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The Dying Star Stone is warm in her hands.
It emits a soft purple glow, illuminating the otherwise dark room she finds herself in. She stares at it for so long that when she shuts her eyes, she sees spots. Said spots intensify when she pushes her wrist against the left side of her face, near the socket.
As exhausted as she is, Amber can’t find it in her to rest. To sleep.
Its been two weeks now since the fall of Fort Rachias. As strange as it is to say, the feeling throughout Bastion is almost… jubilant. The tale of Ghost Dog’s defeat has been spread far and wide, though it mutates as it goes, insisting upon itself until large chunks of it become completely fabricated. Whatever keeps morale up, Amber tells herself. All that matters is that she has the Star Stone. That she can continue on, whenever the Council of Light decides it's time to do so.
If there was ever a time to rest, though, it’s now. King Pyat has been kind enough to move her into a room in the palace, one that’s undergone some refurbishment to make it comfortable. But instead of laying in bed, Amber sits in the alcove by the window, forehead leant against the pane.
There’s still no moon in Khrysalis; just smoggy green sky, shadowy clouds circling like water down a drain. She keeps the curtain pulled as far out as it’ll go, but it’s still slightly torn, giving her a partial view of the outside.
Amber holds the stone close, cradling it as if it has a heartbeat. She wishes she could just go .
She doesn’t know what Ambrose is waiting for. Zaltanna and the Burrowers all seem poised to move, to send her across the Starfall Sea, but they don’t rush the time they have with her either. They’ve all mentioned something about how nice it must be to have a break. That, or how she’s earned one, which doesn’t feel right.
Khrysalis is still very much at risk. She doubts Morganthe, from all the way across the world, is being just as unproductive as she is.
It makes her crazy. She wasn’t built for this lethargy. Even when she’d take breaks between worlds, she’d make herself busy in Wizard City or elsewhere. There’s plenty to do across this end of Khrysalis, but it all pales in comparison to the main task at hand.
The motion of her forehead sliding slightly down the glass makes a squeaking sound that snaps her out of her daze. Amber shakes her head, setting the stone down on the bench beside her. As she does so, she hears the unmistakable sound of armor clanking from the hallway.
For a moment, she sits completely still, eyes zeroed in on her door. Then, against her better judgment, she finds herself on her feet.
It could be any knight. She’s at the palace, for Raven’s sake, it could be any knight—
“Spellbinder?”
Dyvim stands about seven feet from her door, which only barely obstructs her from where it’s swung open. Upon realizing that it is in fact her, he turns around fully, face softening.
“Hi,” she says rather unintelligently. And then that’s all she says.
“Are you alright?”
His voice is warm— not at all silly and stunted like she must sound right now. Amber drums her fingers against the door, deliberating.
“I heard something. Out here,”
“Oh, well, that was just… me. I’ve finished my post for the night,”
“Oh,” she nods. “Good to know.”
The silence that ensues feels like it’s only awkward on her end. She continues fidgeting, wanting nothing more now than to shut the door and stick her head in a pillow. Dyvim, on the other hand, has stepped a tad closer, nose twitching.
“Is there anything else you need?”
“No, no, I don’t.”
“Not even someone to sit with?”
She blinks, surprised by his boldness. “You aren’t going to sleep?”
“Well, considering it will be morning in about an hour or so, I was planning on sitting outside and watching the sun come up,”
“You can’t…”
He smiles, a tinge of sadness in it. “I like to pretend. Perhaps someday I’ll be able to, but until then, it gives me a spot of hope.” His ear twitches and he takes another step forward. “So? Will you join me?”
Amber looks down at the floor, heat rising in her cheeks. If you’d asked her what time it was, she would have said a short while after midnight, not an hour ‘till morning elsewhere. How long had she been sitting in the alcove, begging for sleep?
At the sound of his armor shifting, she composes herself. So much more has shaken her so much less.
“Let me grab something first,”
With a robe over her sleep clothes, she wraps the Star Stone in the excess fabric and joins Dyvim on a balcony protruding from the back of the castle.
The roar of the waterfalls surrounding the far end of Bastion are at their loudest here. Not enough to nullify their voices, but enough to remind her of the last place she was with waterfalls this grand. She thinks she’ll miss the Cloudburst Forest for the rest of her life.
Dyvim has laid out a blanket for them to sit on, as well as a small plate of cheese. She eyes it curiously as she sits and fans out her robe around her.
“Have you eaten?” he asks her.
“Since…?”
“Let me rephrase that, then. Are you hungry, Spellbinder?”
“You had a long watch,”
“Nonsense,” he pushes the platter closer towards her. “Please. I insist,”
Amber takes a piece (on the tinier side) to appease him. It’s not until she tastes the smoky undertone of the cheese that she realizes just how long its been since she’s had a meal. After that, she reaches for another.
“What is it you’ve got there?” he asks.
At first, she looks at the extra piece she’s picked up. Then, she realizes that the Star Stone, still glowing, is giving her face a sweet pink spotlight.
