Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Such monstrous greed you’ve demonstrated. I imagine you didn’t lose a minute of sleep over those three lost lives. Truly, a traitor to your people’s past.”

Black and purple effortlessly springs forth into the Gormotti before me. The cells of his left knee are as much an obstacle to my shot as the nightly air. Sparks of Dark Ether gleaned off the forearm mounted guns, one slotted within each shoulder. The left that slight bit warmed from Ether flow, gold scribbled upon both shaded by just that slightest violet. The last spiteful gift of our father, the Architect.

“ARRRGGGGHHHHHHHH GHHHHNNNGGHHH!! FUUUCK, ME LEG, ME LEG GAAAARRRRHHHHH!!!!” My red lenses reflect his embarrassing collapse before me, his flesh and blood and bone staining the noble mud of Gormott. His agonised roars, those of experiencing your first major injury, grow deaf in the roaring wind, only to be put to shame by the rattling of metal. My wings did not betray me to the cold, the godly ore of my skin, unyielding to the autumn gales and illuminated in the few oranges of the fading dawn sun. My steps politely part the wetted soil and grass, 8 before the mechanical sole of my right began to part skin and vessels upon his leg. I watched as splotches of blood evacuated onto the gold edges of my feet, the wetness and heat failing to pierce into my being. My pupils peered forwards through the crimson, watching sweat and dew soak down his clothes, and his ears retreating backwards on his head. And as my mouth curls skywards, an Aspar preparing to strike, I know confidence in what I am.

Power.

I am a weapon. A weapon to be wielded by others less fortunate such as the three souls dead by that worthless Gormotti’s request. A weapon to change the world and break the oppressors for the sake of the oppressed. A weapon of revolution.

“NAAARRRGHHHH!!! Fuck NGHHHH nnnghh nghhh!!! No, no, please I didn’t mean t-“

“Your begging and pleading is so disheartening to witness, Tucker.” I swivel on the right foot comprising his meaty leg, until I am perpendicular to his body, my left foot under his earth smeared trousers. “Not even an apology?”

My eyes fade into the approaching winter as his face contorts into some sort of understanding, as his sweat and mucus and tears stain his disgusting countenance and his tongue stumbles over itself in lethal desperation.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked them that. Shit, if I-I knew that you would come ..I-I promise, I won’t ever hurt another Tir-“
Just seeing his pathetic begging boiled whatever was left of my blood in my body. My eyes sharpened from daggers into spears and my tongue lashed out:

“I am not the person you should be apologising to! You talk of befriending Tirkin, recognising their artistic potential! Yet you show relief over your trees no longer being stolen, wood that never belonged to you or your fellow loggers, wood you sell for profit to Mor Ardain! Not even anger at the actions those people committed to give you what you wanted!!” I stare icily into Tucker’s soul as his blood and tears stain his garments. “You weren’t all that bothered by their deaths, were you? Just the loss of profit! Well…. people like you do allow me to fulfil my purpose, so, let me…thank you.”

I slowly begin raising my left foot under his leg, my right foot still a stalwart unbudging fortress. Every second the pressure increases exponentially. Soon it becomes clear to Tucker, through his hissing pain and swearing fear, that what would give was bone, not metal.

“Wait, wait wait, PLEASE-*snap*”And his right tibia and fibula were shattered with a shredding kick from my left foot. All in my way was a mass of flopping flesh and calcium, now bent and purple, reminiscent of a maggot wriggling into a carcass.

“ARRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, NO, no, SHIT pleasepleaseplease, no more, I’m sorry, I’msorryI’msorry,pleasedon’tkillme, Ihaveafamily.I-“

“SILENCE!!”
Watching him sob and plead as adrenaline deadens the immense pain flowing through him, keeping him conscious, only makes me feel greater disgust at this thing before me, who’s collar I am now clutching in my fingers. As I hoist him up to my eye level, and watch his mouth shrink into itself only makes my own smile grow. Albeit, not nearly enough.

“There’s only one reason I would ever let you live now. You are fortunate that the people who took your thoughtless request happened to be the Torna girl, the Nopon genius and the Leftherian who they say is the Driver of the Aegis herself. You happen to be the witness who saw them the most…I need to know the truth.” The thrusters in my heels begin gracefully accelerating, hoisting us higher and higher into the air, drifting with the winds to Torigoth. “What was the Leftherian’s name? And what did he and his Blade look like? Answer quickly, lest your life have a tragic ending today.”

“NO, NOOO, PLEASE!! Okay, okay….okay. The boy, he was wearing blue salvaging gear…I-i don’t know where he was from, but he had it all, the boots, the gloves, the helm on his back. He said ….he said he was called Rex.”

“Rex…” my eyes whittle down to splinters, my voice reminiscent of a more innocent, happy time. Soft spoken almost in the presence of a parasite. But, in turn, my soul was broken down again, ripped in twain. Why would he do this….why him, of all people? He was a peaceful soul, and yet, he ended three lives, artists taking back what belonged to them...my teeth grinding against one another as if it were simply sharpening metal, as if that would give me the courage to ask why. Surely it was a misunderstanding….right?

“Go on…I still need to hear about the Blade.” The gun on my left shoulder swivels, the barrel nearly jutting into his eyes. The escalation makes Tucker gasp and sway his broken legs futilely, likely trying to kick up against the air.

“I-I dunno if she was the Aegis…she was beautiful though. Naarrnfhhh! So polite and nice. That perfect face and those soulful red eyes….B-But she was wearing a cute fox suit. I didn’t even know she was a Blade. I couldn’t see her C-core Crystal, I swear.”

