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The room felt much larger than before with all the items removed. Before, tall shelves, surfboards, old weapons, and other items cast shadows and contributed as tripping hazards around the single adobe desk by the window, but now the bare walls were cast in light from the flame lit in the center fire pit.
Mavuika had kept a single item from the previous purge; a book, containing a small origami frog. The paper was so old and fragile that it threatened to crumble into dust in her breast pocket, and it no longer hopped across the table as it was previously designed to. Such an important but small item certainly would have helped fuel the Sacred Flame, but as everything was stable, she allowed herself this one selfish keepsake for the time being. It hardly counted as an object in the first place.
Still, as worn and torn as it was, she felt the same love from it that she had experienced before.
A knock came at the doors, while she was turning the paper frog over the light of the flames. It was well into the night, leaving her with few options as to who it was. Alternatively, a surprise Abyss invasion may have occurred, but there were no other signs of that. She had a feeling as to who it would be, anyhow.
“Come in.”
The door was pushed open by a dark figure. His clothes and armor pulled some of the brightness from the flames away, casting shadows around the walls like the treasures once did. There was a moment of silence, surprisingly awkward between two of the most powerful humans in the world.
The Captain was the first to speak, clearing his throat. “I would like to make a request, but I preferred to wait until no one else was present.”
Mavuika frowned, putting the origami frog away. “Do go on.”
“I would like to join you and the Traveler on your expedition to clear out the Abyss.”
The creases around Mavuika’s lips deepened. “And I made it firm that only we were to go. First off, we need people on the surface to defend against any pushback. Secondly…” She turned to the small window, where a patch of the starry sky could be viewed. The sky that hovered over her people, which had only recently been cleared of the latest Abyssal threat. “...We’ve lost enough to this.”
“You know that decision isn’t as sound as you may think,” the Captain said. “After our previous battle, any retaliation from the Abyss will certainly be manageable, as they will likely focus their most powerful forces on you.” His voice quieted. “And how much morale do you think your people will keep if they lose their Archon?”
Mavuika crossed her arms. “Certainly less than if we lost hundreds more.”
“Not hundreds,” he corrected. “Just one.”
The flames rose, peaking before falling once more. The phlogiston gave Natlan’s fire a special glow, illuminated with all colors as though each was its own prism, reflecting the light of the sun to bring warmth during the darkest of nights. Laying at the base were the ashes of what she had sacrificed to fuel the grave fight a mere few nights ago. For her, it was a small sacrifice, but part of a larger effort by the people of Natlan over the centuries. And not just Natlanese–foreigners had contributed as well.
Including some of the remnants of the Khaenri'ah disaster.
Fire was always depicted with red, the signature color of Pyro, or the burning yellows and whites when it was ablaze. At the edges, separating the plasma from the air, were a bright blue, a cold color that strangely showed where the heat was at its most intense.
Mavuika turned away, to her desk where she sat on the edge, facing the Captain. The fire reflected off his armor, and she could just vaguely make out the impression of a face through the shadow of his helmet. The forms of his eyes beneath glimmered.
“No,” she said. “I will not allow it. We are about to complete forging a Ancient Name for the Traveler, but even if we could somehow gain permission from the Lord of the Night for you as well, there’s not enough time to forge another for a foreigner. As long as we achieve victory, both of us will come back safely.”
The Captain huffed. “Then you should prioritize that victory. Place yourself in peril, and so you place all of Natlan in peril.”
“You did good work on the surface in the previous battle. Also, the Traveler has extreme resistance to the Abyss. I’m well aware that’s something you’ve been infected by before.”
“I hope you don’t think of me as a liability,” the Captain said.
“No.” Mavuika felt a smile return to her face. “...Unless you’re still injured after our previous spar?”
“You have no need to worry about that,” he said.
Mavuika pulled off her black gloves, revealing nails she had recently painted a stark red during a trip to visit the People of the Springs. “I’m aware the Tsaritsa has recently lost a Harbinger. Would the Fatui be prepared if they lost another?”
“We have…many backup plans in case of emergencies.” She could see the careful turns of the gears in his mind were visible as he chose each word. “The Fair Lady was not the first, nor likely the last, time a Harbinger was lost in combat. As for myself, I’ve been ready to face my death for many years now.”
She had a taste of that feeling before–when she spent five hundred years waiting to be resurrected in the Sacred Flame, doing nothing but moving forward into the sunset until time lost all meaning. She did not wish to die, as no one in Natlan feared death, but she had long experienced a certain peace with her fate somewhere in the depths of her soul. The words of a certain seer of the Masters of the Night-Wind echoed in her mind during the lonely depths of the night.
