Enmity of Atlas

That next morning, Trenton mulled over the events of the day prior as he prepped Blithe for travel, failing to come to terms with his mess of intertangled feelings. He had no idea what he planned to do moving forward, nor what direction he should even take. He was lost and confused, the only path forward a cold and bitter one. Could he even allow himself to love again, could he risk it when it could be ripped away from him so easily. They were all alive for now, but there was no guarantee Trenton could keep them safe much longer. Every battle was starting to become exceptionally worse than the last, permanent injuries racking up like chips on a poker table.

“Hey, Trenton. Do you know what’s up with Kiva today? She seems rather lively,” Garrote asked, coming up behind Trenton with a treat in his hand for Blithe. “And what’s with the flower?” Garrote pointed to his head.

Trenton shook himself out of his thoughts, taking a moment to come back to reality, “Hey, Garrote. Kiva was showing me her magic last night. Looks like she can cast properly again. I must’ve rolled over it or something while I was sleeping,” Trenton lied, thinking better of letting anyone else know what happened before he came to terms with his own mind. He picked the flower out of his hair, stowing it away in a pocket for safe keeping “How’s Millie handling? Is she any better?”

“No, not that I can tell. She still looks pretty depressed. I don’t figure she’ll be up again for some time,” Garrote shook his head, wiping his now wet palm on his pants.

“Lass probably won’t get better ‘till she talks to someone about it. And by someone, I mean you, Trenton,” Raligoth chipped in, doing his best to “look” at Trenton.

“Probably, but I can’t push that conversation. She needs to come to me when she’s ready,” Trenton said, Raligoth’s words mirroring his own thoughts.

“Maybe she’s waiting for you to say something. Maybe she doesn’t feel comfortable talking about it and needs to be reminded that we’re here for her. Or maybe some third option that I can’t think of off the top of my head. Who knows what’s going through that girl's head? You should just try talking to her, see if you can cheer her up a bit.”

“...maybe. I don’t know. I’ll think about it later. Is everyone ready to head out?” Trenton said.

“Looks it. Just waiting for the word, boss,” Garrote said, giving Trenton a mock salute.

“Since when was I the boss?”

“Since exactly when Walibeld first left, if I had to put a time to it.”

“Of course. I won’t let you down.”

They made away from their little camp atop Blithe, light chatter filling the time. Unlike merry days prior, it seemed a heavy damper had been put over them, stemming the tide of conversation before it even began. In light of recent events, cheer simply seemed harder to come by, the passing snowy terrain blending seamlessly into one coagulated mass, no one sight any more remarkable than another. He had spent a decade's worth of pent up joy in one day, and he was now almost regretting allowing himself to be so happy. It was absurd, of course, but he was confused. He really didn’t know what to do or who to talk to. Walibeld’s words last night had helped, but he needed more. He needed change, kind of like what the man back in Aria had told him at The Hanged Man.

“Is it alright to take Blithe so far north? Won’t he get cold?” Millie asked, tilting her head to look up at Trenton, Kiva sliding in close to Trenton’s side. They weren’t talking much, but at least he was still there, his physical comfort omnipresent.

“Nah, he’ll be fine. Regular storma would struggle, but godsburns are remarkably durable. They’re supposed to be able to live in pretty much any environment the world over. They just prefer the desert,” Karfice called out from where he lay.

Trenton hadn’t even noticed because of how well he was doing, but Blithe didn’t even seem bothered by the cold at all. He wasn’t any slower or worse for wear than he was traveling through the desert just a couple weeks ago. How his scales could both keep him insulated from the cold and shielded from the heat did seem a little absurd to Trenton, but maybe there was some magic in the hide. It wasn’t like he was going to check. But, all of sudden, they started to slow for the first time, coming to a stop in the middle of the valley before the mountains.

“What’s going on? Is Blithe alright?” Trenton called out, picking Millie up and moving over to Walibeld, who sat at the reins.

“Look,” Walibled said, pointing forward.

A little ways in front of them, trudging through the snow in gray rags in the same direction they were going, was a human man, his hair ratty and his skin dirty. Cautiously, Walibeld pulled Blithe forward, trotting alongside the man, who neither acknowledged them nor stopped moving as they approached.

“Are you alright?” Trenton called out, genuinely concerned for the health of the random man.

