TRA: A God's Sorrow

Chapter 13

Tyril

Tyril sat on the edge of his bed, his thought whirled around him. After Imp had informed him of his fathers possible revival, he and his wife, whom Tyril had discovered was living in the tower with Imp since the fall of Whitewater, had been transported to an inn in Whitewater.

He could not believe what he had heard. Marik, his father whom he himself had landed the final blow on, might be the very person who would end the cycle. No matter how much he mulled over the thoughts, everything seemed to line up, will almost everything.

The only differences between The Reaper and Marik lay in the fact of the possible madness. Marik had not gone mad from the loss of a loved one and he had no siblings that Tyril had ever known of. Marik had gone mad from power, power that he himself had acquired. No one, not even Yourith, Tyrils oldest brother who fought beside Marik, knew how he had came to have those powers.

For the longest time, Tyril had thought he had simply gain them from the aether. However, Tyril had walked the realms of the aether several times and could not find the source of Mariks abilities. Tyril suspected that even Marik had not known where his abilities had come from.

Tyril sat in the darkened room so lost in thought that he had not even heard the door open and shut. He had not even heard his name as his wife, Elvyna, calling his name. He had not realized she was present until her hand touched his.

Moving with a start, Tyril started to pull his sword free from its sheath only to pause as he saw Elvyna staring at him with fear and worry. She did not fear Tyril who had started to unsheath his sword, she feared for Tyril. She was there when he fought with Marik, saw both warriors die, she nearly took her own life just to be with him.

She had been the one to carry Tyrils lifeless body out of the crumbling black kingdom. Been the one to wipe the blood from his still corpse. She was present when he came back, stayed by his side as he learned of his abilities, and even been his anchor when he first established Whitewater.

No, she did not fear Tyrils blade. She knew he would not harm her, no matter how startled he was. What she feared, however, was the thoughts that seemed to sap the very life from his features.

"My love," Elvyna said, her voice soothing, "what bothers you so?"

"If...." Tyrils voice caught in his throat, making it hard for him to speak. He cleared his throat several times before trying once more. "If my father is this.... Reaper," Tyril said the name with disdain, "then that will mean I am the one who released him upon the world."

"We do not know that." Elvyna said firmly, her voice taking an icy edge to it as if to warn Tyril. "Even if he is The Reaper, how could we have possibly known that when you killed him."

"It matters little, my love." Tyril drew Elvyna closer, more to comfort himself then her. "If a child waved a sword around and hurt someone, who is responsible? The parent for not teaching the child, the owner of the sword, or the child who should have known better?"

Elvyna sighed and pulled closer to Tyril, burying her face in his tunic. "I would normally say all three, but-"

"You would be correct." Tyril interrupted Elvyna who was about to say that she doesn't think that situation applies to him. "Its the parents fault for not teaching the child better. The sword owners fault for allowing the child to weird a weapon he did not understand. The child's fault for causing harm. I am the child, just as the Gods are the sword owner, and the Source is the parent."

Elvyna sat on the bed listening to Tyrils heart beat. She could have made a number of arguments, blamed the Gods for not passing the legend on, or curse the Source himself for creating such a creature. Elvyna kept quiet, however, knowing that no argument she made would count as plausible.