The Morningstar Brigade

Chapter 5

V

FAUST

175 A.E.F.

Town Cemetery, Asylum

It was strange for Faust to stand in Eden once more. He was wearing a tattered grey suit knelt down as he ran his hand along a cold headstone. Stale, uncaring air hung in the town of Asylum's graveyard that morning. There was coldness that now ran through his frame as well. He was not the same fighter that had closed the eyes of the fallen; he had lost something. Or perhaps he sold it. "I'm sorry," he said, closing his eyes. "You deserved so much better than this. I'm going to fix this."

The meager plot was a humble place, both for those at rest and those restless. The rusted iron gate that encircled the somber field was worn, but still lovingly tended to. The harsh, rocky terrain of Asylum had left the land dry and craggy, though it seemed a few good-intentioned souls had attempted to plant some struggling patches of grass here and there. The only truly living inhabitants of these grounds were the gnarled, tan weeds that coiled at the edges of the plots, as if just barely held at bay by some sanctified barrier. The footsteps of mourners had, over days and years, slowly beaten pathways into the dust. The wandering, shallow ruts were a testament to the pain of memory and yet the determination to remember just the same. Here, all were made equal. No gravestone rose above another. None was more ornate, nor more decorated. No angels rose above this gasping dirt. Each slab recorded three things: Name. Birth. Death. Anything else would have to live on in mortal, not material. The only offering to the dead lie at the center of each stone, where a small, hollowed-out hole housed an ever-burning silver flame. A reminder of the Breath that would live on beyond the body.

A wrinkled hand fell gently on Faust's shoulder. "No one so young should have to be in a place like this," came an elderly voice from behind him. "A cemetery is the house of the old."

He turned around and found an old woman with soft eyes smiling down on him. The young man stood up, straightened his shabby black tie and adjusted his smoked glasses. Faust frowned. "I'm sure you mean well, but you should go. You shouldn't be here. Not with me, not now."

Her face melted into a soft, sympathetic smile. "Oh, come now. Don't be so dramatic," she said, insistently walking alongside the young man. "It's alright. You don't always have to look strong." She dusted off his shoulder gently. "You should really take better care of your things. You barely see any suits like that around here anymore. How old are you?"

"I'm-" he hesitated. "I'm not sure," he answered slowly, avoiding her gaze. "I haven't really been keeping track. It hasn't seemed important for some time now."

"Not important? Are you feeling alright?" the woman asked, concern growing in her voice.

Faust scratched his head and looked towards the sky. "It's been a while since I've even thought about it," he mused, putting up his fingers and beginning to count. "I guess I'm about twenty now."

The old woman once again offered a warm expression, the gentle wrinkles of her cheeks straining under the quiet strength of her kindness. "Ah, so young. So much life in you." She glanced over at the headstone. "And yet, such pain. What's troubling you?" she asked.

"You wouldn't care," he said bluntly, turning away.

"But I do!" she insisted cheerfully, walking around and locking eyes with him again. "You and I? We need each other."

Faust raised an eyebrow. "We don't even know each other," he countered, rubbing his temples. "And the only thing you need from me is distance. Leave. Please," he insisted again, attempting to be more forceful despite her warmth.