A Promise of Fire

41st of Retulman, 1667 Age of Enlightenment

A morning wind blew as the sun dawned on the city of Lionbrand. It had been one week since the night of the fae attack. The people of Lionbrand worked diligently to help restore the city back to the way it was. Official reports stated that more than three hundred civilians had been taken by the fae that night, and countless more had been injured. Many gathered in meeting to declare that night—Fae’s Night—into a night of remembrance to those who’d been lost. In solidarity, many had written the names of friends and strangers into their codices of remembrance, and the Galdic Maidens—lead by Sister Magda in the Maiden Superior’s absence—offered a group Resting for all the souls of those taken.

The maidens had much thrust upon them following that night. Not only had their sanctum been destroyed and the temple vandalized by the fae, more than ten new children were added to their nursery, and due to her injuries, Lady Liza was unable to assist. Luckily, kind volunteers worked tirelessly to help restore the temple sanctum to its former glory, but it would take months—perhaps even years—before it was properly restored.

As the people readied for a busy day ahead of them, Emecar walked the streets on his way to Martin’s Bakery. His coat and trousers had been freshly patched thanks to the kindness of tailor Gardet, and his clothes received a much-needed wash. Most of his wounds had healed up nicely, and those that were still recovering were set with clean bandages.

Dozens, if not hundreds, of civilians showered him in praise and adoration for what he’d done as he walked through the streets. Emecar didn’t even recognize most of them, but they recognized him: the man the papers had been calling the savior of Lionbrand, the one called Paladin.

However, there were many who didn’t see him as a hero. Many, particularly those of nobility, decried him an occultist, for how else could a human attain such miraculous power. Just as some headlines declared him a hero, others decried him as a scourge not to be trusted, a blight upon the city. Emecar tried not to pay them any mind.

Upon entering Martin’s Bakery, he was welcomed the same way a war hero would have been welcomed home after a successful campaign. Antoine Martin the baker greeted him with arms outstretched and a warm hug.

“Emecar, my boy, welcome!”

“G’mornin’, Monsieur Martin. Is my order ready? I hope I’m not too early.”

“Not at all, boy. Ready it is! Come on, come on!” Martin waved Emecar to the countertop where his wife handed Emecar a basked filled with freshly baked breads, pastries, rolls, and even a fruit pie. It smelled heavenly as the scents filled his nostrils. As Emecar reached into his pocket for payment, Martin stopped him and said, “Absolutely not! I’m not takin’ yer money, Emecar. Y’hear?”

“Of course, you will,” said Emecar. He fished out a couple of silver penters and set them on the counter. “Just like that, eh?”

Martin pushed the coins back. “No, no, no! We have a policy: heroes eat for free!” His wife grunted and elbowed him in the side. “Er, well, they eat free once a month or so.”

“Well, I couldn’t take this for free in good conscience since it won’t be me eating this,” said Emecar. “It’s for the volunteers helping restore the temple. I figured it’d be the least I could do to thank them for their hard work.” Emecar slid the coins back across the counter. “Blessings to you, sir, but please let me do this.”

Martin had to fight back tears as he tucked the coins away. Emecar laughed; how much more dramatic could he be? Emecar bid the bakers farewell, and as he left, he heard Martin berate his wife: “Why do you embarrass me, woman? You saw what that boy did, right? He’s a hero! They’re callin’ him the Paladin! No, I don’t know what it means, but it has a good ring to it, don’t’cha think?”

Emecar made his way down the streets toward the temple—basket of baked goods in hand—he could see the damage that lingered from Fae’s Night across dozens of buildings and homes: smashed windows, broken doors, bricks ripped from walls. Unintentionally, Emecar found himself cutting through the alleyway where the Kintelgas had nearly killed him.

Where it had killed him.

He stared at the ground where his body once lay lifeless and thought about his meeting with Azuhiel. Emecar touched his chest and remembered the wound he’d received from the wytchling. Thankfully, despite everything that befell him that night, he walked away unharmed. Unfortunately, there were many not so lucky.

He recalled his oath sworn upon the Dragonstar. Very soon, that very star would hover above them all in the heavens. Emecar still couldn’t believe it was real, but his golden eyes proved it. There was no other way for him to explain how he could use such extraordinary abilities, or how his Aether could ignite into sunfire.

