Spoilers from Various Chapters
The winter break was coming to a close, and soon, Arthur would be returning to the Academy. As such, the lively atmosphere at the Erette household was beginning to smolder. Their inevitable parting was coming quicker and quicker it seemed, causing Marquis Eric and Marchioness Annabeth no small amount of sadness. Eventually, the eve of Arthur's departure arrived, and Marquis Eric took his son to the study for one last talk.
“Arthur,” said Marquis Eric. “I’m proud of what you’re accomplishing. I know much is expected of you, and I’m sure that the burden is heavy. You’re different from others, I have always known that much. I won’t pry into what it is that weighs on you, but just know that I will always be here to assist you.”
“Father, I am fine,” Arthur said, chuckling. “Have you been drinking? You’re acting strangely.”
“Perhaps I am acting strangely. But, I know that with each farewell, our time apart will only grow. Eventually, a day will come when we say farewell for the last time. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t say goodbye properly this time, as I had done last time. After all, your radiance is only getting more and more bright, and the troublesome moths will only continue to come. Who knows how busy you will be, come next year.”
The Marquis watched as his men were brutalized left and right by the horrid beasts. His fingers tightened around the grip of his sword, grimacing at the sight. “Hold them off! For each one of these disgusting monsters we kill, that’s countless humans saved!” he yelled, spurring his horse into action as he charged towards another creature.
His sword swung smoothly into the thick, bark-like hide of the sickening mutation, letting fly a stream of ghastly green blood. The beast collapsed with a deep yelp as the Marquis rode passed, already swinging at the next monster. Everywhere his sword swung, another beast would be felled.
Suddenly, a deep roar shook the battlefield, startling both sides of the combat. Upon hearing the roar, the mutated creatures shuddered, letting out whimpering sounds as they retreated to the forest. Silence spread out across the plains, the beasts' actions leaving the warriors worried and uncertain of what was coming next. It did not take long for them to find out.
The earth shook once, then again. The ground lurched again and again. It was almost rhythmic, the land seemed to pound like a beating heart. Eventually, from the tree line, a behemoth of a monster emerged. It was nearly as tall as one of the many trees of the Wilderness, each leg thicker than several trunks combined.
It forced its way through the forest, knocking trees down left and right without care. Its head emerged first, a mixture of gnarled roots, fur and bone. It was a horrific sight, as though someone had melded the bodies of several animals and stumps into a shape that could barely pass for an animal’s skull. The rest of its body was no different. It was a vile monster, capable of making the mutations the warriors had dealt with previously seem endearing.
“Oh, gods,” moaned one of the younger warriors. “This nightmare just keeps getting worse, and worse…” He collapsed to his knees with labored breathing and wet eyes. “We’re doomed, we can’t kill that without the Magicians… Even with the Magicians, I don't think we could win!”
Murmurs spread through the field as several more warriors fell to the ground. Even the most confident of men were disheartened, the sheer size of the creature serving as an insurmountable obstacle.
The Marquis looked on at the enemy in silence, his knuckles turning white beneath his glove. His hopes of survival were slim to none, he reckoned, but he was a man of steel. Unlike the young men who were willing to collapse in fear, he had long since come to terms with the idea of death in combat. Rallying his unfailing courage, he began to roar.
It was a roar not of anger nor of sorrow, but of unwillingness. He was a proud man through and through. From the moment he was born, pride had been in his bones. He was unwilling to buckle under any foe, to think of any enemy as insurmountable. The sound of his horse’s gallop was inaudible to him, drowned out by his cry and the beat of his heart.
Marquis Eric Erette charged the enemy, his sword and shield held high. His eyes never turned back, never saw the countless men who he stirred, who mustered their courage and determination to follow him into combat. To him, it mattered not if he went alone or if the entire world followed him. He, like every hardened veteran, was just a man. A man who knew only pride, stubbornness, and steel.
The edges of the letter crumpled as Arthur gripped them tightly, folding like an accordion. His hands trembled as he read the contents again and again, shock and disbelief gripping him like a vice. “No,” he whispered. “Why?”
