Aegis

“When I first rose to the title of Throne, I was ambushed by Xeros. He was much more active in those days, leading the war front from the safety of his veiled seat. Never once did he take to the field personally, and even now I still do not know what powers he truly wields. That uncertainty made me anxious, and in the folly of my youth, it made me reckless. I hated those corvantine eyes—eyes that viewed me, viewed the entire world, as inferior. I sought to bring him down, and in doing so flew straight into his trap.

“I lost many faithful knights that day. And many more returned home with scars that would make even the most unflinching of souls recoil back in disgust. Not even our best healers could mend those wounds, and so they were discharged—forced to live out their days ostracized from the ones they fought so hard to protect. Honor, valor, loyalty… all it took was a single look at their disfigured faces to rip it all away. It didn’t matter that they served. The people only saw grim reminders of the war; they were reminded of the fear, the unease, of the forces advancing ever so closer. The veteran knights were treated as symbols of misfortune, and I was solely to blame.

“What could I do for them? How could I get rid of this stigma attached to their wounds? The answer was really quite simple: I stopped treating myself. When my face was carved in two, I kept the severed remains of my lips. When my face was cast awash in flame, I gritted through the scorched flesh. With every campaign my scars grew until the Lorelai of before was but a distant memory, but I never regretted my decision for a moment. The people began to see these wounds not as something to be ashamed of, but to be honored. To give thanks to those who have sacrificed so much.”

- Lorelai Principality, the former Exalted Throne of Heaven

———

The Knight

“Sorry,” Surasha murmurs, her hands still clinging tight onto the Knight’s waist. “I’ve just been… I—it’s been really hard, these last few weeks. I missed you. A lot.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” it says. “Hold onto me for as long as you wish.”

“Hehe, I’ll do that.”

The King’s sibling has quite the obsessive nature. The Knight needs not even stoke its beguiling aura much to have her wholly dependent on its presence. That is good; it will be of much help to have the support of an entire order. Ascalon and Annalay are of a differing faction, so it must reach out to as many branches of the administration as it can.

“Ascalon sends his regards, by the way,” Annalay says whilst sinking into her seat and watching the scene unfold before her with an entertained chortle. “Can’t you just forgive him already? The poor man’s pitiful enough as he is. You know he loves you.”

Surasha’s response is quick and curt, as if spending another moment even thinking of the King is beneath her. “You know full well about how hard it is to forgive, Annalay.”

“Yeah, I know. But I’m working on it, you stubborn lass. Why do you think I’m here in the first place?”

“With your temper? I thought today was the day you decided to finally tear your mom apart.”

“Eh, we’ll see. But at least I’m making the effort, you know? At least go spend a day together. Take him out for some fun or something: Get him drunk. Stars know the last time he’s left that stuffy castle of his. Besides, no matter what you think about him, he does care about you. I can’t say the same for that hag.”

“Annalay…” Surasha’s voice drops, and she slowly leaves the Knight’s lap to give the brooding Throne a comforting hug. “Jezebel might seem like a cold woman at times, but she isn’t all bad.”

“Gah, don’t say that. It’s weird hearing her name.”

“What, am I supposed to just call her advisor, then?”

“I just don’t like it. She’s always been mother or madam to me. Well, not anymore at least. We cast aside those ties, and I doubt her nature’s changed much since then.”

“You might be surprised.”

“By what, how much she despises me?”

“She talks about you sometimes.”

“So she’s even resorted to cursing my name in public now, how quaint.”

“Annalay!” Surasha smacks the sides of Annalay’s helm and raises herself until the two are face to face. The futile back and forth has clearly left her frustrated, but above all else, there is a yearning in her movements—a yearning to properly convey the words tumbling awkwardly about her throat. “Stars, how do I say this… it’s the opposite Annalay. She’s proud of you, and whenever she talks about you, there’s this—um, light in her eyes? It’s warm. A bit soft, and while her face is usually all stone-like, it always relaxes when your name’s mentioned. She doesn’t show her emotions much, but I can tell that she really misses you.”

