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Lyna peered into the waters of the Source near the shore, past the gently lapping waves. The surface was a soothing celadon blue, and the sky blues above her head announced another carefree day.
No light curtains or sin eaters in sight, she thought, though by this point, it was a pointless exercise. Her duties as captain of the Crystarium guard had not diminished since the return of night to Norvrandt, but the shape of her days had nonetheless changed considerably.
She raised the flowers in her hand, holding them against the scenery. ‘Do you draw your azure tones from the lake, or the sky?’
The bog sage flowers in her hand did not respond, nor was there any comment by the whitish gerbera flowers mixed in the bundle.
Such colours were a welcome sight in Lakeland, their presence adding a splash of variety to the saturated pink-and-purple grasslands and forests. The sage flowers reminded her of an aetheryte crystal, signifying freedom, and of the blue flowers that grew in her parents’ hometown.
The realm was now more interconnected than ever, with the Crystarium maintaining friendly relations with settlements all over, including Fanow, the forest village where Viis like her still watched over ancient ruins. Spurred by friends, she had taken herself to see that land that her parents had fled before she was born.
Ryne’s words echoed faintly: I know you’re a daughter of the Crystarium, Lyna, but… It could be nice to see where your roots come from, right?
There, in Fanow, Lyna had discovered hunters old enough to still remember the names of Liruna and Guecelo, before the two of them left for the Crystarium. The tales of her deceased parents’ lives felt impersonal, as distant as they had seemed while growing up with the Exarch as her only family. However, the genuine elation of the villagers as they welcomed a “returning” Viis had touched her.
I hope the joy in these memories reaches you too, Lyna thought as she ended her reminiscing and gazed fondly at the apex of the Crystal Tower. Even surrounded by skies so blue, the radiant, cerulean spire was never drowned by them.
Flowers in hand, Lyna marched back to the Crystarium, nodding to the guards that had relieved her as she passed by the Accensor Gate. The chainmail of her tabard clinked as it slid back and forth with her steps. Underneath it, the opalescent key to the Tower was safely stowed inside a hidden pocket.
Spurred by her contemplative mood, the Exarch’s words revisited her: Lyna, I entrust to you the key to my chambers. Pray, do not allow anyone inside the Crystal Tower in my absence. Should our worst fears materialise and the sin eaters storm the Crystarium, then, and only then, I ask that you enter the chambers yourself and activate the magical shielding.
At first she had deemed her duty to be no more than that. If the Tower’s labyrinthic insides bore secrets beyond imagining, they were not meant for her. However, there later came many situations where, whether with the Exarch’s permission (conveyed remotely) or for unforeseen emergencies, she had sanctioned the entry of a select few into those secretive chambers.
Those decisions had proven correct. The more she learned of the capabilities of the Tower and the creatures that yet lingered in its bowels, the more she felt it was her responsibility as captain to maintain full awareness. Of this, Lyna reassured herself as she strode across the Exedra plaza in front of the Crystal Tower, and ventured past the spire’s sealed gate.
It had taken her little time to build an inventory of the books and trinkets stored in the many divisions of the ground floor. Scouting the basement levels had proven easier than expected, and in the opposite direction, the long ascent up the Tower was less of a work-out than her usual training regimen. It was not difficult then, and is absolutely no harder now either, she thought as she pressed on upwards through the winding stairs, despite the sweat beading on her forehead.
Only the topmost door had frightened Lyna, but she had pushed on, clutching the key as if it held her willpower. The doors seemed so heavy back then.
The Exarch’s crystalline remains smiled at her the first time she braved the rooftop, as they smiled at her now, as she exited onto that same golden court. Grief had settled inside of her comfortably. There was no shock, no splash of sorrow or emptiness. The bile no longer rose, the tears no longer streamed.
There was far more joy with her these days, like the joy of visiting Fanow and seeing the blue flowers, blue like the sage bog petals that she now placed at the Exarch’s feet. To highlight them against his crystal-blue body, she surrounded those petals with the light gerbera flowers, white hemmed in by blues.
Memories of birthday cakes, hide-and-seek sessions and fighting lessons with the Exarch danced before her eyes. They did not cover up the indelible stain of his tragic passing, but lived in harmony with it.
With a smile matching the statue in front of her, Lyna straightened her posture, righted her tabard and saluted her adoptive grandfather. ‘May your days continue to be filled with happiness, my lord.’
I am doing my best over here as well.