Lone Trumpet in the Sand

The sound of the table cracking beneath Mythal’s hand was so sudden that a few people, including Saffron and Mercury, gave small starts where they sat. While the director was often the most churlish between him and his fiance, Serilda had usually been the one with the explosive temper in situations such as these, but it seemed that the trait ran in both of the Rune Knights. He turned his ire directly onto Ryori, who continued to keep her gaze level, focused, and unperturbed on him while he railed at her about the supposed “responsiblity” that she was putting on him.

Mythal let it all out, all of his rage and frustration and fear, cursing the situation and Ryori specifically. With a final declaration that he would not only kill Faera but seal the doors to Kingdom Darkness shut forever, he stormed out of the room. Ryori watched him go, as quiet as the rest of the room, though there was something about her expression. A sadness, maybe, or perhaps even an understanding. She only pulled her gaze back when Serilda addressed her, the Voidwalker’s tone quiet but no less ripe with much of the same anger as her fiance. “Who the hell do you think you are?” the noblewoman asked, a silent tear or two dripping from the corners of her eyes.

Ryori didn’t answer. She held Serilda’s eyes evenly with a measure of softness that the Voidwalker found more audacious than anything else. Serilda was almost more angry that the Omen didn’t have an answer, didn’t offer any excuse or explanation for herself. The Sword opened her mouth several times as if to say something, but she was so angry that she couldn’t find the words to express it. So instead, even as Vandrad spoke to cut through the silence and press forward, Serilda was already standing and turning toward the door to go after Mythal.

Instead, her movement was interrupted about as suddenly as Vandrad’s speech as Vriko marched into the room with about the same level of intensity as Mythal had left it. Serilda’s eyes went wide in surprise, and Saffron’s almost humorous, “Uh oh,” was lost amidst the chaos that followed shortly after. Vriko’s gaze narrowed onto the two Trumpets as she withdrew her sword from its scabbard, moving with all haste to attack.

It was Cedric who got in her way, impeding her advance much to Vriko’s protests. The Trumpets voiced their surprise, with Vandrad giving a dangerous warning about speaking to Vriko respectfully. The room, which had already been tense from the prior confrontation, was damn near overcharged now as everyone was on edge in some form and either waiting for all hell to break loose or doing what they could to prevent it. The only one who seemed completely relaxed and unbothered by the situation was Ryori, who had gone back to drinking while she watched the events unfold.

After coming to Vriko’s defense, Vandrad was given an apology by Ruman, who explained that they hadn’t meant to be rude. Merely, they were surprised, having feared that Vriko’s past would have prevented her from ever building bridges with any of them. “She is family,” Serilda tacked on after Cedric’s response, her tone firm as she came around to stand beside her future sister-in-law in a simple show of solidarity and support. “And you have a lot to answer to her for.”

Ruman nodded his understanding before turning to address Vriko once more, acknowledging the reasons for her anger and asking for an opportunity to try to fix things before she made good on her threats. There was a slight shift in the room as he procured his weapon, Serilda’s eyes narrowing in wariness even as Saffron leaned forward in her seat, ready and waiting in case a fight was about to break out. Even Mercury’s hand twitched in the direction of where she normally carried Mercy, though she was considerably more apprehensive about everything, considering the child growing in her womb. Ryori continued to lean almost lazily against the wall.

Thankfully, Ruman wasn’t looking to instigate an attack. Rather, he gave an explanation of the abilities of his sword before tapping its tip against the ground. In a swirling display of light, Serethar appeared. “What..?” Serilda’s eyes widened in shock and awe as the Trumpet claimed that he had created Serethar, but had been afraid that the guardian, who had been influenced by Kingdom Darkness’ corruption, would foster continued hostilities from Vriko toward Mythal. But now that he saw that Vriko had overcome her past, he was happy to reunite the two, this time with Serethar cleansed of the Darkness.

