Seated beside her bed, Aren gazed tenderly upon his eight-cycle-old daughter, seemingly lost in peaceful slumber. The room was bathed in dim light, the soft hum of magical devices filling the air with their ethereal glow, displaying intricate data on crystalline screens scattered about. When it came to medicinal sorcery, the Akasa Care Center rivaled the finest hospitals in Saburia.
With a gentle yet melancholic smile, Aren reached out to delicately brush a stray strand of hair from his daughter's face. He then summoned forth an old notebook, its pages weathered with time, and began to leaf through its contents. "I reckon you'd fancy hearing your favorite tale, sweetheart. The one about how I came to meet your sister."
Every event of his life was meticulously chronicled within those pages, a testament to his fear of forgetting. The sound of paper rustling filled the room as he flipped through his manuscript, passing by tales from his days as High-Priest to the tender words of his departed wife.
"Ah, here it is…thirteen cycles ago," he murmured wistfully. "The day I crossed paths with Aqasha."
Aren's voice was a gentle murmur as if he were imparting a cherished secret meant only for her ears. "Amidst my sorrow," he began, "fate cast me into a moment that altered the course of everything. Deep within the forest, I stumbled upon a young alicorn, Aqasha, wounded and trembling. With no children of my own at the time, I felt the hoof of destiny beckoning me to become her Protector, her healer."
His gaze shifted to the still figure nestled upon the bed, his heart weighed down by a swell of emotion. "Weeks passed as I tended to her," he continued, "and gradually, her wary eyes softened, seeing in me, I believe, a fatherly presence, a guardian."
Pausing to recall the night that solidified their bond, he spoke softly. "I had intended to set her free once she had healed," he confessed. "But then one night, as she battled a particularly harrowing nightmare, her small wing reached out, touching me as she uttered a heart-melting 'Dad' in her half-conscious state. In that moment, I knew I could never leave her side."
In the telling of Aqasha's evolution into a formidable Flame Priestess, Aren's voice swelled with paternal pride. "She grew into everything I never knew I yearned for," he murmured, his words a hushed admission amidst the tapestry of his memories. "A beacon in the shadow of my grief. Yet, I must confess…she developed a boldness, an assertiveness that oft proved challenging."
Silence enveloped him, a shroud of remembrance veiling those days when his life's intricacies wove themselves into complex patterns. Once more, he bared his soul to the prospect of love, encountering a mesmerizing alicorn amidst the bustling marketplace. A spark ignited, birthing a romance that briefly illuminated the darkness of his existence. But this new chapter bore its own trials. Aqasha, ever watchful from afar, cloaked herself in indifference, concealing layers of trauma and anguish beneath her stoic veneer.
To Aren, Aqasha was more than a ward; she was his lifeline in a tempest of sorrow. Her presence breathed purpose into his days, steering him away from the abyss of despair. With a soft chuckle, he roused himself from reverie. "Apologies, Lilas…your old dad's wearied," he confessed. "Anyway, a few cycles later, the union with my newfound love blessed us with a child. You, darling."
He paused, casting a tender gaze upon his daughter's serene form, her breaths slow and steady in the embrace of sleep. Uncertain if she heard, yet lacking the fortitude to voice the next chapter of their tale. Though Lilas's arrival heralded joy, it was tinged with the bitter taste of sorrow as her fragile health cast a shadow over their happiness. And then, as if fate relished its cruel jest, his wife vanished without a trace, leaving Aren to navigate the treacherous waters of single fatherhood.
"Aqasha often tended to you whilst I discharged my duties as High-Priest," he continued, his voice a whisper. "Despite her moods, she harbored an affection for you as deep as your own."
Aren sealed his notebook with a flick of magic, stowing it within a worn bag slung over his shoulder. "Time for me to depart, my dear," he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. "I'll return with a fresh tale on my next visit. Aqasha's role in the upcoming Festival of Sorority demands my presence, and I must ensure she doesn't stir up trouble when she meets the queen," he confessed, a nervous chuckle betraying his apprehension.
