Chapter 9 - The Awaited Conflict (3)

Chapter 9: The Awaited Conflict (3)   

“What have you done to Ralogolar?” Rolozuthen growled, letting her fiery red mana pulsate from her body like a continuous flame.

Yet Solana did not respond; rather, Rolozuthen’s question seemed to confuse her, as if she had no idea who Ralogolar was.

“Uhm, does this Ralogolar person have white hair by chance?” Solana inquired, extending the pickaxe as far out as her arms would allow. “And did he carry this pickaxe with him when you saw him?”

Rolozuthen stepped forward, her expression contorting with mounting fury with each step. To her, Solana embodied the insufferable arrogance she had come to expect from every High Elf she had ever encountered. Yet there was something amiss, as she came face to face with Solana, she noticed the fear deep in her eyes, a fear that those instilled with arrogance could never show.

“I’ll ask you again,” Rolozuthen snapped, letting her temper flare uncontrollably as she spoke. “What did you do to the owner of that pickaxe?”

Rolozuthen’s hair drifted in the air as she fiercely exuded mana from her body, on a lesser scale than usual but still prominent enough to threaten. Her eyes grew bleaker by the second, clouding over so sinisterly as if even Solana’s death would not sate her fury. Solana took a step back, clearly frightened by Rolozuthen’s hostile stance. Her eyes quivered timidly as she replied to Rolozuthen’s question.

“I-I didn’t do anything to him! He gave me this pickaxe before he left for the castle.”

“Is that all he did? He didn’t say anything at all?” Rolozuthen pressed, maintaining her anger-fueled tone.

Solana flinched upon hearing her second set of questions, yet she did not dare to hide anything from her.

“H-he said to find someone along the outer wall, a girl called Rolozuthen.” Solana paused between sentences, taking a slow breath of air to calm her nerves. “He said she would protect me from the rest of the humans in the capital.”

Solana’s final string of words snapped Rolozuthen out of her rage. The claim was so uncanny, so unlike anything she could ever imagine Ralogolar saying or doing, that it left her momentarily speechless.  And yet, no matter how hard she searched, she found no trace of deceit in Solana, not in her trembling voice, nor in her timid, fragile posture.

“Y-you’re her, aren’t you? You’re Rolozuthen?” Solana asked apprehensively, refusing to relax until it was certain she was safe.

Rolozuthen scoffed in response, clearly displaying her dissatisfaction toward the precarious situation she found herself in. Seeing no other options, she relaxed, letting her mana retract gently into her body before speaking again.

“Yes, I am, now follow me,” Rolozuthen said, turning away from Solana as she spoke. “I don’t know why Ralogolar would ever protect an Elf, but I won’t go against his judgment.”

“O-okay,” Solana replied, timidness ever present in her voice.

They walked in silence toward the wall. Solana followed at a limp pace, each step heavier than the last, exhaustion clinging to her so tightly it would hardly be surprising if she collapsed at any moment. Yet as she followed Rolozuthen, the weight of her surroundings in the brief moment of peace finally set into her mind. 

The faint crackle of dry wood popping in the flames filled Solana’s ears as tears began to well in the corners of her weary eyes. Slowly and silently, she began to weep at the sight of the devastation that surrounded her: the blood-stained streets, the ruins of demolished buildings, and the occasional High Elf corpse, impaled on broken beams or crushed beneath rubble, each sight sending her further into the arms of terror. 

Yet as the two got closer to the wall, Solana began to doubt her own vision as she gazed upon her surroundings. Not out of denial of the carnage that surrounded her, but rather the wispy blue lights that would occasionally blip into her view. What was strange however, was Rolozuthen’s lack of recognition of these wisps, even going as far as to walk straight through one without so much as flinching.

“Um, R-Rolozuthen?” Solana stammered out, her gaze frantically darting around as dozens of wisps began to linger in the corners of her vision. “Do you see these things surrounding us? The little blue wisps that have been popping up here and there?”

“What are you talking about?” Rolozuthen chirped back, not even bothering to face Solana as she replied.

“N-never mind,” Solana replied, her voice steadying out slowly as she spoke. “I must be seeing things…”

Yet Solana’s words were anything but the truth. With each step she took, the wisps began to flicker ominously, slowly following her and only her in their pursuit of the wall. A shiver ran down her spine the closer the wisps grew, as their ghostly forms and movements made something deep within her that had been previously silent tremble. Nonetheless, her injuries prevented her from escaping the wisps, as they drifted slowly around her with each step, attaching themselves to her leg like a lost puppy looking for its owner.

Only one wisp broke the norm, as it floated elegantly mere inches in front of Solana’s nose, no matter which direction she looked. Yet its presence was not as chaotic as the dozens of wisps that crowded her every step; it did not flicker against the wind as it floated, nor did it obsessively distract Solana with its subtle movements. Rather, it seemed desperate to be noticed, as if requesting Solana’s full attention rather than demanding it.

‘What do these things want?’ Solana thought, trying to shake off the wisps clinging to her legs. ‘What are they? Some sort of magic?’

Even as Solana kicked and thrashed about, making enough noise to draw Rolozuthen’s attention, the wisps stayed their ground. 

“What are you doing back there?” Rolozuthen probed, her apparent frustration mounting as she spun around.

“Th-these things keep sticking to me! Can’t you see them?” Solana exclaimed, continuing to thrash about like an enraged animal.

“Tch, stand still!” Rolozuthen scoffed, raising her arm toward her.