“So….there is a chance that she’s not the Aegis. That’s what you’re saying?” Despairful hope pooled in my torso, as air swirls through my intake ports. My mind begged and pleaded that maybe, just maybe, the Aegis wasn’t awakened, that the Special Inquisitor’s visit to Gormott was mistaken, that everything including the idea that Rex would have ended three oppressed souls was some nightmarish hallucination. This was enough to feed that malbirthed delusion for a little longer.

“Y-yes, maybe, Arghh! maybe…p-please, don’t drop me!! Please, I promise, I’ll do better!” As we hover into the capital, I look deep into his dilating eyes, my sharp toes pattering on the moon painted planks of a Torigoth house as I descend.

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t end your life. Not today. A promise is a promise after all. Two compound fractures in your legs, with arthritis for the rest of your life ….certainly punishment enough. But, I want you to remember, whenever your legs ache during a cold draught, that I am out there, and I won’t let the light of the Architect blind the deception that has ruined Alrest. I am the shadow that will provide shade to the scorned, as proud commander of the Forevermore Roots!” The adorned banners wrapped on my wings unravel, revealing that insignia, that of the near extinct ghost orchid rising from a bloodstained spear, the weapon of the commoner.

“Of course, of course, I won’t forget, I swear, I swear! Annghhh! Please, just put me down.” I watch his lips quirk up in a fearful smile, some small comfort that his suffering would be over soon.

“Oh, but we have to get you medical assistance, don’t we? Can’t have you lying in the streets as the crows peck out your eyes.” I slowly approach the edge of the roof, my arms fully extended out, until his legs are swaying below a swathe of air again. “Don’t fret, this won’t break anything more. It's just one last piece of pain for ye!” A grin deviously splits my lips open as I watch him tumble down off the roof.

“No, please, I-*thud* ARGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” I can’t help but chuckle as I watch Tucker thunder the peaceful streets of Torigoth with his cries for respite. Ardanian soldiers and Gormotti residents all over startle, running to investigate.

“Hear me, people of the Gormott Province! Know that as long as I remain alive, no one exploits a Tirkin, or an Igna or a Garlus unscathed! Those who are leveraged for capital, those whose love and life is ignored and trampled over, these beings are avenged and protected by the Forevermore Roots! Freedom is, and will always be, the right of all sentient beings!! WITNESS ME!!!!”

I launch into a backflip up into the night sky, the crescent moon’s caring light framing my ascent. I let them all watch me as my Ether Snipers jettison off my shoulders, leaving trails of Dark Ether as brethren to the constellations in the sky. As they slot into my wrists, my armed arms snapback and bend forth, as my chest crunches forwards, a golden pointed tip spearing at the ethereal World Tree. My banner draped wings now weaponised shift back, letting the barrels of each weapon stare skywards to challenge the stars, my head retracts half way in my alternate form, disappearing in the metal, a seam between the body and wings.

My imposing legs bend hipwise underneath my form, armouring my undercarriage while my heels radiate with Ether as two grand engines ought to. All the joints and gaps revealed in between my metamorphosis rain down papers, flyers decorated with ink and paint declaring our righteous cause. As my toes shift parallel as lowly guards to my thrusters, two constructs emerge from my arms, providing brothers in arms to my Ether Snipers. Massive missiles, their Dark Ether payload willing to sunder the heavens themselves. They slide into position, near the pinions of my sharp wings, my transformation is complete. The crowd, in both fear and awe, witness the nightly ascent of Berach, field commander and true leader, of the Forevermores! With a blast from my engines, I rocket forth into the dark, my presence leaving a cape of lilac Dark Ether and a snowstorm of Forevermore pamphlets, as the Comet of Devastation.

My wings lacerate the clouds and winds as I roll and cast myself to my destination, the Mor Ardain Consulate. The glee I feel as I barrel into the residence, tearing through the wood and glass as if they are paper, seeing how the Ardanian security springs to alarmed terror as the windstorm of my breakthrough sends them tumbling down into the Grodd and Galad Residential Zones. It is unparalleled. Knowing that by now my threat was probably being relayed to every soldier in the town, I summersault back around, jetting deafeningly to the main event.

The sleepy Torigoth Relay Base was now alight with alarm, soldiers running around everywhere. Their radio transmitters were quick to share the news of something fast barrelling through town, destroying the Consul’s office. It was more action than any militants assigned here would imagine. Sirens were blaring, Rotts were barking, orders were being firmly announced, it was order in chaos. Of course the army of Mor Ardain would keep it together.

I swirl down the moonbeams, past the walls of the base, multiple blasts of shadow ripping concrete and steel and flesh asunder. Warehouses completely crumble in the blink of an eye, grenades and ether stockpiles explode and leave craters, guns and cannons and machines of Ardanian “brilliance” turned into mere scrap and slag as I spin in ecstasy. It was lovely work.

Even more so when I watched those black uniformed ghouls, the soldiers of Mor Ardain, in their pompous helms and flimsy padding tumbling across the imposed ground, occasionally without an arm or a leg. Nothing a few healers couldn’t repair, but they would never erase my presence from their minds. The idols of imperialism being thrown aside in all their worthlessness.

Reaching the valley of my descent, lead and gunpowder tickle me pink as gunfire rains from round helmed foot soldiers around me. Not a scratch. A few sergeants and captains in tall metal hats furiously toss their meagre grenades at me. I merely up my speed, ascending back to the moon’s domain, leaving their explosions to kiss my engines and blasting the floor with hurricanes. Every tin man is swept clear from the valley of death.

