Where does the world go from here?
One would like to think that the omen of the total eclipse would have been enough to dissuade any further skirmishes in the war. However, this is not the case. It doesn’t take much longer than an hour, after the sunlight returns and the horrified armies manage to repel the things that crawled out of the darkness, before they once again turn on each other. It’s like they have no choice in the matter, as if they were simply two opposing forces of nature that had no possible path of action other than to always be in conflict.
Maybe this is the case?
All across the world — even if the eclipse has ended — monsters have come from the dark regions and begun to strike. It doesn’t matter if on this continent, where war is abundant, or on that of any other. Monsters press forward, kill, and gorge on the bodies of their victims. Adventurers soon stop going to dungeons, instead finding higher pay and purpose in chasing through the forests around their cities to clear them of such creatures of endless form and body. Goblins, dragons, serpentine half-breeds, and undead are only some of the things that appear in the world in the largest numbers they have ever been here before.
Nobody can say for certain why this is happening — at least, nobody outside of Acacia’s personal circle.
Zero’s wish for the world to be eaten may be denied it for now, but it is not yet denied to the millions of mouths it has left around the world that gnaw on bone and gristle.
A new age seems to have come, the age of the Wilde Jagd, as those in the empire call it — the wild hunt — as it resembles a time in history in which something like this had happened before.
And yet, despite all of this, people somehow still manage to just live their lives as if nothing had changed.
And for those who find themselves sitting by the river on a warm summer’s day as they watch the sparkling water or lying on soft, green grass as the sun warms them like a lover’s grace — it really does feel like nothing has changed. Children learn their trades or find a place in education; people go to work to earn their food and keep, merchants travel and sell, bakers bake, candle-makers make; and the night and day come and go exactly as one would hope they would.
For those who live in the quiet cities of the world, life goes on, in stark contrast to those who live in the regions of horror, whether it is made by monsters or by men with steel and fire. Perhaps it is hard to claim that such a world is beautiful. After all, while it does contain such goodness, it also contains the opposite.
So where does a world go when half of it is full of fire and screams and the other half feels like today will be the most boring, relaxing, quiet day that there ever was?
Honestly, there is only one thing that could happen, and that is the same thing happens that always happens, no matter what.
Life changes, but it goes on.
After all, what else could there really be? In this world, there is no such thing as total emptiness. No matter where one is, what life one lives, there is no chance that tomorrow will be empty and null.
There will always be something there.
Acacia’s city flourishes, as it has been doing. While Zero’s ambush on the world had caused terror and anguish in many places, her domain had been far safer than many others because of her establishment of the defenses in and around it that had given people shelter and security. The blackguards, who number in the thousands, repelled monsters in numbers just as many — even while Sir Knight was fighting together at her side — because protecting these people was just as much a priority as protecting her.
They are hers, after all, and as wicked, cruel, and lovelessly cold as the black-hearted queen to be is, she still wishes in her deepest heart to create a world in which people never have to hurt like she did. There are times, of course, when she loses sight of that goal and wanders about, confused and wondering what exactly she’s doing — just like any person in this world, of which she is one. But this priority always reaffirms itself in heart and mind, and so it is one and the same in Sir Knight’s. It is no good to protect her if all they have to return to is a world of tears and screams.
Perhaps she is cruel in many ways; perhaps she is spoiled in others; perhaps she is vaguely distant from the social realities of life; perhaps she can be snippy and rotten; but at the end of the day, her wish now that the summer is in full swing is the same wish that she had when this all began, when her pretend game with Sir Knight put her into a new position of chance. Her wish is still to become the queen of this nation, so that she can govern and rule it with a kinder, more sensible hand than her family had done.
She will march to the throne from within its core, even if the nation is at war with the enemy Empire, and she will take hold of those reins in order to steer the lives of the millions who live here toward a brighter tomorrow — toward the autumn and winter, which have yet to come, and toward countless more that lie just beyond those.
— If she lives that long.
Lowering a bloodied rag from her mouth, Acacia looks over at those people sitting here at the table with her — her friends, which she never thought she would have, and some others. Kaisersgrab and his compatriot, as well as the inquisitor from the south, are here now, gathered for a round she has called together a few days after their agreement to put on hold their own agendas after the destruction of Zero.
“It is the will of the High-Priest that you return with us,” says a dry, dull, and fully emotionless voice. Fichtenholz, the green-haired elf and lycanthrope, sits next to Kaisersgrab. The elegant leans as far back on his chair as he can, his arms crossed tightly around himself as he looks everywhere except at Sir Knight, who is next to Acacia. “So that Herr Ritter might be dispelled and banished back to whence he came.” Funnily enough, the elf has a hand on Kaisersgrab’s below the table, as if comforting him.
