Tension

"Demons!?" Echoing from the walls of that circular chamber, an agitated voice yelled, "This had better be a joke, Lady Dorma!"

"I'm quite tired of repeating myself." Leaning back in her chair, the woman in question crossed her arms and frowned, "Aren't you familiar with the Hero's fable? The beacons of light which shine from the far north? Perhaps a visit or two to the grand library would do you some good, Councilman Dram."

"These claims of yours are completely unsubstantiated! We are a civilised society! The words of some ancient legend can't be counted on to provide the whole truth! Just where are these Demons of yours, if you're so certain of their existence!?"

"They will come. And if we don't prepare to repel them, Gria--no, the entire region of Tor, will be sent spiralling back to the dark ages of 500 years ago." Dorma answered, "With the combined strength of the Holy Alliance, it may be possible to survive and eventually organise a counterattack. Provided we learn from the mistakes of our ancestors, naturally."

"You would petition to attack an enemy that has yet to be seen, Dorma!?" The furious councilman retaliated, "And of course, thinning the guardsmen from our borders would provide an ample opportunity for the Lunar Dominion to declare war! Quite the coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

From between the two of them, who sat at opposite ends of the grand chamber, a commanding voice spoke, "Be silent, Councilman Dram."

"Ugh…" Shrinking in his seat, he clicked his tongue, "Yes, your majesty…"

"I will not tolerate the suggestion that one of my own hand-picked advisors is a spy, especially when our two great nations have never been on better terms." The aged King Granda IV, ruler of humankind, spoke with a merciful but commanding tone, "Lady Dorma has yet to lead us astray with their predictions. The four lights of despair have most certainly appeared, as the legend of the Hero foretold. We must therefore exercise great caution moving forward from this point. But I must ask, Lady Dorma--how may such a threat be repelled? Are Demons not invulnerable to all but the touch of the Hero's Sword of Light?"

"Yes, your majesty." Rising from her seat, Dorma addressed the king directly, "However, as the legend also foretells, the day of the Demon King risen is also the day of the Hero's birth."

"Then I will have my finest scouts turning over every stone in the kingdom searching for this newborn brave. But the question remains as to how we mere mortals are to repel an invincible threat while the Goddess' saviour comes of age."

"As you are no doubt already aware, what few records remain from 500 years ago loudly declare Demons to be an unconquerable threat. Immune to weapons of metal and highly resistant to magic, only the most powerful spells and magical items are capable of destroying their bodies. And, given enough time, they will eventually revive and regenerate any lost tissue."

"-So the situation is hopeless, you say?"

In an age long past, Dorma was a retainer of the Hero himself, and knew that 'hopeless' was an understatement. Demons were not simple creatures or violent beasts, but vicious incarnations of hatred smelted from crucibles of pitch-darkness. Indeed, despite existing in direct opposition to her, they seemed like a punishment from the Goddess herself. However, even Dorma's impressive influence within Gria's inner council would not be enough to convince anyone of her true origin. As far as anyone else knew, she was simply a very powerful sorcerer who didn't take kindly to questions about her age.

What was her answer, then? No matter their strategy, the people of that world had not yet attained the strength necessary to overcome another age of darkness--not without a Hero's aid. Of course, she knew precisely of one such man, but he had long retired the title.

"...No. Not with preparation." Dorma resolved, "Working in tandem with our allies, I am certain that humanity can endure long enough for a solution to present itself."

"Hm." The King closed his eyes, "This is not an ideal solution."

"Forgive me, but we cannot underestimate the strength of a Demonic army." She replied, "As is the Goddess' will, our duty is to ensure that the Hero lives to an age where they might take up the Sword of Light and vanquish the Demon King."

Mutterings began amongst the chamber's audience and between those who occupied seats upon its auspicious council. Dorma had demanded that they sacrifice themselves to a faraway dream of heroism, in the hopes that one day, a saviour would deliver them from the next Demon Age. Of course, she alone knew that such a saviour already existed--her proclamation was intended to buy time, more than anything else.