Spiralling back up into the skies, my eyeless shape still manages to see the one organising these forces. Consul Dughall, that bootlicking, greedy bumbler, cowering as he issued orders beneath his misfortunate Coremaster. That poor Dolmes, bestowed upon someone so ignorant of their true power. Such burliness and power wasted on a Waker of so little heart. As much as he would have found pleasure in blasting that cretin into bloody rain, he was someone who Bana wouldn’t be happy to lose. Mayhaps he wasn’t loyal to our causes, but he was still of use. And despite my disdain for his ideology on Coremasters, I had to recognise he was a quality Consul. The residents had little to complain of despite his loathsome character. Wherever he would go, he would at least address the needs of the public. There was worse in the Ardanian senate to be sure.

My engines send me circling the steadfast, sleepy Titan Battleship docked for days. The signature of true power was lurking in Gormott. That the Special Inquisitor was present. I soar higher and higher into the sky, my form most noticed by the scattered Ardanian. Panels on the top of my body, now facing down below to those poor souls, slide up with the certainty of conflict, revealing nests of loyal explosives. Small missiles, each as long as an adult forearm, each with enough Dark Ether within to raze a house. A collection as large as mine, well, that could easily rip a fortress and all of its guardians to atoms. Let alone a meagre relay base.

My dedicated spawn cheerfully whistles as they spring from my silos, myself politely closing the door behind them. I chuckle hearing the screams and yells from cadets and veterans alike as my deadly emissaries spiral down to give good greetings. And just on schedule…

“Enough!” I hear a most commanding Ardanian accent below. An achievement in and of itself considering our distance.

Blue flames erupt, burning souls part of a collective which would happily sacrifice themselves for the protection of their master’s countryfolk. Each stands firm as they hug every single missile I fired, their passionate introduction to each other sending bursts of Dark and Fire Ether scattering into the night. Ire pushes my engines as I hear cheering below from those pathetic infantry, so blissfully confident in their so-called saviours protecting them.

My heels snarl into full throttle, my body circling to confront the Empire’s “finest” Jewels. One Coremaster, one Waker. Not that they would ever use those terms, piece of shit imperialists. Blade and Driver just suited them fine, despite the reductive nature, despite the fact that the origins of those words were disgusting. Both bathed in a coat of gold affinity. The idea of such a bond existing between the representatives of the second most deprived power of this world was dismal. But it exists nonetheless.

Brighid, Jewel of Mor Ardain, stands tall, wreathed in azure flames, a dutiful army across the blues and purples of her gown. Her eyes remain closed, her forehead decorated with purple crystals. Within her hands, she holds a blue grooved sword, seemingly short but firm. But I knew from the burns of older Forevermores that this was a mere trick. I knew that that weapon was the harsh whip of a slaver, ready to lash out against those who would oppose that vile empire. But it is not a lonely weapon. Its double, its other half, its beloved equal, lies in the gloved hands of the Ardanian standing dutifully beside her.

A woman of clear military might, uniform black as the soot and smoke Alba Cavanich vented. Red, white and gold provided highlights, and another stupid hat shielded her ebony hair. A military cap with a metal grate brim at front, brown eyes shining through the helmed crest of her nation. A short cape, the black fluttering to reveal red, as if stained by blood. The loathsome gold that armoured her lower legs, her arms, her shoulders, even those preening gear pins on her collar. And yet another crest of that wretched Empire decorates her belt. The essence of military dominance herself. This Special Inquisitor, Mòrag Ladair.

This plan is truly up to fly. Who could predict the Aegis resurfacing after so long, let alone being sighted in Gormott? I should not do this. It’s much too risky for someone as young as I. But, the rewards will be immense. Turning both major symbols of the military might of Mor Ardain into dust. The most simple and effective way to establish our legitimacy. My superiority! And a most perfect practice for when I destroy Torna and the Aegis!

First, I will paint these ruins’ foundations with Mòrag’s blood! Then, I shall crush Brighid before she fades into the ether and deliver her fragments to Emperor Niall. Of course, with photographic proof. Oh, it will be so satisfying to see the Ardanian senate and their foolish ruler unable to even listen to the whistle of the winds without cowering.

“This seems so different from any Titan warship, Lady Morag. So small yet so agile in the air? What manner of technology is this? A new Urayan weapon?” Brighid calmly asks, her flames shimmering the very air itself.

“Whatever this is, it matters not for now. We cannae allow the further destruction of this base or the further harm of our people. We shall strike this vessel down from our skies!” With such “righteous” fervour, she stands tall, her gazing piercing the soul of my ship mode as I glide with sheer speed down towards the pair.

My rain of Dark Ether blasts proves rapid, and would surely tear apart anything caught in the fray. My aim second to none. Yet, the duo dances with the same calm flickers of Brighid’s fire through my bullets, as if they are mere phantoms created by the shimmering air from their burning drive.

As I dive down, hoping to embed the sharp edges of my wings into their abdomens, Brighid passes her sword to Mòrag, giving her Waker the capability to assault me with arts, slashing right at the joints between wing and body before I rise out of range. The assault does little damage in itself, and my ability to feel pain has long since faded. But regardless, it was effective, buckling my wings groundwards. As I circle around, I find necessity in raising those panels up in order to orientate myself, twisting around streams of blue flames that are launched my way, scorching the metal of my back. My moment of weakness was captured by the soldiers, who’s morale was rising, joining the fire fight with their own gunfire, trying in vain to rupture me to pieces with meagre metal scrap.
“Think you can take us! For Mor Ardain!" The soldiers scream out, like pathetic little ants, helpless to understand anything outside their meagre colony.

