Aedhira suddenly got up from lying in the grass, internally shook at what Astiron had just said.
"I'm sorry, maybe my ears are malfunctioning--but I believe you said this is a tomb?"
Astiron smiled.
"No, your ears are perfectly fine, I designed them after all" he said with his chin up.
Astiron's smile turned melancholic, a far-off look creeping into his sapphire eyes as he slowly got up from where he had been lying. With a soft sigh, he dusted off the grass clinging to his robes. The once vibrant air around him seemed to dim slightly, as if the weight of time itself pressed down on the moment.
"This place... this is my friend's final resting place," he said quietly, his gaze shifting to the horizon where the distant hills met the endless sky. "The tomb I built for him."
Aedhira blinked, the unexpected weight of the words settling heavily in his chest. His mind spun, trying to reconcile the whimsical, almost careless air Astiron had carried up until now with this sudden gravity. A tomb? For a friend?
"How long ago did he die?" Aedhira asked, his voice subdued, respectful of the atmosphere.
Astiron's smile returned, this time smaller, sadder. "Eighty years ago."
Eighty years? Aedhira's head jerked back, a wave of disbelief rushing through him as he looked his 'father' over. There was no way. Astiron looked... young. Too young. If he was mourning a friend who had passed eight decades ago, then how was he standing here, still exuding a vitality and youth that didn't fit with the timeline?
Astiron's mouth curved into an amused grin, clearly enjoying Aedhira's shock. He folded his arms across his chest, tapping a finger lightly against his chin as if savoring the moment. "Ah, I can see that disbelief in your eyes. What, you think I should look older? Frail? Maybe bent over with a cane, eh?"
Aedhira hesitated, then awkwardly muttered, "Are you... an elf? Or some kind of... something like that?"
Astiron's laughter rang out, loud and genuine, catching Aedhira off guard. The thought seemed to tickle him to no end, as he wiped at an imaginary tear. "An elf! Oh, that's rich. No, no, I'm not an elf," he chuckled, shaking his head. "But it's not a completely ridiculous guess. I'll give you that."
Astiron leaned closer, eyes gleaming with the mischief of someone sharing a secret. "No, it's just that, after a certain point on someone's journey to power, age... well, it becomes more of a gimmick than anything else."
Aedhira frowned. "A gimmick?"
"Exactly. Age stops mattering, stops showing, once you pass certain thresholds," Astiron explained, the amusement still lingering in his tone. "Most people who look old only look that way because they never achieved enough power to alter it—or, and this is even stranger, they *choose* to look old."
Aedhira raised a brow. "They CHOOSE to look old?"
Astiron nodded, shrugging lightly. "Yeah, some folks are odd like that. Strange in the head, if you ask me. But others have their reasons. Sometimes it's a disguise, a way to hide their strength, or maybe they're holding on to memories of a time long past. There's a lot of reasons, though none of them really make sense to me."
He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "It's just a general rule of thumb amongst most rankers. If you meet someone who *looks* old, best avoid them. They're either powerful, crazy, or both."
Aedhira felt a chill trickle down his spine at that. Power so immense that age itself became meaningless... it made his mind race, but he couldn't help but feel a tug of curiosity. This man—Astiron, his supposed father—what kind of power had he obtained to stay untouched by the ravages of time?
Astiron broke through his thoughts with a sigh. "But, well, I'm digressing. I'm not really the exposition type, never was much good at explaining things." He waved a hand dismissively, as if brushing off the conversation like an unwanted cobweb.
Aedhira inwardly agreed. It was hard to follow this man's constant shifts in tone, the way he moved from lighthearted jokes to solemn reflection in a breath.
Astiron caught the subtle shift in Aedhira's expression and let out a mock gasp, pressing a hand to his chest as if wounded. "Oh, come on! At least try to deny me, Aedhira. You're breaking my heart here."
Aedhira blinked, startled by the sudden theatrical shift, and then couldn't stop a small smirk from creeping onto his face. He shook his head, rolling his eyes. "I... I'm not denying anything, but you're not exactly the easiest person to understand, you know?"