He thought about Oliver, Abigail, and Tomlin, as well as all of whom survived their encounters with the fae. Last he saw them, he’d used a bit of his newfound power to heal the grievous injuries inflicted upon them. Though they all seemed right as sunlight when he’d finished, Oliver said his arm still ached whenever he tried to raise it above his shoulder. Emecar wasn’t sure the extent of his abilities, but he thought that maybe one day he could heal him of that.

He thought about Captain Grisdel and Diantha who were up to their necks in political paperwork, desperately trying to explain the events of that night. Many of the mercenaries were forced to take up small, odd jobs to help rebuild the city until the captain was finished with his current work, and even then, there was no assurance that the troupe would go back to the way it was. According to the High Lord and his council, the troupe was unnecessary to the city’s security, and Captain Grisdel said there would likely be a chance the troupe could lose their protected status. Emecar supposed that was the most logical step the High Lord would take after the events of that night.

When Emecar arrived at the temple, he saw more than a dozen men—elf and human alike—all working tirelessly to clear out the debris and rubble from the sanctum, as well as help with the construction of a new foundation. The sanctum would need all new benches and carpets, as well as its dais restored, but it’d additionally need new holy statues of Lord High Lord Galdane the First and Sindelle the Elf-Mother, as well as an arcanist who could scribe the sigil of protection along the walls and a new glyph of activation upon the dais. Those latter tasks were not something the common people of Lionbrand were capable of and would require the generosity of the High Lords of Singard, perhaps even the charity of the Lord High Lord himself.

But that, Emecar thought, were all problems for another time. The first objective was to just get the rubble cleared out of the sanctum, and a new foundation built. All of the holy regalia would come later.

Amongst the men helping restore the sanctum was Rukifelth. For the first time in what felt like years, Emecar thought Rukifelth seemed to enjoy being back in the temple. Truly, it was a miracle; unfortunate that it had to befall such a tragedy.

When the men saw Emecar, they gave a loud cheer in his honor. Emecar blushed as he handed out the baked goods.

“A good head on your shoulders, boy,” said one man.

“A real hero, I tell you what,” said another.

Rukifelth stepped up and snatched a roll. He swatted Emecar’s arm and said, “Well, look who decided to show up, eh?” Rukifelth laughed and took a large bite of the roll. “Took you long enough.”

“I figured if I was already running late,” said Emecar, “that I should do something nice, eh?”

The two laughed, and Emecar resumed handing out baked goods to the workers. After all the men had gotten their fix, Rukifelth said, “Alright, alright, now that you’ve received penance for your tardiness, why don’t you get to work, you slouch!”

Emecar made his way through the rubble and into the hallway that lead to the temple kitchen where he set down the basket on the kitchen table. While it was mainly just the sanctum that took damage, several other wings of the temple had been severely damaged in the attack. The kitchen window had been cracked, a couple of bricks had been loosened from the walls, and one of the supports along the ceiling had splintered.

He wondered if it was possible to use his color of transmutation to mend the broken support. He supposed it was possible, but unfortunately, he didn’t know how. Surely, there was an arcanist in Zaldean or Galdcore who knew how to repair splintered wood.

“That was very kind of you.”

Emecar turned to see Liza, weakly leaning on a crutch, her arm tucked in a sling, and a bandage wrapped around her head. Her small reading glasses had been cracked beyond repair, yet she still rested them on her nose.

“Madame, what are you doing? You should be resting.”

“I’ve been resting for days,” she scoffed. She hobbled into the kitchen and said, “It’s good for a woman my age to keep moving.” She scuffled her way to the kitchen table where she picked one of the fresh rolls and took a large bite. “So much better than what Sister Magda’s been feeding me these past few days.”

“What? Her cooking not good enough for you?”

“Oh, is that what she’s been doing? I thought she’d been giving me the trash the sister’s had swept up from gardens; revenge for how hard I’ve been on them over the years.”

She laughed jovially, and Emecar felt relieved to see Liza in such good spirits despite her condition. He sat her down and said, “Would you care for me to take a look at you again, madame?”

“Oh, Emecar, there’s no need for all of this,” she said. “I’ll be good in no time, I tell you.”

Emecar raised his eyebrows to the maiden’s snide remark. “You taught me that there was no reason to fear asking for help, right?”

She conceded.

He knelt beside her and rested his hands on her injured legs. Emecar closed his eyes and concentrated on the fire within him, as well as sharing that flame with Liza. Sparks of blue Aether ignited into golden flames that gently coiled around Liza’s legs. The maiden closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the pain of her wounds slowly faded. When the fire vanished, Emecar felt a sharp pain in his stomach, and Liza could more easily bend her legs.