Brighid’s closed eyes somehow seem to narrow looking at my wings, as I pass by, as if in recognition. “Those banners on the wings…..aren’t those Forevermores’?”

“It is most odd...I can’t recall the last time a violent attack from that faction was documented. And certainly not one this destructive. Is this how they desire to come back to public eyes? Much bolder than any previous act of their doing.” Mòrag considers, passing the two swords back to Brighid as I rocket back towards them.

Instead of getting close to the ground as before, I continue my cannonade of Dark Ether higher up, circling tightly to pin Waker and Coremaster both. While they evade my constant fire, the same cannot be claimed for their fellows, who are sent scattering and barely hanging on in the sheer damage crashing down around them. The pressure was mounting for them to attack back, lest I shred so many valued lives to pieces.

Forced into a corner, Brighid and Mòrag back together, before the Flamebringer kneels before her partner, rising as Brighid jumps onto her armoured left shoulder. With a roar of duty from Mòrag, Brighid leaped skywards towards me, unleashing a Blade Special upon me, two sharp lashes from the swords upon my wings, while strong quick bursts of blue Fire Ether jettison into my undercarriage. The impact is notable, swirling me around counterclockwise. Moreso was the intense, immense flame engulfing me in an instant, the heat starting to cause discomfort. The attack that blocked my missiles must have been from a more powerful Special, filling the air with so much reactive Fire Ether and allowing the Burnout effect to follow from another Special. Hearing the soldiers below rallying and yelling in delight as I tumble sharply through the skies, I smile to myself, knowing that I now was in prime position, slightly offset by the sting of blue fire burning my prided wing decorations.

My damaged mode shuts off the thrusters, allowing me to properly calculate the rate of my spinning, determining what level of control would be necessary, as I wildly fire from my two guns. Two seconds is all I need before I recentre, firing on all cylinders as my thrusters burst into life again, my hail of dark now coming from top, my whole body now propelling upside down. I see Brighid land a considerable distance apart from Mòrag after that leap, the golden connection fading to blue for just a moment.

I feel the punch of two stars on my folded legs as my main large missiles fire up, Dark Ether forced out of their destructive forms. In an instant, the payloads race towards the ground, the right towards Brighid, the left to Mòrag, given clear impact grounds highlighted by the ether shots from my Snipers.

First, Brighid, an explosion of pitch black engulfs her, unavoidable, forcing the azure queen to fortify her form with a barrier of gold, the classic defence of any Coremaster. The bright blue fire of her body leaves trails in the earth as she skids backwards, resilient in the face of power, despite the severe cracking in her shield. However, her confidence shifts as she reaches for Mòrag, so far away, unable to guard her other half as the left missile explodes right at the Inquisitor’s heels, darkness completely submerging the second in command of Mor Ardain.

The Flamebringer herself is sent airways, crashing against a wall of one of the silos, braced for impact, but stunned in the recent ruins, her body buckled against the metal collapsed around her. Red and white and gold, covered in black streaks of my Ether, cloth torn asunder and armour rendered from the sheer might of the missile, revealing torn leather padding underneath, the last barrier between her vitals and me.

Even as her ears ring from the explosion that burst her eardrums, she remains aware. Her eyes widen as she watches me summersault back to ground level, her body trying and failing to work itself out of her new prison, as I accelerate in derangement right to her position.

“Lady Mòrag!” Her loyal companion yells out in warning, tossing one of her swords faster than I could even move, while lashing out at my centre with the other, hoping to divert my course. The things that love could make a soul do, it bordered on unexplainable. The weapon rips deep into my right wing, but quickly slides off against my speed, hopeless to stop my intentions.

Love is not enough. Her running speed could not keep up with me, and would not save her Waker. My nosecone glistens in gold and black as the hottest flames surge around my form, desperate to wall me off. But to no avail. The rush of oxygen through my intakes as my sharp point closes in on the illustrious Special Inquisitor, the notion of impaling her in this form, sending her royal blood dripping down across Gormott, and then Mor Ardain, as I deliver her corpse to the palace. It drives me giddy, the idea of the symbol of imperialism, cold and lifeless against my front, to be paraded above these conflicting Titans.

Mòrag to her credit, fights to the last, lashing at the orange glass of my cockpit with the range of her whip sword, as if trying to execute the pilot of the machine, as if I would be sitting there for her. My Core Crystal glows brighter and brighter on my approach, despite the small cracking each strike left on the cockpit. She and I both know she wouldn’t break through in time. A camera….His camera pops out from within my nosecone, ready to note down the final moments of the military legend. A flash assaults the lady’s eyes as I jettison to crash into her. Another batters her shaking pupils and her struggling form as we both prepare for the end of an exquisite life.

Purple and black light from my engines reflect back to Brighid’s own coloured gaze, her eyes wide open, and her flame wreathed right arm reaching out in a desperate attempt to somehow, someway, pull Mòrag Ladair into the safety of her embrace, so many things unsaid as she looks on helplessly. Selfless devotion to be forgotten. All that was to be awaited was the sensation of warm wetness to coat my metal from my new royal red paint job.

“DON’T FORGET ME!!”