She was ready.
While she thought neither had said a word, but the silence was no longer awkward or tense. She wondered if their thoughts were echoing each other’s in that moment.
She also realized, at some point in the middle of their wordless discussion, the Captain had come slightly closer. He had been across the fire pit from her before, and now he was near the side.
“Do you have anything else you’d like to say?” Mavuika asked.
“...No, that was all.” The Captain bowed his head slightly. “I see you’ve made your decision. Good night, Mavuika.”
He had just started to turn when she blurted out– “One moment.”
The Captain stopped. “What is it?”
Mavuika realized a bit too late that she wanted to prolong a conversation she had nothing else to add to. “I’m sorry. I just thought, before everything goes to hell, we’ve never had a chance to get to know each other. I like to know a little about my comrades in arms.”
The Captain tilted his head. A few strands of thin, black hair fell from his shoulder. “We have our respective plans. I would rather not delve too far into my own.”
While this piqued her curiosity, Mavuika chose to not push that button. “No, no. I mean you personally…” She paused, checking to make sure no one else was within the Chamber. “...Thrain.”
If the Captain reacted at all, she could not have seen it. “I see you’ve made the connection.”
“It wasn’t too hard, all things considered,” Mavuika said, “just not something a layperson could easily realize. No doubt that was your intention, which I fully respect.”
The Captain paced to the edge of the fire pit, meeting her with some space still in between them. He seemed to get the memo that her desire was just to keep talking. “What about yourself, then? Information should be an equal exchange. It seems many records on your past are…vague.”
Mavuika smirked. “So you’ve been digging as well?” She felt the smile falter. “I’ve talked with some of our greatest shamans and historians over the years, but they’ve hardly found anything. My parents, at best, died of old age, and my little sister became an architect. No groundbreaking work, but she did a lot to serve her community.”
Thrain nodded. “I see. Little remains of most of those I knew in Khaenri'ah, forgotten except for…” He reached a hand to his heart. Stopped. Pulled it back. “The memory of the few survivors today.”
Mavuika would fail to realize what he nearly spilled until it was too late.
Until the day after, until after the battle was won and her people were safe and she was certain her fate was sealed. Until the fire that she thought would go out in an epic, final blaze was instead cased in unyielding, dark ice.
“Perhaps if we had met earlier, those five hundred years ago, we may have had more time,” Thrain said.
His armored hand outstretched, little by little. Mavuika caught it, wrapping her fingers around the frigid metal. She noticed the strange power radiating from him, not like a blazing sun but akin to the static after a storm, and could sense the cold that reached down to his bones.
She reached her free hand forward, tapping the base of his mask. “May I?”
He nodded, just slightly, his chin brushing against her fingertips. She gently lifted the mask, pulling it away from his long hair and placing it behind her on the desk. She had seen severe wounds and corrosion before, so while the sight was not new to her, the degree was certainly beyond anything she had witnessed prior. Deep blue marks from the curse of immortality crossed over his neck and sides of his face like large veins. His skin was a sallow color, making it difficult for her to imagine his appearance in his prime. Chunks of his nose were missing. His upper lip was torn and removed, leaving teeth exposed.
Mavuika placed a gentle kiss on his mouth.
Once more, whatever reaction he felt, he did not utter. He merely clasped her face in his hands, tilting her head down to return a kiss to her brow. The feeling was that of a single butterfly wing brushing against her skin.
Oh, how good it was for Thrain, to kiss her on the forehead. To have her wait there without any flinching or horror at his appearance. His scars, far more visible than hers, were certainly the least of his problems, but nonetheless ones he did not care to show. In the Speaker’s Chamber, under the protection of the Sacred Flame, time was eternally held from those years ago, where the thoughts of today were merely tomorrow’s ashes.
“Come to my chambers,” Mavuika whispered, so low she could hardly hear herself. She could not bear it if her voice broke their only moment. “Unless you’d rather not, of course.”
The Captain did not remove his hands from her neck. “Archon…I’m sure you can imagine, I’m not the most desirable companion for…intimacy.”
Mavuika flushed. “Well, I’m pleased that it crossed your mind as well, but I don’t need that. Just stay with me awhile. However long or short you like. We both know, no matter how long we’ve got, this may be our only chance.”
She wondered if Thrain smiled then. It may have been too subtle to notice, with his skin warped and stiff, but she was certain she saw a change.
