rogue_4

In the eyes of his companion, the Banshee fares no better: His ear tufts have transformed into a 'helmet' of sorts. His body is almost entirely covered in Originium, as if he might crumble into dust at any moment. At this point, it is neither his brain nor heart that keeps him alive, but the very Originium consuming him.

Neither of them speaks. They simply look at each other, then at the light. It flickers, shimmers, and finally goes out. As the last afterimage from the light vanishes from their retinas, two hands—one wrapped in bandages, the other covered in Originium—clasp together. They help each other up and stumble onward.

Hours or days could have passed, but the road gradually grows more even. Their eyes see only darkness, their ears hear only the hollow echo of death, and they feel nothing at all.

The Banshee takes a step back, unsure if his companion is still there.

There is no one behind him.

Is he still waiting, or has he left? Aefanyl does not know. He can feel what little parts of his body that are still flesh crystalize.

And so he sings the song of the Banshee.

A stream of air travels out of his depleted lungs, past his vocal cords, and through his crystallized lips. It sweeps past the lens still clutched in his companion's hand, carries away the remaining heat of the dying planet, and drifts into the dark nothingness that has long remained still.

At this moment, matter ceases to exist. Only the lingering voice of a man echoes in the silence.

Listen. This is the song of Aefanyl.

The University of Kazdel offers an unusual course on Originium Arts, with a specific focus on singing Arts. Professor Aefanyl of the Banshee Court is an expert in the field, and thanks to his painstaking efforts in disassembling, recombining, and defining ancient Sarkaz incantations, the basics of these esoteric techniques once limited to the Banshees can now be learned by anyone.

Before class begins, Aefanyl includes a hidden pre-lesson test in his greetings to the students, as usual. Those who fail to recognize it for what it is and respond with a specific syllable are struck by a temporary curse, forcing them to raise their hands for a minute. During this time, his aides distribute the day's teaching materials.

What kind of song is a Banshee's song, really? This is no doubt a topic of great interest to the students, Sarkaz and non-Sarkaz alike. Aefanyl uses his bone pen to write on the blackboard in mid-air while demonstrating an ancient tune.

At first, the song is 'soundless'. He sings a short passage then stops, avoiding harming the students with sound waves they cannot hear. This is a song exclusive to the Banshees, used to call friends to their side while hunting and slaying prey.

When the Banshees joined the ranks of the Teekaz, their song changed with them. They invented a peculiar rhythm somewhere between weeping and a shriek. From that moment on, death constructed from speech and script became reality. Upon hearing this noise, all living would know the knell had been sounded.

The Banshee's song has gone through long periods of evolution and research since then, giving rise to a diverse variety of forms. Aefanyl clears his throat and demonstrates several of them: a piercing whistle that can penetrate skulls, deep and mellow sleep-talking, barely-audible murmuring, and a soothing, captivating melody. Every Banshee is a master of their particular meter and mode, and the Elegaic Court of old is now as bright and beautiful as the Convallis they dwell in.

When the lesson is over, Aefanyl returns to his office, where his apprentice has been waiting for him.

She is here to say goodbye. After three years of studies, her thesis on the link between singing Arts and modern medical techniques was noticed by Babel. She is about to embark on a journey, starting the next chapter of her life as a Reserve Operator.

Before she leaves, her teacher has a gift for her.

The Banshee bids his apprentice stand in front of a wall covered in symbols. This is his most important lesson, a Banshee score known as the Guide. Whenever a student completes their studies and leaves campus for the last time, he sings this song for them.

The office is dead silent. After taking a deep, deep breath, a low melody resonates from his nasal cavity. It repeats a few times, then is joined by his voice flowing from his throat. He brandishes his bone pen, circling his student with it two-and-a-half times. Once he sings the final symbol on the wall, the Guide is finally concluded.

The student sees it as no more than her teacher's farewell ceremony, and moves to express her gratitude. However, when she opens her mouth, her words become song, and a symbol lights up on the score. Aefanyl immediately steps forward and marks it.

'From now on, this is your symbol.'

With a wave of his bone pen, several other marked symbols change color. It's clear her seniors had also been subject to this 'prank' from their teacher.

'I've been learning under your guidance for so many years, Professor. Why have you never told me how this works?'

Upon hearing his student's grumbling, Aefanyl feels a slight tug at the corner of his mouth.

'This is a Banshee song. Even if you understood every symbol, you would not be able to sing it.'

'Besides, it is not yet complete.'

Doubt clouds his student's face. She can hardly believe that her advisor, one who has reached the pinnacle of both Arts and song, would be willing to show others an incomplete work.

'Don't get me wrong, I've already pushed my Banshee techniques as far as they can go for this.'