Astiron chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well, if I made things too easy, life would be dreadfully boring, wouldn't it?" He winked, then turned his gaze toward the horizon once more, his expression softening again. The weight of his earlier words lingered between them, a silent reminder that, despite the banter, this was a place of mourning.
The weight of his earlier words lingered between them, a silent reminder that, despite the banter, this was a place of mourning. Astiron's smile faded, though the melancholy never fully left his features.
"I built this simulation hall about twenty years after Nornesh's passing," Astiron said, his voice softer now, as though speaking the name stirred a bittersweet memory. He glanced around the expansive, rolling hills that surrounded them, taking in the scene with a faraway look. "It was the only place I knew where I could create a sim-hall of this size without upsetting some higher authority or organization. Seems no one appreciates massive buildings anymore."
Aedhira frowned at that, the curiosity surfacing. "Why not?"
Astiron gave him a wry smile, though his eyes didn't meet Aedhira's. "Eh, I've always had bad luck with big buildings. Every time I build something massive, something goes wrong. It's like the universe has a personal vendetta against my architectural ambitions."
Aedhira raised an eyebrow, but before he could ask the obvious question, Astiron glanced at him, reading the unsaid thought. "No, it's not a curse or anything. At least, not one I know of. Maybe I just don't mix well with large spaces."
There was a pause as the wind rustled the grass around them, the simulated sky casting an endless stretch of blue above. The question still hung in the air, but Astiron didn't seem inclined to answer it directly.
"Honestly, though," Astiron continued after a beat, "Nornesh probably wouldn't have minded. He was... bigger than life, in every sense of the word." He chuckled lightly, the fondness returning to his voice. "I built the sim-hall to reminisce about his life, the moments we shared. Unfortunately, the only reason the hall is so big is because... well, Nornesh wouldn't render properly in anything smaller."
Aedhira's brow furrowed at that. "Render?"
Astiron nodded. "Yeah, I know, sounds odd. But the guy was massive. Literally. A regular-sized simulation hall wouldn't be able to accommodate his scale. So, here we are, in a field big enough for an army."
Aedhira tried to imagine what kind of creature, or person, Nornesh must have been if even in memory, he couldn't be reduced to fit within the constraints of normalcy. It gave him an odd sense of awe, yet sadness as well.
Astiron's expression darkened again, though his tone remained light. "Most of our interactions, you know, were in the middle of some kind of conflict. Wars, clashes between rankers, even... fights between exes."
Aedhira's brow shot up at that last comment, his expression somewhere between surprise and disbelief. It was such an odd thing to casually throw in alongside wars and battles. "Fights between exes?" his face asked without words.
Astiron coughed awkwardly, waving a hand as if to dismiss it. "Ah, uh, well... not MY ex. And it's not really my story to tell. All I'll say is that... a city got wrecked in the process." He coughed again, avoiding Aedhira's raised brow. "Yeah, long story."
Aedhira blinked, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea of a personal dispute causing such destruction. Yet in a world where rankers held unimaginable power, maybe that wasn't so far-fetched after all.
Astiron, seemingly eager to move on, gave a small smile. "But, all that aside, this place—this hall—it's my way of keeping Nornesh's memory alive. A way to step into the past whenever I need to. It's not the same as having him around, but... it's something."
Aedhira found himself glancing around again, seeing the simulated landscape with new eyes. What had once seemed like a serene, peaceful field now felt like a stage set for something larger. Something... monumental. He wondered how many memories were woven into this space, how many stories lay buried beneath the grass and sky.
It was strange to think that a friendship of such magnitude had been forged in the middle of chaos. Even stranger to think that Astiron had been part of it, this enigmatic figure who seemed at once carefree and burdened by centuries of experience. Aedhira sat in silence for a moment, absorbing everything. Then, a question formed on his lips, one that had been hovering in his mind since Astiron first spoke of Nornesh.