Annalay attempts to appear indifferent, but the Knight can see an uncomfortable shuffling in her body—restless, and slowly loosening. Her figure is not so stiff now, but a droplet of hesitation remains: one of doubt and a lifetime of resentment.

“I really find that hard to believe, Surasha,” she mutters. “That hag, of all people, praising someone? No, her pride won’t allow that. It goes against her very beliefs. ‘Vulgar’ or so she would say. Inelegant. The only time she’ll praise someone is when they’re deep in the grave or to manipulate others into doing her bidding. That’s the kind of person she is—not this kind old elder facade she’s been showing you.”

“Maybe,” Surasha relents. “But… I don’t think it’s a facade. To me, she seems genuine—at least when she’s talking about you. I don’t know what she was like before, and I don’t think it matters. Right now, you should see for yourself if it’s all a lie.”

“Now?”

“Hehe, I doubt your entrance went unnoticed. She’s probably waiting for you at the end of the hall.”

“Hells… that’s just like her: acting all dignified.” Annalay sighs and leans back as far as she can into her seat. Her gaze is focused on the ceiling, but her mind is somewhere else. There’s a dryness in her voice and a hint of something else—a combination of reluctance, contemplation, and acceptance. It’s not the most firm of resolutions, but it will do. If they are to meet, then she will be fine as is.

“Are you coming along?”

“No. I don’t think I should,” Surasha says with a sly shake of her head.

“Well, I’m not meeting her alone. Either Lorelai comes or I don’t.”

“Hm, I think that’s fine. She’ll probably be really happy seeing her anyways.”

With a grumble, Annalay stands up and heads for the door. “Let’s go, Lorelai. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can get out of this place.”

“Remember what I said before, Annalay,” it says, bidding Surasha a goodbye wave and following the Throne out into the hall. “Do not let regrets blind you.”

“Yeah, I’ll try.”

The two walk forward with echoing steps. The hall is abandoned, and the only sound coming forth is from down below—back in the atrium where the Virtues can be heard scrambling about after the sudden commotion. Annalay doesn’t say a word, but it can feel her tension steadily rising. Still, she continues, and as their long march comes to an end, they are faced with a small, weathered door. Its age is apparent, and the wood is far more worn than the others passed by.

Annalay reluctantly moves to knock on the base, but a commanding voice rings through before she has the chance. “I can recognize those crude stomps anywhere. Do come in, would you Annalay?”

She mumbles a curse to herself, teeth grating as her hand struggles between moving for the handle or curling into a fist, but her self-control wins out in the end and she pushes the door wide open.

There, sitting elegantly in the midst of a faded, pale interior, is a frail woman with dull grey hair. She is much smaller than the Knight has expected, and contrary to her hardy voice, her appearance is feeble: sagging skin, tired brown eyes, and a meekness unbefitting of one with her stature. Yet, there is an air of authority that lingers in her movements: subdued, but a phantom hides within—a remnant of a woman who once reigned above all others.

“Please, take a seat,” the woman says, beckoning them towards her desk. A clay pot lies in the middle, and two ornate cups have already been set for them. “I just brewed a fresh batch of tea. I do hope you will enjoy it.”

“… I thought those kinds of things were beneath you,” Annalay mumbles. She has changed drastically, no longer harboring that guarded vigilance from before. Now, her gaze is bitter - almost sarcastic, as if laughing at herself for being so hesitant towards such a frail husk.

“Don’t mumble, dear. It’s beneath you.”

“Why the hells do you care about how I speak?”

“Language, Annalay.”

“Stars, you’re insufferable…”

“I have nothing but time these days,” she continues while ignoring her defiant daughter. “It was inevitable that I would come to fancy a hobby, and I do quite like the art of making tea. It’s sophisticated, yet simple to learn. It requires a deep wealth of knowledge to properly brew a quality batch. I must apologize to our old servants one day; the tea they brewed was truly breathtaking.”

Annalay grunts and, though reluctant, takes off her helm. A rough face is revealed, burly and stout with harsh, piercing eyes. She looks exactly like a younger version of her mother, the only difference being her hair which is a slight auburn—color like that of a chestnut.