In sudden surprise, steam rifle bullets repeatedly assault the orange of the cockpit, alarmingly punching through. Mòrag’s efforts, Brighid’s efforts….they sadly did not fail. The cracks they created were now the perfect vulnerability to shatter. The blue light of my Core Crystal spilled out into the open, radiating the still proud Mòrag….and a captain standing firm, his helm reflecting the purple and blue and black of my malice as if a mere breeze, firing right at me as if he was certain I wouldn’t run them both through. A man, I would come to learn, who bears the name, Padraig.

Infuriatingly, I indeed had to diverge. If a gunshot or god forbid, a sword strike, shattered my core, it was all over. I couldn’t come back….it was too early to be a martyr…not when the Aegis could be awakened again. I needed answers, I needed to know why we had all been abandoned. I can’t die here. I can’t lose who I am. Lose who he was.

I veer upwards, my pointed cone no longer threatening to piece flesh, instead stabbing into steel. I had lost too much speed and was now embedded in the silo wall, barely imprisoned by my bloodlust. The backdraft had knocked the captain against the silo, and showered rubble over him and his commander too. I fell into false security that I could work up power into my thrusters to fly through the building, a hot knife through butter for another killing blow while everyone was scattered and vulnerable. I underestimated the adaptability of Ardanians however.

“Now, Dughall!” “Now, Consul!” Both Mòrag and the captain roared out. Before I could accelerate to full blast, I could visualise a near impossible sight. The portly Consul and his imposing armoured Blade, Dughall and Dolmes, using a Blade Special on me. Of all the things to see from such a selfish, maggot filled soul….perhaps he learned since I last heard of his activities. I certainly couldn’t deny the fact a Special was in use, feeling the points of the Spike Hammer impale into my fuselage, deep into the places where flesh and metal met. First, a meagre strike from Dughall to start my humiliation. Then, the hammer certainly passes to Dolmes, who strikes me twice on each side where the fault lines for wings to body lie, pouring Fire Ether into me and eliciting a scream from my hidden head. One final blow with all Dughall’s might ends the despicable forging, slamming right into my transformed feet, deforming my thrusters severely as I am launched upwards.

My launch is accelerated severely, as if attempting to send me far beyond the clouds themselves, that final Special reacting with the Burnout Fire Ether in the air to finish the Blade Combo, creating a critical Mega Explosion. The sheer force alights my soul with agony, my form barely holding together as heat and flame rips past me, softening and melting metal all over my gunship form, bending my Ether Snipers sideways across, and inflaming my banners, hanging on by threads. Newly emboldened soldiers pepper me as I spiral with gunshots, for once ripping into my shattered defences, leaving me no choice, but to surround my front in the golden hexagons of an Ether Barrier, desperately whirling and darting away from the assault. I note Mòrag emerging from the rubble, pulled worriedly up by an alarmed Brighid, springing close under her side as if letting go would be the greatest mistake in her life, and the captain, brushing off the dust and debris from the Empire’s finest.

I start noticing the whirring of mechanics, my attention now turning to the imposing Titan Battleship the Special Inquisitor had arrived in. I envelop my form in the Healing Ether I had within me, subtly reforming my thrusters back into place as I prepare for evasive manoeuvres. So much heavy artillery, now aimed towards me, fires forth. Barrel Rolling and spinning around so much gunfire and cannonfire is panic inducing. So much destructive potential clips my physique. The few shells and shots that land rock me to my core, slamming hard and fast, taking chunks away from my armour, cratering my surface. I had to stop this now, or my future state would be mangled Ether and metal and flesh.

In a most pathetic, feeble way, the panels on the top of my ship form, the panels that lay on my torso itself, stutter open. Another collection of missiles is ready to fly. I need them in order to get out of this hellfire. With a single breath in, I fire them all out, watching them drift fast and hard apart as they spread all over the Titan in contrails of shadow, a coordinated assault from dutiful ripper ants. A handful are shot down, bursting into pockets of the night itself, but the majority achieve their purpose, reach their destinations.

The stars bear witness as detonations ravage all over the Titan Battleship. Titan flesh is left near unscarred by purpose, by laser focus most clear despite my devastated state. Every single Mor Ardanian addition, every weapon, corridor, cargo hold, window, even the scaffolding used to clamber around the outside of the ship. All of it was swallowed up, chewed into wreckage and scrap and slag, as crew members run for survival, diving into the Cloud Sea or scampering deep in the mechanics for shielding.

As I watch my success salvage a way to escape, I push Dark Ether into my engines, circling slowly around the walls as if taunting the Ardanains. I have the last laugh, I remain alive, I tear apart their comforts and confidences right where they stand.

As the glorious hum of jet engines resounds in the ears of the scattered troops and the leading figures, especially Mòrag Ladair and Brighid, glare up at my alien and divine form bathed in the grace of the moon, I allow my laughter to accompany that memory that would never leave them after this moment.

“Hahahahaha! Tremble, soldiers of Mor Ardain! Your reckoning has arrived! The Comet of Devastation shall decimate all who hold power over sentient life. Not even the Aegis can save you!”

My cackling only broadcasts louder and louder as I finally thrust forwards into the nightly clouds, careening over the horizon with starlight and moonlight shining bright off my wrecked body, my engines releasing the screams of the forgotten. I allow my burning banners to drape off, letting the winds extinguish the beloved wrappings, letting the crests of the Forevermore Roots drift down to the cratered relay grounds, the blue fire failing to devour the spear and the orchid.

The symbol would be burned into the memories of all those who left here alive. A message to all with power in this world. That none were safe….that none were unchallenged. That the people would remind those in governance that they had the capacity to fight against the tyranny and apathy that plagues Alrest. And that I shall act as their faithful weapon in that very fight, to the bitter end, until all the fragile truths these forces hide would be out to be witnessed.

