Champagne, France.
August 6th, 1915.
Areth Vendencia.
The tea Areth had shared with Nightingale was not bad. He enjoyed the warm liquid in his mug as Nightingale had gotten straight to speaking with him.
Her first question was obviously questioning what he had done, well, more exactly what he had used to achieve the healing he had displayed for her.
He answered her question without hesitation, even going on to explain the Magi, the gods, and everything, not holding back. Of course, for someone so rooted in the science of healing others, all of this talk about magecraft, gods, true magic, and such took her a bit of time to process, however, the most surprising piece was the talk about the throne of heroes.
"So, I am to believe that the world... Gaia, and the collective unconsciousness of all humanity... Alaya, create copies of heroes throughout the ages, and stores them away in a realm outside of space and time that just so happens to be called the Throne of Heroes?" She asked, taking a sip of her tea.
"Kind of hard to explain. Even I don't know all the details. The one thing I do know is that traditionally, it would be a copy of the person, however, in our version of the world, it stores the souls of heroes." Areth would say. a calm smile on his face.
"I don't even want to think about parellel worlds..." She sighed, earning a chuckle from the god in front of her. "And, you're saying, that I, someone who cannot compare to beings like Gilgamesh, or King Arthur am a part of the throne?"
"Yeah, though, I suppose it's alternate versions of you currently, as you're still breathing," he confirmed.
"So, I'll be forced to fight in these holy grail wars?" She asked, earning a shrug. "Honestly, probably not. The only one I can imagine you participating in, would be to restore humanity in another timeline with a organization known as Chaldea."
"So, why are you telling me this?" She asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Well, you should have died five years ago, according to traditional history, however, my continued existence seems to have somehow shifted human history slightly."
The news a bit much for her, as she let out another heavy breath. 'I was supposed to die nine years ago? I know I'm old, but I feel relatively fine,' she thought, thinking about the past five years.
She didn't want to believe the man in front of him, yet the way he casually told her about all these different aspects of the world that had been hidden away from her, paired with the fact that he had casually displayed magic which washed away fatigue, and healed the soldiers out there, made her absolutely positive that he was telling the complete truth.
"God, I feel so ignorant right now," she sighed, unable to give over just how blind she truly was to the world around her.
"Had I met you earlier, perhaps in your twenties, to thirties, I would have taught you special magecraft I developed for healing, but... and I mean this with absolutely no disrespect, you're just too old now."
Yeah, even she knew she was too old. She couldn't do what she normally did as a nurse, and had to retreat back to her office, and work as an overseer for the year she had been out on the front.
It was frustrating beyond belief. She dedicated her entire life helping others, yet her aging body limited her from truly utilizing her expertise.
'Perhaps it would be better if I had simply died five years ago,' she thought, imagining being summoned by someone during the war in her prime, only to receive a flick to her forehead from Areth.
"Don't think that way. You're doing what you can right now, and so far, you've saved more people simply by being here than in the traditional human history," he told her, his gaze holding a certain warmth to them.
"Learn to respect your elders. I may be old, but I still have my Webley revolver, you know," she responded, her threat obviously just being a shallow front to move beyond the depressing thought she had.
"Elder? You? Madam, you do realize I have existed since before christ was even born, right?" He said, earning a genuine gasp from the usual stoic woman.
"Then... are you one of those magicians?" She asked, finding it to be the only suitable explanation to his statement. "Well, yes, but no. I am a magician who regularly bathes in the root, however, I'm a god."
"There's no way someone so young-looking, and inexperienced with people could be a god," she retorted with an amused grin.
"I think I fit my authority quite well," Areth replied with a grin of his own, making the old woman wonder. "What is your authority over?" She asked, only to see Areth stick his tongue out at her.
"Not telling you, kiddo." The response made Nightingale feel something she hadn't felt in a long time.
The urge to punch someone.
Unfortunately, Areth stood up from his seat. "I suppose I should go back to killing germans, as terrible as it sounds. Duty calls," he commented, patting the nurse's head, before exiting.
Strangely, the old nurse felt the desire to speak more with him, but the thought of him being out on the battlefield reassured her that there would be less casualties on their side as a result.
"I expect you to check in regularly now, Areth Vendencia," she said as she watched his figure leave through the tent's opening.