She grips the cup’s handle with a grumble and swallows the tea inside with a single gulp.

“How is it?”

“… Fine. Doesn’t taste bad, at least.”

“Mm, that makes me happy. What about you, Lorelai my dear? I remember you like your tea quite sweet, so I’ve prepared a few sugar cubes to the side, if you so wish.”

“Ah, is that so?” it says while feigning an embarrassed flush. “I’m sorry. My tastes are still a bit unknown to me.”

“Oh, there’s no need to worry about such things. The Chancellor already told me of your condition. One step at a time, my dear. One step at a time.”

It is silent between them for some time. Neither mother or daughter deign to speak to the other, and the Knight knows not whether it should attempt to break the spell or continue to remain in the uncomfortable environment. Fortunately, Annalay decides to take on the burden herself.

“You’ve, um, gotten old,” she says.

“Indeed I have. And you’ve grown much since I last saw you.”

“Not really. At least compared to the other brats running around this place. Aren’t they supposed to be living at the academy right now?”

“We got special permission from the head principal for them to live here. We’ve been rather protective of the younger generation after that monster of steel killed all of your cousins.”

“You’re still on about that? You know Sarathiel had no other choice, and I won’t stand by while you insult my friend like he’s some kind of abomination.”

“But he is, my dear. I’ve always had a bad feeling about that man, and he only confirmed my suspicions when he lost control of his own mind. If it were not for him, you wouldn’t be pressured to become the family head. Our grudges run deep.”

“Oh yeah? Then what does that make my grudge, then?”

Again, silence. Unbearably so.

“… Why did you call for me, exactly? I doubt it’s to have this little tea party.”

“Is it so wrong for a mother to wish to see her daughter?”

“You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.”

“I’ve made my mistakes, Annalay.”

“I don't think those were just simple mistakes.”

“I was… scared, dear. I didn’t want you to go out onto the battlefield. You were supposed to get an administration position. It would have been safe; you would have been safe, and your honor as a noble would have been upheld as well.”

“So that’s why you disowned me? Forced me to give up the Virtue name and sent me out onto the streets? Real swell job you did, and now look at me: the Untamed Throne of Nature. Even you can’t boss me around anymore.”

“And what a fine woman you’ve become.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.”

“Language, Annalay.”

Annalay slams her fist on the table and smashes it into a pile of wood and broken shards. Her mother doesn’t flinch, nor does she react to the sudden bout of violence. There is only a sad look in her eyes—one of shame.

“I—” she begins, voice struggling to part her throat. “I’ve regretted that moment every single moment of my life ever since, Annalay. When I wake up, I see your face then. I see your tears, those eyes filled with betrayal, and I wonder what could have been if I had acted differently. Treated you with a bit more compassion.”

“It’s a little bit too late for that,” Annalay mutters, her voice bordering between a growl.

“I know. And I—I tried to justify my actions. I thought renouncing your name would force you to look at reality. That day, I wanted you to come back, to stop being so rebellious and finally give up your dreams of becoming a knight.”

“But I was too stubborn.”

“You really were. I suppose it was only natural: You resemble me, after all. Perhaps too much.”

“I am nothing like you.”

“If only that were true. I would have liked it quite much if you took after your father more.”

“Can’t take after someone who’s face I don’t know.”

“And that’s why I didn’t want you to become a knight, Annalay. Your father and I sacrificed everything to protect our nation, and when I heard news of his passing after giving birth to you… I knew then I had to give up my glaive. I wanted to raise you as someone who would never have to worry about loss.”

“Raise? Do you even remember what you did to me!?” Annalay leaps up from her seat and snatches her mother by the throat, raising her high off the floor and clenching tight as the frail woman sputters and chokes before her grasp. The Knight moves in to stop the seething Throne but is stopped by the very victim of her rage.

