The Father of Withering

Chapter Three: Shadow of Withering

They journeyed up the road quickly, taking little time to admire the scenery. Though Relma could still take in the birds chirping and the breeze through the trees a bit. She hadn't seen many of these paths before and doubted she'd come by them again. So she took what time she could to memorize landmarks and remember what she saw.

In a few weeks, she'd probably forget it all. But that was no reason not to try and keep track of it. You only had one chance to walk by a place and time, so why waste it?

Even so, Relma felt sick from what she'd seen before and was glad to leave it behind. The idea that someone who hoped, dreamed, and breathed could be reduced to a feast for flies disturbed her. Not that she had anything against flies, she'd always avoided swatting them. But the fragility of mortal existence bothered her.

Why did people have to die in so many terrible and horrible ways? And why did Relma and people like them have to help them to those deaths? Relma had inspired armies to fight; even if she'd saved lives, she'd also ended them. Or at least inspired other people to end them with Lightning Trail.

It bothered her.

And it bothered her more than Relma would eventually have to kill someone directly. Or at least she would if she kept getting into battles like this. All the more reason to avoid them, she supposed.

Of course, she knew there were souls. The meat and bone she apparently consisted of was just a shell, but that didn't stop her from worrying. Would she one day be a feast for flies? Or would her corpse be burned or buried?

She was saved from morbid thoughts by Estela. Her knight asked the question Relma had wondered about. "Who was this Lucius? And why would he be interested in Relma?" asked Estela.

"That, Estela, is a very complicated story," said Aunt Pan, looking haunted. "Every race that is born has a god they were given to when they were first created. It is this god's responsibility to look after them and guide them. Every race except the satyrs."

"Why not them?" asked Relma. "Don't they need a god?"

"They do, though they may be beyond help," said Aunt Pan. "The satyrs did not develop naturally. They are not a race by themselves but a twisted version of another race. Humans. to be more specific."

"What do you mean?" asked Relma.

"When the races were created in the beginning, there were two of each kind," said Aunt Pan. "A man and a woman. From them, the entire race is descended, and their lives shape all the lives to come. For humans, the male was Lucius. The female was Evoria".

"So, what does this have to do with satyrs?" asked Estela.

"There are many stories about what happened," said Aunt Pan. "But what is agreed is that Lucius had a competitive streak. He wanted humans to be the best and became obsessed with outdoing all the other races.

"He did such a good job of it that the gods had to intervene."