The Second Age

In that world, there was a legend passed down throughout generations. A tale of everlasting darkness, and of the heroes said to deliver the faithful from hellish ends. Adapted and corrupted, it couldn't be said with any accuracy what version of that fable was the original. More than likely, there no longer existed such a thing. Only, the central crux of its meaning had persisted, for it was a legend with a singular purpose--to grant hope in times of great peril, when it couldn't be said for certain whether humanity would live to see the next dawn.

When darkness threatens the world, a 'Hero' will always emerge.

When darkness threatens the world, a 'Hero' will always emerge.

When darkness threatens the world, a 'Hero' will always emerge.

In the thunderous skies surrounding that pale wasteland of sleet, the ruins of a great, black-iron castle stood strong amidst the snowstorms. That land, the forbidden 'Hena', was too inhospitable to sustain life of any kind, and yet the castle was no illusion or trick of the light. Indeed, it was prouder than most, but its lowly King had long since departed from the spacious, lonely throne room. So like the husk of some gigantic insect, it remained there, pelted by the unforgiving weather. In truth, it was a place of great importance--not historically, or culturally, but on a base, cosmic level. There would be no world without that castle, and no castle without that world.

The Heavens were shifting. A plan grander and more ancient than any other was set in motion, unbeknownst to even the most wizened of scholars.

Lights, 4-coloured and sky bound, flew from the castle towers. Within the deepest chambers of its subterranean labyrinth, jagged crystals spun with a feverish sound. Red, blue, green and yellow--beyond the raging snowstorm and the budding cloud-cover, those beams travelled far into the reaches of the cosmos. Like that, the beacons of chaos had been relit, and a new age; the Age of Demons, had begun.

In a legendary city of silver, one sharp-eared woman followed the gazes of her people towards that announcement of evil. For those who were so long-lived, and who had delved into the forbidden tombs of ages long past, it was unmistakably a woeful turning point for the world. Though, that girl, who was younger than most, only blinked with an interested look on her face as the 4 colours leapt high into the stars, beyond even the grand spire of her homeland.

At the centre of the world, where an age of unprecedented growth had begun, tradesmen and labourers paused their busywork to gaze upon the faraway show of magic, and within the lofty chambers of its parliament, a certain mage felt her heart leap as a sight out of antiquity played before her very eyes. The sinking grip of despair--not her own, which had been played out in the far past, but that of her countrymen and comrades, had already started.

In the mountainous region of Anjima, the careful peace of a hillside city was broken by the appearance of those lights which emerged from beyond the snow capped peaks. With awe and admiration, its citizens pointed towards the beacons with glee, and a straight-faced stall owner, content with nothing else but his meagre livelihood, couldn't help but loose a tired sigh as his gaze was drawn towards that familiar sight.

And, across the dust-filled plains of the Henklomeon Steppe, a single horseman rode, and he, like all those others who had stopped in their tracks to witness the moment, watched with a glint of anticipation in his eye as the 4 colours rising above the northern horizon marked the beginning of a time troubled with darkness. Reaching into an unassuming leather bag, he retrieved a stone which appeared to glow with a deep warmth. Shuddering with activity, a single crack appeared upon its polished surface, and the heat of it scalded his palm as a sound, like that of a window shattering, frightened his horse as the stone crumbled into wedges of uncoloured, disenchanted rock, falling and mixing into the soil below. Somewhere, not quite here or there, the next inheritor of the world had been created. Of that, he was certain.

The 'Hero' will always emerge.

Waking from a fevered dream, an ashen-haired Beastkin recoiled as a creature with beady yellow eyes stared her down. The dull, phantom pain of her missing limbs throbbed uncomfortably.

"...Fusala." Her voice was weak.

"Please do not move. It is imperative that you avoid agitating your wounds as much as possible in order to ensure a quick recovery." The shadow-girl fiddled with a number of flasks and glass tools strewn across the tent floor, "I have administered a potion of healing to combat infection in your severed limbs. You may feel somewhat drowsy, but this is a perfectly normal reaction."

"How long-"

"You have been wading in and out of consciousness for a week since your battle with the Demons." Fusala interrupted, "Many of the splintered tribes have departed from the summit, though some continue to remain while their injured members recover."

"Where is-"

"Barion is… gone." She answered prematurely, "I do not know where he is, or what he plans to do. More than likely, he has chosen to continue his journey alone in an attempt to minimise casualties. I believe he may be blaming himself for what occurred at the summit one week ago."