“It’s ok,” she gasps, holding a trembling arm out. “And I do, Annalay. I was harsh—”

“Harsh? Hah. That doesn’t even begin to describe it. Stars, I sure was lucky to be born into a family of healers, huh? If not, I would’ve become more scarred than Lorelai from all the whippings and beatings and lashings you gave me. Everytime you fed me poison, my guts would rot from the inside out, only to be completely recovered the next day. Everytime you bashed my face bloody for disrespecting your orders, I’d be all fine and dandy after a quick splash of tonic. Again and again and again, without rest. I had to endure fourteen years straight of your abuse before I was finally free. Fourteen years of pure hatred I’ll never get back. You call that just harsh?”

There is nothing the woman can say, and Annalay knows that full well. There are no excuses that can be said, and if even there are, she has no intent on listening to them.

“From the very bottom of my heart, I despise you,” she says. “And that will never change.”

“I know, Annalay. And I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need your apology.”

“Still, I will say it nonetheless. I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, and I know nothing I say will ever reconcile the pain I’ve inflicted upon you.”

“Then why the hells are we here!?” Annalay screams. “What did you bring me here for, if not for that, then? Go ahead. Try. Get on your knees and beg me to forgive you.”

“If it will make you feel better, then I will.”

“Stars, you’re utterly pathetic.” She lets go and trushes back to her seat, leaving her mother to remain as a crumpled, collapsed mess on the floor. “Forget it, I don’t care anymore. Just tell me why you called me here.”

“I… already said why, dear,” she wheezes.

“Oh, don’t give me that. I know you have another reason. What, is it to convince me to come back to the Virtues? Surasha’s doing a fine enough job, already.”

“I just wanted to see your face, Annalay.” Tears begin to glide down her cheeks, rolling. Rolling, leaving behind stained patterns wet with sorrow as a subdued cry leaks out from her trembling body. “I wanted to ask you about your life. How have you been? Are you eating well? Is it hard out there? I worry for you every second you’re out there against the Caelum legionnaires. And I worry that, one day, you’ll return in a casket, and I’ll have to say goodbye to my only child. Thrones don’t tend to live long, dear. And the thought of you departing for the Stars before me is more terrifying than anything else in this world. Even if it’s only for a short moment, I want to spend as much time as I can with you. Only Cosmos knows how long we have left together, so even if you berate me or yell at me or do whatever you wish to me, I will be satisfied as long as I can see you alive and healthy. That is my only wish.”

The Knight has seen many families. Some are happy, and some are not. Oftentimes, many suffer from broken relationships, and more likely than not, tragedy always befalls them before they have a chance to reconnect. It is because it has witnessed so much that it can without a shred of doubt that the woman before it truly loves Annalay. The Throne has an opportunity right now: to forgive and let go of the past, or to fester in her loathing and forever discard what little bond between them remains. It is very interested to see what she chooses.

“… Hah, get up,” she says, lending an arm for her mother to hold onto. The woman rises, and though it appears the two are about to make amends, Annalay’s expression is still cold. That hatred is still there, but not to the intensity from before. Something else has burrowed into her heart, but what exactly is unknown. It is a strange feeling, marred in a chaotic, jumbled blend of all sorts of emotions. The Knight is confused. What exactly is this?

“I will never forgive you,” she repeats, face blank and devoid of warmth. “But, for all the suffering you’ve caused, there were moments where I was happy. It was rare, but I remember them. I cherished them, because it was the only time I ever felt truly loved by you. And while I won’t forget the days where it felt like I was the most miserable person in the world, you tried at the very least to act like a mother. I won’t attempt to understand you, but I will acknowledge your effort. That’s the best you’re ever going to get from me.”

Her mother softly laughs. It is a mournful laugh, a gloomy, depressive laugh of one resigned to their fate, but it carries a small inkling of hope.“Will you visit me again?”

“I don’t know. Maybe if I feel like it.”

“Then I will dare to look forward to it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m leaving now. Don’t want to see your sorry face any longer.”

“Goodbye, dear.”

“… Goodbye, mom.”

The two stand up, and they leave. The Knight can faintly hear the feeble woman sobbing behind the door, but Annalay doesn’t react. Whether she truly hears her or is merely pretending not to is unclear, but what’s certain is the gaunt expression spread across her face. Tired and weary.

“What shall we do now?” it asks.

“Good question,” she begins. “You know what? Let’s go out for a drink. I think I need it.”