Three perfect circles slowly etched themselves into reality, with two engraving themselves around her forearm and the third around her palm. Its bright red glow began to shine as six runes began to form around the edges of each circle, alongside a seventh diamond-shaped rune with four lines protruding from each side inscribing itself at the center of Rolozuthen’s palm.

“Oh Spirits of Flame, Wind, and Soul, heed my command. Set ablaze the passed spirits attached to my target, and blow their ashes into the Underworld! Souls Hellflare!”

Rolozuthen’s voice was calm, unlike the fiery tone that came with her prior spells. As her incantation drew to a close, a spire of golden flames erupted beneath Solana, engulfing her entirely. The moment the flames touched her skin, she wanted to scream in terror, yet despite the flames looking hot to the touch, not a single burn appeared on her dirtied, but otherwise unmarred skin. With each passing second, a wisp at her feet was sucked away into the flames, letting out an ear-splitting wail similar to the ones Solana had heard earlier that night.

As wisp after wisp disintegrated before her eyes, something deep within her began to writhe in agony, as if her own soul could not bear to witness the onslaught within the golden flames. Solana screamed, kneeling down to shield the few remaining wisps at her feet from the flames. 

“N-no!” Solana cried, her scream slicing through the clang of Ralogolar’s pickaxe striking the stone street.

Yet her now-freed arms never made contact with the lingering souls of her fallen kin, they simply slid through them like thin twigs whisking through the air. Again and again she tried hopelessly to protect even one soul, but with each pitiful attempt another wisp turned to ash before her eyes. Despite barely knowing anything about the souls that once surrounded her feet, Solana began to weep as the last soul at her feet vanished into the flames. 

Her sniffles filled the air as the spire of golden flames slowly descended, the ground beneath Solana slowly dampened, as tears fell across it like a sprinkle in the wee hours of the morning. Yet between gasps for air and sniffles of despair, Solana caught a glimpse of something whisking past her teary eyes. A light blue ghostly shape passed by her nose, wiping tears from her face as it slowly morphed into a more Elf-like shape.

Slowly the single wisp that survived the golden onslaught, the very same one that asked for attention rather than demanded it, transformed into the shape of a High Elf, one that Solana knew all too well. The ghostly Elf’s hand caressed Solana’s cheek as tears streamed down like a waterfall. Despite having no physical form, the silky smooth texture of his palms and the warmth they produced were ever present against Solana’s skin. Through her teary eyes, Solana grasped a glimpse of the ghostly High Elf; his smooth, flawless skin matching that of her own, his gentle gaze and friendly smile, his long silky hair resting gently against his back, the only person that Solana could recognize without a second thought, even amongst a crowd of hundreds of other High Elves.

“F-Father…” Solana sniffled out through her tears, placing her palm against her father’s ghostly hand. “Is it really you?”

“Yes, my dear Solana, it’s me.” Her father said softly, his voice as gentle as a mother’s when soothing her child back to sleep.

“I-if you’re here, then that means…” She mumbles timidly, trying to hold her tears back to no avail. 

“Yes, Solana, it's just as you’re thinking.” Her father said, kneeling to match his height to his daughter’s. “But don’t fret about me, first you must live, and then you must find your mother… you remember where she lives, don't you, Solana?”

“Y-yes, I remember,” Solana stammered, trying to maintain the conversation as long as she could. “B-but what about you? W-will you watch over me until I find her?”

Solana’s father closed his eyes, letting his smile falter for only a moment. He shook his head, letting the silence of his response fill the air between them. Unlike that of a normal lingering soul, his time left upon Chubrion was already fleeting. For every second he spent with his daughter, a second was taken instead from his time in the place he now belonged.

“N-no! Please, you can’t leave me alone like this!” Solana cried out, trying to grab hold of her father’s ghostly arm.

Yet her arms slid through him, just like the wisps before. His gentle gaze and kind smile flickered against the wind as he caressed Solana’s cheek one final time.

“Solana,” his voice remained smooth, but only for her name. As if interspersed by static electricity, interference sprouted through his words the more he spoke. “...Kn…ow that… Love you... -o ma…er what…”

As the words left his lips in their disjointed fashion, the remainder of his soul began to fade. His torso, arms and legs faded with each passing word, until all that was left was the gentle smile that almost never left his face in life.

“Nooo!” Solana wailed with all the strength left in her body, grasping at the fading remains of her father’s soul.

Nonetheless, her arms never reached her father’s soul, as his very existence faded into nothingness just before Solana’s hands could reach him. The shock of losing her father was too much for her to handle; a glazed look appeared in her eyes as she plummeted toward the ground. Before her head could strike the ground, she lost consciousness, unable to fight the mental fatigue placed on her in this single night.

From not too far away, Rolozuthen looked on in confusion. Based on the one-sided conversation she heard, she concluded that a soul had survived her Souls Hellflare, something so bizarre she thought it to be impossible. Yet she had no choice but to accept it. After all, several equally impossible events had already unfolded right before her eyes.

With a deep sigh, Rolozuthen approached the unconscious form. Having little choice regarding the matter of her safety, she hoisted Solana’s body over her shoulders alongside Ralogolar’s pickaxe. Although Solana by herself wasn’t too heavy for her, the added weight of the pickaxe made it challenging for her to move, and with over a hundred meters between her and the base of the wall, Rolozuthen couldn’t help but curse at the one responsible for this entire situation.

“Damn it, Ralogolar. You owe me for this, mark my words.”