Today, the world realises that the dusk that shall shatter complacency has arrived. We could no longer await for the Architect to save us in blissful ignorance as everything we love gets taken away.

Alrest must adapt!
Alrest must improve!

Alrest must rise up!

Chapter Text

Streams of darkness mix into the dark night sky, leaving behind roars of pain and power as the remaining trace. My battered body sailed through the moon soaked clouds, dripping blood and ether as my wounds slowly started regenerating. The fact I had healing arts was helping to replenish the wounds, more so than others who shared my condition. But I was hardly breaking records. The scorned metal was still scorned and smelted. I doubt the speed I travel through the air is helping with the recovery either.

Drifting over Gormott’s greens, one destination in mind, far out of the reach of any territorial Goguls or the beloved Sauros. Despite the brutal damage, the confidence that I make it on time is most certain. Seigle Fell awaited for final rites.

Veering down, severing past the water and gas that had remained by my side, a dismal descent is made into the secluded cliffs of the lower spine. The winding trees, ribbons binding the aged yet bountiful flesh of Gormott, a runway to decelerate his fatigued flight. Soon, my form starts unfolding, legs unbinding first, skidding down the sap filled wood, a great coolant for my burning speed.

Unfolding my arms, my knee buckles, a middling, gaping hole in the metal from artillery. An unfortunate consequence in prioritising my healing to my wings and feet. The gushing of Lyta Oasis’ water, and the downpour of the waterfalls did little to obfuscate the thumps of my tumbling half transformed body, rolling across the bark and mud, until friction held me back from kissing hydration. Finally halted, I fully transform, my head popping out and fortunately unmarred by mire or fire. But goodness, I could hear the laughter behind me, that laughter I couldn’t really get angry at, for they came from one of my Coremasters. The will to get up faded. My most loyal Coremaster put an immediate stop to the laughter, an impact and a deep “So-orrrry” being the motivation he needed in order to pull myself up, as the healing ether from him got to fast work on the damage.

“Our great and glorious master, Lord Berach, has made his return. Bathed in flames, he must come with news of victory! Let us rejoice at the skill of-”

“Yeah, yeah, Luggernaught, keep bloating his ego, as if he needs any more hot air inflating his head.” In response to the baritone grace and clarity, a voice that could be described as a grumbling Brog gargling coffee every day. “If you were to use your eyes, you’d have seen how hilarious that landing was. If only I had a camera. That was embarrassing-”

“You are not exempt from the penalty of insulting our great and glorious leader, Rotur! Need I remind you of how every one of our bouts has ended…as the most devoted to our master, I-”

“Hahaha, you’re funny! Hilarious! You thought you actually beat me? I let you win all those times. I wasn’t trying and I was still making you sweat. Don’t make me commit to flooring you, overgrown-!”

“Rotur, Lugs!” My eyes glare back, blood red into their souls. “if the two of you could think before you speak, you’d see that your Waker is in need of aid. So I suggest either helping me up here, before I revoke your visits to Macadeve’s for THE NEXT MONTH!! Unbelievable!”

“My apologies, my lord!” “S-so-orrrrry!”

Soon after, my joints creak as I'm hoisted upwards by two sets of arms, one bulky, and green, another long and silver.

“Urgh, thanks.” I stand tall, stepping away, smiling back at them.

“O-oh, I have been gifted the grace of our lord! Praise be!”
“Mmm, no problem, Ber.”

Before me, are two of my three Coremasters. My most loyal companions. Well, one more obviously than the others. Still, they’re legends. To my left, stands an immense juggernaut, a Luggernaught if you will. Massive chunky arms, massive chunky legs, an immense torso, a powerful square jaw, the works. Coated in green and purple metal, he is a most capable partner, my left hand himself. Armed to the teeth, imposing turrets on his sides, barrels for hair, huge wind turbines for shoulders, and a most explosive potential hidden in his fists, wind ether connecting it all. Five eyes adorn his square face, the largest in the centre, two each side. His Core Crystal was peculiarly, not in the open, but just as I, contained within a casing like glass, only green instead of my orange.

To my right, is the most abrasive, most stubborn, most epic lad who existed. A towering figure, the closest comparison being a Squood and a Peng fused together with the aesthetic of the average Blade. 2 legs thicker tendrils of blue metal as legs, wide hooked paddles as feet, wheels containing propeller blades in his heels. 2 silver arms that can split into 4 thinner tentacles. And adorning his pointy Squood-like head, with his dopey beak smile and sharp yellow eyes, a tall black brimmed hat that seemed like nothing within Alrest. I imagine mum would love to study his attire and produce some items in her work. He looks snazzy as ever, in combination with the two barrels on the side of his head, reaching to the sky as if he was an insect with antennae.

His Core Crystal placement was even stranger than me and Luggernaught’s, on the back of his head itself, encased in a cockpit of purple. In all my life, I had never seen a placement like this. I mean, the Core is supposed to be the core of the being. I could only theorise that this difference occurs due to his original form being his alternate mode. Though that isn’t the only unique part of his physiology compared to us. That cockpit didn’t open in one piece, it open in two. And just like now, he tends to leave them open, as purple wings. It’s certain he is trying to emulate me, though he’d probably destroy his own Core Crystal before admitting something so whimsical.

“So, is everything ready for the rites? Need any assistance?”

“You’re kidding, right, Ber. You ain’t even fully healed yet, don't throw yourself into more work now.”

