Elegy For An Epilogue

There was a heavy-set sorrow behind the old woman’s eyes. Looking around, the same look was contained within each of the others. Hopelessness, despair and grief. Even the ever so distant Doran could not suppress the tiny, unmistakable glimmer of despondency. And when he noticed her eyes upon him, his face hardened as he averted his gaze.

Layla came around and placed a wisping bowl of steaming broth in front of Cecillia’s folded-over hands. The warmth from the bowl drifted into her face, but the liquid’s murky reflection created a small pang within her heart. The emotion that had been stirred up was cold.

“...I’m sorry,” Cecillia muttered. She knew all too well how it felt to lose her home, to watch as the remaining remnants of her former life crumbled. Her definition of home had already lost its meaning and the feeling it wrought could only be described as terrible.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

Her face was blank, but beneath that emotionless slate that had protected her ever since, were concepts she wasn’t able to process.

“Don’t be sorry dear, eat. The cooks worked really hard on tonight’s dinner,” Layla said softly. She placed a gentle hand on Cecillia’s shoulder and slipped a wooden ladle into her delicate fingers. “The war was inevitable, it was only a matter of time before we had to leave.”

Cecillia nodded stiffly and brought some of the steamy stew into her mouth. The taste of the thick broth was savory and was loaded with spices, vegetables, meat and more. But bitterness seemed to be the main ingredient, and she couldn’t swallow much more than a couple of small sips.

Not feeling hungry anymore, she pushed the bowl away and placed her hands in her lap while Layla had just finished seating herself. George reached for the bowl, but Lauren quickly slapped away his hand. Doran wordlessly stared at her and Franklin shook his head with a heavy sigh.

War was it? The thought echoed hollowly through her mind. It was a meaningless and fickle thing. A rewardless struggle for self interest, pride, and survival. This world had also been claimed by those jagged claws; and Cecillia glanced at the table’s guests. These people were just like her, victims to choices out of their control.

She swallowed hard. There was a strange feeling she had garnered from the people she had seen so far belonging to the caravan. The haunted looks in their eyes—especially that one girl’s mother—it had been far too long, she had almost forgotten. Almost forgotten what her purpose as a soldier had been for.

“Cecillia, honey,” Layla glanced at her with a strange look of understanding. “Do you have anyone close to you?”

Cecillia paused, her cerulean eyes trailing downward as her pupils trembled. A moment of heavy silence passed and she found herself already clutching at the hems of her skirt.

“She’s…”

The word barely escaped from her tongue, and her lips quivered as a fragment of light refracted against the iron band on her finger. She tried to speak, but the words she wanted to say refused to come out of her mouth. The desperate truth that she was futilely denying, that her sister was…

…Never coming back

Later that night, Cecillia found herself sitting with her knees to her chest. She was within a small tent that had been granted to her and was atop a makeshift straw bed. There was a thin blanket, but it couldn’t do much more than what her attunement already could, but they did serve to provide a bit of warmth to her mind. From the corner and sitting on a box, was a lantern light with Blackie laying curled underneath.

Cecillia smiled softly at the sight as she noticed the wolf staring at her. Blackie gave a small whine and her eyes began to droop, slowly closing over themselves. Her tails flicked once, then twice before they lay flat, intertwined with one another snugly. In the next minutes that passed, Cecillia watched as the wolf gradually fell asleep, the rhythmic rising and falling of its chest helping to ease her mind.

She released a heavy sigh and her right arm was outstretched above her head while the other supported her weight. Her bandages were still there, tightly wrapped around her skin, but her eyes were on her fingers as they delicately twirled the ring that her sister had given her.

The conversation from earlier echoed in her mind, but she had barely been listening. Still, she managed to catch that the group was actually once Willowmere’s council. Although now, they were just part of the many refugees.

They had talked about the war, saying stuff about the alliance and how the regional conflicts had progressed to the point where the kingdom had to step in. This kingdom it seemed was called Anciel and belonged to the southern states of the Elysian continent. However, when they stepped in, it wasn’t to engage in combat but to settle things politically.

As a kingdom with access to the sea, all trade went through Anciel. But already ruined relations with the neighboring Gauntleheim kingdom to the East had been further destroyed after several disputes. The continent was on the cusp of a massive war and the nation directly above had offered a trade for an alliance. Unfortunately, the kingdom was forced to hand over a number of its northern territories which included the once peaceful village of Willowmere. It was obviously unfair but it had to be done. The former council had also talked about other things like finding her family. But by then, Cecillia didn’t want to listen anymore.

She released another sigh. She wondered if there were other races other than humans like dwarves, elves, fairies, and even dragons. She didn’t want to be involved with another boring world which would inevitably be overrun by political nonsense.

But then again, it was likely to be impossible. With the system, she couldn’t yet realize what limits could be reached. This world was so vast, and so large and even had two moons. Politics wouldn’t mean anything, for all she cared, power was the one single deciding factor. There would always be someone stronger, or something ancient enough that humanity’s hopeless attempts for power could be blown away at a moment’s notice.

“Why did you bring me here Alice?” Cecillia murmured. She slipped the ring back onto her middle finger and opened up her system’s interface.

Name: Cecillia Black

Age: 19

Race: Human

Attunement: Ice

Aspect: Retribution

Origin: ???

Class I: Cryomancer

Class II: [Locked]

Jobs: Cook, Tamer

Level: 5

Status:

Afflictions: Mana Corruption, Divine Seal (XX)

Health: 172/230

Mana: -/-

Stamina: 24/100

Attributes:

Available Stat-Points: 20

Strength: 10

Constitution: 23

Endurance: 10

Agility: 37

Wisdom: 18

Intelligence: 22

Soul: 0

Basic Skills:

— Identification lvl 0

Class Skills:

— Cryomancy lvl 0

Cecillia remembered distinctly how her name on this screen was once of her sister’s. And she did her best to try to forget, but it would sometimes randomly appear in her mind somewhere that she was in her sister’s body.

Regardless, no matter how uncomfortable it was going to be, it was now her reality. She glanced over her status page and was happy to see that her health was just sixty points short of being full. For her stats—she bit her lip, there was nothing she could do at the moment and her eyes traveled further down.

Seeing the level attached to the end of the skill name was interesting. Maybe if she kept using the skill it would level up and that would unlock additional effects. That could be easy for identification, but Cryomancy would have to wait.

‘Twelve more days,’ she thought.

It would be quite a while till she would be able to use her class, but she doubted that there would be any pressing reasons for her magic. The journey to Windhaven would already take two-weeks, and she could just sit back and relax. Cecillia figured that she could just level her cooking job, and maybe even go on a couple of hunts with Laen to increase her overall level.

A smile began to form at the edges of her lips and she allowed gravity to take her as she fell backwards onto the bed. Cecillia turned on her side, curling up into a comfortable ball. She brought her hand before her face, her eyes shimmering as she stared at her sister’s ring.

The once glowing runes had faded, and now only a barely visible engraving remained. Perhaps one day she would figure out the meaning of those symbols and the truth of this world.

Sighing softly, the breath left her as her eyelids closed over her blue orbs. The tent’s thin cloth walls rustled as the night’s chill flew past and the lantern’s light faded away. Outside, the sky gleamed with millions of wonderful stars while the twin moons gently graced the world with silver.

Cecillia brought the ring to her lips and bit into the metal, never letting go as the darkness slowly claimed her.

“This time. I’ll live for myself.”