Aegis

“To bear the mantle of Throne is no mere title of decoration, Dariel my boy. It is a solemn responsibility, a pledge to embody the core values of Polus’s sacraments, and to serve as among the highest authorities in the nation—their influence second only to the blessed vessel of Freedom’s champion: the King or Queen themself. Only three exist currently within the kingdom, but all shall agree that none is mightier than Lorelai. She is our dazzling beacon amidst the darkness.”

- Gadreel Cherubim, Chancellor of Polus

———

Ascalon

The atrium roars to life in a choir of celebration as officials and knights of the Order rush to Lorelai’s side - their eyes blurry with tears and throats clenched with muffled sobs. Though the King desires to descend his throne and thrust himself into her arms more than anyone else, he knows just how much the court has missed their guardian’s presence. He can wait; for now, let the people have their moment of festivity.

“Pray forgive me for the sudden entrance,” Lorelai chuckles as she’s overrun by an onslaught of loving embraces. “I didn’t intend to cause such a commotion.”

“Perish the thought, my lady,” Gadreel says, wiping his misty eyes with a handkerchief. “Your company is the greatest gift this old man could have possibly received.”

“Oh? Still ever the charmer, Chancellor,” she teases. Her voice carries a slight husk, tone gruff from countless years directing the frontline, and every word is delivered with a powerful, deep timbre that echoes throughout the chamber in bursts of thick melody. “I’ve missed you all. Truly, it has felt like an eternity this past year away from the capital.”

Lorelai turns to face Ascalon and, for a moment, their gazes connect with each other in a shared moment of tender reunion before she drops down onto her knee and addresses him with an immaculate air of formality.

“Blessings upon you o’ King Ascalon of the Highest Seat. Your devoted servant, Lorelai of the three Thrones, has returned.”

It is a good thing his face is hidden, for the wide grin spread across his visage would be an unsightly display, indeed. “You may rise, Dame Lorelai. Welcome back, and… thank you. For all you’ve done to thwart the Caelum advance, Polus owes you a debt of gratitude.”

“No need for that, your majesty,” she says. “It is my duty - one I shall always be eager to fulfill.”

Gadreel swiftly brings out a seat and beckons Lorelai to his side. “Come, come my dear. We were just discussing matters on how best to respond to those foul villains. Your perspective would no doubt be a boon as the one who is most privy to the Grand General’s nature.”

“I would love to, Gadreel. But I must request to have a private audience with the King. Alone. I apologize.”

“Oh. Yes, yes I understand,” the Chancellor says with a disheartened look. “No doubt there is much to relay upon your return. Very well, we shall adjourn the meeting for a later date.”

He turns around and barks at the crowd of crestfallen officials to leave, though Ascalon spots a slight twinkle in the eyes of the junior members. Unfortunately, so does Gadreel. “Let us be off, everyone! And don’t be mistaken: Just because the meeting shall end early does not mean your work does as well. Come, the day is still yet young!”

They slowly trickle out of the chamber with despairing groans and heavy eyes until the only souls left are Lorelai and the King. The two wait for a short second, lingering in silence until they are absolutely sure there are none left around before breaking out into a joyous, merry fit.

“If I had to put up with that stuffy act any second longer… oh, I don't think I would be able to control myself,” she giggles.

“But you did it and with quite the impeccable etiquette as well. I’m impressed; it was, um, a rather surprising sight to put it lightly,” Ascalon says, descending his throne and greeting her with a warm hug.

“It makes them happy. Stars know everyone needs a little joy in these times, no matter how small it may be.”

Ascalon wants to stay in this moment forever. To feel her presence right next to his and hear their heartbeats thumping side-by-side. Alas, he does not want his selfish desires to smother her. Any further would mean to confess his love; that is the one curse he will never burden her with, and so he extinguishes the ember in his heart and breaks away, deceiving himself to be content with their scarce relationship.

Lorelai sighs, a faint hint of disappointment echoing with her voice, and takes off her helm. Long, golden hair flows out in glimmering streams of sunlight while she glares at him with platinum-tinted eyes, provoking the King to free himself from his hesitation. But it is not her eyes that attract his gaze. No, it is the wounds that cover every surface of her skin; they are sunken, dark of color, and blot out what once resembled a soft tan. Long gashes curve through her cheek - severing the middle of her lips into two coarse wholes - while a giant scorch mark covers the right side of her face. Even so, Lorelai carries not even a hint of regret. She smiles with the same beauty as when they first met.

“Your scars have grown,” he whispers, running his finger along the jagged lines. “Do you still refuse to see our healers?"

“But I do not see them as blemishes, Ascalon,” she says, clasping his hand within her own. “Tell me, what do you think it is that defines our people?”

Pitiful is the first thought that comes to his mind.

“I don’t know,” he says. “All I see are the wishes of those who hope to see the sky unburdened of worry.”

“Hm, not quite.” Lorelai guides him to the panel of glass and waves her hand out to the endless sea of people roaming below. Tradesmen dressed in oil-stained garments are hard at work, pounding on lofty brick buildings of red and yellow with a steady, rhythmic hand. Shopkeepers and vendors shout with bustling fervor, selling scantily-begotten produce after a bitter winter along the busy streets lined with cobblestone, and children play about in the city square. Some come from the orphanage, erected to take in the victims of the ever-growing war, while others hail from empty houses—their occupants gone to protect those left behind. And yet, the children smile; they hum fables of old, of legends and heroes who brought forth an era of peace, whilst raising their heads high.