Suddenly, a spot on the paper formed, a small circle of wetness. Bewildered, Arthur’s eyes flicked to the unknown mark just in time to see a few more form nearby. He touched his cheek with one of his hands, finding it to be wet. “Real tears,” he said. “I'm weaker than I thought, huh.”
He set the letter down on the desk and rose to his feet. Wiping the tears from his cheeks, he clenched his teeth. It took him a moment to finally wrench his gaze off the letter and look to the door. Walking unsteadily at first, he slowly picked up his pace as he stormed out of the study.
In the hall outside, Angelique called out to him, “Arthur? What’s going on? Did you decide on what we’re going to do already?”
Arthur rolled past her without a word, his head lowered so she could not see his reddened eyes. Frowning, she pursued him and called out once more, “Arthur! What’s the matter? Say something!” Chasing behind him, her one hand outstretched towards him, the other balled in nervousness.
However, Arthur pressed on in silence. After he left the mansion’s grounds, Angelique’s chase finally stopped, her face now streaked with tears as well. With one last hard look at him, she rushed back into the mansion. She tore through the house like a wild beast, eventually ending up in Arthur’s study. She stood unmoving in the center of his study, her chest heaving with a wave of fiery anger and frozen sadness weighing heavily on her heart. Eventually, her eyes caught hold of a small, partially crumpled paper dotted with tear stains, laying alone on an otherwise barren desk.
“I see, I see…” Arthur muttered, a dry and humorless laugh escaping his lips. “Again, I must suffer. Again, things must go wrong. This life is no different than the last— No, it’s worse, to be capable of hurting me this much despite all I’ve endured. Giving me what I had wanted for years and years, and then cruelly taking it away… Fuck whatever gods there are, fuck this world and my last!”
Astral Energy raged around him as though it were alive, waving and curling violently. It grew denser and denser, like the dangerous and crazed look in Arthur’s eyes. His fists were bloodied, his breath hurried. He had no idea how many times he had punched the tree before him, but it had served as a useful distraction from the emotional hurt. Looking at the red streaks running from his knuckles down, watching the blood drip to the ground slowly, he grimaced. “Nothing has changed. I’m still so weak. Why?” he asked quietly.
“Why?!” he screamed at the sky. “Why give me this fucking powers if they never help with anything?!” The tendrils of Astral Energy began to whip and smash into the ground nearby, tearing open large fractures and creating craters. They ripped the tree out by the roots, smashing it against the ground before hurling it a great distance.
“No,” he said, watching as the destruction unfolded before him. He looked at peace, as though a sudden calm has possessed him. “They are good for some things, after all.” With that said, he looked towards the north and began to walk.
From the top of a distant hill, the Arthur could see the ruins of Northmarch. The once bustling city was now still, without even plumes or smoke or roaming monsters. It was just a field of rubble, heaps of collapsed buildings and walls. The once ironclad, impenetrable city of Northmarch lay broken, like the family of Erette.
Arthur continued walking forwards, slouched and unsteadily as though he were a soulless puppet. Even when he came to the edge of the piles of rubble, he did not stop and instead began climbing and crawling his way through the remains of his home.
In a near-mindless state, the broken husk of a man was searching. Perhaps he was holding out hope for a survivor, or indication of his home. Regardless of what it was, it was useless. The city was silent and still, and unrecognizable.
Arthur fell to his knees in the center of the ruined city. With red, tear-filled eyes, he threw his head back and screamed. His heartbroken wailing could be heard for miles.
Arthur nearly collapsed forwards as his cry came to an end. He looked around at what once was a lively city, the first place he could happily refer to as his home. Suddenly, he looked down at himself with hardened, calm eyes.
He slipped out of his clothes slowly, bare as the day he was born in this very city. He took a deep breath and glanced at his finger. Astral Energy gathered at the tip of his finger in a dense, visible sphere. With his shirt clenched tightly between his teeth, he pressed his fingertip down onto his skin and began to carve.
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