Pale couldn't see what Fusala was up to from her perspective, but once in a while, her muted senses would detect the girl touching the ends of her stubby arm and legs. A kind of euphoria, which she had most commonly felt from healing poultices in the past, made it difficult to retain consciousness. During that time, the hopelessness and overwhelming sense of defeat that continued to flourish in her gut refused to disappear. Visions of her people being massacred by invincible beasts, the powerlessness she had felt facing down the Demon Hound, and the shameless moment of her near-death, when she had lowered herself to begging a creature of pure evil for mercy. At some point in her delirium, her breathing became choked, and as she struggled to exhale smoothly, tears began to well in her eyes.

"A-Ahh…" Pale clenched her teeth, "I couldn't do anything… I couldn't protect a single person…"

Failing miserably to hide her sobs, she curled her one remaining hand into a fist, "I thought I was ready… but when that thing---that Demon, got a hold of me… I begged like a coward… I was willing to do anything it wanted, just to stay alive… I didn't want to die!""

"Your actions were completely rational." Fusala replied, "It is only natural that such an experience would cause extreme emotional distress. It is not healthy to internalise your desire to cry, if that is what your body desires. I will not think less of you for doing so."

"I-I wasn't-" Attempting pointlessly to raise her head, Pale furrowed her brow, "I wasn't strong enough! I thought I was, but those things--they aren't natural!"

"Demons have proven impervious to all but the most traumatising of attacks. Striving for the strength to defeat them, or despairing at the lack of your ability to do so, is not rational."

"...Barion is strong enough, isn't he?" Her breathing steadied, "Tell me how."

"I do not understand your question."

"Don't try to deceive me." Pale pushed, "He isn't normal. I don't know what happened to him when we were all being slaughtered by those Demons, but he came back with the stench of death dripping from him. He killed some himself, didn't he? Those things…"

"I believe you may benefit from some additional rest."

"Tell me how." She demanded, "How… do I become as strong as him?"

"That is…" Fusala paused her work, lowering her head, "...I do not know."

"You've been travelling with him. You do know."

"I must insist that I do not." She emphasised, "Barion is… most certainly human, but until recently, I had no basis upon which to estimate his strength apart from a number of past accomplishments. Admittedly, even my expectations were subverted upon witnessing his true capabilities. He is…"

"...What?"

"...Very strong." Fusala muttered, "Perhaps even impossibly so."

With a metallic click, she stood up from her sitting position and examined a strange contraption in her hands. At a glance, it appeared to be something akin to a leg brace, only too small for any humanoid to wear. Latticed with a strange, blue-silver metal, a hinge allowed it to bend with an incredible degree of complexity. Checking it closely for any signs of stiffness or unresponsiveness, Fusala nodded to herself as she presented the object to Pale.

"Prosthetics are not uncommon in this age, but those developed by the hands of mundane artisans may only imitate a limb's original functionality somewhat imperfectly." She explained, "During this past week, I have devised a prosthetic that in many ways surpasses the limitations of flesh. By measuring your proportions and cross-referencing them with those of other Beastkin, I believe this particular model will cause you the least discomfort and allow you to acclimatise easily to its operations."

"Hm." Pale squinted her eyes to admire the prosthetic, "You know, Barion told me almost exactly that you would do something like this."

"I have synthesised three such prosthetic limbs. One to replace your arm, and two to replace your legs. However, if you desire, we could achieve perfect symmetry by amputating-"

"Please do not finish that sentence."

"Understood." She nodded, "Then, please remain still while I begin the bonding procedure. This may take several hours."

"You're not going to ask if this is even something I want?"

"Rhetorical question. Very humorous." She blinked, "As previously stated, please remain still."

"...Why are you doing this?" Pale asked, "Why didn't you chase after Barion?"

"As the most qualified healer, it is my duty to ensure that the maximum number of injured Beastkin recover from their injuries." She answered simply, "And, Barion… does not wish for me to follow him, even if I would like to. I am capable of understanding this much."

"...I must apologise for making you go through the trouble." Pale replied humbly, "But, I am also grateful for this opportunity. I will not allow this gift to go to waste."

"Understood." Fusala locked eyes with her, "However, please remind yourself that with this, you are indebted to me for the rest of your life. I look forward to closely analysing the inner physiology of a living Beastkin. Rest assured that, while painful, my experiments will never result in death."

A moment of silence passed as the two of them exchanged unwavering glances.

"...That was a joke."

"It better have been!"