Aegis

“That is not quite what I had in mind, child. Are you really certain about maintaining this appearance? Yes, they are beautiful, but it is not—hrm, oh very well. I suppose it is of no concern if they are not the same. No, perhaps this is for the better. The Lorelai of the people’s past shall be forgotten. Instead, there shall only be I: reborn with wings anew.”

- The Knight

———

Mary

RING. RING. RING.

“Mm… come on now, just five more minutes…”

RINGRINGRINGRINGRING.

“Aw, shut yer trap already!” Mary groggily raises her fist and then delivers a clean right hook at the clock by her bedside. The ol’ thing’s sent flying right into her wall with a smack and a mighty wallop, but it daintily lands onto the ground without even a scratch. Still ringing. Still making that infernal racket. That’s the trusty Polus guarantee for you: real damn stubborn.

“I get it, I get it. Sheesh, and I was having a nice dream too! Ah, well, ‘spose it doesn’t matter. Wakey wakey, Mary you darlin’ gal: It’s time to greet the morning.”

She yawns and rolls her body out into a little stretch before lazily sinking to the floor and shimmying to her window. “Well, would you look at that! Mighty fine day it is out there. The sun is shining; the breeze is singing; and there’s not a dang ol’ cloud in the sky! Now this calls for my bestest get-up. Bestest… is that a word? Well it is now!”

A messy bundle of clothes flies out of her dresser, and Mary fusses over her hair as she changes into a variety of promising garments. “Let’s see here… no, red’s a bit too bold. Ooh! I like this design, but eh—wearing white on a funeral? Everybody’ll think I’ve lost my noggin! Decisions, decisions. Shouldn’t rush though, it’s a big day today!”

Today is a big day, for the castle has invited everyone in the Castrum to the city square for a grand send-off—an honorable ceremony for those lost in the deep dark woods of the Aeternum. One would think this to be a gloomy event, but Mary knows a little secret. Well, it’s not very little. It’s a humongous one, and she can’t wait until it’s revealed before all the low lookin’ faces around the district as of late. She just knows a certain someone will finally make her appearance, and when that time comes, Stars be damned if the ol’ girl isn’t at her bestest.

Eventually, she settles on a nice black overcoat with a grey dress and some leggings. And the heels. Can’t forget about the heels. Yep, I look like a proper mourner now. One with some style.

Funerals shouldn’t be all doom and gloom. Mary likes to believe in hearty goodbyes—in exchanging fond memories and bright smiles so that those of the beyond can rest easy knowing the living’s moving on. Finding their own happiness.

“Isn’t that right, you foolish brother of mine?”

With a clickety-clacking step out of her room, she walks up to a small, closed-off cupboard. Inside is a little shrine decorated with candles and wax and a big bouquet of flowers—courtesy of that nice gentleman in the weird mask.

A name is inscribed on a stone plaque in the middle: Joseph Bethany. It’s the name of a man with a noble dream, of becoming a knight, and that dream has brought much frustration amongst his folk. He’s gone now, but Mary still remembers him fondly—yes, even the annoying bits. That’s family for ya.

“That’s right, moping around never did anyone any good. Don’tcha worry: I’ll make sure to knock some sense around here.”

She lays down a tribute of crackers, gently shuts the cupboard, and then heads on down towards the exit door. “I’ll see ya later, little Joe.”

With a final thump of her heel, Mary leaves her abode, and then she treks down a flight of stairs to emerge out into the wide, open space of her tavern. This place is her home, her breadwinner, and the final gift her parents left her. Ain’t anywhere else does she want to live.

Well, not that she has any choice. The capital’s too damn expensive these days, and the real estate prices would make even a grown man whimper like a babe. That’s the cost of safety: Here, you don’t need to worry about attacks or raids or great cranky beasts. Some people are willing to spend a fortune just for that, so Mary considers herself very fortunate. It’s like my momma always said: “Count your blessings, girl. Sometimes we really don’t know how good we’ve got until we see others who don’t got what we have good.” Aw, Momma… you always did have a way with words.

She slaps her cheeks and turns her frown upside down. Even though the tavern’s closed day for the funeral, she should at least get some chores in before the bell tolls—

A sudden knock on the door practically sends the little lady into a fright. Now who could that be?

Mary walks over, and she opens the door to discover a crowd of her regulars waiting right outside. Drunks, they are. The lot of them. But they’re kind folk, good business too, and though she doesn’t particularly mind a morning rush, it is a bit strange that they’re here right now.

“Now what in the Stars name are you all doing?” she hollers with an embellished sigh.

“Waiting fer you of course!” one of them shouts. “Come on, dear: You know I need my daily drink! Is the only thing that keeps me awake these days.”

