Legend of the Empyrean Blacksmith 490 Flights of Hearts

FLIGHTS OF HEARTS

Hannah oversaw the retreat of the regrouped army from a balcony of a brick-cast tower perched on top of a cliff overlooking the open valley that lay in front of her. In the distance, she could still see the smoke billowing out into the sky, the western wind carrying with it the scent of what once was. A somber expression rested on her face, her emerald-green eyes trailing along with the army's movement.

She sighed audibly, shaking her head. For the first time, perhaps, she could understand Lino -- why he always fell silent when returning from a battle he led where people died. Had she been cleverer today, she could have avoided many deaths. Perhaps, after the enemy's commander saw she read him, they might have withdrawn their forces, avoiding the escalation of the conflict completely. She didn't, however. It fell on top of her, invisible, the weight of the fallen.

With a last glance, she spun around and began descending the tower. The spiral stairwell was lit with embedded gemstones shining a faintly cool, cyan light. It has been a long time since she fought, many years since she'd last donned the mantle of the Elysian. Though she never admitted it to anyone, she missed it.

In a way, with the creation of Empyrion, she was relegated to being the Empress -- tasked with the dull and boring paperwork, with conferences held to make smooth transitions, with discerning which option was better. She didn't mind it much at first, but as the years passed, she had grown more and more hateful of the inaction. Even with constant sparring and training, the itch in her never seemed to be properly scratched.

The exit to the tower set her out into a fortified courtyard, tall walls laid out into a crescent curve, from one edge of the cliff to the other. It lacked the luster and polish she had grown accustomed to back home... yet she found herself eerily drawn to it. On the left side of the tower, a stretch of shacks arose where the guards slept and where the scouts transferred through. On the right side were a massive cauldron and an even greater firepit beneath it, tasked with making meals for everyone. The world beneath her was of dirt, dust, and mud, wild weed growing relentlessly by the edges of the walls, vines sprouting out through the cracks.

She, draped in the adorned, golden dress with crimson threads and intricate folds felt surreally out of place. She seemed like a fine sculpture plastered onto the farmer's field, a fancy distraction but nothing more. It made her feel empty, restless. Even in the eyes of the people around, she felt it; they avoided her gaze, looked around, lowered their heads, jittering when she would walk by. She, now, also understood why Lino avoided meeting people, why he dreaded walking among them; he didn't want to recognize this reality.

It was childish to believe things wouldn't change, she knew. More than people, the two of them were symbols -- something larger than life, something ordinary people like those stoking the flames of the firepit didn't wish to understand. Or, rather, didn't feel worthy of understanding. She walked over, slowly, not caring that the tips of her dress trekked across the mud and throwaway branches, splintering. The closer she approached the massive cauldron, the more she could feel its heat, the more pervasive the scent of the cooked soup became. And the stiffer the people became.

By the time she stood right near it, she couldn't hear any other sound beyond the boiling water and the crackling of the fire. People seemed to have stiffened their breaths, froze their bodies in place, afraid they might set her off. Reminiscing, she realized it was partially her fault; since Lino never embodied the throne, largely ignoring his position, she had to take the reins of the crown. Become the judge of everything -- especially early on. That image must have stuck and spread. She hardly regretted it, or blamed Lino for it, but wished nonetheless she could go back in time and make some changes. Perhaps be less curt, less direct, more welcoming. Alas, the time for regrets was not today.

"At ease," she mumbled lowly, though it hardly helped. "What are you cooking?" she turned toward the four women who were using steel ladders to reach the top of the cauldron, throwing ingredients into it.

"I-it's... it's potato soup, Your Majesty." one of the women replied in a low tone, barely audible, nearly falling off the ladder.

"Do you mind pouring me a bowl?" Hannah asked.

"ah, Y-your Majesty... Y-your meal... is already prepared..."

"..." Hannah stayed the gaze for a moment, her heart wringing inside her chest. "Very well." she said, swallowing the bitter complaint. "Good work. Keep at it."

"Y-yes, Your Majesty." the people about bowed, not raising their heads until she was out of their view.

She retreated to her room, built into the tower itself. Unlike those shacks, floorless, beds made out of simple wood and straw, lacking any decoration, hers was not much different than the one in the palace -- wide and squared, spacious enough to engage in a proper duel, adorned with works of art hanging on the smoothed, painted walls, beautiful, hand-sewn rugs decorating the tiled floor beneath... the life billions would kill for... seemed all-too-dull to her now.

She walked over to the balcony, a somewhat narrow extraction, fortified with hundreds of arrays. Sitting down, she took out a bottle of ale, not the expensive kind she was gifted on daily basis, but the old sort, the one that Lino and she used to drink when it was just the two of them. A part of her really did wish to return to those days, to when the two of them traveled through the Titan Realms, irreverent to the rest of the world. She knew it was impossible, however. The two had mantled the responsibility consciously. Nobody threw it at them, forced them into it.

