Cloak and Scalpel

ABERLEEN ARC: Regrets and What-Ifs

Aamon's voice.

I fought the heaviness that seemed to weigh down on me. I could hear Aamon's voice. I wanted to open my eyes, to see his face, but everything felt so heavy, every little movement took so much energy, every breath made my chest hurt. Too much blood loss.

I felt strong arms lift me, felt movement. Heard murmured voices. Again, I heard Aamon's voice. I wanted to see him—I needed to see him.

It took so much effort, so much energy to finally open my eyes. Berith held me in his arms. His body felt warm. I was so cold. What was Berith looking at?

I followed his gaze. Aamon stood before the Elders, but...faint blue light emanated from him, and an overwhelming magical aura seemed to fill the room.

"Your judgement is death?" Vargas said with a laugh. "Traitorous brat, you intend to kill the Elders of the Paxley family?"

Aamon did not answer. Instead, the aura that surrounded him only intensified, as if he were preparing to fire a blast of energy at them.

"You forget," Crocell said. "We've taken the power of the Heart of Anima. You are no match for all of us. You and your siblings should stand down, Aamon."

"Scared?" Gusion said, smirking as he readied another dagger.

Aamon suddenly laughed, low, quiet. Something about that laugh would have sent shivers up my spine, if I had the strength for it. "I do not need my siblings to deal with the lowly likes of you," he said. His voice was cold and imperious.

"Aamon!" Vassago said. I could hear trepidation in his voice. "The Death Curse? This many?"

Death...curse?

Something niggled at me. Something about Aamon's in-game lore. Something I couldn't remember.

"Come, uncle," Aamon said as he strode towards the Elders of House Paxley. Light shimmered around him as his cloak appeared, covering him from head to foot. "I'm your guide to the underworld."

"You arrogant brat!"

As one, all the Elders held out their hands, and blasts of light burst towards Aamon. I wanted to shout, to tell him to defend himself, to run, but every breath hurt. I watched, Heart pounding, as the blasts of lights seemed to fade away before they reached Aamon.

"Attack!" Vargas shouted.

Again, Aamon let out a quiet laugh. "Oh, uncle," he crooned. "I must thank you. For giving me a reason to end you."

The ground shook, and light slipped through the forming cracks in the floor. I watched as the same blue light surrounding Aamon enveloped each of the Elders.

And then they screamed.

Screams of terror, screams of pain. Blood curdling, hair-raising shrieks that made Berith's wolves stand down in fear. Aamon's magical aura felt suffocating, as if all the air in the room was being sucked out. I watched as light pierced through the Elders. Their eyes, and their mouths glowed, as if they were burning from the inside. And then...the light faded.

And all thirteen Elders of House Paxley fell to the ground, dead.

It was suddenly quiet.

Aamon turned, his cloak fading away. His eyes met mine for a moment. And then my eyelids closed of their own will as that heaviness stole over me again. I felt his arms underneath me as he took me from Berith, felt my head against his warm shoulder as he drew me close.

His warm breath brushed against my forehead as he whispered, "I'm sorry, Diana."

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