The man is terrified of Sir Knight, and having him enter into the same room as him has been difficult.
“As I have made clear,” starts Acacia, looking at them. “I am the queen of the Kingdom,” she explains. “What I say supersedes the will of some priest whom I do not care for,” she remarks. She turns her eyes, looking at the inquisitor from the south. “The same applies to you.”
“— What I believe her Majesty is trying to say,” chimes in Chicory, before the others begin to take great offense at Acacia’s heresy. “- is that without her and Sir Knight, both the Kingdom and the Empire would have been destroyed by Zero,” explains the agent. “As well as the south,” she finishes, looking at Zabinayah. “Sacrificing this power because of fears of its misuse would have put our world in the path of destruction. We wouldn’t be here talking about it now without them.”
Acacia crosses her arms, leaning back on her chair. She closes her eyes and lifts her nose.
“Sir Knight is kind of scary,” says Junis, breaking the silence that fills the room after a moment of it being there. “But he’s done a lot of good!” explains the elf, smiling at him and nodding as she plays with her folded hands on the table. She looks at the three outsiders. “He’s saved hundreds of lives, including mine,” finishes Junis, holding a hand against herself.
“— He owes me about a thousand Obols!” says a rabbit-eared girl, sitting at the table too.
“…Why are you here?” asks Chicory.
“Wait, what?” asks Sir Knight, looking at Hase.
The rabbit girl nods, looking very confident. “Reparations for lost business opportunities,” she explains.
“…Aren’t you a thief?” asks Junis quietly. “What ‘business’?”
Hase slaps a small hand against the table, pointing at Junis with the other. “None of your business, that’s what!” she snaps sharply. Hase points a hand at Sir Knight. “Give me your armor!” she demands.
“…What?” asks Sir Knight again, looking into Hase’s glaring eyes.
“We’ll handle that matter separately,” says Acacia, waving them all off before opening her eyes again to look around the table. “Kaisersgrab. In my mercy, I have decided that you may leave both my city and my presence with empty hands,” she says. “And be glad that I allow you to keep even those, given the danger you put the people I care about in.” Acacia waves him away as well. “Go and never return,” she orders. “Not even to my thoughts.”
Kaisersgrab silently gets up, holding a hand against his chest as he bows, the chair behind him scooting back.
“No,” says Fichtenholz in her dull candor, holding onto his sleeve.
“You too,” says Acacia coldly, looking at her.
“No,” replies Fichtenholz, her expression and words both as dry as grit as she listlessly stares into Acacia’s eyes.
“It’s okay,” says Kaisersgrab to his companion. “Thank you, Your Grace,” says the elegant man in his accent as he tries to get the other lycanthrope to get up as well. “Fichtenholz,” he says, trying to get her to budge but only succeeding in tipping the chair she’s sitting on over half-way as she grips to it with her other hand. “Mind your honor,” he reminds her. “We are already disgraced in the eyes of heaven.”
“No,” says Fichtenholz, turning her head to look at him. “Dogs don’t have any,” she says in a monotone voice. “Woof,” she barks.
“Sir Knight,” asks Acacia. “Go to the bishop’s residence and have him come down to pick up his master’s strays once more. They seem stubborn.”
“Weak dogs are culled,” says Fichtenholz, her fingers pulling on Kaisersgrab’s robe and starting to tear the fabric a little from the strength of her grip. The man has to lean in a little toward her as she tightens her grasp to stop his sleeve from ripping clean off his shoulder.
“I asked you not to call us that,” says Kaisersgrab, looking at her. “You’re not.”
“Woof,” says Fichtenholz, looking back at Acacia.
And such is the predicament, as said in so few confusing words. Kaisersgrab has failed in his mission to kidnap the princess twice now, and both times in an exceptionally disastrous manner. The first failure had cost the church as an organization dearly in political clout as its affiliations became clear to the world. His second loss had resulted in the deaths of a full generation of elite members of the church’s Grimm program who made use of lycanthropes as their own surgical blades. He won’t be given a third opportunity. He won’t even be given a leash. He’ll be put down like a feral that has gotten into the hen house.
“You do not need to go back to your master,” says Acacia. “But you cannot stay here. I will not have rabid creatures amongst my people.”
Fichtenholz essentially shoves Kaisersgrab back into his seat, the wood of the backrest cracking from the force of her arm pressing him down. “We will be good.”
“Leave,” says Acacia.
“No,” replies the elf.
Acacia leans over the table. “This is not how negotiations work.”
