Time heals all wounds. Unless it's a paper cut. Those things never fully heal.
The Hueless Reign Begins
The evening air was cool and heavy with the scent of damp earth as I walked through the graveyard. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky awash in deep purples and blues. Shadows stretched long across the ground, and the soft rustling of leaves whispered through the trees, filling the silence with their gentle murmur.
I hadn't been here in too long.
As I approached Jo's grave, the familiar pang of loss tightened around my chest. The simple headstone stood quietly among the others, unassuming yet sacred in its own way. My steps slowed as I neared it, the weight of time and memory pressing down on me.
I knelt beside the grave, resting my hand on the cool stone.
The silence that followed was heavy, filled with all the things I wished I could say, all the things I could never take back. I closed my eyes, feeling the cold seep into my bones as the memories flooded back—her laughter, her kindness, the way she always seemed to understand even when no words were spoken.
"I've been avoiding this," I admitted softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
The wind picked up slightly, as if in response, carrying with it the faintest hint of a floral scent—familiar, like the perfume Jo used to wear. I inhaled deeply, letting the scent wrap around me like a comforting embrace. For a moment, it felt as though she was there with me, listening, waiting.
I looked up at the sky, now dark and dotted with the first stars of the night. "I'm going to see Gironde," I said, as if speaking to the stars themselves. "To ask him about you. I don't know what I'll find, but I have to know. I have to understand."
The words hung in the air, heavy and final, yet there was a sense of peace that came with them. A part of me had been holding onto the past, to the hope that somehow, I could bring her back. But deep down, I knew that wasn't what she would have wanted.
"I wanted to tell you," I continued, my fingers tracing the carved letters of her name on the headstone. "I'm officially king now, Jo. The Hueless King. My reign has begun."
I stood slowly, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me. The graveyard was still, the world quiet around me as if in reverence of this final farewell.
A tear slid down my cheek, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand. "I miss you, Jo," I whispered. "More than I can ever put into words. But I have to let go, don't I? I have to find a way to move forward, even if it means… even if it means saying goodbye."
Taking a deep breath, I placed a small bouquet of flowers at the base of the headstone. They were simple, just like Jo had liked—daisies and wildflowers, unassuming yet beautiful in their own way.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of my decision settle on my shoulders. This was something I needed to confront by myself. With a final, resolute step, I reached the crypt.
The scent of ancient parchment and smoldering incense filled the air as I entered Gironde Mehisto's crypt. The necromancer's lair was a labyrinth of forgotten knowledge, its shelves lined with dusty tomes and arcane relics that hummed with the weight of ages.
I knocked, the sound reverberating through the stillness of the night. After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing Gironde Mehisto. His presence was as commanding as ever, his eyes glinting with a knowing light.
"Shay," Gironde greeted, his voice resonating with a mixture of curiosity and solemnity. "It's been some time. What brings you here tonight?"
"May I come in?" I asked, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing inside me.
Gironde's gaze softened, a flicker of understanding passing through his eyes. He stepped aside, allowing me to enter. "Very well. But remember, the answers you seek will not be simple."
"I feel ready now." I followed him down to his living room. As I crossed the threshold, the air seemed to shift, wrapping around me like a cloak. The very fabric of reality seemed to ebb and flow, creating a sense of unease.
Gironde gestured to a pair of armchairs set before a crackling fireplace. "Please, have a seat."
I settled into one of the chairs. Gironde took his place in the opposite chair, his expression a mask of thoughtful contemplation.
"I came here to talk about Jo," I declared.
Gironde leaned forward, his eyes reflecting the flickering light of the fire. "I remember our previous discussion about her," he said softly. "You wished for her to be brought back, but as you learned, necromancers do not resurrect the dead. We are the custodians of fate, not its alterers."
I nodded, feeling the weight of those words once again. "I understand that now. Her death was a crucial part of what is unfolding, but I need more clarity. I need to know why it was necessary for me to become the Hueless King."
Gironde's gaze softened, a flicker of empathy showing through his usually stern demeanor. "Fate is a complex tapestry, and sometimes its threads weave through the most unexpected paths. Her death was not in vain; it was a catalyst for the changes that are taking place. Her role in your life and in the world was profound, and her departure allowed the rise of the Hueless King, a necessary force to maintain balance."
I leaned back in my chair, absorbing his words. The fire crackled softly, filling the silence between us. "I need to understand her place now. Was she reincarnated? Is there a way to know where her soul went?"
Gironde nodded slowly. He conjured a shimmering orb out of thin air. Its surface flickered with a mesmerizing play of colors, casting delicate reflections across the room.
I took a deep breath, my eyes locked on the orb as it began to swirl with a soft, greenish glow.
"Such knowledge comes at a cost. To see her, you must be willing to pay a price. What are you willing to sacrifice for this revelation?"
I paused, the weight of his words sinking in. What was I willing to give up?
"My most cherished memory of Jo," I said slowly, my voice trembling. "The one where she was… truly happy. I want to give that up to see her now."
Gironde nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes. "A memory is a powerful thing. It is a part of who you are. To part with it is to relinquish a piece of yourself."
"I will need you to focus on the memory you are willing to sacrifice," Gironde instructed. "The orb will then reveal the current state of her essence."
I took a deep breath, my heart aching with the thought of letting go of that precious memory. I closed my eyes and began to visualize the moment—a day filled with laughter and joy, Jo's eyes sparkling with happiness. I allowed myself to sink into the memory, savoring every detail, knowing that this would be the last time I experienced it with such clarity.
