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A white figure emerged from the forest one afternoon.
His name was Saparata, and his mission was to explore the island and visit the nations until he found a place to settle. In the absence of his fellow leaders, Sitzkrieg offered to give the traveler a tour of what were then the foundations of The Commonwealth.
There wasn't much yet, just a couple of fields, some small buildings, a bread bussines that fed the citizens, and a large sinkhole on the beach. It wasn't much, but soon The Commonwealth would be the largest nation in the archipelago, Sitzkrieg promised the traveler, who nodded at his words with fascination and in turn told stories of the other nations he had passed through before arriving there.
Saparata said goodbye to him and headed southeast, with bread in his inventory, farewells from some of the inhabitants, and Sitzkrieg's gaze on his back.
The second time they met, Saparata was no longer a traveler, but the mediator who would be in charge of the meeting that Sitzkrieg had arrived late for. It was an initial surprise to suddenly see those black eyes again, sitting at the head of the table without returning his gaze. He wanted to approach him, ask him about his trip around the island, but the insistent invitation from Fluixon of Luminara and his group prevented him from even saying goodbye or thanking the mediator for his skillful handling of the meeting.
He returned to his lands on his own as fatigue prevented him from keeping up with the group. He walked, reflecting on plans for the nation's greatness and wondering about the enigmatic presence of Saparata.
Several weeks later, that same figure reappeared, wandering around the mountain and observing the construction on which the citizens of The Commonwealth were working so diligently. The leader of Mykonos noticed the unmistakable white figure out of the corner of his eye and turned immediately, and there was Saparata, still wearing that white cloak.
Sitzkrieg placed a final block of sandstone and dusted his hands on his green uniform jacket before addressing the unexpected visitor.
“We are building an acropolis” he explained proudly, looking like Saparata in awe at the half-built structure. “But that's just the beginning. There will also be barracks, meeting rooms, and a storehouse"
“You know, I'm also building a meeting room for future meetings on an island far away to the south, my friends have been helping me build it”
“I'd like to go see it”
“You may have the opportunity to do so very soon. Jophiel and I have been thinking that it would be good to hold another meeting”
However, that meeting took place sooner than expected, under terrible circumstances. And although Sitzkrieg expressed his intention to attend the meeting, he was stopped by Korulein, who claimed that she was the one who should go, as she was the chief diplomat.
Korulein and Zekor left early in the morning by boat, and he stayed behind to continue building the city.
At dusk, Zekor returned, alone.
He saw that face again a few days later, in hundreds wanted posters on every surface of Pandora. It was strange to see that face without its usual smile and the way those ink-black eyes looked at him didn't feel right. The paper was torn and shredded in his palm. He avoided remembering.
Under the roof of the acropolis, recently completed with the help of other nations, they found themselves face to face, in conditions that could have been better. Sitzkrieg noticed the drastic change in Saparata's appearance. The white cloak had long since been lost, and in its place he wore a tunic that had lost its white color due to dried bloodstains, mud, and careless tearing. That long hair blown by the wind was now uneven strands tangled in leaves and branches. Grief and fatigue occupied the face that was once curious and amazed by its surroundings.
Sitzkrieg hated him for what he had done, but deep down there was a pity, a doubt that he refused to acknowledge.
A swift execution would be quite merciful for Saparata, he agreed, with a bad taste in his mouth that he swallowed as he led the crowd, made up of people from every corner of the island who were chanting for the death of the former mediator, toward the gauntlet.
Saparata never reached the monument. From the top, Sitzkrieg saw him escape so easily over the incomplete walls and disappear, wounded, into the sunset.
The next thing he heard about that fugitive was from Zekor after he returned unsuccessfully from Yggdrasil. Saparata was in Westhelm living his best life under the possessive protection of Emperor Schpood. Part of him wanted him to be punished for his actions, while another part was secretly relieved that he was still alive, but mad because he was in Westhelm of all the places.
A simple murmur escaped the mouth of Westhelm's representative as he died, one that no one else seemed to hear. “Saps” whispered the warrior to whatever he was hallucinating in his final moments.
“So you too have been cursed” thought Sitzkrieg, looking at the body, while the others debated what to do next.
The journey to Infernus was long, skirting around Westhelm. Ygdrassil was different, so unfamiliar and horribly hot. The Ashen Bastion was incredible, perched atop an active volcano. Not even he could have imagined building something as impressive as that.
The short stay in Queen Cynnika's territory was brief but interesting. He found himself surrounded and forced to live with a diverse group of people, from the best warriors of a dissolved nation called The Covenant to the small group of Fluixon.
The news of Saparata's innocence arrived too late, when war was just around the corner. It was too late for Sitzkrieg to offer an apology to Saparata, too late to turn back to his nation and set things right. All that remained was for his sins to catch up with him.
When war broke out, he had no trouble spotting the neat white figure in the midst of battle. There was Saparata, in all his glory, brandishing a netherite sword as he climbed the rugged terrain of the volcano. Once again, his gaze went unreturned, and it would never be returned again.
He accepted the sword that pierced his chest and murmured an apology that would never be heard.