“Hm?” The man said, his head slowly swiveling, his dim eyes suddenly brightening as soon as they saw him. “OH! People! I never see people in the mountains! Hello! Nice to meet you!” For some odd reason, the man kept walking as he talked, his steady rhythm never faltering.

“Are you alright? Aren't you cold?” Trenton tried again, everyone else gathering next to him to see the man.

“Cold? Nah, I’m alright, toasty even,” the man said, his smile wide.

Trenton glanced over at Walibeld, who was doing his best to pay attention while keeping them moving forward, “Aspect?”

“I know most of the aspect bearers, but I don’t recognize him,” Walibeld whispered, raising his voice to talk to the man. “Who are you?”

“Ahh, who knows? I used to be Falfiar but nowadays I just wander, so maybe I’m the wanderer? Wayfarer? Whatever,” Falfiar shrugged.

“Falfiar…” Raligoth whispered, his word almost lost in the wind.

“Falfiar? Your name is Falfiar?” Trenton said, leaning forward to get a better look at him.

“Yeah! At least it was a long time ago,” Falfiar said.

“How old are you?” Trenton asked, everyone else side-eying him, unsure of Trenton’s sudden intrigue.

“Uhhhh, what year is it?” Falfiar asked, not even the slightest hint of humor in his expression. He was clearly a human, no older than 50 by the looks of him. Was he really so destitute that he didn’t even know what year it was?

“2387 AG,” Trenton replied.

“AG? 2387!? What are you talking about?” Falfiar shouted, throwing his hands in the air to make his confusion plainly clear to all present.

Trenton looked over at Walibeld, passing the burden of answering onto him, “2387 years ago a major event sparked a turning in eras, although what that event was is beyond us. Thus, we divide time into all things before and after this event–B.G. and A.G. We’ve used this time structure for the last millenia.”

“An event, huh?” Falfiar chuckled, “I bet I could guess what it was.”

“How? Barely even scraps exist to prove anything even happened,” Walibeld said, suddenly more interested in the man.

“Simple. I was there. Well, if it’s what I think it is. I’d tell you, but,” Falifar looked up at the sky, his eyes glassy, “something tells me I’d best not.”

“A lunatic out in the mountains. I should have figured,” Walibeld sighed, picking up the slack on the reins.

“He’s telling the truth, and he’s exactly right. He cannot speak about it whatsoever, lest there be consequences, just as I cannot,” Raligoth said, his face grim. “Tell me, is Falfiar walking? Steady rhythm, no stopping, straight line.”

“Who’s that talking up there? Their voice sounds so familiar, but I just can’t quite place it,” Falfiar said, trying to peer over the side of Blithe, but moving no closer to them.

“He is. In fact,” Trenton said, looking up at the sun, “he’s heading exactly east. What’s wrong with him?”

Although Raligoth had no eyes, he still had tear ducts, and fully functioning ones at that. Tears streamed down either side of his face, deep lines twisting across his forehead, his voice shaky, “Even after all this time…that poor boy. Is he smiling, at least?”

“He is, like an exalted king,” Trenton replied, peering down at Falfiar’s unusually chipper expression.

“Atta boy. Astonishing his spirit’s intact even after all this time. He really is something remarkable. To answer your question, for the last 2 millenia or so, he’s been cursed to walk the world endlessly in a straight line due east. His favorite thing in the world was to travel, his feet always taking him somewhere new to experience something new. So it was only fitting, at the time, that it be taken away from him, twisted in a way that he can find no joy from what he once loved, a fate worse than death.”

“That’s impossible! No one can move forever! He would have died of exhaustion within the month,” Garrote said, pushing to get close to Trenton and Raligoth.

“Is it?” Raligoth replied, his eyebrows raised.

“It…” Garrote stopped, his eyes locked on Trenton, “...should be.”

“Hey! Are you guys talking about me! Don’t leave me out! I want to talk too!” Falfiar called out, waving to them.

“You’ve been walking for 2 millenia?” Trenton asked, turning his attention back to their guest.

“And swimming! When I get to the oceans, I have to swim across. I really hate that part. The walking is way better. Although the mountains also suck…but the plains are nice. And the forests are also nice. Everything else is kind of miserable,” Falifar said, cocking his head to the side to think.

“There’s not a doubt in my mind it’s the boy I once knew, and he hasn’t changed a bit, even after all this time. Trenton, could you bring me closer? I’d like to talk with him. It may be stupid, but it’s been so long. I have to let him know,” Raligoth said.