With no one watching, they made their way to her room, held behind the Speaker’s Chamber in one of the towers, looking over the valley. For an Archon’s place of respite, it was quite small, and hardly more impressive than the rooms of the Weary Inn below, besides the larger bed and the paintings on the walls collected over the years and generations of human-gods. The rust-toned walls were covered in layers of faded graffiti, in colors from the brightest, hottest reds to the most determined, cold blues.
They laid on the layers of Sumpter Beast pelts and woven blankets, the Captain finally doing away with his layers of armor and cloaks and Mavuika changing out of her battle suit. They talked. As the moon rose and shone through the open windows, their words of the war turned into stories and unimportant secrets, exchanging hazy memories of bygone times.
“Did you have any siblings?” Mavuika asked, after recounting a tale of her sister Hine accidentally setting all their Saurians loose on their neighbor’s garden.
“A couple,” Thrain said. “Neither survived. I’ve found no records of my own family.”
Mavuika rested her head on his chest. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How the people so important to us, who we could never dream of forgetting, mean so little to the world beyond. No one sings the name of Tupac’s mother or Wanjiru’s siblings.”
“And they’re the ones they sacrificed their lives for.”
Mavuika sighed. He smelled cold. That was the best way she could describe it. Not repugnant, as one might worry a human cursed with immortality may, but not “alive”. She could hear the faint beating of his heart, the only sign he was still alive beneath his frigid skin. If she held her breath and listened, she thought she heard faint voices. He was teeming with memories of Khaenri'ah, of the lost and nameless souls that would never be announced in a tournament or as an award of honor.
“They remember us for so long, for what we do,” she said. “Still, what’s a sacrifice if the point of it all is forgotten?”
“Yours will not be forgotten.” Cold fingers ran through her hair. Mavuika took Thrain’s hand, breathing on it and rubbing it in her palms. She hoped he felt the warmth. “My people are all gone. Only few remain to carry the memories of all my land, but Natlan is still here, and your work is proved by their continued existence.”
She tangled a leg around his. “I hope I’m a worthy sacrifice, then.”
“You may have existed as long as me, but you spent much of that time within the Sacred Flame. Surely there’s more you’d like to experience?”
“I can’t be selfish until my people are safe. Besides, after all I’ve left behind…” Mavuika faltered. She struggled to utter that deepest, darkest fear that she could hardly bear to think.
“...It would all be in vain,” the Captain finished. “No, that’s the most hopeless feeling.” He sunk his shoulders into the pillows. “But you’ve got far more to live for than I do.”
Mavuika stroked a hand along his jaw. “I can’t claim to know your suffering, so I don’t want to come off as insensitive, but you shouldn’t jump into the arms of death, either.”
“I don’t have a choice either way,” Thrain said. “And I certainly wouldn’t have another run in with the Ruler of Death following her terms…” He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “No, let’s change the subject.”
Mavuika kissed him again. The taste of tears lingered, although neither knew who they belonged to.
“We’ll wake to a world with no more night,” she whispered. “Let me be your light, just as I am for them.”
“I can’t sleep. But I will stay.”
She was so warm, as she fell into slumber in his arms. The ends of her red hair glowed in the dark like candlelight, warm but not hurting his skin as the curls and waves draped over them. For the first time after an unimaginable stretch of years for any mortal, the Captain was awash with a sense of peace. Even with the freezing winds outside that he had no ability to stop, Mavuika was a steady campfire to keep the blizzard at bay. The curses and cries in his head fell further into the background.
“Snúa minn höfuð með rœða um sumartíð.”
And Mavuika, for the first time since she was a child, was lulled to sleep by the humming of the Ode of Resurrection, the deep voice pulsing along with their hearts.
He left early in the morning, when the sun and moon were both in the sky, before she woke.
No one would ever know of this encounter. No one would remember it, but it would remain in Mavuika’s memory as a reason for her continued fight into Natlan’s future. No scrolls were woven, no legends were told. To the waking world, the relationship between the Pyro Archon and the First of the Fatui Harbingers was a mere collaboration. Yet for months to come it pulled her back to the steps of Ochkanatlan. It gave her another memory to mourn and to move her forward, fueling the Contending Fire within her. She would honor his determination and struggle, carrying the torch forward.
And, when that torch would be passed on to her successor, she hoped to find the forgotten by the world but cherished in her heart within the Night Kingdom, and to meet him once more before their eternal rest.
~