Serethar’s eyes finally found Vriko, breathing a sigh of relief over seeing her alive and healthy, prioritizing that realization over what surely was an overwhelming amount of confusion as to his surroundings. Vriko’s response was to drop her weapon entirely, pushing past Cedric to all but tackle the guardian they had thought lost. The angel clearly hadn’t been expecting the gesture, his mind scrambling for several seconds on how to respond before he finally returned the embrace just as tightly.

It took Serilda a moment to find her own center, moved by the reunion almost in spite of her prior anger with Ryori. She still had the inclination to follow after Mythal – and still planned on doing so soon – but she could spare a couple minutes to be present for this, especially when Mythal probably needed some solitude for the time being. She shifted her gaze to Ruman. “Thank you,” she told the Trumpet with a small but appreciative smile, the weight of his gesture not lost on her. “For this, and for helping ensure Branwen’s rescue.” Her eyes scanned over to meet Izrael’s, making sure the other Trumpet was equally receiving of her gratitude. “I can’t make any promises for the future, as far as where we stand with you. Mythal’s say in that is more important than my own… but I can promise that we’ll discuss it, once he’s ready to.”

The two Trumpets each received Serilda’s gratitude in their own unique ways, Ruman gracious and Izrael a bit awkwardly. The two archangels were opposites in nearly every way it seemed, but they appeared to work together well. Vriko wasted no time in pulling Serethar aside after the reborn guardian expressed his confusion over the present company. Serilda met his gaze as he looked at her, merely offering a small smile before the pair were off in a corner by themselves. She was sure the angel was likely going to have some questions for her and Mythal later, or at least wanting to speak with them once he’d gotten all the details about what had taken place while he was gone, but for now it was best to just let them catch up on their own.

Serilda was about ready to wrap things up with Ruman and Izrael when Cyrene walked in. Those who were not preoccupied with other conversations turned to regard the medic as Vandrad asked how the patients were. The answer was a mixed. Physically, she said they were not in any critical condition, though Branwen was alarmingly malnourished. Aster barely showed any signs of having been involved in a fight at all. However, after some prompting from Themmy, she admitted some confusion and concern to the fact that Aster’s magical core was missing.

“What..?” The voidwalker looked a bit stunned by the news, her brows furrowing in bewilderment. Magically speaking, Cyrene admitted that Branwen wasn’t much better. While he still had a core, it was shrunken and shriveled, little more than a husk of what it used to be. He would still be capable of magic, unlike his wife, but his capabilities were most likely stunted for the rest of his life.

Vandrad remarked his assumption that Aster’s state was related to her temporary use of Ryori’s magic, to which the Omen nodded. Notably, this was the first time since the start of the meeting where she actually looked attentive to the conversation. After the king voiced his belief that Aster likely would care less about losing her magic over the fact that her husband had been saved, she spoke in more depth on the topic. “Aster is a good woman. Determined and stubborn. She knew the risks and didn’t hesitate to make the call. Frankly, I was more reluctant to perform the ritual than she was. The cost was more than I had hoped, but… it was far from the worst case scenario.”

Serilda frowned. “You’re saying it could have killed her?”

“It could have consumed her soul entirely. In which case, there would not have been anything left of her to pass on to the afterlife. She would have simply ceased to exist. I wouldn’t have let it get that far,” she spoke up to gently cut Serilda off as she opened her mouth, the Omen continuing to strike out with the noblewoman. “I had hoped it wouldn’t even come to this. The plan was for me to be fighting alongside her, to take Shepard out quickly between the four of us so she wouldn’t be using my magic for very long, but that had to change after Ruman and Izrael explained why they were there. Aster also channeled much more power than I advised her to, while you were all trapped in Shepard’s Incursion.”

When Serilda seemed to accept the explanation, if begrudgingly, Ryori turned to Cyrene. “I had warned her in advance that she would lose her magic – that the ritual would burn through the reserves of her magical core permanently. However, after she pushed her limits even further, it became much worse than that. Her core became infected. Had the infection been allowed to spread, it would have caused untold and unpredictable damage, not unlike any other organ going bad. It could not be repaired. So, my only choice was to remove it entirely. She will probably need about as much time as Branwen will to recover. I don’t think it will cripple her, but I’d monitor her closely for a couple weeks just to be safe.”