“The Star Stone,” she says, mouth slightly full. Once she swallows, she adjusts the stone in her hands to further reveal it to him. As a result, the glow begins to hit him too. “I don’t really know why. I just don’t want it out of my sight, I guess,”
“That makes sense. We did go through quite a bit of trouble to get our hands on it, yes?”
She laughs mirthlessly. “We did,”
They take a moment to admire the stone, the power radiating off of it growing stronger after a moment of consideration. Dyvim clears his throat, his ear twitching again.
“I wish the king would let me accompany you across the Starfall Sea,”
Amber blinks. Would he not be? The thought never occurred to her. Just as she never imagined questing with him prior to doing so, she assumed she wouldn’t be going on without him now. It makes sense, though, if she sits and mulls over it. He’s the king’s sworn sword, the most noble son of Bastion— of course his obligations would fall on this side of the sea.
It isn’t like she can’t handle herself. It’s just kind of nice to have someone to talk to.
That’s a sentimentalist’s way of looking at things, though, and sentimentalist doesn’t mix well with “world saver.” So instead of asking Why not? or What if I spoke to him?, she says:
“Your people need you. I couldn’t ask to pull you away from Bastion, not now,”
“I suppose,” he says. “Us Burrowers aren’t exactly a seafaring people anyways,”
“I have no doubt you could do it, I just think you’re needed here,”
“No doubt, eh?”
She quirks a brow, breaking another piece of cheese in half to chew on. “You handled yourself quite well in Fort Rachias,”
“I would hope so, considering my station,”
They chuckle, briefly glancing at one another before their eyes dart elsewhere. Amber clears her throat, taking a breath as she glances up at the sky. The green smog continues to drain into the rest of the Spiral.
“You kept my spirits up,”
His ears perk at that. “I’m glad to hear it, Spellbinder. I know I can be a bit gung-ho, but that’s just because…”
“You care,” she finishes, nodding.
“When I heard Magalia calling for help. When I saw… all those relics from worlds beyond this one. That trophy room,” He shivers, fists clenching and unclenching. His gaze wanders to the glow of the Star Stone. “I couldn’t help but think that this world— what it once was, when my people ruled— could join that despicable wall of conquests,”
Amber remembers the room he’s referring to well. His horror had been palpable, especially against Zarozinia the Deathsong’s indifference. The trophies in the room served as a recap of some of her past missions. There were golden tusks from Zafarian royalty, tombs with blue engraving from the Krokosphinx… even dragon skulls nestled in Dragonspyrian-looking cases. “Old campaigns,” she’d called them.
They were nothing of interest to the Umbra Legion, but to the denizens of Azteca, for example…
Amber shudders. If she squints, the sickly color of the sky resembles that of the fallen world’s once chunks of the dread Xibalba began to rain down. There was a stone Aztecosaur head in the trophy room. It was displayed at the center, highest pedestal, like they were proudest of it. Like they knew this endeavor, unlike the others, had been a unanimous success for the Shadow.
“Knowing the havoc they’ve wrought here, that they’ve taken it elsewhere… it makes my blood boil,” Dyvim continues. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to stop them. I’d fight a thousand Fort Rachias’ if I had to,”
She swallows thickly, shutting her eyes. If she had more sleep, maybe it would be easier to keep herself composed.
Everywhere she goes, she sees Azteca. She feels the weight of her failure. She sits, twiddling her thumbs, wondering how she’ll possibly cope if Khrysalis meets a similar fate. Hopefully, if such a scenario takes place, it will be quick. She won’t even feel it.
“Spellbinder?”
There’s worry tinging his voice. Would he still have such confidence in her if he knew she’d failed the last world she was tasked with helping?
“I’m sorry,” Amber murmurs.
Like a zombie, she shambles to her feet, leaving the Star Stone beside him. She walks until she meets the railing, slumping over the side far enough to feel the mist from the waterfalls cool her face. The roaring noise blocks everything out, including the sound of armor moving as the Burrower knight rises to join her.
“Please forgive me,” he says after a moment. “I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories.”
Amber shakes her head. “Don’t apologize. It can’t be pleasant for you either,”
“Still, I know all you hear is talk of the Shadow Queen and the end of the Spiral. This was supposed to be a chance to unwind. Could we try and start over?”
A gust of wind blows, growing with strength within the space between the palace and the mountain. Her hair whips all across her face. Any attempt to fix it is futile. Any attempt to fix it is futile.
She turns to look at him, still halfway leant against the stone. A beat.
“I’m not who you think I am,”
Dyvim blinks. His nose twitches. “What? What do you mean?”
“I’m not the hero you think I am. I’m not the hero Khrysalis needs. I can’t be who the prophecies talk about,”
There’s a glimmer of relief in his eyes that makes her feel worse. Amber turns away from him, now fighting the urge to clamber over the edge of the balcony and plunge into the pool below.
He takes a moment before speaking again. She assumes he’s thinking of a way to talk her off this ledge she’s walked onto.
“You have accomplished more for my people in a matter of months than our forces have in years. How can you say you aren’t a hero?”