"...This is the way." The King, who remained silent in the commotion, suddenly spoke up, "However, should Demons present themselves on the far horizon, Gria's armies shall show them no mercy, invincible or not. It remains to be seen whether this occasion is truly the beginning of another era. For the sake of the world, I pray, just this once, that your predictions are incorrect, Lady Dorma."

"As do I, your majesty." Bowing, Dorma returned to her seat.

There was no resisting the passing of ages. Doing so was like attempting to defeat the wind, or the clouds. Having witnessed it first-hand, Dorma knew well of the dark days that awaited them, and of the despair that awaited those who had bravely stepped beyond the walls of Gria to seek new frontiers. As the commotion within the council chambers continued, she looked quietly towards the grand frescos that adorned its walls, admiring the depictions of the Goddess of Light and the Hero of Legend battling the Demon King.

"Barion…" She whispered, "Are you… already fighting?"

In the shadow of ancient steel, a bloody assortment of abandoned tents and smouldering campfires was mercifully silent for the first time in days. Many of those who had seen their fill of suffering were quick to move beyond the cursed plains, leaving behind only the most hopeless cases, and whoever had the courage to remain. From the flaps of a tent that billowed in the low night wind, Pale emerged with a sigh and wandered towards the covered wagon which had been abandoned alongside the remnants of her tribe's camp. Less than a tenth of her people had survived the battle, many of whom were defenceless elders and children. Though her leader, Elder Mantan, remained hopeful of a bright future, it was obvious from her perspective that the family she had lived her entire life travelling alongside was gone, never to recover.

"Pale." The Elder in question, who even during that late hour remained awake to stay by the sides of those who suffered, hobbled over to her, "You're leaving, aren't you?"

"I am." Her expression was resolute, "Please, don't try to stop me."

"I will not." He shook his head, "The one who seeks her destiny in the wild is to be let free, not caged away. The days of our tribe have come to an end, but for as long as I draw breath, these innocent children will live, perhaps to become elders themselves someday."

"I'm going to become stronger." Pale replied, "I'll make sure that nothing like this will ever happen again."

"The journey towards strength is an enviable one indeed." Stroking his beard, Mantan leaned into his staff, "I ask only that you do not lose yourself along the way."

"I'll always… be myself." She paused, "Goodbye, Elder."

The two of them parted on terms that were comparable to how they had always understood one-another--as a grandfather lending advice to one of his many children. A sadness like no other welled up within her, knowing that it was unlikely she would ever return, but a hope for something greater also blossomed. A strange, metallic noise echoed in the night as she flexed her right arm, silver fingers glinting in the moonlight. Her paces were somewhat unsteady, but the magical prosthetics which had replaced her from the waist down moved just as she commanded them to. In the back of that old wagon, a strange creature was huddled over, who turned to meet Pale as she peered inside.

"Thankfully, a single horse is more than capable of pulling this vehicle." Fusala reported, "Our speed may be lacklustre compared to when there were two, however."

"How long will it take us to move east?"

"To the specified coordinates? Perhaps two weeks." The girl answered.

"How much food do we have?"

"None to speak of." Fusala blinked, "As you have previously stated, procurement of sustenance within the Steppe has become difficult as of late, more than likely due to the corrupting presence of Demons."

"We'll manage somehow. We have to."

"Yes." She nodded, "...What's that you're holding?"

"It is a badge awarded to members of the Merchant's Guild, signifying that the owner carries goods of the highest quality." Fusala answered, "It appears Barion intentionally left it behind before departing on his journey."

"Did he mean for us to have it?"

"His actions are occasionally free of any reason. But most likely, yes."

"Not a lot of good it will do us here." Pale shrugged her shoulders, "We'd best get moving."

"If I may ask, Pale…" Fusala paused, "-What is the purpose of our eastward journey?"

"Strength." She answered simply, "We travel towards the sparse forests of the Wolfkin, to seek power that would allow us to fell even a Demon."

Hoisting herself up to the driver's seat, she took the unfamiliar reins of the wagon in her hands and looked towards the busy night sky, loosing a sigh that carried her inhibitions away on the wind.

"Power that could bring low even a mighty Garuda." She finished, "Senpo."