In the Shadow of the Rook

1. Remember, Forget

The silence of the years bears down

The silence of the years wears down

Still I cast my doubts into the Void:

Can a god know so little of being a man?

The Sons Incarnate looked over the lands

All they saw, they claimed as their birthright

But no god can share a throne for long

Pride ever triumphs over brotherly love

Circling each other, they shone like comets

Their eyes were burning suns

Their hands were crushing mountains

Their hearts were full of shallow silence

One seized the Moon as his hammer blow

The other claimed the hard anvil of the World

One fell, one rose, and came on the crushing blows

While all that laid between fell broken

You, Friend, have called them saviors

You, Friend, have called them gods

But tell me, what good fruit grows

From roots drowning in reddened waters?

- The Sons Incarnate, "Plea of the Witness," first cantus

Witnessed by Sanct Eckard, the Living Testament

192 IY (Illuvian Year), Second Year of Our Broken World

* * *

"Locked lips," Oslef had said to Erik. His voice was loud in Erik's ears, louder than the howling wind as he ran through the forest. "Locked lips, and if I unlock them, that's two dead men, see?" Oslef had a gleam to his eyes—beer tears, like always. "Though you know how I'd love to gossip with an old friend."

Erik ran, the trees and brush smearing into an oily blur. He barely noticed the creatures scattering beneath the decaying leaves, the birds fluttering away as he passed. He didn't look for lurchers hiding in shadows, who might be waiting for the next hapless passerby. A different scene played out in his mind's eye.

"A bird asked after you. Wondered about our relationship. And asked about my prospects. My prospects—we both know those are complete and utter fek, don't we? And as for us, well, that's a bit more... complicated."

Erik's breathing came fast. As he stumbled over roots and underbrush, a hand went to his chest, to the ribbed flesh where it had been stitched after the hot knife had welded his skin back together. It seemed to burn under his fingers, and he rubbed at the dull echoes of pain.

"I explained the whole history to the bird, line by line. Fast friends we were, despite you having fek for family and lineage and being 'fidel to boot. But I saw something in you, and I stuck around, didn't I? Then we chased the same girls—girl, really, it was always just the one. We had our fights, but what boys don't? But when that bird asked how far I was willing to go to get what I wanted, how far I would push our friendship, do you know what I said?"

"What did you say, Oslef?" Erik whispered to the woods.

"I said, 'Anything for an old friend.'"

At first, it had been no more than a strange feeling, that something in his chest, no more painful than seeing an arrow in a stump. Even as his heart pounded hard near the metal tip, Erik felt numb, helpless to do anything but stare at the dagger in his ribs. His shirt darkened in a widening circle, like watching a drop of ink spread in a pool of water.