Gironde took the orb and held it up, its light growing more intense. He spoke an incantation, his voice weaving through the air with an ancient cadence. The orb responded, casting a shimmering light that danced across the room.
As the light swirled and coalesced, a vision began to emerge. I saw a small child, no older than a year and a half, with vivid green eyes that mirrored Jo's. The child's face and hair were different, but those eyes were unmistakable. She looked directly at the orb, and it felt as though she was looking directly at me.
A wave of emotions washed over me. It was Jo, or at least a part of her, reborn. The sight was both heart-wrenching and comforting.
Gironde's voice broke the silence. "This child carries a fragment of her spirit. Her essence has been reborn, and her soul's journey continues."
I took in the sight of the child, my heart aching but also finding solace. Tears began to fall silently down my face. I could no longer hold back the grief that had been building inside me.
"Gironde," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Will she have a happy life? What is her family like? Is she loved as she deserves to be?"
My voice cracked as I spoke, each word heavy with the ache of my heart. I felt raw and vulnerable, the tears flowing freely as I asked these questions that had been tormenting me.
Gironde watched me with a mixture of sympathy and solemnity. He remained silent for a moment, letting the gravity of my words sink in. Then, he spoke softly.
"Her family is one that loves and cherishes her, and she will grow surrounded by warmth and care. She will be nurtured and loved."
I nodded, the tears continuing to stream down my face. The knowledge that Jo's essence had found a new life, that she was loved and cared for, brought a measure of comfort.
Yet, despite the comfort of seeing Jo's essence in this new life, something about Gironde's words gnawed at the back of my mind.
I wiped my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. "Gironde," I said softly, my voice hoarse from crying. "You spoke of the child being surrounded by warmth and care, but... you didn't say she would have a happy life. Is there something you're not telling me?"
Gironde's gaze was inscrutable, his expression a mixture of empathy and something else I couldn't quite place. He was silent for a moment, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. His eyes met mine, and there was a flicker of something ancient and profound in their depths.
"The life of the child," he began slowly, "is woven with both light and shadow. She will be loved and cared for, but whether she will find happiness... that is not something I can predict or guarantee."
I felt a chill run through me at his words. The sense of comfort I had been trying to hold onto wavered. "You mean to say that her life might still be marked by sorrow or struggle?"
Gironde nodded, his demeanor somber. I took a shaky breath, my heart heavy with the realization.
"Why? Why couldn't Jo have the happy life I hoped for her? She deserves it. Why did her essence have to be born into a life that might be filled with struggles?"
Gironde sighed deeply before answering, his voice carrying the weight of ancient knowledge. "It was she who chose this path."
I felt a pang of confusion. "She chose this?"
Gironde considered his response. "It was her strongest wish upon her death to see. To see you."
My emotions were a storm of devastation and confusion. The necromancer's words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their meaning. Her wish was to see me? But why? Why would that mean she had to endure a life of hardship? The thought that Jo's desire to see me had led to a life filled with struggle was almost too much to bear.
Gironde's voice was gentle, yet unyielding. "Her strongest wish was to see you as you truly are."
I stared at the orb, where the young child's green eyes seemed to pierce through the veil of time and space, directly meeting mine.
"She has to face challenges to fulfill her wish," he continued. "Her choice to see and understand requires her to traverse a difficult path. It has intertwined your fates again, shaping both your journeys in ways that are not always easy to understand."
Gironde's voice held a note of finality. "Her sacrifice was instrumental in the dawn of the Hueless reign, it is only fitting that she bears witness to the unfolding of this new era. Her future will be marked by challenges, but also by growth," he said.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words settle over me. As I gazed into the orb, I saw the child's eyes glimmer with a flicker of hope. Despite her young age, those eyes held a remarkable clarity and a quiet strength. They seemed to convey an unspoken promise of resilience and potential.
A sense of peace began to envelop me. I realized that the child's journey was not merely a continuation of Jo's life but a new chapter that honored Jo's spirit and wishes. This future, though fraught with trials, also held the promise of growth and transformation.
I took one last, lingering look at the child's eyes.
"Thank you, Jo," I said gently, my voice filled with a quiet, poignant reverence. "Your sacrifice was not in vain. May this new life be everything you wished for, and may you find everything you sought."
The soft glow of the orb faded, leaving the room dimly lit. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, feeling the weight of my words settle into the stillness. I stood up.
Gironde stood silently beside me, his presence a steadying force in the overwhelming quiet. I could feel the residual energy of the spell lingering in the air, a reminder of the connection we had just witnessed.
I closed my eyes, letting the echoes of the moment wash over me. "It's time to let go, isn't it?" I murmured, more to myself than to Gironde. "Time to accept that she's gone and to stop holding on to what was."
Gironde's voice was low, carrying a weight of understanding. "Letting go is not about forgetting, Shay. It's about honoring her memory by moving forward."
I nodded, the truth of his words sinking in.
I turned to Gironde, gratitude and sorrow mingling in my chest. "Thank you for showing me," I said quietly. "For helping me see that she's at peace."
Gironde gave a solemn nod, his eyes reflecting the depths of his ancient wisdom.
I looked back at the now-quiet orb, the image of the child's eyes still etched in my mind. There was a light in those eyes, a glimmer of hope and promise that I clung to.
I stepped out of Gironde's crypt, back into the world that awaited me.
I'll carry her memory with me but I'll also carry the knowledge that she's somewhere out there, living the life she chose. And that's enough.