“Let him know what?” Trenton asked, wary of what might come next.

“Trust me.”

Somewhere on the back of his neck, an odd tingle danced across his skin, a feeling that everything wasn’t quite as it seemed. It took him a moment to place the feeling, but after a moment, he remembered exactly what irked him about it. It was the exact sensation he’d felt back in Wyrm’s Perch, millions of eyes boring into his very soul. Except, this time, they weren't looking at him. They were looking at Raligoth and…and Falfiar. They were focused on Falfiar. Something was going horribly wrong, but he didn’t even know what.

“Do you feel that?” Trenton asked, looking around at everyone.

“Feel wh-” Kiva started, before getting cut off by Raligoth, whose voice suddenly picked up an octave.

“Why now of all times? The chosen, they’ve made contact. But that means…no, it’s worse than I thought. Quickly, before they-” Raligoth shouted, realizing too late what was happening.

It was often said that a god would descend to earth from the heavens with a chorus of angels singing, a scene as beautiful as it was enchanting–exactly what one would expect of a divine entity–the pinnacle of existence. But this was no god. No, this was the very opposite of a god–unholy flesh made manifest–crawling from the depths of hell. The ground split and tore open, massive red cracks spider webbing out in every direction, the ground falling inward. 4 black arms with red tattoos burst forth from the hole, a hulking bastion of death arising from the pit, its many hundreds of eyes locking on them, its intent clear–murder. Across the abominations wreathed black flesh and three heads, indentations of tortured faces burst forth, looking to free themselves from beneath its form. The faces screamed and pleaded, crying out for help, weeping for the life they no longer lived, begging them to do something.

“WHAT’S HAPPENING!?” Kiva cried, Trenton doing his best to cover Millie’s eyes and ears.

“AN ARCHDEMON! BUT WHY HERE!?” Walibeld cried, pulling out his legendary weapon and leaping off of Blithe, standing between them and the creature. “TAKE THE REINS, TRENTON! RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN AND DON’T LOOK BACK!”

“HOLD ME HIGH, LAD! I HAVE TO LET HIM KNOW!” Raligoth screamed, begging Trenton to give him the chance. Intuitively, Trenton knew whatever was happening could mean death for all of them, instantaneous and agonizing. But at the same time, he could hear the desperation in Raligoth’s voice, the urgency of this message. He was torn between two choices, two worlds, but he had to have faith in Raligoth. Whatever it was, it had to be worth it. Trenton unclipped Raligoth from his belt, holding him up high into the air as he slipped into the saddle. “HE LIVES! THE KING LIVES! THE WAR ISN’T OVER!”

Falfiar’s head swiveled widely to Raligoth, tearing away from the scene behind him to gaze in disbelief at the talking severed head held aloft. In an instant, Falfiar looked as if the words physically struck him, a wash of emotions spilling over his face, first disbelief, then tears, then joy–unending joy. Falfiar’s laughter bubbled out, matching and even surpassing the cry of the damned, his joy far superior to their agony.

“I KNEW IT! I KNEW THE OLD BASTARD WOULDN’T GO DOWN THAT EASY! EVEN 14 TO 1, HE STILL COMES OUT ON TOP!” Falifar cried, his head turning back to the demon. “IN THAT CASE, THAT MEANS I STILL HAVE A JOB TO DO!” Falfiar’s hand dug into his chest, and from his body he pulled a marvelous pearlescent longsword, its colors shifting everytime it moved.

The demon threw its head back, its presence crashing over them like a tidal wave. It was impossible to breath, to move, to act, the air seeming to burn them alive from sheer adjacency to the beast. It was torture, agony, impossibility, but doing nothing wasn’t an option. Dying wasn’t an option. Trenton dug through his mind–his soul– searching desperately for the source of the never ending tide of power. He had lost control before, but now he had no choice. It was do or die. He didn’t even know what he’d do if it found it, if anything worked as he was hoping it would, but no matter what happened, he refused to sit back and do nothing while everything fell apart around him.

“Move”

Trenton’s voice emanated outwards in every direction like a siren, his simple command carrying enough power to shift the very mountains themselves. He had been looking for the strength he’d known before, but somehow, in this moment of desperation, looking for strength he had no right to use, his pleas were answered in a different way. He wasn’t given his strength, he hadn’t earned it. Instead he was given his authority, the weight of his name as it once was.