The cry of the infant was torn from the embrace of its mother. She struggled, twisting and clawing against the grasp of the chained priests. Their white robes, long and flowing, stretched past their torsos to the waist, stark against the dim light of the forsaken house. They held her shoulders with unyielding force, as the mother, a woman desperate and raw with the need to protect her child, begged for mercy. Her screams tore through the silence like a hound witnessing its pups taken by men.
The infant laughed, unafraid, cradled in the hands of the Philosopher of Stone.
"Return my child! Please… anything, I'll do anything. Just let my daughter go! She has done no wrong. I gave birth to her less than a week ago. Please… I beg you…"
The Philosopher, a figure of inexorable authority, spoke no word. In his golden-white shrouded hands, unmarked by the passing of time, the child lay untouched. His fingers, pale as the bones of the dead, gripped delicately, as if starvation had hardened their grip. His face beneath the fine white veil bore traces of beard, and his eyes—pale and blind—saw all. He did not release the child, and yet his hand caressed the small head, tenderly, though he would not hesitate to end its life.
"Your child is born with power, Oquadass. You have seen it, have you not, woman? Those who bear this power endure suffering beyond reckoning. You have seen it with your own eyes, countless times. Thus, no matter how much you plead, I cannot allow you to rear this child. For one day, she will become a demon of insatiable hunger. Do you wish to see her tormented?"
The mother wept and writhed, restrained though she was. She nearly fell to her knees in supplication, but no voice remained. What remained of her were the bloodied traces of the embrace, the sweat and fire coursing from her body, blood boiling within her veins, vessels rupturing quietly from the strain. The longer the child remained, the greater the pain spread among those nearby.
"Please…"
"It is a fate already decreed, woman. You do not choose this."
The Philosopher of Stone walked away, leaving the desperate mother to sink into the depths of grief, clutching the hollowed absence of love in the home from which her child had been taken by necessity. She was left, abandoned, to wail until passersby came to offer sparse comfort. She could do nothing, could resist nothing.
For this is life… where choice was never given.
The city around them was a bustling port, under the dominion of the Kingdom of Crasmer, known across lands for commerce. It was the southern frontier, a border town at the edge of the Liar's Forest, outside the structured grip of the kingdom. Grass thrived around the town, sprouting thickly across fields and abandoned farmland, resilient against sword and scythe alike. Merchants spoke in awe of its durability, a natural testament to the land's vitality.
Within the Liar's Forest, where patches of tall grass wove through open clearings, remnants of civilizations past lay scattered—towers decayed by time and migration. Yet among the ruins, ancient trees broke through stone, reaching skyward, called the Elder Trees for their age, impervious to even the passing of centuries. Travelers often mistook the area for an expansive forest until they entered on horseback, revealing clearings beneath the canopy, thus the name Liar's Forest.
The port town's edge opened to the ocean. From afar, one could glimpse distant waterfalls and massive ships, improbably anchored. Birds flitted, resembling seagulls with sharp beaks like swordfish, their wings broad beyond measure—known as the Wind-Gulls.
"Master Philosopher, a message has arrived via Wind-Gull. It says… we are to meet today."
Before the fireplace, the child lay in his arms, silent yet tenderly regarded. With a flick of his finger to the child's forehead, blue sparks flared. The lifeless form was then cast into the fire, the stench of the destroyed body rising, from before birth. The flames devoured it atop the ceremonial hearth.
"And it seems to have been sent by…"
"The agents of Santrayyanakron. Yes, I am aware. You may leave."
"Be cautious. We will guard outside."
The Philosopher watched the ethereal blue light drift from his hand. Silence followed the footsteps of servants as they departed, until the doors of the aquamarine church thundered again. No statues remained, only frescoes upon the vaulted ceiling, depicting myriad birds in flight. The infant cried pitifully. And there was only he, the Philosopher, standing before the fireplace and the long wooden table, lined in hundreds of seats.
"It has been long, Blood Warrior Vionnier."
The door slammed. A woman in dark, half-silver armor entered, her features sharp as blades, hair black with one white strand cascading over her neck, the other braided short.
"Would you like a drink?"
"I won't. The tea here tastes of the sea of Pyrence."
She seated herself on the frontmost bench, before the Philosopher observing from the hearth, then rose to sit on the stair, carrying items to burn in the ceremonial fire.
"The customs here, the old townfolk of the coast… if the taste does not please the dead like yourself, it is no surprise, is it?"
Vionnier leveled her sword at the Philosopher. He did not flinch. The air thickened, contrasting with the distant murmur of townsfolk praying outside the mercantile town.
"Quiet yourself. Do not pry into matters beyond your ken. Have you forgotten, in Crasmer, your kingdom, there is an imminent invasion by the Waibariz? Barbaric northerners whom the Church now seeks to exterminate. You should know—perhaps know even before the king of lowly mind—but here you are, fiddling with mana and spirits, oblivious. This kingdom is foolish, commerce-minded, and soft-minded. Do you think war ends so easily? Preposterous, truly, the modern fools."
The Philosopher smiled, and with a flick of his finger, nudged her sword downward slightly.
The woman's visage—pale as death, eyes gray tinged with red like a dahlia—seethed with fury. She despised this place; the people's gaze upon warriors mirrored the pity one grants a scavenger. Some offered food, some spat, some struck until the weak fell, drowning in their own blood.
"Had I not come with a warning, I would not waste words on penitents committing sins with your rotten logic, Philosopher Prossant."
"Heh. And you come here for what purpose? Orders or your own will?"
"I sense something approaching the Waibariz. I am here because of a dream, one I trust that you and the other philosophers know. A dream of light upon oil, my sovereign. Many forget him exists. Only I remember. Yet now… I am uncertain. Perhaps time has clouded my memory. So I come alone, without mandate. All across the continent, many are the same."
The Philosopher nodded. Vionnier sheathed her sword. Both gazed at the ceiling silently, the awareness of the land trembling beneath them.
"Yes. Red, black, white, and gray wings torn, falling into the marsh… Dreams like this once were not strange. But with war and the Waibariz… invading aimlessly as sacrifices. I know. Especially as you arrived, to observe, to find the one spreading wings—even if I am branded a traitor for knowing."
Vionnier remained silent. She raised her gaze to the ceiling, then fixed her eyes on Prossant. Finally, she lunged, biting into the collar of his coat, leaving a deep wound as her fangs pierced flesh.
"Tomorrow, be at the harbor at dawn. I will stay here. My men will lead the way. Should you not come, your head will end in that fire. I swear it."
She turned, Prossant pressed his hand to the bite. Blood trickled. He chuckled lightly, watching the back of the blood-and-iron warrior walking toward the door.
"Do not forget your prayers, Vionnier. We shall meet under God's dawn."
"The words of a man who claims God. Hilarious, truly. Heh."
Iron boots echoed through the cloister, the doors closing behind her. She cast a final glance, smiling faintly, leaving the Philosopher alone. Silence lingered long, his eyes tracing the vaulted ceiling, thoughts drifting to an era before all changed.
"Perhaps life itself is duty without end. The answer may have always been before us. But alas, neither I… nor we… have ever possessed it."