Once that matter was concluded, the Omen sealed the cap on her flask and tucked it away, pulling herself from the wall. “I’ll go ahead and take my leave.” By her tone, she seemed to understand that she had stirred more than a few waves and didn’t intend on overstaying her welcome. “I should let Ozorith know that Shepard has been dealt with, anyway. I’ll return in a few days to check on Aster.” Her eyes flicked briefly over to Ruman and Izrael in unreadable consideration… and then she was gone.

Serilda sighed and reached up a hand to rub at her forehead. “I’m going to go find Mythal. I’m sorry to dump all this in your laps and run, but… I think he’s probably going to need to go home.” She looked up at Vandrad and Mercury.

The latter brushed the concern aside. “Don’t worry about it. Go take care of him. We’ll let you know right away if there’s any updates on Branwen and Aster.”

“Thank you.” Turning to the Trumpets, Serilda added, “I think we’re done for today. When we’re ready to discuss the next steps, you’ll hear from us. Thank you, again.” Then, with a nod, she left the conference room and made her way toward her fiance.

Two days later, Aster was propped up in her bed, a number of pillows supporting her back. It would be difficult to tell merely by observing her, but the retired Knight was in a great deal of pain, though the meds Cyrene had prescribed had numbed the worst of it to a dull throb. She had woken the day prior to some alarm, but had calmed quickly upon realizing that she was in a medical room and Branwen – her Branwen – was there with her, battered and frail but alive.

After that she had taken nearly everything in stride as it was explained to her where she was and what had happened. She did not appear surprised or upset by the news that she could no longer use magic, though the removal of her magical core did earn an eyebrow of interest or surprise more than anything else. Once she had been caught up on everything, and gone through a routine check up with Cyrene and Patty as her current medical practitioners, she contacted Serilda to let her know she was awake. The Voidwalker had planned to come see her right away, but was rebuffed by Aster who insisted it wasn’t necessary to rush over or take the time off work. They would see each other again soon enough, and there was no need to make a fuss.

For now she was content to decompress from the last year or so in relative peace and quiet. The medical staff came in to check on her regularly, but aside from that she did little but read the book she had been provided to pass the time, which was what she currently was doing.

By this point, Aster had almost learned to tune out Branwen’s coughing, if only because it wouldn’t help her own health to jump at every phantom of consciousness he had. His consistent coughing was worrisome, though the medical staff assured her that it wasn’t an indication of any deeper issue. His body would just need quite a long time to recover from such a prolonged exposure to Kingdom Darkness, if it ever fully did. He was likely going to need constant care from here on out. Frankly, Aster probably would for a while herself, though she was determined to get back on her feet as soon as possible in order to help him.

She only pulled her gaze away from the pages when he stirred more actively, his legs rustling beneath the covers, and then the rest of his body with a groan. Aster closed the book without bothering to mark her place, watching Branwen with a keen eye. Finally, the lid on his own good eye opened, if barely enough for her to see. She had to kick down a wave of emotion as he spoke her name, remarking at the sight of her. The woman gave him a calm and playful smirk. “And you sound better than you look,” she informed him.

Setting her novel on her bedside table, she pulled her covers off and very carefully swung her feet over and down to the ground. With ginger steps that betrayed her own less-than-ideal condition, and plenty of supporting herself on the side table between them, she crossed the minimal feet of space that separated their gurneys and sank herself gently onto the edge of his. Aster was sure that Cyrene likely would attempt to chastise her for getting out of the bed, but considering the circumstances she doubted there would be any real heart in the protest. Not that it would have dissuaded Aster, anyway.

Leaning down, she placed one hand on his cheek and kissed him softly, mindful not to be too aggressive with him but still lingering with her lips on his. When their mouths parted, she rested her forehead on his and sighed in relief, finally letting out the pent up anxiety she’d been wrangling for the last year or more. “I’m sorry, Branwen.” Her tone was soft, not self-piteous but no less genuine. “I had no idea. None of us did. Shepard’s transition was seamless. He didn’t give me any reason to be suspicious even once. We were lucky that we discovered the truth at all.” She seemed to not be blaming herself, but there was a great deal of remorse in her voice for not discovering the truth sooner.

