I remember what once was. Osyris, a strange creature that fit in with none of the races of the world, stood before an ancient, moss strewn and weather beaten gravestone, lit by the setting sun as the wind played with his long coat and white hair. Aloud he spoke to the stone, “Hello, old friend, I’m sorry I’m late with my visit.” He knelt by the stone, running the back of his claw against it. “I’m so sorry Derik, but all our hard work seems for naught these days. How long was it since we won against the Mad Emperor? One hundred years? Two hundred years?”
As he brushed the stone, blue writing in a script too fair for mortal make appeared on the face. It read, “Here lays Derik Bjornson, Brother in all save blood, and Farmer born and King in death.” The date put the death back in the late Third Era, and to Osyris’ best memory it was now the mid Fourth. Over two hundred years since he had first met the farm boy, when Derik had pulled a starving Osyris into his farmhouse, shouted his parents into helping the strange creature, and nursed him back to health. Over two hundred years since he’d returned the favor and rescued the boy when the Mad Emperor’s agents burned the farm down. And it had happened near this very spot, at the spot where his camp was by the river down below.
The days and months after had been chaotic; a whirlwind of vengeance. Allies gathered from all corners of the world, battles fought to slowly take the Mad Emperor down, to the final battle when the two blood-brothers and their inner circle of friends challenged the Mad Emperor and his daemonic patron. Derik had been crowned king then, the lands split evenly among the Four Mortal Races, and an age of peace and prosperity not seen since before the Mad Emperor’s time arose. The arts magical and scientific had flourished greatly, and it seemed as if mortalkind was going to become something great, but what would not be so.
Ancient powers, who hated mortalkind’s progress, hated mortalkind in general for being anything but their dutiful servants, had made their move when Osyris was away on a quest. The attack had been so swift that not even the Rune Knight’s charms had been able to protect the king, and Derik’s death brought about a new age of war. Nothing was left of the former farm boy’s achievements in life save words in history books… and the memories the Rune Knight had of him.
Osyris stood, letting his normally stoic expression settle into one more fit for mourning. Tears flowed freely from his amber eyes as he drew forth his twin butterfly swords, rune carved on blade and hilt, and crossed them over his heart in salute. “Nowadays, no one knows you as anything but one of the few good monarchs the land has known, a symbol of hope for the mortals. Me though?” Now even the Rune Knight’s voice was affected by his sadness, and he let it come freely. He was alone up here, so he had no need to maintain a mask.
“I haven’t forgotten you as a person. How the humble farm boy who wanted to be a soldier took me up here and… and shared those dreams with the unknown, unnatural creature he’d saved. No plans of being king, just someone who wanted to do good by others, to make the world as better a place as possible.” He let the blades fall to his side, and the rune stones sewn into his coat began to glow dark blue. “Well, Derik, this is for you. I showed you this on that day; I’ll show it to you again.” The runes flared into life, and a pair of shining blue wings appeared at Osyris’s back, followed by a small, glowing halo above his head.
“I told you who I was, what I was, and you didn’t care. No supplication, no bowing and scraping, no worshiping. All you said was, ‘cool’, and that was that. Not even when I moved beyond these pale imitations and unleashed my true nature, all you wanted to know was if we could fly together.” The wind caught some of the stream of tears flowing down the Rune Knight’s eyes, and carried them into the open air. He turned to watch them go, and look over the horizon at the same time, sheathing one of his swords as he did.
“Many allies I’ve had across the centuries, many compatriots across the millennia, but a friend? An honest to Great Father friend, that I could call brother? Not enough for one as long lived as I.” He sheathed his other sword and stroked the gravestone again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save your body, but at least I know your soul is safe and happy above. Wait for me there Derik, wait for me. One day, mortalkind will surpass my family and me, and we’ll meet again here, just like we promised. How we will fly then, you… and I.” The Rune Knight collapsed to his knees and let the despair fully take him, rocking back and forth as sobs and tears poured from mouth and eye alike.
Finally, after a time had passed, he stood, touched the marker one last time, and started down the path to the camp site. The runes ceased to glow, and the wings and halo vanished with the light. Pretty as they were, those wings were only for show, and he had no desire for anyone to see his halo yet. But a time would come when his true wings could be invoked once more, and he could soar the skies of Arthalla freely again. It was a long road to traverse before that day would come, with many a challenge to overcome. But he wasn’t alone, he would never let himself be alone again on a journey, Derik had taught him that. He was glad to be in the company of others, even if he didn’t show it to his new allies. Let them think he had come up here to scout the land, let them cloak him in mystique and mystery. It would make the coming journey as interesting as that other one had been…
