Coalescence

Epilogue

1 month later

Ricard was thrown away as soon as they arrived back at the Capital, Platinum personally overseeing his locking away. Juten, Griffith, and Bren were also present, but Brigund was unable to attend due to his wounds. Griffith was right, internal bleeding had occurred and was only caught once they arrived back; a minute more and he would have died. After they watched Ricard get locked away in The Black Room, a high security chamber deprived of light that constantly sucked mana from the inhabitant, there was a time of silence and grief.

Times were quiet, and what remained of the Recon Team was in shambles. Beginning with Bren, locked away in her room unable to bring herself to stand. Snacks and gifts were left at her doorway by staff and comrades from around the facility, but she didn't have the heart to even look at them. She spent hours, staring at her ceiling and descending into blank thought. One day, she finally felt a drive to leave her room. In the dead of the night, she swung her door open and stormed down the hallway. She opened the door to Carlisle's room, long abandoned and left without care. She slowly walked in and summoned a small orb of light to light up the dark room, leading her to a large book on his bedside table.

She slowly approached it and reached out, letting her hand feel across the surface. The leather on the front was mostly well kept aside from some small tears along the edges. She picked up the arcaneum and felt its energy resting in her hands, something internally connecting her to the book. Her small tinges of vampiric energy connected with the pages and almost demanded she open it to learn the secrets inside. She carefully opened up the front cover to the first page, a small note written in common speak for the reader.

To the inheritor of this book, the Strom Arcaneum of Vampiric Magic, I deeply apologize for the circumstances under which you have received it. Likely, the standing Deacon in our circle has passed on, leaving you with this trove of information and secrets. We feel deep sorrow in our afterlifes for you, but trust that you will abide by our code of honor nonetheless. The rule of utmost importance is the rule against feeding on those who are innocent, and is held in the highest importance due to the upholding of our reputation. Our ancestors have upheld this code for centuries prior, and we trust you can do the same. Other rules should come as common sense, but the one rule that is not commonly covered is the Pure Blood Clause in our code. To the dearest reader, if you yourself are not a pure blooded vampire, the magical abilities contained within this Arcaneum could be detrimental to your ability to cast magic as a whole. Some spells are powerful enough to completely seal your ability to cast spells in that domain ever again, and are to be used and applied with great caution. Another aspect of the Pure Blood Clause covers the fact that this book was given to you in the first place. We apologize for the grave conditions under which you've received this book, even moreso if you weren't aware that the late gifter was a descendant of our clan at all. It is in times of great peril a vampiric tome is passed onto those without pure blood in them, and so we wish you the best of times from beyond the grave.

My dearest condolences, Marriette Cromwell Strom

Bren scanned over the first page, gravely looking for some kind of answers to Carlisle's past. Dozens and dozens of lessons on mana control, vampiric mana, and countless spells were shown among the hundreds of pages. Little by little, Bren was filled in on pieces of their past, the legacy of the Strom clan. Spells that pacified wildlife and people, spells that undid wounds afflicted by the Fey and Dryads, every iteration of magic in this arcaneum was built towards a peaceful future, regardless of its dark nature. Bren would spend hours studying the book every day for months on end, trapping her in the seclusion of peaceful academic study.

Juten and Griffith, on the other hand, had their own confrontations with the past. They sat at the bar in the central chamber, the massive hall filled with bustling foot traffic that they ignored in favor of their drinks. One after the other, day by day, they fell deeper into their reminiscive, alcohol induced stupor.

"Y'know, I can see why Churchill always drank so much. It really takes the edge off things." Griffith slurred, placing an empty tankard on the bar.

"Who's Churchill, a friend of yours?" Juten asked, making the same motion and waving down the bartender.

"Oh yeah, you never knew him. He was great, smart, cunning, just a great guy. But when Ricard sent us out to the Feywilds, he got blipped out of existence right in front of me."

"Wow, that sounds harsh, even for the Fey." The bartender gave Juten two drinks that he divided between them. "You sure he's gone?"

"Yep, haven't been able to find him anywhere. No sign of him for months... year's... I don't remember anymore." Griffith laid his head down on the bar, a half empty tankard resting in his hand. The bartender walked by and rested a hand on his shoulder with a comforting look.

"I've gotta cut you boys off for the night, I think you're visiting me too often." The bartender remarked, soon answered by Griffith's snoring. He smiled and looked over to Juten. "Oh yeah, between you and me, your dad's been asking for you. Take him back to his room and pay the old man a visit won't you?" Juten nodded, silently sliding his tankard and three gold coins up the bar.

"Here, this'll pay our tab for the past couple weeks. I'll see you around geezer." Juten lazily threw Griffith over his shoulder as the bartender waved goodbye to him. He took Griffith back to his room and closed the door behind him, standing in the deathly silence of the hallway. He looked upwards and out a window, looking to the cold, bland peak of the hall. He found the nearest door outside and flew to the top of the mountainous structure, finding a large figure sitting on the edge overlooking the Capital. Juten took his seat beside him, feeling an uncomfortable silence take them over.

"Juten, you've lost good men, how are you feeling?" He asked, Juten casting his gaze downwards.

"I'm feeling alright, why? Do you care all of a sudden?" Juten asked with a slight bite in his voice.

"Y'know, Charle's tells me you've been at the bar a lot recently with your squadmate. I'm just feeling concerned." He tried to place an arm around Juten's back, but Juten shoved him off.

"What I do in my personal time is none of your business old man, and my squadmate has a name you could refer to him by." A silence resonated between them, Juten soon speaking up in a softer tone. "I'm sorry, it has been stressful. I just refuse to believe he's gone."

"Ah, yes, Malcolm. What happened that day, Juten?"

"He absorbed my blood, somehow it was special. Then he hit Ricard with it and disappeared." Juten picked his knees up and placed his head on them. "There's no reasonable explanation for what happened, but he achieved great things that day. He took on Ricard one on one, manifested two Fractal Eyes and two Predecessor flames on top of that, and managed to keep his two opposing Arts completely in balance..." Jutens voice trailed off into the late night air as he accepted the arm around his back. "He reminded me a lot of you, he seemed all powerful in that moment, and with that stupid smile on his face too." The moonlight shone on them to reveal his father's armor, as large as his figure and as reflective as his dark blue eyes. Without his helmet, his long, dark gray hair flowed down his back and his battle scars from years of prior combat showed through. The gleam of his Platinum armor in the moonlight was dim from wear and tear, but shined to Juten all the same.

"He was an amazing soldier, and I know you're grieving terribly at his loss, but there's as much strength in the ability to move on as there is in the depths of grief."

"I know, you've been through something similar before. Your years of combat means that you've lost plenty of good men with lives ahead of them; I've heard this spiel before." Platinum paused for a moment before speaking again.

"No, not quite." He responded, Juten giving him a confused look.

"What do you mean?"

"I've never met a soldier that's seen the horrors of Faerie death, the cruelty of the Fey, and the brutality of the Daemons, and still been able to keep a smile on his face."