Drawing near his slumbering daughter, Aren pressed a gentle kiss upon her forehead, his gaze filled with a poignant longing. "May you awaken soon, my sweet child," he whispered, a wistful smile playing upon his lips.
With quiet hoofsteps, Aren left the chamber and made his way through the hallowed halls of the care center. En route to his departure, he encountered a nurse engrossed in her duties, poring over documents. Her eyes lifted in recognition, offering a respectful bow.
"High-Priest, a pleasure to see you," she greeted warmly. "I assume you just read some stories to Lilas?"
"Indeed," Aren replied wearily, though a smile graced his fatigued features. "Any news on her condition, by chance?"
The nurse couldn't help but notice the weight that burdened Aren, a heaviness not easily shrugged off. It clung to him like a shadow, aging him beyond his thirty-seven cycles. With a sympathetic smile, she delivered the familiar refrain.
"I'm afraid not, High-Priest," she murmured softly. "Her coma persists, though her condition remains stable for the time being."
"I understand," he replied, his smile masking the sorrow etched in his eyes. "Thank you for your diligence. I am forever indebted to you for caring for my daughter."
The nurse's response was swift and earnest. "No, High-Priest, it is our duty as healers. And we are grateful for all you do for Ardenia and our queen."
Aren offered a light chuckle, extending a wing in farewell, expressing his gratitude once more before making his way toward the exit of the building.
Leaving the care center behind, Aren found himself amidst the bustling streets of the capital. His journey led him to a humble food stall, its warm welcome painting a rare smile on his wearied visage. "Welcome, High-Priest. What would you like to eat, oh revered one?" the vendor greeted, reverence and warmth lacing their words.
"Hello, blessed are you. May Ardenu shine her face upon you. I'll have the chef's suggestion, please," Aren replied, his voice a mere whisper against the cacophony of the city. As he settled down to eat, his troubled spirit was not lost on the stall owners. In their own way, they sought to distract him, to offer solace to a soul who had traversed the depths of alicorn suffering.
The air around them thrummed with the energy of impending celebrations. The Festival of Sorority, a time-honored event marking the alliance of Ardenia and Luxia, happening between the night of the last day of the third month of flames and the morning of the first day of the first month of light, was fast approaching. The streets were alive with preparations, the air electric with excitement. This cycle, the honor of hosting fell to Ardenia, and the capital, Akasa, was a whirlwind of activity and anticipation.
As Aren dined, conversations swirled around him. "High-Priest, will Aqasha grace the festival with her presence?" inquired an eager voice. Aren, his mind a maze of fogged memories, could not recall his last conversation on the matter. "Considering her role, I sure hope so," he offered, a flicker of uncertainty in his tone. "You never know with those kids."
"I thought Aqasha was twenty-three cycles old?"
"To me, she remains forever a child. My child," he added with a nervous chuckle, a father's eternal perspective.
The compassion in the eyes of those around him was palpable, their smiles tinged with pity. Here was the High-Priest, an alicorn of immense spiritual stature yet besieged by personal turmoil.
Having finished his meal, Aren paid and departed with a respectful nod. Unbeknownst to him, Aqasha, adept at masking her excitement, was fervently looking forward to the festival. She was to star in the ceremonial play as Ardenu, a role of great significance, the tale woven around the mythical peace forged between Ardenia and Luxia.
As Aren left the food stall, his path led him to the Sacred Castle of Akasa, the heart of his spiritual duties. His thoughts, a tumultuous sea of concern and prayer, were for his daughter, still lost in the depths of her coma. As he approached the castle, lost in his thoughts, an unexpected encounter awaited him, a familiar face that promised to alter the course of his day.