“Woof,” replies Fichtenholz.
Lost in a conversation of this nature, Acacia looks at Kaisersgrab. But he doesn’t even make eye contact with her. The man is fully broken and sits there like a kicked animal that doesn’t know right from wrong.
“Um…” says a voice. Junis. Acacia looks at her as she lifts a finger to signal she has something to say. Junis leans over, whispering into Acacia’s ear as the two of them look over at Kaisersgrab and Fichtenholz. Acacia listens.
“How is that my problem?” she asks, listening to Junis finish her whispered explanation of her observation that is kept a secret between the two of them for now. Acacia pulls back, sits there, and turns her head to look at Sir Knight. The man shrugs. “…Heavy is the head that wears the crown…” sighs Acacia. “Let everyone hear that this is against my own judgment, but you may stay here for now,” remarks the princess with narrowed eyes. “Not as guests, but as mutts who I am willing to shelter against my wisdom, at least. Bark,” she orders.
“Woof,” replies Fichtenholz immediately, not bothered by anything ever, it would seem.
She nudges Kaisersgrab, who sits there silently. He’s a refined man of honor and dignity, after all, who would prefer to walk home alone to the headsman’s axe than disgrace himself. Such strong principles have a way of guiding one through a chaotic life such as his own. If not for the fact that something starts to visibly snap as the elf’s hand squeezes his fingers, which one might suspect loosens from the joints, he would have kept entirely silent. But instead, he lets out a surprised yelp that sounds nothing like a bark.
Acacia sighs. “I will accept it,” she remarks.
“Her Majesty is gracious beyond the blood of ten thousand hearts,” says Sir Knight from his side of the table.
“Spare me,” replies Acacia, as Junis quietly laughs into her hand, next to her, at the situation. After all, how could someone who wishes to be the queen of a nation in which nobody has to be sad or suffer send a young man to his death when there is a woman sitting next to him and desperately holding his hand below the table — even now after her judgment has fallen? “Your softness is corrupting me, Sir Knight,” she remarks, lifting a hand to wave him off.
“’Heavy is the head that wears the crown’,” recites a voice from the side — Zabinayah, who sits at the table with his hat resting there. “But is it strong enough to sustain the weight for long?” he asks. They look at him. “I have come here to kill a demon, Your Majesty,” says the inquisitor, quite plainly. “Without doing so, I may not restore my honor or return home.”
“Great, perfect,” says Acacia in annoyance, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “And?” she asks. "What's your sell?"
Zabinayah shrugs and picks up his hat, setting it on his head as he gets up. “I saw no demons here,” he says in his thick, southern flair. “Only people,” He adjusts the brim, slicking the long white feather back.
“So you’re leaving?” asks Chicory.
“No,” replies Zabinayah, grabbing the door and opening it as he steps outside. He looks back at Chicory and then over to Sir Knight. “I saw one devil, but I have not yet decided if I have seen two,” he explains. “I will stay until I know.”
He closes the door behind himself.
Acacia sits there, tapping her finger against her arm in annoyance. “You know. I feel like people don’t really respect my authority,” remarks the princess, shaking her head. “Maybe I need to stage some executions to make a show of force?” she ponders out loud to the room.
“…I’ll cry if you do that,” says Junis, next to her.
Acacia groans, scooting her chair back and away from the table. “Fine,” she relents. “Then let us call this meeting finished, before I change my mind and upset my friend,” says Acacia, looking at Junis for a moment before rising to her feet and leaving.
Changed.
If there is one word that Acacia would use to describe herself as she stands there out by the waters of the park lake, looking out at the birds swimming across its surface, it would be that.
She’s changed.
Maybe it’s hard to say if it’s for the better or for the worse from the perspective of some, but for her, she’s grateful to have this opportunity to really live and experience life — just for this little flash of time that she has — before it all comes crashing, collapsing to an end.
A duck dives down below the water, splashing with its webbed feet as it submerges.
It was only two seasons ago when she was sure that her life had come to an end, not in a grand spectacle of any manner, and not with any memories of someone who had enjoyed their journey. Instead, it had almost ended in a sad, pathetic whimper of a beaten-down, dying creature stuck in a dark hole, grasping desperately for the whispers of breath but never managing to grab firm hold of them.
And now she’s changed.
Honestly, even she isn’t sure of it sometimes though, when she lies in bed and looks toward the ceiling in terror at the things she has to do and the weight of her responsibilities crushing down on her. But at the end of the day, when she falls back into that bed again with those things finished and done, she knows that she’s changed. The terror inside, the fear, and even sometimes the self-loathing — it’s all still there. It never goes away, not really. There is an infinite emptiness somewhere out there, and in a sense, every person in this world is strung and connected to it. There isn’t enough summer sunshine and dreams in all of humanity to fill that screaming chasm that everyone is dangling only just above, whether they know it or not.