“Thank you, Emecar,” said Liza. She stood and stretched her knees. She tried to stand without her crutch for a few seconds and said, “Mother’s blessings, with this I bet I’ll be as right as sunlight by morrow.”

Emecar felt proud—after all these years, he’d finally learned to heal—but there was still one thought weighing on his mind. “Has Kayo woken up yet?”

Liza looked up at him, her expression dour. “He’s still breathing, but no, he still hasn’t woken up. Sister Emli has barely left his side, but I have faith he’ll recover. He’s stable; it’s only a matter of time.”

Emecar wished there was more he could do. A couple days back, he’d tried to heal Kayo again, and while it seemed somewhat effective, his eyes only opened for a second before immediately closing again.

As Liza hobbled to grab her crutch, her legs buckled. Emecar quickly reached over and scooped his arms under hers to keep her from falling and said, “C’mon now, let’s get you back to bed.” Liza huffed, but once again, conceded. He helped carry most of her weight as they trudged through the old temple halls back to her personal bedchamber. The room had hardly changed at all since he was a boy.

After laying Liza on her bed and setting her crutch nearby, Emecar said, “I’ve dallied long enough. The others will be angry with me if I spend too much time in here and not enough time out there.”

He bowed and readied to leave, but Liza stopped him and said, “You’ve still yet to tell me what happened on that night, Emecar. One moment you were just my son helping wherever you could, then next I see you, you’ve those fiery golden eyes and brandish the light of Azuhiel himself.”

Emecar hesitated for a moment. He hadn’t told anyone about what happened that night except for Rukifelth, and even then, he wasn’t sure how much of it his bother truly believed. It sounded too ridiculous, like something they used to spout as children trying to impress one another; to believe that Azuhiel the Sun Dragon spoke to him directly and gifted him a fragment of his power was something that should get him imprisoned for heresy, but it was true. He wasn’t sure what he could say or do to prove it beyond what he’d already done, but he supposed he could at least try and tell Liza what had happened.

He sat at the foot of Liza’s bed and told her everything about his vision of Azuhiel atop Angel Mountain. He told her how he split the clouds to reveal the Savageplains; he told her about the fall of Draconia and The Dragon Orb; and he told her about his oath upon the Dragonstar, the very same oath as Adakar Azukor once had.

Once finished, Liza said nothing. Presumably she was struggling to take it all in, but Liza was a smart woman. Surely, she wouldn’t think Emecar had just made it all up, but instead she was thinking if what Emecar saw in that vision truly was Azuhiel or not, but who else could it be? Who else could gift that kind of power to a mortal, and a human no less?

Liza smiled. “So, you really are a paladin now, are you?”

“I suppose I am,” said Emecar, his cheeks blushing pink. Liza smiled and started to get out of bed, but Emecar stopped her. “Hold on now, what do you think you’re doing? You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not going far,” she said. “I’ve a gift for you. It’s something I’ve been holding on to for a long time.”

A gift?

“If you won’t let me out of bed,” she continued, “would you kindly help me?”

Emecar helped Liza out of bed and into a nearby chair by her reading desk. She’d then instructed him to pull the bed from the wall and find a couple of loose bricks in the corner of the room. As Emecar searched around, he eventually found one loose brick, and then a second, and then started to slowly dig them out.

He turned to her and said, “Are you sure about this?”

Liza nodded. “I’ve kept this hidden for…” she fell silent for a moment—lost in her own thoughts—and said, “sixty years, I believe. Yes, it was all but a month after the news of Draconia’s fall had spread; that we’d finally ended the war”

Emecar stopped digging, and he remembered what Azuhiel had said about Draconia: the loss of the Dragon’s power, the gods inability to manifest themselves in the mortal world. He couldn’t help but notice Liza said the war had ended, not that they had won.

“A man showed up at our door asking for help,” Liza continued. “He was a highly decorated soldier, and I was but a young maiden at the time, only a few years older than Emli is now.” Liza smiled fondly as she leaned back in her chair. She took her small, cracked reading glasses from her nose and began to clean them with her apron to no avail. “Look at me, reminiscing as if I’m some cantankerous old woman. Ha! I’m a-hundred-and-four-years young; still got another century on me! I can’t go along pretending I’m some old bag already!”

Emecar laughed. He’d never heard Liza speak in such a casual manner before. “Well, go on. What did the man want?”