The ale tasted bitter, causing her stomach to rumble in protest. She didn't care, a faint smile escaping her lips. Thanks to the arrays surrounding the balcony, she was doused in stilled silence. Just the sounds of her gulping and the rumbles of her stomach broke out. Eerie. Peaceful. Rewarding.

Glancing sideways, she managed to spot the sun breaking out, golden rays showering the world down below. It was yet to recover its luster completely, though it wouldn't be too long. She found it rather strange how, with all the stories she'd read, it would always rain insistently after a battle, as though the heavens were crying. Yet, there was the sun, shining ever so bright, not a droplet of rain to be found falling.

She started all of a sudden, feeling the talisman brimming in her void world. Taking it out quickly, her expression mellowed as she burned it. Rather than a screen forming from the ashened and smoldering pieces, space next to her tore open as a figure wearing ordinary clothing, one that would make him seem the part of the fortification, walked through. Amazingly, he hadn't changed much, Hannah realized. Not in the way he thought, not in the way he behaved, not in the way he spoke. He hadn't allowed the world to change him, for better or worse.

"My, my," he said, grinning, as he sat down opposite of her. "You look sour. Almost as much as that old ale you're drinking."

"Fancy a cup?" she asked, smiling back.

"Always." she poured him one, taking a sip herself.

"It's not sour. It's bitter."

"Doesn't change my comparison," he chuckled, causing her to shake her head. "But, I was prepared. Warned since I was a wee-young boy. Listen lad, bearded gruffs used to say, women, they are opposite of wine; the older they are, the more bitter and undrinkable they get!"

"I see you've hung out with the good crowd before I fixed your ways." she added.

"Aye, I always had keen eyes for fine fellas," he said, glancing out, over the balcony's wall, onto the open plain. "You look a whole lot like that idiot in a mirror of mine whenever I come back from a battle." he added in a somber tone. "Only, you know, about infinity times more beautiful."

"... we lost a lot of people today," she said, sighing. "Because I can't lead."

"We would have lost far more if you hadn't, Hannah," Lino said. "Don't be a downer."

"Are you really in a position to tell me that?" she cracked a faint smile, looking back at him.

"Ah, but of course!" he exclaimed, taking a sip of ale. "You see, the brooding look goes well with us lads. On you, ladies, it just makes you look like you hadn't taken a proper shit in months."

"... ah, woeful me. How dare I feel the same things you feel?"

"Oh, fell them alright. Just feel them inside. That's the key aspect of brooding," Lino said in a serious tone, causing Hannah to barely stifle her laughter. "You can't show too much of it, makes you look like you're begging people to ask you questions. No, no, m' lady. Can't have that."

"Silly me," Hannah said. "How could I have forgotten there's a proper way to brood? Ah, I should be exiled."

"... hey," he said, reaching out over the table, caressing her cheek gently, his lips curled up into a gentle, encouraging smile. "You're doing more than any that might blame you for today."

"... when was it that we switched the roles?"

"Oh, we hardly had, woman," Lino chuckled. "Just wait till you hear of my angsty tale. You'll be back on your moral high in no time."

"... I miss it, Lino." she said, pulling back, surprising him. "The fighting. Traveling. The uncertainty of tomorrow."

"..."

"I'm tired of lounging around in thick, complicated dresses, talking all day long, surrounded by glow and shine of worthless possessions. I bitterly recall telling you specifically I was not that sort of a woman. Yet, here I am." she didn't look at him for a moment, worried what expression she might find.

"... I know," he said lowly. "Every night, I could see a part of you grow limper. Like someone's been stealing parts of your soul slowly. I guess... I just didn't want to admit it to myself. I'd much rather have you brooding and angst-ridden but safe, than jovial and inspired but surrounded in infernal fires. Aah, that little lass and you are remarkably alike." he chuckled at the end, shaking his head as Hannah turned hers to face him. The way light folded over his scarred left eye stunned her for a moment, his expression seemingly perfectly encased in light. "I only ever felt confident leaving the throne because I knew you had it covered. And, each time I'd come back, I'd be plunged into shame. How could I possibly reign when I'd just fuck up and have you fix it? You cast a remarkable shadow, Hannah," he added, glancing at her, his eye a storm of emotion. "Sometimes, I feel, that even without me, without Ataxia, without the Empyrean... you would have changed the world all by yourself."
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"..." she remained silent for a moment, getting up and walking over, pulling her head over his, her crimson hair draping on her sides, shading him from the sun. Their eyes met in the tranquility of the dark, in the solace of the silence, the grip of the warmth. "Sometimes," she mumbled, lowering her head, closing her eyes. She could feel his lips on her forehead. "It gets scary. How many tremors you cause in my heart. I'm not a young girl anymore, Lino. My old, fragile heart can't take much of it."

"... we're close, butterfly," he mumbled, running his lips against her forehead gently. "So close. And I know, in my heart, it would hardly feel a victory if, in the end, I stood there alone. You've wings," he added. "And it breaks my heart not to see you fly."

They remained draped in shadows for some time, time which ceased to matter. In silence and solace, there was nothing and no one else. Just the two of them, like statues in the snow, ineffable.

Chapter end