“That’s all fine and dandy old man Gillian, but can’t ya read the sign? I even made it all big and colorful for you folk with weak eyes.”

Mary points to a very obvious and very clear sign hanging on the doorstep that says, “CLOSED FOR FUNERAL CEREMONY TODAY. I MEAN IT. DON’T COME. THAT MEANS YOU GILLIAN!” Suffice to say, it doesn’t look like it worked.

“Oh, that thing?” the sly elder chuckles. “Must’ve missed it.”

“I bet ya did, gramps. I bet ya did.”

“Do humor this old fella, won’t you? Besides, a couple of bottles are just what’s needed to send off the departed. You can’t expect us to go there sober now can you?

“Mm… eh… maybe…”

It’s no use. Trying to stop a drunk from getting their liquor is as useless as arguing with a certified idiot: You’ll only feel sorry in the end. But just as Mary’s about to give in and let everyone inside, a loud, echoing sound erupts right into her eardrums. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. It’s the sound of the bell, clanging with a force powerful enough to wake the dead.

“Hehe, sorry gramps. Looks like the funeral’s ahead of schedule.”

“Ah, blast my luck! Well, nothing to be done now, but prepare yourself girl: I’ll be needing the extra strong stuff by the time we’re done.”

“I’ll save some jugs just for you.”

Soon enough, the streets start filling with people until not a speck is left of the ground in sight. Body after body marches, trailing along in a steady flow as the air busies with a whole lot of talking and whispering. They talk about all sorts of things: Some are feeling restless about the future; some just want the day to be over with; and others are wondering why they’d need everyone at the square in the first place. But, above all that, is a name fluttering around with hesitation: Lorelai.

Before the ceremony, nobody has really talked about her much. They all know what happened, they’ve all heard the wishful statements from the royals, but it would be a lie to say that the people haven’t half-given up. No one wants to even mention her name, for to say it out loud would mean coming to terms with reality. Everyone’s stubborn; they want to hold on to the past however long they’re able, and this whole event is a mean reminder that they can’t keep on running away.

But something’s different. The common folk are all depressed, but Mary’s noticed that the knights are rather calm. Not a hint of grief are in those typical stoney eyes. She knows why, of course, but it is interesting to see how their composure is messing with the atmosphere. It’s a weird mix of despair, defeat, idleness, and comfort. Even the others are beginning to feel that something’s off.

Funerals aren’t uncommon, the castle usually holds one once a year, but never have they asked the entire city to gather into one big lump before. Most of the time they just parade around the districts, so the people are wondering if there’s something special about this occasion. One passing comment Mary catches with her eavesdropping expertise says that it’s almost as if they’re planning on revealing something.

And she can only giggle to herself, hiding back a toothy grin.

Finally, after snaking along with the crowd, Mary arrives at the square. The entire castle can be seen here, and all the Orders of the kingdom are lined to the side. Oh my goodness, there must be thousands, no, tens of thousands, no, HUNDREDS of thousands of people here. The entire goshdarn city is up and about, from the workers to the knights to even the little kids at the orphanages. They must really be planning to make an impact; I’m excited.

The crowd goes silent as a lone man walks out into the castle’s promenade. His armor gleams with swirls of light and amber; his fabled zweihander exudes a mighty pressure upon them all; and a large, white feathered cloak hangs free from his back, specks of glitter and gold dotting all around the side. Everything about the man exudes a regal grace. It’s only natural; after all, the man is King Ascalon: Ruler over all of Polus.

But Mary knows another side of him—of a shy, clumsy man who wouldn’t know the difference between a passing compliment and a very obvious flirt. Sure, she hasn’t actually met him face to face, but her friends have said plenty about his personality while drowning their sorrows in the throes of drink. Those words come back to her now, and she’s surprised: It’s hard to believe them after seeing his gentle aura in person. It’s warm, like a nice wool blanket on a cold winter’s eve. She’s certain that if a divine being were to descend right now, their presence would not be so different from the King standing up there. Holy and radiant.

Mary doesn’t have to wait long before his voice ripples throughout the air. Benevolent, yet filled with an immense strength. It crashes right into her heart and overpowers it with a strange, bubbly feeling. It’s familiar, almost a little bit scary, but she doesn’t reject it. After a while, it’s even starting to feel a bit nice.

It’s faith. That feeling is faith.

“Citizens of Polus,” he cries out, and it’s like the sky itself is listening close. The windy breeze disappears; the sun shines down with a big blinding ray. Here, amongst all these people, the world’s attention is focused entirely on him. “We have gathered here today to honor all those who have joined our beloved Mother Cosmos in the celestial expanse above. May they be at peace, for her embrace is kind. May they feel at ease, knowing our love will shower upon them forevermore.

