Historia (Etrian Odyssey Fanfiction)

Chapter 33

It was astounding how the air changed from sweet and light to heavy and course just from passing through the gate that lead into Eliath's front yard. There appeared to be a heavy mist slithering along the now barren ground, cracks in the dirt and grass brown and crunching under foot as Faust stepped off the path towards the front door, glancing over to where Eliath was standing outside the gate, leaning heavily against his cane.

"We can take it from here, thank you for leading us."

"No problem," Eliath sighed, shifting around to stand without the use of his cane, "Stay out of my place, by the way."

"Of course," Faust agreed, watching the former explorer as he shuffled away before turning himself to stare at the house and the bed of flowers at the base of the little cottage.

There were so many, and so much dead grass, Faust could only imagine how beautiful it had been before this unfortunate incident. Even the trees seemed to creak in the wind, as if the trunk wasn't strong enough to hold all the branches and withering leaves. It was such a sad sight, and wandering into the backyard, Faust could only press his lips tightly together, because it was even worse than the front.

He couldn't even find solace in the fact that the horrific view in front of him just proved how miraculous the garden had been when it was flourishing. It reminded him of that gods awful labyrinth floor, the one just before the very top. That floor had been hell, Faust still had nightmares from it, the swirling miasma and the foreboding purple flowers that bloomed everywhere, even in the path.

The only reason they'd managed to survive was because of the joint efforts between Riven, Eva, and Nessa, who combined their skills to make a leather mask to place over their mouth and nose, in order to keep the poison from their lungs. They would have died otherwise. As beautiful as the floor was, it was filled with toxic foliage and monsters, organic things that had adapted to the environment. Nothing was edible, nothing could be touched, and they'd spent days wandering the floor, because there wasn't a single geo-pole in sight, and their warp wires wouldn't work no matter how many times they tried to activate them.

The back yard, the eerie smoke-like mist, the dead plants and the crumbling ground, all reminded him of that horrific labyrinth floor, and every time he blinked, that floor was what he saw. He started to regret his decision to come and view the destruction for himself, because of the issues he had with those memories. It almost made him smile to think of how against this his king would have been.

After returning to their home, after conquering the labyrinth, he'd grabbed Faust by his shoulder, saying that he'd never have to enter the labyrinth again if he didn't want to, and that he would never have to step foot on that particular floor ever again, especially. Faust appreciated that, and he knew there would be no shame in turning to make a hasty retreat away from this place, but he shook off his nerves and continued to make his way through the garden.

Being a protector meant defending those around him, even if it put his own mental or physical well being in jeopardy. He knew that the day he started to train, and he knew that now, and he was fine with it. It's what gave him meaning and purpose. Even if he was scared, he wouldn't show it. He was there for a reason, to protect his prince, his best friend's precious child. That was reason enough to stay.

Gods had it been a shock, to receive that letter and open it to slide out the Alolairan charm, the way Nessa had grabbed onto her chest, nearly fainting from the unexpected energy that just flowed off each precious gem. Seeing Naylin again after so long, too, had been so... painful, but wonderful at the same time.

The last time he'd seen the little prince, he was just a little thing, always with that sweet little smile on his face that reminded Faust so much of his reckless father, but with a gentle kindness even at such a young age that reminded him of the queen. The way he would run around clinging to that flute of his, sneaking out of his studies and out onto the arena, standing on a bench yelling at all the burly, rough cut soldiers, telling them he was going to play music and that they had to listen.