But despite that, she does what she has to do. That’s how she knows that she’s changed. Because she’s still a terrified, overwhelmed person who doesn’t want to be sad or hurt and who doesn’t want to die. But she still gets up and does what she has to do because there are people around her now who she can help not feel those things. Even if she can’t protect herself from those sensations, she can protect those others from them.
Summer is here now, autumn will come soon, and winter will follow, and by the time the next spring is here, she’s not sure if she’ll be there to see it or not. That’s the nature of life, isn’t it? It’s short. It’s very short. Most don’t really understand that until they finally get there and see the edge of the infinite abyss, but some people see it earlier and realize the cruelness of it, even letting someone have a taste of it only to lose it so quickly after.
That’s why she’s lucky. She got to realize it sooner than others.
“Thank you, Sir Knight,” says Acacia, knowing that he’s standing next to her, even if she didn’t hear him coming. She looks down at her hand for a while, contrasting it to the water behind it. Then she turns her head to look up at him. “Can you tell me who you were?” she asks. “Before?”
Sir Knight stands there, then slowly shakes his head after a moment. “Nobody worth mentioning,” says the man in black armor, looking back her way.
— Changed.
Acacia holds out a hand, her fingers draping down, and he takes it and kneels. “…Can you tell me who you are now?” she asks, the summer wind blowing past them as she pulls a strand of hair back behind her ear.
The scarred, battered helmet looks up at her. “Who do you want me to be?” he asks in his heavy voice. There’s a light screeching of metal rubbing against metal, disjointed from the scenery, as Acacia lifts his visor and looks through it at the dark silhouette of a blank body that sits inside, looking her way.
The answer is given not in the form of words and commands, as would have happened in the times prior to these, but rather in actions — from a changed person.
Acacia holds her face to his, the princess and her knight exchanging a first kiss on a normal, boring, gentle summer’s day such as this one because it may be their only opportunity to ever do so in this path of life that they share for now, thanks to the pretend game of theirs that they’ve been playing. What is to be of the next summer to come? None can really say this early on, but no matter the outcome of this year — good or ill — it will never be the same.
No season ever is.
Behind them, a duck splashes noisily around the pond as it surfaces again, quacking and flapping its wings in the warm sunshine as the warm wind caresses the two of them.
Blood leaks from the corners of his haggard, dry eyes as he sits on his elevated throne, watching the shadows of his court dance and twist around as they always do.
His fingers claw into his face as he looks at the advisers and guards, all standing there and quietly going about their business below him in the throne room. Sunlight tries to make its way into the room, only being able to press far enough through the thick, glass windows that these people are able to cast their shadows behind them as they move about in a scurry — like rats crawling through a rotting wall.
They can’t see them — the people; they can’t see the shadows like he can. He can’t stop watching them, ever. Every time he does, they move a little closer, and they play a new trick. They’re always about and abound. No matter how many fires he has lit or how many lanterns he has placed, there’s always darkness creeping and crawling. He can see it.
“My lord,” says a man, bowing before the throne. The king’s eyes shoot his way. “There is news from the Empire,” he starts, looking up nervously.
The man below gulps as he sees the black streaks crawl through the king’s eyes like worms that have infested them. They slither around. “They’ve… they’ve begun a forbidden ritual,” he says. “They’re breaking the laws of war.”
“Speak,” orders the king, looking at the terrified man.
— A soft, shrill laughter comes from the back of his head, sounding as if it were echoing all around the throne room, but only for him to hear. The others can’t hear it. They can’t see it.
The man below lifts up a tattered page, stolen from an old book by an informant. The paper is eaten through, the old ink having gnawed and chewed its way through confinement on the page generations ago. But from what is left of it, from what remains, the silhouette of a golden suit of armor with a blade of the same noble, heavenly hue is shown.
“They’re summoning a true hero, my liege,” says the man, the paper in his hand flying out of his grasp as if something unseen hovering all around them had snatched it away. It floats, as if trapped in the wind, with the men and women below running after the page. "They're bringing a soul from another world to ours."
But the king sits there on his throne, one of his eyes spasming as he watches long, spindly shadows carry the page around, dangling it above them all as if it were a cat playing with a mouse that it has been ready to kill for a long time now.
The voice’s tickled laughter continues in his head; it continues to echo around the throne room as it plays.
But it almost sounds like it was coming from nowhere at all.