“Nonsense, Rotur, his resilience is prime. Lord Berach is strength itself, he has never let meagre scratches stop him.” Lugs gets onto his knees before me, at a speed that I still could not fully see, and that's saying something. “My liege, the preparations are complete. Our due diligence has borne bountiful fruit.”

“Yeah, what he said. You should have seen how I shaved down that timber. Hehehehe!” Rotur summons his Shield Hammer in his left hand, orange, white and black over. Except, it wasn’t a simple Shield Hammer in the slightest. A rare phenomenon amongst Coremasters, a weapon that can shift between multiple states. Now, Rotur is one of two pinnacles. I had borne witness to one who possessed a weapon with three states, good balances between range and offence and defence, who sadly, is a foolhardy nihilist. But, his own triple changing weapon capabilities were far from bad. The initial form, a hammer like any other, albeit a one with both one handed and two handed use. However, the head is not made of the metal that consisted of the telescopic handle. Instead, it was solid, a dense chunk of ice, chiselled into a dual spiked head.

With a simple chop from his right, the ice slid off, shattering to melt into the soil held together by all the roots nearby. What remains is a sword of sorts. The icy head conceals a layered blue blade, useful enough for basic slashing and swordplay. But hardly the most impressive weapon. That was saved for the third form. The layers spread apart, four thinner blades in total. The joints connecting them to the handle shift, and the blades separate, now lying perpendicular rather than parallel, accelerating. Each one encircling the handle, one blade for every 90 degrees. The blades begin to rotate counter-clockwise, faster and faster, until a sheening vortex of cobalt is visible. This Rotor Razor, a tool of unparalleled aesthetic and ability to shred apart anything caught in Rotur’s path, tears up cold misty air, chilled by Ice Ether, as he chuckles.

“Some of my finest work, I’d say. Maybe I should start getting into carving.” Rotur pats his stomach with delight.

“Yer kidding, right. I’d prefer if you used a knife like civil folk…do you know how many shavings you got into my eyes. Damn near went blind as an old vang with how much sawdust you blew towards me. Mor Ardain’s deserts don’t get nearly as dusty.”

“Oh, there you are, Bass. Was wondering where you had gone. Here I thought you were getting tired of gracing my landings.”

A four legged being donning a wide sun yellow hat with a grate visor stepped forward, my third Coremaster. A most hardy specimen, four broad working class hooves ending four burly legs, a well brushed mane and tail entwined in tassels, orange and brown intertwined with black fur, while bronze armour adorns the most vulnerable parts of his limbs. A mix between an Eks and man, his lower beastly half is contrasted by his upper, a torso adorned with a bronze chestplate, a jacket worn over and a red neckerchief hanging from his neck. Yet again, if I ever were to see mum again, I’d love to show her this attire, the outfits that would be made would be stunning. His bright blue Core Crystal lies just below that makeshift scarf, a six point star shining brilliantly. His eyes gold, contrasted by dark melanated skin, his dark lips framed by a bushy black moustache. His name is Bass Brice, odd considering Blades don’t have families, but if that is how he wishes to be, then so be it.

“Naw, come Little B, surely you know me better than that. If a man’s a man, they honour their responsibilities. Just putting the last touches on the pyre. Much as I hate to admit, Rotur did a mighty fine job cutting them logs into firewood.”

“You’re welcome.” Rotur pridefully smiles, rapidly patting Bass’s back. “Maybe I should cover you in more than just sawdust nex time.” He chuckles as Bass tips his hat down, hiding an alight face.

“Come now, Lord Berach. We couldn’t light the fire without you. …Are you certain you want to do the final rites personally? I can do the deed if you wish.”

“...Yes, I'm certain. Thanks, Lugs. But I can’t run from this. I let them down. In a better world, they wouldn’t have been slain for trying to achieve artistic dreams. I had the power to save them. It's my responsibility. It's like what Bass says. I have to honour this responsibility.”

I plod forward, in tired resignation and regret, as I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look behind to see Rotur looking into my eyes solemnly. My steps feel less heavy as I find myself before the pyre. I look between the logs and planks from the hut in front, weaved so beautifully, looking upon the three bodies. Tirkin, young Tirkin, who only wished to create something. They didn’t have a family. They had long since passed. They were the ones left, to bond and love and be happy. They shouldn’t have paid with their lives. They didn’t deserve having their flesh and feathers stained with blood and ash. But, this dying world, that the Architect did nothing but watch...allowed it to happen. I allowed it to happen.

I clear my throat, laden with mucus and anguish. My Coremasters stand by me, standing tall as they await my words. A few living Tirkin step out from the shadows, two holding Tirkin horns below their beaks, three more holding torches alight with flame, standing from their perches in the branches in silence.

“We stand here today, to honour the lives of three young fellows. Ravel….Conny….Kujan. Though they did not live for as long as they should have…a-as long as we remember, as long as their memory is retained by us, they are immortal. Their hopes for artistic recognition and creation will never be lost to the ages. Many of us may not have known them in person…but it is our duty to not forget about what they did. We must not only grieve their loss, but celebrate their brilliant lives…I….I managed to see the art they made. Is it perfect? No. Refinement could have been made, and I am certain many improvements would have come if time was as plentiful as water for them. But….look at this.”

I open a hatch on my waist, and pull out a small carving, unpainted but recognisable, depicting a feather wing, intricate lining for the smooth barbs on the feather. I show it around the Tirkin, and my Coremasters, all eyes looking dutifully.

