The Dying of the Light

The Temple lay dark and quiet. Fresh soot still hung in the air from the cataclysmic battle that had ended in its destruction. That the structure was intact at all was a miracle. A lone figure stood in the doorway, looking upon the site of the town’s final defeat.

“Creo lucem,” the mage spoke wearily into the darkness, conjuring light to witness the devastation for himself. This had been the Temple of Light, a bastion of hope against the darkness. It was supposed to be their final sanctuary. Now it lay in ruins, destroyed by the hand of Xuthal.

Alderin’s expression was one of deepest exhaustion. He had fought alongside the champions of King’s Crossing. He had done it for his home, for his friends, and for the ideals of the Light. Kneeling, Alderin grasped a handful of ash, allowing it to sift through his fingers. What did they have to show for their bravery and devotion?

The young mage rose and walked slowly into the room, absently looking about at the wreckage. Though usually sharp and decisive, his mind was in a daze. How could this have happened? Why hadn’t the avatars stepped in to protect them? Hundreds lay dead and the town in ruins. How could the virtues let this happen?

Alderin paused, looking down at the floor. With a poke of his staff, he brushed aside a bit of debris, revealing a badly-burned but intact copy of the Tome of Illumination. He picked it up, looking upon the cover in weary despair. That it hadn’t been destroyed was perhaps a miracle, but a miracle that tasted as bitter to Alderin as the ashes that still clung to its pages.

Without realizing what he was doing, Alderin wandered back outside, walking amongst the survivors of the attack. His mind grew blank and he shuffled in a slow daze, reeling from the hopelessness of it all. One thought cycled through his mind over and over again. They had been faithful. Why had the virtues done nothing to aid them in their direst hour? Had they done something wrong to deserve this?

Time seemed to have no meaning as questions roiled in Alderin’s soul. At the edge of his mind, he scarcely heard friends and comrads talking of the battle and the prospect of survivors. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. How could the future ever be bright, or life worthwhile, in a world where things like this were allowed to happen?

At last, Alderin felt a friendly hand on his shoulder. A melodic female voice cut through the fog. “Alderin, are you alright?” Slowly coming to his senses, Alderin blinked and turned to see Andrena, the healer of the Crimson Cross. A look of concern shown plain on her face. “What’s that you have there?” she asked, indicating the book in his hand.

Alderin did not answer, but instead looked down at the Tome of Illumination. Clear, grim understanding began to dawn on him at last, and an expression of deep loathing welled up at the sight of the book.

They hadn’t done anything wrong. They had been faithful and true to the teachings of the Light. In return, the Light had done nothing to save them. Why? Why hadn’t the avatars come to their aid? Did they refuse, or were they simply powerless? Even if that was the case, why had they not been warned?

King’s Crossing had been used and betrayed. Whether the virtues had been unwilling or unable to help was irrelevant; they had turned their backs on the town when it needed them the most. A bitter rage came to Alderin’s eyes then, replacing the dim haze of moments before. “Ferio flamine!” he incanted, casting the book to the ground and hurling magical flames upon it.

With that, Alderin stormed off toward Lohathlehan, ignoring the shocked expressions of his compatriots. No longer would he trust in the virtues to protect them. No longer would he be blinded by faith. Someone had to rise against the darkness, even if the light itself wouldn’t.