“This war has been long and painful, and what transpired in the Aeternum is no doubt a tragedy, but we must not allow ourselves to be plagued with despair. For to do so would be to forget the sacrifices of those who fought for a better world. To forget their valor and their grace, and though they no longer walk this realm, their spirits still live inside our hearts. They watch over us, and they would not wish for us to be chained by their memory. We must live on. That is how we may give thanks to the path forged by their virtuous hands.

“I know the days are long, and every passing morrow grows more uncertain than the last. Nonetheless we persevere, for that is our nature. We are strong, hearty people, wearing smiles upon our faces to distract away from the gloom, but even the strongest of warriors falter eventually. We suppress our sadness in fear of becoming weak, but that is not the answer. And so I command to every soul here today: hold back your tears no longer.

“It is okay to cry. Cry until your throat is hoarse. Cry until your cheeks are stained with grief. Cry, for your friends, your family, and everyone else you have loved and cherished and honored no longer among the living. For that shall be our tribute: that they may know just how deeply we cared for them. And so it is they shall find comfort, and we shall gain their blessing for the days to come. I command you all: Cry until there are no more tears to be shed.

“And when our hearts are free of burden, and our eyes are clear with hope, we will rise anew. We will carry on the wishes of the departed, and we will stride confidently towards the dawn. Together, united as one!”

At first, everything is silent. Not a word or grunt or even a mumble can be heard in the audience. But like all things, it starts with a ripple. A single tear from a devastated widow. A muffled sob from a lonely friend. And then it all floods out at once, and there’s not a dry eye in sight as the entire capital descends into a sea of mourning. They cry, begging for the dead to return, and they curse those who’ve left them alone, asking why they had to leave so soon. It’s unreasonable, their pleas—but it’s what the people need. They need to let go, to shout about all they want about how everything is unfair, because that’s how they heal. And how they may finally come to terms with living without those special someones.

And, eventually, Mary starts to cry as well. She doesn’t know why, she’s made her peace with her family long ago, but before she knows it, there’s a roaring cascade gushing down her cheeks. H-Hah, why’s my vision so damn blurry? Damn it, I don’t like feeling like this. I have to smile, I have to get it together, but I… I don’t know. Stars, when’s the last time I cried? I promised I’d never do it again after little Joe passed away, but there’s a big lump in my heart that’s just begging to be let loose. And I don’t mind it. I thought it’d bring back all those hard times of being alone, yet I feel more surrounded by love than ever before.

It’s nice to not worry about what others think. Here, she can cry knowing there’s a whole kingdom’s worth of people who feel the same.

But you can’t grieve forever. And when Mary’s throat is all clogged up, and the people start to regain their composure, Ascalon speaks out again. Only this time his tone is different. Rather than being all comforting and encouraging, his voice carries an almost childlike excitement—as if he’s about to introduce an especially special someone.

“We must all reach for the light, for the hope ever so close within our grasp. And though it may seem an endless pursuit, know that it is not without reward. Our efforts are not useless. Your hope was not misplaced. It returns in the form of our beloved guardian, our beacon amidst the darkness, and so I shall prove it to you all: that our nation has yet to be abandoned.”

Ascalon steps off to the side, and a figure emerges from the castle. A familiar figure, one with armor of the most pristine white. A beloved female warrior whose devotion is known to all. That being walks to the ledge’s end, and she stops for all to gaze upon her appearance—her scarred face that brings out gasps of relief from the giddy citizens. They can’t help but celebrate, for that face is of the one they’ve wished to see most.

“For our Lady has returned!” Ascalon declares. “May your hearts be riled with joy, sons and daughters of Polus. Lorelai Principality of the Heaven’s Throne lives!”

And with his final shout, Lorelai’s wings materialize in a dazzling explosion of light. Only, they are not the wings the people know, but a beautiful canvas of black and blue and purple—all spiraling together in a manifestation of the celestial heavens above. Nebulae and milky clusters, twinkling sparkles scattered in a deep, vivid cloud of endless space… those wings are of Cosmos herself, of the realm far beyond humanity’s reach.

Mary can’t take her eyes away from that mesmerizing shine. None in the audience dare to look away. She’s never seen such a beautiful sight in her life, and for some odd reason - despite having laughed together with that kind, playful woman - there’s an itch inside her demanding to worship the very ground Lorelai walks on. To revere her existence and to follow in her every step.

Everyone in the square falls to their knees, and they soon prostrate before her. Even Mary can’t help but be swept up in the mood, for the Lorelai standing up there is really, truly breathtaking.

She is the symbol of Polus. And she is the hope of all.