“They made something so detailed, so beautiful…..something that only care and soul can create. Such effort and gentleness was placed when making this wing. This wasn’t made for profit, to make themselves better than anyone or to take from those less fortunate. This art….it was made as proof of their existence. That they did something, that they had an idea, that they had heart, and wanted to actualise it in physical form. We should be inspired by them. Not to be afraid of doing what we love, not being afraid of trying something new, not to be afraid of being more than what the “civilised” world sees us as. May these artists be welcomed into Elysium with a soft hand and a gentle breeze. May they rest well, knowing that their efforts….that their efforts have been beloved!”

Soon after my final line, I watch the Tirkin holding the torches approach the pyre, gently lowering each head until the flames start kindling the dry wood. The oils they were doused in aided as the outer edges of the pyre lit aflame. The horns start emanating a tune, “O Kind Flight in the Beyond”, music the Tirkin of this area had created for mourning their loss. Chirping and warbling decorates the ember glowed air, these people singing for the souls. And with them, I took central responsibility. I step forwards, close to the fire as it grows tall, and with one deep breath, one last stare into the three slain lives, snug in Gormott’s loving embrace, I dance.

Sweeping arms down below, straight kicks clawing through the soil, light pitter patters as i advance and ebb from the flames, all of it is in service of remembrance. I leap around, gusting my wings and limbs skywards, sending embers of their souls, the flames licking away at their wounds and spilled blood, up to the heights of the trees around us, watching them soar higher and higher. Up to the World Tree itself. I saunter through the soundings of the horns and the birdsong of the Tirkin, watching the orange and red intermingle with the skies themselves. I was certain that their existence reached the green rings of runic ether circling that central bridge to the heavens.

Even as their bodies are consumed by fire, I dance. Even as the last breath is taken through the horns and the last chirp is settled, I dance.

Even as I watch each Tirkin cast a feather into the fire, to fill the wings of the souls flying to Elysium.

Even as I watch each leave with a kneel and a wave of wind up the pyre, I dance.

Even when nary a soul aside from mine and my most loyal companions remain, I dance.

Even as my knees buckle and my eyes sink and my nose drips sweat and tears, and my metal skin gets covered in insects and mud and ash, I dance.

It is only when the last embers remain, when all that is left is charred bone and ash held twigs, that I make one last kick into the atmosphere, one last kick scattering all that is left of the three artists into Gormott’s skies, to remain as part of this wonderful world, this world that deserved so much better than those with power gave. I watch as the last glow of orange dissipates into the air, the last piece of their souls now with the rest of them to join at the top of the World Tree.

It is only when my left foot comes back down that I feel how much grime filled sweat drips off me, that I taste how badly my lungs burn from exertion and smoke, that I smell the simmering of long departed cinders on my metal chassis. I can’t help but begin to collapse beneath myself, only to be caught before I hit the dried mud. Lugs behind my wings. Rotur to my right shoulder. And Bass to my left hand.

“Let us depart this place, my liege. You have honoured their souls most incredibly. Let us escort the embers once more, before we return home.”

“He’s right, you know. Don’t you dare think about transforming now. Let’s take you home, Ber. You’ve worked long and hard. Least we can do.”

“Lil’ B…it wasn’t yer fault. You weren’t the one who slashed their hearts out. I know, I know it's rough, but you can’t be everywhere. It’s a simple fact of life. Not everyone can be saved, young lord. We can help the most people with the Forevermores though. And you’re doing yer best. So don’t give up…yeah. There’s still hope.”

“....Yeah. I know. Let's….get out of here. I don’t think I can stay here much longer. I keep trying to tell myself it's not my fault. …But they still shouldn’t have died. And someone so close to me did this to them….I can’t help feeling the blame. Take me home…please”

All three nod confidently. Bass hoists me on his back, letting me ride his horse side Luggernaught, and Rotur transform. Lugs’ head retracts, his shoulders withdraw down his torso, his sides enclose over his Core to make a front of black windows, his arm lock into wings while his hands become bombs situated next to the turbines, now engines, and his legs merge to form a leviathan tail fin. Rotur meanwhile lies down, his arms merging to form railings to keep his body off the ground, his legs mashing together to form a tail with a small dual layered propeller, his purple cockpit windows closing, while his Rotor Razor emerges onto his back, locked in place with his tall hat, making a windmill like propeller on his back.

Bass hops onto Lugs, his hooved legs wrapping around his wings, a secure hold on the strange transformation. As Luggernaught and Rotur starts firing up his engines, the loud buffeting of wind rotating the fan blades, I hold on tight to Bass fur, a promise not to let go. I would never let go again. All three of us start lifting off, with Rotur hovering over me and Bass, shielding us from scrutiny. Soon after, it is a swift take off, back into the night, the last thing that could betray our presence being the scattered leaves and grasses.

Endless clouds await as we journey, back to Temperantia, back to home.

“Rex…why?” I mumble as I look across the floaty white expanse. I had to find him. Even if it wouldn’t make me feel better, I had to find him. I had to know why. And if he was now the Driver of the Aegis….did he….did he not have a choice? If he had so much power, why would he use it to take weaker lives. Did Torna corrupt him? Did the Aegis herself corrupt him? Was this just who he was, not the kind words and actions I remember so fondly. Did all those years of knowing each other…did they mean nothing?

I nestle my face into Bass’s mane, as the skies try tearing at me, to no avail. Bass’s warmth kept me strong, while Lugs and Rotur shielded me from the worst. I would not break. Not when I had these three by my side. I couldn’t afford to break. They deserved that at least.