Sitting up a bit straighter, she quietly wiped away the tears on her cheeks and took one of his hands in hers. “But we have you back now. It took us longer than any of us would have liked, but… Shepard is dead, and you’re safe now. Not that I’m ever letting you out of my sight again.” Aster offered him a small smile. Pressing her other hand against his forehead to feel for his temperature. The medics would likely show up soon, since they had alerts set up to notify them of changes in Branwen’s vitals, but in the meantime… “How are you feeling?”

He managed to find the strength to tease her back, as well as to lean up into her kiss. Small victories, but in that moment they meant so much to Aster. She listened as he explained that he’d managed to catch snippets of the real world through his connection to Shepard, enough at least to know that he was fooling Aster thoroughly. She leaned her cheek into his hand when he comforted her. “I’ll be okay. I’ve already had some time to cope with what happened. I can’t say it won’t come back to haunt me from time to time… but I have you back, and that is all that matters to me. The rest we can work through together.”

Branwen admitted to feeling better than he’d have hoped for, though that was largely in part to him simply being alive. He already understood that he was going to be recovering for what would likely be the rest of his life, but would dedicate himself to doing whatever it took. She watched as he drifted momentarily back to that place, listening in silent attention while he revealed the moment that Shepard had struck, during the attack on Era several years back. He’d gotten the chance to reunite briefly with Mythal, around the time that he and Serilda were still figuring out their places in one another’s lives. He’d attempted to fight the Trumpet, thinking he was a terrorist, only to find himself outmatched very quickly, tossed into Kingdom Darkness under the watchful eye of its ruler.

Aster squeezed Branwen’s hand encouragingly. There wasn’t much she could say. What was done was done, but this was the first chance he’d gotten to talk about what had happened to him and she was happy to give him a moment to get it off his chest. She couldn’t possibly understand what he’d gone through, having never been to Kingdom Darkness or been subjected to Faera’s presence, and Aster wasn’t about to cheapen his trauma by trying.

But he didn’t linger on the subject long. Instead, he asked about how they managed to learn the truth, given how meticulous Shepard had been with his disguise. Aster shook her head softly. “He didn’t slip up,” she informed him simply. “He was betrayed. At some point, Mythal was captured by one of Faera’s other Trumpets, Archimedes – his birth father – and taken to Kingdom Darkness. Serilda forced her way into the Kingdom to rescue him, and during the fight he fulfilled some kind of prophecy.”

“As a result, two of the other Trumpets, Ruman and Izrael, had their minds freed from the corruption of the kingdom. They left a trail for a woman named Ryori to follow. Ryori is human, but she acts as an Omen – an equivalent to a Trumpet – for Ozorith, the Prime of Wrath. She was able to follow the trail until she learned that Shepard had assumed your identity. She almost caught him shortly after that, but while she was scrying on him during a meeting he was having with Gren, she noticed that a piece of Shepard’s power left with Gren after they parted ways. She had to choose between keeping on Shepard’s heels, or stopping whatever he’d set in motion, and wound up choosing the latter. She saved the lives of Gren and Vriko, Mythal’s sister, but as a result she lost track of Shepard entirely.”

Aster hung her head a little in sorrow. “Her search for him brought her to me not long after. Naturally, she wanted to look into me to figure out if I was a part of all this. At the time I was in a panic because you – Shepard – had just disappeared without warning and gone completely off the grid. I was pulling every resource trying to find you… him. Ryori realized pretty quickly that I didn’t know what was going on, and chose to approach me and filled me in with the truth. We partnered up after that, and had been working together to find him. That was over a year ago…”

She brushed the back of his palm gently with her thumb, almost as much to comfort herself as to comfort him. Over a year of her life she’d spent desperately trying to find him, and to confront the archangel that had stolen him from her. Aster had certainly earned a few extra worry wrinkles that likely had not been there before, the woman looking exhausted and haunted by the trials of the last several months. “We never found him on our own. When his trap for Gren failed, he knew he’d been found out and went underground. At most there were a few whispers, but nothing that led to any substantial information.”

