jumped out of the window. He channeled his magical energy to his legs, strengthening them. Once he landed, the ground shook lightly, and the shock wave blew some of the dirt away from the ground. However, he didn't stop there. He channeled more energy to his entire body, lightening his skin with his golden-colored circuits, and sprinted away from the keep.
Flare and Mitchel are just watching as they follow. A more precise description would be that the whole environment is just scrolling past them, letting them remain at their initial distance without moving a muscle. The trees, the grass, the rocks, and even the trench surrounding the keep just moved on its own. They are anchored to how King Edwen's perspective as the keep begins to fade out of sight.
The king sprints towards the ocean, bulldozing through the obstacles before him. He crashes through the trees, rocks, and even the wooden shack walls near the harbor and keeps running until…
"…"
The sounds of the waves breaking as they reach the beach and redounds upon the ocean, the sound of birds chirping as they flap their wings to the sky, and the sound of men working at the harbor subsided. The men who were working as usual were shocked as their legs were pinned to the floor and the ground. The few knights who journeyed along with their king were identical to Mitchel. He was not the one escorting Flare, who had followed his dad to this island and saw what the king tried to hide from his daughter.
"…"
Flare's body felt weak as it wobbled, looking for something solid to support herself. The same passionate, firm, and caring body was whittling away at the sight that greeted her. Everything around just blurs and blackens, with only her and the sight that greeted her that remains. Her heart felt like it was being torn apart and ravaged. As she turned her head to face the grieving king, the only expression that greeted her was disbelief. The king's face looked at the same sight she saw in disbelief and looked so…beaten.
"…"
The patch of the ground is saddened with liquid. Red, dark, thick liquid. All the men and knights are looking at the same spot where the king is looking. There, lying down on the ground, lifeless, is the body of an elven woman. Her once bright, golden hair is now soaked with blood as it pours out of her body, and not far from it is a bloodied knife. Drops of blood left a trail to the one that did the bidding, which was…
"…"
"…"
"…Flare?"
Then, slowly, as everything blackens and reverts, the memory ends there, with a child with bloodied hands apprehended by a knight who is her brother…
* * * * *
"…"
"…"
Mitchel remained silent as he saw tears rolling uncontrollably down his sister's cheeks as the world around them slowly turned dark. He gripped his hands and felt he should do something, but…nothing happened. He remained there, letting her cry it out. A puddle was created and continues to grow underneath her as she kneels on her two feet, desperately trying to make sense of it, to no avail.
"…I once lived inside the palace, prisoned inside that tower…"
"…My friend helped me out, and the two got me here…"
"…They gave me purpose, and you helped them find me…"
"…I found that purpose…"
"…And when I was proud with it…"
"…"
Flare slammed both her palms to her eyes, trying to stop the flow of her never-ending tears as she bawled in agony.
"That's not right…It's just…not right…," she bawls.
"…"
"She can't just die off like that…"
"Mom…," she gasps.
Then, after minutes of empty silence, she suddenly felt a pat on her shoulder. Without thinking about how pitiful she looks, she turns around and sees Boyd looking at her. The only thing Flare could comfort him was how gentle his pat was; it was as if he was comforting her. She quickly wipes off her tears and slowly stands back up. Boyd lends his hand, to which Flare grabs it. Once the man pulled her back up, Mitchel slowly approached Flare and checked her condition while Boyd gave the two rooms.
"…"
"I'm weak, aren't I?" Flare mumbles weakly.
"That's not true, and I know it," Mitchel consoles.
"We're not finished yet," Boyd, who never appeared in the memory, suddenly speaks up indifferently.
This, of course, sprang Flare and Mitchel back to normal, even briefly.
"Additional memory recovered…" Boyd announces.
Then, slowly, the darkness emanating in front of Flare lightens up. It did not light the whole place, but it was enough for Flare to notice a silhouette far from her. She mustered up her courage and approached it. When Mitchel tried to follow, Boyd stopped him and shook his head lightly, signaling that Flare should go through this alone. Mitchel nods and stops. Seeing his sister stopping with her feet pinned to the floor, he just smiled at her, reminding her that everything would be fine.
She regained her composure when she saw them standing there, wishing her the best. She nods and braves through the darkness towards the silhouette. Then, bit by bit, she could see the figure sitting there, wearing a suit of armor, with a tattered red cape attached to his back. The person is just sitting there, looking at the floor, motionless. There is a helmet right next to him, with a galea attached on top of it.
Only then did Flare walk and stop next to him. She just looked at him, frail, beaten, and old. She slowly sits on the floor, gently reaching out and touching the man's wrinkled hands. After everything she had seen and knew, only one word came out from her lips.
"…"
"…Dad," she called.