Aftermath

Chapter 10: Out of the Ash, Nothing

Ingressus reconciles with a familiar face and finds all is not well

All is not well at all...

Author's note: pls note that both this chapter and the art come with a little blood warning (if you're a little unsure of the stuff)

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The fires tore across the land, consuming everything in their path, devouring life as they knew it. Soon there was to be nothing left of the world. Nothing left of Ardonia.

No-one left.

They had started the same way they always did – anger-driven vengeance backed by a desire for something darker... Something corrupted. It always started with fire – a symbolism of burning what had been so corrupted for years in the hope of the innocent growing in the aftermath. But the populous knew that was not to be for it was the corrupted that had started the flames, burning the innocence along with it, whether it was intentional or not. It didn't seem to care what it took, just so long as it gained what it had lost, but sometimes to gain something, you must first lose something, and the price can extend beyond limits of your comprehension. It can stem beyond even what 'corrupted' could pertain to, but don't let that fool you. Even corruption can still break.

The corrupted stood atop a mountain overlooking the destruction as it progressed unchecked, unhindered.

Ingressus could see Mendoria. He could see the plants wilt in the smoke and the grasslands flattened with the burning corpses of those who chose to live in denial. Ignorance is bliss until you are blinded by the truth. The panic in those who still lived was poison to his eyes, yet it did not sting, as they swam across the water into Northwind to escape the blaze, only to be eliminated by the shadows of the red Ardoni.

Ingressus could see Kaltaria. He could see the hillside structures collapse under the intense heat of the flames as they weakened every molecule of support, tearing the bonds away. He watched as the Ardoni Shrines crumbled, taking families with it as they found themselves crushed beneath the stone. Guilt is an easy thing to carry until the weight of it claws at your strength and you cannot bear it any longer. Each fading light of the Kaltaris people made him squint in agony, yet there he remained, unmoved, the shadows of himself finishing off what his rage couldn't.

Ingressus looked to Sendaria. He saw that the water had grown tainted with the debris of rotting plants and smoke consuming the wildlife within the lakes and streams. He saw as each one grew red with the blood of the inhabitants as they pleaded to the stars for something or someone to save them. Only fools pray to what they don't understand. He expected the Tidesinger to appear in holy light to stop the madness, to stop his madness, but he never came. His absence stabbed him in the heart, but he refused to look at the knife in his chest as it twisted his skin, tearing the flesh. It wasn't there if he couldn't see it.

He didn't understand why it hurt. Surely the Tidesinger's presence would be more of an anger-articulating development – as a spanner in the works, a thorn in the side – for he was yet the only person to have stood in the way of the Deathsinger for years. He helped Ingressus, but he commanded defeat unto the Deathsinger and discarded him like a mere ghost story, a tale to tell to scare the children, nothing more, nothing less.

So why was his absence more disturbing?

As if anticipating the Tidesinger to appear, he turned to see Nestoria roaring with the same rage-filled ferocity as the other clans. But still, he was not there. Nestoria was abandoned. No-one was there, yet the fires still ravaged the shorelines, unstoppable.

Why wasn't anyone there? Where did they go?

"They are already dead, Ingressus."

The shock of the familiar voice that called to him, sweeping with the smoky wind, and shifting in circles around him made him wince and he turned to see Aegus Nestoris stood behind him, commanding a foreboding stance – a wall; but his presence was disturbing. His body was covered head to toe in cuts, bruises, and blood and, in his hands, Nestor was cracked and split. It, too, ran with blood, dripping down the curves of the emerald snake as it twisted around the splintered staff. In the centre of his chest, Aegus had a gaping hole and he bled out onto the ground in front of him, yet he stood unwavering before Ingressus as Ardonia burned. His lights flickered between life and death, but he stood unmoved.