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A letter, sent many months ago.
Dear Alistair,
My hand labors under a heavy pall, writing this now in haste, yet swiftness is not the cause of the weight which troubles my hand so. I shall explain.
Graduation for my class has gone well, as I am sure you know by now. At last the tide turns! Each new wave lapping at the barren shore of the old ways brings a brighter vision of a renewed Vel Anir. It was my plan upon departing the Academy's gates for the final time to ride north, to greet my family whom I had heard were all present in Vel Numera, and from there to arrange a reunion with you.
I did not arrive in Vel Numera. Indeed, as you read this, I will have sent letters to my father and to my Uncle Tobias as well.
Two riders came upon my camp just south of Vel Numera. These men revealed themselves to be Priests of Astra, and they knew my name, my likeness. This alone is not particularly extraordinary, especially in my case, yet it is what these Priests went on to say—or rather, how I felt about their tidings—which captured my attention. They warned of terrible omens which the highest and most holy servants of Celestialism had divined, that a great darkness was spreading slowly like an unseen shadow across the whole of Arethil. In effort to counter this, many riders had been sent forth from Mount Dincia to gather those whom, so they say, the gods themselves revealed. The Priests told me that I was one so revealed, and was therefore called upon to journey to Mount Dincia. They stressed that our surprise meeting was mortal coincidence, that my "initiation" must be begun as soon as possible, for time may be shorter than any on Arethil may think.
If it had been but their words, Alistair, I would not have gone, even though it was a wish of mine to journey to Mount Dincia anyway. They warned of peril, but woes beset the world all round, and one must make peace with that, the inability to intervene everywhere. The earnestness with which these Priests spoke was genuine, but they asked much of me. So I would not have gone.
Yet I tell you, Alistair, that it was not merely their words. I felt it in my heart that what they were saying was true. True in such a fashion that the feeling which served as the truth's vessel and assurance could not have been born in this mortal world, in my mere flesh. Neither quill nor tongue can relay just how powerful, and yet so very subtle, this feeling was to me. It is all that I can say that it was not either of those two men who were calling me to Mount Dincia, Alistair. I believe in my very heart that it was Aionus himself, working through them. I believe that this, what they asked of me, must be done.
I am so very sorry, Alistair, that this inadequate letter is the manner in which you will learn of my departure. I do not know, and therefore cannot say, when it is that I may be able to return to Vel Anir. What cause for celebration there was has turned to sorrow. To part from you is the greatest sacrifice which could be asked of me, and it has been asked. I feel that my course is right, and yet it is painful all the same. Pain, and that which is right, are often entangled so.
Know that I shall think of you all the days of my journey. Not a single rising of the sun shall bring me warmth until I lay eyes upon you once more. And though my body and spirit shall summit Mount Dincia, my heart will remain in Vel Anir, yours to keep.
Sincerely,
Kristen
Alistair KrixusMy hand labors under a heavy pall, writing this now in haste, yet swiftness is not the cause of the weight which troubles my hand so. I shall explain.
Graduation for my class has gone well, as I am sure you know by now. At last the tide turns! Each new wave lapping at the barren shore of the old ways brings a brighter vision of a renewed Vel Anir. It was my plan upon departing the Academy's gates for the final time to ride north, to greet my family whom I had heard were all present in Vel Numera, and from there to arrange a reunion with you.
I did not arrive in Vel Numera. Indeed, as you read this, I will have sent letters to my father and to my Uncle Tobias as well.
Two riders came upon my camp just south of Vel Numera. These men revealed themselves to be Priests of Astra, and they knew my name, my likeness. This alone is not particularly extraordinary, especially in my case, yet it is what these Priests went on to say—or rather, how I felt about their tidings—which captured my attention. They warned of terrible omens which the highest and most holy servants of Celestialism had divined, that a great darkness was spreading slowly like an unseen shadow across the whole of Arethil. In effort to counter this, many riders had been sent forth from Mount Dincia to gather those whom, so they say, the gods themselves revealed. The Priests told me that I was one so revealed, and was therefore called upon to journey to Mount Dincia. They stressed that our surprise meeting was mortal coincidence, that my "initiation" must be begun as soon as possible, for time may be shorter than any on Arethil may think.
If it had been but their words, Alistair, I would not have gone, even though it was a wish of mine to journey to Mount Dincia anyway. They warned of peril, but woes beset the world all round, and one must make peace with that, the inability to intervene everywhere. The earnestness with which these Priests spoke was genuine, but they asked much of me. So I would not have gone.
Yet I tell you, Alistair, that it was not merely their words. I felt it in my heart that what they were saying was true. True in such a fashion that the feeling which served as the truth's vessel and assurance could not have been born in this mortal world, in my mere flesh. Neither quill nor tongue can relay just how powerful, and yet so very subtle, this feeling was to me. It is all that I can say that it was not either of those two men who were calling me to Mount Dincia, Alistair. I believe in my very heart that it was Aionus himself, working through them. I believe that this, what they asked of me, must be done.
I am so very sorry, Alistair, that this inadequate letter is the manner in which you will learn of my departure. I do not know, and therefore cannot say, when it is that I may be able to return to Vel Anir. What cause for celebration there was has turned to sorrow. To part from you is the greatest sacrifice which could be asked of me, and it has been asked. I feel that my course is right, and yet it is painful all the same. Pain, and that which is right, are often entangled so.
Know that I shall think of you all the days of my journey. Not a single rising of the sun shall bring me warmth until I lay eyes upon you once more. And though my body and spirit shall summit Mount Dincia, my heart will remain in Vel Anir, yours to keep.
Sincerely,
Kristen