“Two days ago, Ryori got a call from Serilda. At first she thought it was a misdail, but she could hear her and Mythal confronting Shepard. Serilda managed to work in just enough information for us to track their location down to an exact spot in Desierto. When we got close, Ryori sensed that Ruman and Izrael were also nearby. I went on ahead to fight Shepard with Serilda and Mythal, and she went to confront the other two Trumpets. That was when they told her that you were still alive and in Kingdom Darkness. Prior to that, we still weren’t… sure if you had ever been real, or if it had always been Shepard from the start.”

Aster wiped another set of silent tears from her cheeks. It had been more than just a year of struggling to find Shepard and Branwen. All that time, she’d been forced to question her entire marriage, wondering and worrying about if she’d been used from day one, and not knowing if her entire life up until that point had been a lie. “They wanted to help us get you back. If it hadn’t been for them, we probably would have just killed Shepard and you would have died as a result. But they told Mythal where you were and how to get to you.”

“Following that, I don’t know more than a few details about what happened. I passed out shortly after my part of the fight was done. From what I understand, once Mythal and Serilda went to Kingdom Darkness and severed Shepard’s connection to you, Shepard became this… weak, shriveled thing that was killed with relative ease. Then they brought us here to New Rhaegar to recover. I only woke up yesterday, myself.”

Branwen was, understandably, surprised to hear that Shepard had been stabbed in the back by one of his supposed allies. It had been a difficult truth for many to accept, though Aster was having less trouble with it than most. Perhaps because she didn’t have the background exposure to Mythal’s life the way her husband did. Either way, she gave him the truth of events as they were, filling him in on the broader strokes of what had happened.

He chuckled lightly when she informed him that she’d joined in the fight against the Trumpet, remarking that Shepard had made quite the mistake pissing Aster off. The woman gave a wry smirk. “He certainly didn’t seem very happy to see me,” she remarked even as she reached over to the side table where there was a pitcher of water that she’d been drinking from throughout the day. Pouring him a small cup of it, she waited until his coughing fit settled before giving it to him, even helping him drink it carefully if he needed the assistance.

She carried on with her story, with Branwen admitting that Shepard’s deception had been so thorough that even the former Rune Knight had wondered if his own existence had ever been real. “It’s not your fault, my love,” Aster informed him softly when he apologized. “We’ll take things one day at a time. And I’m sure Mythal and Gren will want to come see you as soon as you’re feeling up to it. Mythal and Serilda live in Era on the mainland, but from what I understand Gren spends most of his time here. I imagine he won’t wait long once he knows you’re awake.”

Aster was aware, of course, that Branwen likely didn’t know exactly where he was. Even she hadn’t been familiar with the island until yesterday. But in the interest of not overwhelming him with too much information right off the bat, she elected to push such explanations until Branwen had a chance to recover enough to be ready. Instead, her husband latched on to another thing she’d said, her remark about having just woken up the day prior, inquiring with some measure of concern if she’d been hurt.

“I’m not hurt,” she assured him, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. “Or at least, Shepard didn’t injure me. Not for lack of trying, mind. But… I knew what I was going up against. Ryori prepared me for what to expect a long time ago, and I understood that I didn’t stand much of a chance against Shepard on my own. She knew that I was going to insist on being part of the fight, despite this. So in an effort to give me a fighting chance, she used a ritual to grant me temporary use of her magic.”

“My body was not strong enough to hold onto her power for very long. It could have killed me… or worse, from what I was told after I woke. But it did eat through my own magic reserves permanently, and I’m told Ryori had to remove my magical core entirely after the fight to keep it from infecting me. So… I’m exhausted, and a bit weak, and I’ll never be able to cast magic again… but I will recover the rest of my strength eventually. And the loss of my water magic is nothing against having you back with me.”