"How does something like that... die?" Aedhira asked, his voice quiet, almost reverent. He couldn't even fathom the size of such a being, let alone imagine the death of one. The thought seemed too vast, too unreal.
Astiron's face darkened, a bitter expression overtaking the usual glint of mischief in his eyes. The playful air around him seemed to dissipate, replaced by the weight of memory.
"Like I said before," Astiron began, his voice laced with a subtle sorrow, "Nornesh was a dragon unlike his kin. He didn't just grow old and hoard treasures in a mountain somewhere. No, he actively sought strength. He sought conflict, trials that would push him beyond what any dragon should have endured." His gaze grew distant, lost in the countless battles and wars that had defined Nornesh's life. "And miraculously—*miraculously* for a dragon of all things—he survived every single one. He came out on top."
Aedhira remained silent, his mind trying to grasp the enormity of it all. The very idea of a dragon, a creature already at the pinnacle of natural power, chasing even more strength seemed... insane. But Nornesh had done it.
Astiron's voice softened as he continued. "The actual issue though, well, it's not mine to tell. But I can simplify it. Dragons take time to grow strong, Aedhira. Centuries, millennia even. It's the universe's way of balancing things, I suppose. You can't have something as powerful as a dragon *and* let them get too strong too quickly. Otherwise..." He let the thought hang in the air.
Aedhira frowned, still listening intently. "Otherwise?"
Astiron's lips curled into a grim smile. "Nornesh grew too strong, too quickly. His organic body couldn't handle it. It's a delicate thing, balancing power and body. At a certain point, he was told—by who, I won't say—that he had two options: stop seeking strength and rest for a few hundred years... or perish."
Aedhira blinked. "And he chose...?"
Astiron chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "He chose the third option. Nornesh did what only the truly mad would do. He grew even faster. He harnessed his creed—the storm—and became its herald."
Aedhira's brow furrowed, the term unfamiliar, but something in Astiron's tone told him that asking for clarification would lead him down another rabbit hole of complexity. Instead, he cut Astiron off before he could continue.
"I'm guessing that's something way above my paygrade," Aedhira said dryly, though his curiosity was clear in the undertone of his voice. "I'll wait."
Astiron's grin returned, though it was still tinged with sadness. "Smart boy. You'll get there someday. Anyway, after becoming a herald, Nornesh's climb became even more rapid. In less than a year, he ascended to become an Eminence of Storm. His power was unmatched, a force of nature in every sense of the word. But... well, even for him, luck runs out eventually."
Aedhira leaned forward slightly, feeling the gravity of the story pulling him in. "What happened?"
Astiron sighed, his eyes clouded by memories. "He picked a fight. Too fast, too far above his current league. And once again, miraculously, Nornesh came out on top. But this time... this time he was grievously injured. Life-threatening."
There was a pause, the air thick with the weight of the tale. Aedhira could almost hear the storm that had surely raged within Nornesh, even at the end.
"You see," Astiron continued, his voice now barely a whisper, "becoming an Eminence of a Creed requires more than just power. You have to perform a feat so extraordinary, so beyond what any being could achieve, that the universe itself acknowledges it and bestows the title upon you. And Nornesh... well, the opponent he picked that day accelerated the injuries to his physical body. He was dying. So, he made a choice."
Aedhira's heart raced, the anticipation palpable. "What choice?"
"He abandoned his physical body altogether," Astiron said, the awe still fresh in his voice even after all these years. "He created a body of pure Storm and fought on, a being of raw elemental fury. And he won."
Aedhira sat back, stunned. The idea of a being so powerful that they could forsake their physical form and become the very force they embodied was... beyond comprehension.
"And that," Astiron finished with a melancholic sigh, "was how Nornesh lived his final days. He burned too brightly, too quickly. And in the end, even the storm couldn't sustain him."
Aedhira was left speechless, his mind reeling from the immensity of the tale. It wasn't just a story of power—it was a story of defiance, of a being who refused to bow to the natural order, even if it meant his destruction.