“A hero, maybe, but not the hero. I’m not sure I can dispel Morganthe from your world.” she sucks in a sharp breath. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try. It’s just, if I can’t…”
She remembers how shocked she was when it really hit her that there was no way to prevent Xibalba from colliding with Azteca. She’d never lost before. There had to be some last ditch effort, some deus ex machina — some kind of kill switch she hadn’t uncovered yet. Surely Grandmother Raven or some divine force would appear and reveal it to her. Never once had she felt so alone, so helpless.
That surprise went on to fester in her gut and make her sick. Sitting on a bench in Ravenwood, overlooking the chasm that was once the Death School, she asked herself how she could have grown so complacent. So used to winning.
If she hadn’t, maybe the people of Azteca would be here today, aiding those in Khrysalis from afar.
“Why do you say that?” Dyvim asks. She can hear in his voice that he’s sorry for doing so. Amber looks to the sky.
“One of the relics in the trophy room belonged to a world called Azteca,”
She waits a beat to hear if he’s heard of it. When he doesn’t speak, she continues.
“Do you remember when… one of the first nights we were camping in the Moon Cliffs, I told you about a place called Cloudburst Forest?”
“Of course I do. Your eyes just lit up when you talked about it,” he smiles tentatively and gestures to their surroundings. “It had grand waterfalls and flowers that glowed like fireflies. That was the last world you visited,”
“That was the last world I was sent to. It was Azteca. And everywhere I went in Azteca, Morganthe was also there, a full step ahead of me, collecting tokens for herself like the one that we saw,” she shuts her eyes, bringing a hand to her chest as she remembers the forest. It’s just as he described it, meaning she hasn’t yet forgotten its beauty. “And by the time I caught up with her…”
She can sense something click in his mind, then. He steps closer to place a stabilizing hand on her arm. Amber finishes her thought anyway, having to say it out loud for her own peace of mind.
“...it was too late. There was nothing I could do,”
It was something akin to a premonition, brought on by her mastery of Necromancy. Even as she stood on Xibalba’s icy surface, she could feel the weight of the dead. She could sense the magnitude of the loss.
She can’t bear to look at him now. She rests her arms atop the stone, and then her forehead atop them.
“Amber,”
An immediate lump wells up in her throat. She swallows it back. The mist is cold, but his voice is like honey.
“I’m so sorry,”
“Most of what remains of that beautiful world are its trophies. It was never supposed to end that way, but the fact that it did… I should have done more,”
“Your past failures are not your current mission. And it was the Shadow Queen who spun that web, not you. If we were to use that trail of thinking, I could blame myself for the fires the Shadow Weavers set in the Last Wood. But I don’t,” he keeps his hand pressed against her arm. “Do you see what I mean?”
“Dyvim, it’s a different scale. I’m the only one who can stop her, and I failed. And I could fail again. Here ,”
“Well, there’s always a possibility for failure. My army has failed many, many times. Don’t you remember how we first met?”
Amber blinks, turning her head to peer up at him from where her face is buried against her arms. “I saved you from that mantis guard,”
“Exactly,” he nods. “I was the only knight with such extensive knowledge of the secret tunnels between Bastion and the Last Wood, and I was kidnapped. I failed. And yet, you still speak of me as a great hero. Don’t tell me you forget Fort Rachias so quickly now, hm?”
“It’s not the same—”
She moves to re-bury her head in her sleeve, but before she can, his hand on her arm moves to grab hers. The gesture shocks her out of her protests, and she straightens up, an attempt to retain some professionalism.
“Amber,” he speaks steadily. “You are no less of a hero because of your loss, not to me. If anything, I think it speaks to your character all the more that you suffered such an immense amount and continued on for the sake of the Spiral. I don’t think anyone but the hero we’ve been fighting alongside could have done that,”
“I didn’t have a choice,” she croaks. Then, she looks down at their hands. “But even if I did, I would have come,”
He smiles. “I know. I’m very thankful for you,”
“You, speaking for all of Bastion?”
“Me, speaking for myself.”
She feels her cheeks begin to heat up, then. The affection she holds for him mingles with the ever-present fear of losing him, whether it be to Morganthe or to her duties elsewhere should this all work out. When he speaks again, she shuts her eyes.
“I’m going to miss you while you’re gone,”
The sincerity in his voice leaves her with little choice but to wrap her arms around him. Amber stands on the tips of her toes to reach his neck, the nook of his armor beside his head surprisingly comfortable.
“Thank you for letting me join you out here,”
“Thank you for letting me… in,”
Amber steps away. For the first time in a long time, her vulnerability doesn’t automatically make her feel like prey. If anything, she feels stronger than she did a mere hour ago.
“This thing emits quite a glow, doesn’t it?” Dyvim says, leaning down to pick up the Star Stone. He brings it back over to her, and they each hold a side of it.
“It does,”
An unspoken understanding between them, they raise the stone into the air to pretend it’s an actual star in the sky. If they could see the sun, it would be coming up by now.
It makes Amber wish she had more time with him.