“Oh, yes! He was carrying something; he said it was important to keep hidden: a relic from his latest campaign, though he’d never shown me what it was. His uniform was torn to shreds, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Perhaps I was just smitten with him—he was awfully handsome, I remember—but I brought him inside. Much to my Maiden Superior’s chagrin, I helped nursed his wounds. I’d listen to him tell stories for hours about his escapades in the army—the things he’d seen, the monsters he’d battled—all for the glory of Singard.” Her voice trailed off as she began to fiddle with the bridge of her glasses. Her hands trembled and she said, “He said perhaps we’d gone too far, that our retaliation against the gods—our hubris—would be our undoing. At the time, I couldn’t fathom what he was saying. For a soldier like he to speak so vehemently against the will of the Lord High Lord was unspeakable.” Emecar watched Liza wipe tears from her eyes as she set her glasses on her desk. “I’m sorry, was I reminiscing again?”

“Who was he?”

Liza looked at Emecar warmly, but her gaze was distant. “I don’t know. He never told me his real name; he said it would be dangerous should anyone learn where he’d been, so I just called him my little soldier boy,” said Liza. She laughed, but the tears continued to trickle down her cheeks. “Before he left, he gave me that relic—why I don’t know—and said to always keep it hidden from those who may come looking for it. I didn’t dare ask what it was or why people would be after it, but I did as I was told, and then he was gone.

“It wasn’t even a week later when a whole group of heavily armed men arrived at our doorstep. At their head was Supreme General Elderanth himself. He demanded us to tell him if we’d seen a man come through. I tell you, Emecar, that nothing in my life has scared me as much as the eyes of the Supreme General. I-I knew he was after that soldier, but against my best judgment, I lied. I lied to the face of the man second only to the Lord High Lord himself.”

Emecar saw in her eyes the kind of terror that would never leave; it was the same terror that struck him when he thought back to the days when he was alone in the snow, barely clinging to life.

“I was so scared of what would happen if word got out that I’d lied to him; I was afraid he’d return and burn our temple to the ground for defying the will of Sindelle and the Lord High Lord, but as weeks turned to months, and months turned to years, I gradually stopped worrying, but I never forgot the hate I saw in those frightful eyes.”

Liza finished her story just as Emecar finished digging out the loose bricks from the corner of the room. He looked inside the small crevice and saw a small and wide, but very ordinary looking wooden case. As he pulled it out, Liza’s eyes beamed.

“When the fae attacked,” she said, “I heard this relic call out to me; for the first time in sixty years, I thought my sins had finally caught up to me, but when I saw you, emblazoned in the light of Azuhiel himself, I realized that it was not me it was calling for, but you.”

She reached down and flicked open the old brass latches of the case, and as it opened, Emecar’s eyes fell upon the most beautiful shield he’d ever seen. Liza said she’d kept it hidden away for sixty years, but there was not a speck of dust or blemish on it. Upon its pearl-silver face was embedded the Seven Point Cross, the ancient symbol of the Dragons. He gently ran his fingers over its glistening face and felt something immense within; a power akin to that of hundreds of Aether infused gemstones.

His voice trembled and he said, “Madame, what is this?”

“I’ve not the faintest idea, but if I had to wager a guess, I’d say it was a treasure taken from Draconia before its destruction. He called it the Brand of Kings.” Emecar stared in disbelief; it felt the same as when he laid eyes upon the true form of Azuhiel in his vision, but this time he was certain it was all real. Liza said, “I don’t know why that soldier boy took it, but now I know who that shield rightfully belongs to. Go on, take it.”

“M-Madame, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Nonsense, Emecar. You were chosen by Azuhiel, the Father of Sunshine, Gold Dragon of Creation himself. If anyone is fit to don this shield, it’s you. Now go ahead and put it on!”

Emecar took the shield from the case and gently slid it onto his arm. The power within it pulsed fervently, to the point where Emecar thought he felt his arm vibrate from the Aether that surged within. As he tightened the strap to his arm, he felt something wriggle its way into his mind. It felt like whisper…

Koenigal

“Very fitting of a paladin, I should say,” said Liza. She reached out and touched the shield; goosebumps formed on her arm as she did. Liza looked into his eyes and said, “You’ve grown so much. That little boy I found in the snow isn’t so little anymore, is he? No, he hasn’t been for a long time.”

Emecar smiled proudly. He took the shield from his arm and placed it back into its case. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done, madame. If you truly insist, I’ll come take this before I leave, but for now, I need to get to work, and you need your rest.”

Liza laughed and tucked the case away.