In the shadow of the Sacred Castle of Akasa stood Ayzat, the Second Paladin of Equestera. Despite his lack of wings—a peculiarity that set him apart in a realm where such appendages were as common as the stones that paved the streets—Ayzat commanded respect and admiration throughout the seven kingdoms. His twenty-five cycles of life, brief as they might seem, were densely packed with deeds and valor that rivaled the sagas of the oldest Protectors. His rapid ascent through the ranks was the stuff of legend, a testament to his unmatched skill and indomitable spirit.
On this particular eve, as twilight cast long shadows and the air was filled with the scent of impending rain, Ayzat conversed earnestly with a younger Luxian alicorn outside the imposing gates of the castle. The alicorn, a delicate creature with eyes like moonlit pools and wings that shimmered with an ethereal glow, had been chosen to portray Luxoah in the impending Festival of Sorority. Seeking guidance from Ayzat, she hovered near him, her wings fluttering with barely concealed excitement as she absorbed his counsel. Ayzat, in turn, reassured her with a gentle, affirming tone, instilling in her the confidence befitting Luxoah herself.
As Ayzat imparted his knowledge, the Luxian alicorn hung onto his every word, her gaze filled with unmistakable admiration and awe. His words, flowing like a stream of honey, captivated her entirely, and her smiles were unbidden, spontaneous. To her, Ayzat was more than a Protector; he was a paragon, an ideal made flesh.
Their exchange, however, was abruptly curtailed by the arrival of Aren, Ayzat's longtime comrade. The alicorn's demeanor shifted palpably, her previous ease giving way to visible discomfort. Feeling the sanctity of her time with Ayzat encroached upon, she hastily excused herself, feigning illness and accepting Ayzat's offer to rest at his quarters.
Aren, with eyes that bore the weight of unspoken tales, greeted Ayzat warmly, "Hello, old friend. Good to see you." Ayzat, sensing the layers of unvoiced struggles in Aren's greeting, responded in kind, "Good to see you too, Aren. How are the girls?"
Aren's reply came on a heavy sigh, laden with worry. "Are you heading toward the Castle?" he asked, a veiled urgency in his tone.
"Yes, my friend. Let's walk together," Ayzat replied, his voice a blend of comradery and solemnity.
They proceeded briskly, Aren's steps betraying his need for haste. "I must be there quickly, so we have to walk fast. Aqasha has to see the Queen of Flames," he explained, his words laced with an underlying anxiety.
Ayzat, matching Aren's pace, inquired, "Is that why you're so burdened?"
Another heavy sigh escaped Aren as if each breath bore the weight of his troubles. "Aqasha is really worrying me, Ayzat. Her behavior seems to only get worse and more unpredictable, and now she has to see the queen. I don't want her in that meeting without me," he confessed, his voice a mix of fatherly concern and fear.
The wind picked up, swirling around them, making Ayzat's cloak dance like wild flames behind him, adding a dramatic, almost otherworldly aura to his figure. He responded to Aren's concerns with the wisdom that seemed beyond his cycles, "You need to let her exhaust whatever it is she's feeling at the moment. It's a bit of overcompensation because she's had a particularly tough childhood."
Aren, his face a canvas of mixed emotions, admitted, "I tried to make her life easier, but she just never seemed to warm up to me."
"But it's more complicated than that," he continued, his voice carrying a tone of understanding and empathy. "I know she had it rough before I found her that day, but I assumed she would be better relating with me now."
"It's a combination of her personality and her experiences. I think you should only be worried if she made a complete change within a short time," Ayzat advised, his insight cutting through the complexities of alicorn nature and its traumas.
"And then, her sister's been in a coma for a while, too. It's too much for me to handle," Aren confided, the strain evident in his voice.
Ayzat stopped Aren briefly, meeting his gaze with a steadiness that belied his youth. "You need to give her time and space, my friend."
As they resumed their walk toward the castle, Aren, moved by the depth of Ayzat's understanding, muttered a prayer of gratitude for such a friend. In Ayzat's words, there lay a wisdom that seemed incongruent with his age, a testament to the extraordinary nature of the young Paladin who stood leagues above others of his time.