'But this is a song that points the way. With only one voice, it cannot be considered complete.'

'Please remember that symbol.' Aefanyl repeats its pronunciation, and once his student commits it to memory, he continues:

'Turn it into your song. That is my request.'

'When the land has need of us, you will sing it unbidden.'

'It is a song that resonates between all life.'

He does not remember who he is

Nor from whence he came

He simply wanders endlessly through this silent, colorless, unresponsive, and empty world

Bewildered

Confused

But that is only natural

As meaning has yet to form

Then, out of nowhere, comes a sigh; a wind blows past him, fading as quickly as it arrived

He remembers the rippling of his skin in the wind, he remembers 'direction'

He steps forward, towards the change

He hears a voice for the first time

In the place he cannot reach, the place that seems to be called 'the sky', there is a faint murmuring

It is indistinct, but he can tell that the voices are many

He wants to hear them with clarity, so he continues walking towards them

From a mass of murmurs to whispers, the voices get clearer

He feels something under his feet. There is now a clear boundary between black and gray

And it is at this moment that he senses himself stepping on that boundary

One further step, and he will fall into that familiar, black chaos

The gray expanse behind him is the road he has just walked—'familiarity,' 'safety'; these concepts make him stop going further

Perhaps soon enough, he will return to his wandering

The voices in the sky become falling snowflakes; the delicate whiteness building a broken bridge at the boundary

Color urges him onwards; the unknown at the end of the bridge bids him stop

As he hesitates, the hum of the snowflakes becomes speech

'Go, go'

'Even if you fall into the abyss, I will be with you'

Companionship—

This new concept gives him courage, and he walks atop the broken bridge of snow

With every step, the road behind him collapses in a cacophony; ahead, a thin layer of ice forms

With every step, the voice grows clearer

It is not the voice of another, it is his own

As he breathes, his heart pulses, beating like a drum

With every stride, his surroundings grow brighter, the colors less muted, and more and more of his self appears

He runs, runs, until the dark is left behind him

A wail shakes the universe

'The baby's out, Laqeramaline! It's a <i>boy</i>!'

Surtr edges towards the furnace. The revenants keep whispering in her ear like unfamiliar distant relatives, but she pays no attention to any of it.

There is a memory coming from the city called Kazdel.

The daughter of a Kazdelian war machine engineer.

The only thing Surtr remembers is a girl with a bruised face sitting on her bed, slowly eating what little food she had managed to snatch that day. There is a tattered photo frame by the bed. The man and woman in the photo are all smiles and happiness, but the girl is not in it.

The girl carefully chews on her food like a small animal. She looks back and forth between the door and the window, on alert for anyone who might try to take her food, but never once does she look in the direction of the photo.

Outside the door is Kazdel.

'I heard I could find a bunch of old ghosts here, who might know what I am looking for.' Surtr raises her head and speaks to the revenants.

'Hey, is there anyone home?'

'It's been a while since one this rude showed up. Did no one ever teach you to respect your ancestors, girl?'

'Are we related? I haven't the faintest idea who you are. I don't even know if I was born here.'

'Then why would you think we would tell you what you want to know?'

Surtr frowns. 'Old sack of bones... If you do not know, then just say so. Now excuse me.'

'Just a moment, young lady. We may not have any bones here, but meeting someone with a spine isn't so bad, once in a while.

'Tell us something. Your past, a story you like, or even something you made up just now. If it satisfies us, we might tell you something that only your ancestors would know.'

'I don't know any stories.'

'You have an imagination, don't you? Use it.'

'Then may I tell you a story of how I'm actually a Sarkaz king who has defeated a hundred flying super monsters?'

'Of course!'

The girl's parents spent all their days and nights buried in their research.

They never told anyone that they had a daughter. They hid everything that could possibly let the secret out. They tried to quietly sneak her out of Kazdel.

In those sleepless times, they stole a high-powered Originium fragment from the labs and other war machine parts, completing a tiny vehicle just as the war began.

The girl who no one knew about was sent to a faraway land.

Her parents knew that an unfamiliar foreign country was perhaps no less dangerous than Kazdel as it descended into chaos.

But they placed what little hopes they had on it, hoping that the girl would live.

It was true that life outside of Kazdel was not necessarily better than life inside.

The girl found herself set upon by refugees, who were after the roots she had spent so much effort digging up. They recounted the sins of the Sarkaz, justifying their actions with their words. First they muttered, then they yelled, finally chasing the girl with steel rods and rocks.

She fled back to her dwelling, the little shelter her parents had built for her.

But this time, she was not so lucky—they found the dilapidated hut she was hiding in.

Her arms and legs injured, the girl stumbled and fell.

The refugees surrounded the house. With great effort, the girl managed to climb into the damaged vehicle.