“Struggle,” Lorelai declares. “We fight, Ascalon. And no matter how deeply we suffer, how much we lose, or how terrible the days are when despair comes creeping in from the shadows of our hearts, we rise back up: dirty, ugly, and changed, but we rise nonetheless. For the future that speaks of promise. For the morrow far in the horizon.”

She takes her finger and caresses the scars across her face, as if recounting the memories of each one and engraving them directly onto her soul. “What we do isn’t dignified, but that’s okay. I want to be a symbol for everyone - a reminder that it’s natural to struggle. For that is what I think makes us truly beautiful: the courage to take another step forward.”

The courage to take another step forward…

Ascalon chuckles. All it takes is a few words to remind him of how truly strong his subjects are and their stalwart will which so triumphs his own.

“... I wonder if I’m able to take that step myself,” he says with a hush. “Whenever I teeter over that perilous ravine, I feel fear. I worry if this truly is the right decision, and if not, whether I have the strength to bear the consequences that follow. Cycle after cycle of self-pity and excuses, just to retreat from the edge. To never commit. Heh, I must appear rather repulsive in your eyes, Lorelai.”

“Ascalon...”

“Even so, I want to change. I want to find the courage to voice my true desires and to take hold of what I believe is right.”

He turns his eyes to the glistening blue sky above. It stretches on for eternity, leading to far-away lands and covering the world with its boundless canopy. The sky is indifferent to the plight of those below the earth; it simply exists, confident and free.

“Sometimes, I wish the world would give me a sign,” he says, more to himself than any other. “A push to help myself find that step forward. A call to adventure in which I could finally have the chance to fulfill my dearest wish.”

To be a hero.

He pauses, as if expecting for a sign from the heavens to truly descend onto the mortal plane, but all he’s met with is silence and a concerned look from the true hero by his side.

“Oh, you stubborn fool…” she begins. “You know you’re not alone. We—”

But the King only shakes his head. “Forget my ramblings. I didn’t intend for this to be the start of our reunion. Let’s begin anew. How—”

A sudden explosion of force sends the two toppling onto the ground. The glass pane shatters into thousands of little pieces, and the earth is arumble with furious quakes that causes the entire city to be consumed with violent, jittering tremors and confused screams. Dust and debris fall from above, filling the room in a layer of hazy mist as Ascalon scrambles back to his feet - mind dazed and ears ringing from the impact. He attempts to speak, but the soot covers his throat in a layer of grime, leaving only grunts and agitated coughs to part his lips.

A hand pierces through the cloud and helps him up to his feet. “Ascalon! Are you alright?”

“I-I’m alright,” he rasps. “Just what in Cosmos’s name… is the city under invasion?”

“No,” Lorelai responds, peering at the towering white walls that surround the capital. “The barrier and gates appear untouched. I don’t think— ”

She suddenly freezes in place, eyes enveloped in a strange mixture of disbelief and pure awe.

“Lorelai? Is something the matter!?” Ascalon asks, shaking the statue-like woman in front of him. Her mouth opens and closes with nary a sound leaking out, struggling to find the right sounds as if her entire brain has been consumed by stupefying wonder, before uttering only a single word with a point of her finger.

“Look.”

Ascalon turns his head, and he is met with an impossible, breathtaking sight: the sky. It is no longer blue. The clouds have vanished. The sun has disappeared. Replacing the earthly dome is an ever-shifting aurora of space and color all blending as one in a mismatched, chaotic jumble. The land is bathed in a rainbow of volatile rays and blinding light, the turbulent canvas above fighting over the countless tints and pigments for dominion, only to be replaced a second later by a new batch of paint. A new hue. A new whimsical shade of Creation laughing about as if the world is its playground.

As the people of the capital’s streets stare dumbfounded at the festivity of joy, a voice manifests into existence. It speaks to everyone with the excitement of a starry-eyed child.

It is the voice of the sky, jubilant and merry.

It is the voice of the earth, rejoicing with glee.

It is the voice of Creation, beckoning all to join its choir.

⸻

“Said the Mother to the people everywhere:

Do you hear what I hear? Do you hear what I hear?

Way down in the earth, spread afar

Do you hear what I hear? Do you hear what I hear?

A song, a tear, begging to be free

With a voice as deep as the sea

With a cry o’ weep and a plea.”

⸻

It is the hymn of Cosmos and the celestial rite of birth.

It is the summoning of humanity’s savior—of the one who shall lead them into the astral galaxies above.

⸻

“Do you see what I see? Do you see what I see?

In the darkness cold, a still air

Do you see what I see? Do you see what I see?

A child, a child, innocent and bright

Let them lead you to glory and might

Let them lead us to the gentle light.”

⸻

A flash of light darts across the sky, leaving behind a trail of glowing stardust and new-found dreams—of passions reignited alongside the hopes of man’s kin. The world has answered Ascalon’s call; the time is finally now.

For the Comet has come, shining ever so bright.