Chapter 798

Chapter 798: The Great Collapse [12]

X103, the start of a new year and the start of a new persona. The town of Glenda found itself partially lit with fountains and decorations. The dead were mourned, and thus, the mark of a fresh start wiped itself upon Igna. He’d spent the night within the Shadow Realm, choosing to play with his children except for Vanesa who left on a mission around the world. December was supposed to have been a month of rest – sadly, nothing went according to plan. The offensive of the mysterious attackers stopped and the many companies threw themselves at damage control.

Whispering winds from the valley hung over a hooded duo’s head. The early morning mist and due brought sniffles and sneezing. The flushed-nose Ania held close to Arlah.

‘The spear saint Oat was traumatized when he returned, a single person defeated the party and defeated the strongest fighter our army held. It must have left a bad taste in the king’s mouth, I wonder what he thinks of following next?’

“Arlah, are you having a bowels problem?”

Pausing at her sentence, he slowed to give a once-over, “-why do you ask?”

“Because there’s much pain I sense from thy visage,” she chuckled, “-you have the face of someone who’s constipated. I heard banan-”

“Enough, now isn’t time for jests. We’re inside enemy territory,” by the looks of things, the narrowed path tightened and rose to the top-end of a stone wall shy of the peak.

.....

“I’m curious,” she took pleasure in tiptoeing over the edge, “-why accompany me?”

“To an audience with the count of course,” he smiled, “-the war’s over. The Clan leaders will return and lead their army onto Liberthan plains.” In wake of the battle, Kion chose to shelter at Glenda under Alta. There were many rounds he made from Glenda to Solta. The damped and muddy path bordered with weeds and scattered trees, the trips were made in solitude and utmost silence. Lucky was a day where he had to escort a traveler or a peddler.

Clueless to the situation in Hidros, the Ardanian atmosphere was jarring, ‘-I’m bored,’ carried across Kion’s mind, ‘-Solta’s up next,’ he climbed the westward path, came upon the intersection of the valley and trade-route. He stopped at a signpost, opted to look north at the foggy scape. Steps in the unseen mist forced his hands to move for the sword – if not for the additional chatter, he might have attacked. Two hooded figures rose from the cloud, the tinier-sized fellow hunched on its knees and panted, the taller fellow pointed and laughed, spicing their conversation with jestful mockery.

“So much for being energetic.”

“Shut up,” it threw her hood backward, gently colored fox ears bloomed with a sparkle, long eyes patiently looked the stone wall which ultimately led to Kion’s stead, they crossed glances. The cautious Arlah moved between the two.

‘Their chatter stopped, very curious,’ he clenched the handle, the taller figure shuffled around inside his hood, the faint outline of a protruding object above the shoulder gave a cause for concern. Was it a sword, a bow, a spear, or a rifle, depending on the weapon, ‘-I might need to kill them...’

“Hold on,” interjected the smaller figure, “-you there,” she side-stepped away from Arlah’s shadow and prominently stared at Kion, “-my name’s Ania Gard, you are?”

“Kion,” he replied, ‘-a fox-eared demi-human. I’ve only heard of them in stories,’ he glared the taller figure, “-you’re a dark elf.”

“Correct,” he removed his hood, “-and you’re a hero.”

“Suppose my outfit and sword is blatant,” said a nervous chuckle, “-tell me, what business do the elven people have with us. Wasn’t taking demi-humans as slaves enough of a satisfaction?”

“No,” Ania interjected forcefully, she stood on her tiptoe and narrowed her glance, “-he has nothing to do with war. I’m here to meet the Count, I come from the Empire... my parents told me to meet him, we’re long-distance cousins.”

“The way you said the last part is very suspicious,” sighed Kion, “-I shouldn’t be surprised if thee turns to be a spy,” he twirled onto Solta’s gates, “-there a few errands I need to complete before we get moving. Head inside and rest at a tavern.” The early morning hours, often nicknamed Sloth’s hour, was troublesome for many, waking in the cold winter to the dark outside, a choice between a warm bed or the frigid ground, many opted for the former without thought, to sleep was to rest, and to rest was to visit the heavens. Similarly, after spending the night at the Shadow Realm, a portal for Glenda opened. The weather shifted from open and calming to close and humid, ‘-I’ve returned,’ he sat on a used bed and stared at the clock, ‘-Glenda manor, I forgot about it, should visit soon,’ he smiled and dropped backward, ‘-a nap sounds nice.’ The cold gave to hotter midday, doors opened bruskly, “-Alta, please, I wish to ask thy hand in marriage. There’s nothing more I want in this world.”

“Lord Crose, I understand your feelings; you’re very easy on the eyes and have a fortune associated with thy dynasty,” she pulled at the table and dropped files, “-even if I returned the feelings, I cannot tie myself to another. This town is my responsibility, I have to stay and oversee the growth, I take pleasure and joy in my craft. I’d earnestly implore thee to respect my choice.”

“Why my lady Alta, why must thee be so cold. Is wanting for a town to grow so, a town who cared naught less about thine life, the sole objective? I dare refute the choice, please, take my hand in marriage, the Duchy of Hornell welcomes thy intellect.”

She kept her back to the gentleman, vowing to stand strong and not be swayed, “-the Duchy of Hornell ruled by the Hornell dynasty. A place of many villages and a singular port-town, it is said, before the construction of Arda’s western port, traders had to travel south. Time leaves all behind and moves, the heritage of the Hornell, especially their coffers, has run dry. Must be hard to be independent rulership in a warring province. Geographically, the town is safe from invasions thanks to the rougher sloped mountains. It must have been the stories of Glenda which brought thee to us, a young noble wanting to take Alta’s hand must first prove himself to be worthy of her name. I dare say, Lord Crose, you have not the required prestige to ask for her hand in marriage. I won’t stand for opportunistic idiots. What you’re after is her skills, not her heart, and for that, I refuse.”

“Who the hell are you,” fired the gentle-faced man, “-Alta isn’t exactly pretty on the eyes, she’ll have to beg to have someone of my caliber ask her in marriage. She’ll be forever forced to overlook this shame of a town. Excuse the insolence, yet, I must say what I think, and tis the truth, a lady of her intellect will be used without ever having the chance to experience romance.”

“Who says so,” Igna rose from the bed, “-don’t you insult her,” he thundered, “-Alta’s beautiful in and out, her heart is soft and her mind sharp. Begone,” he gestured loudly, “-I, Igna Haggard, will not stand for insults to my trusted Stewardess.”

“This isn’t over yet,” the brown-haired noble forced himself out, scatters footsteps ran echoed along with the tower until it faded.

A flat warmness laid on his back, “-you were here?” inquired a murmur.

“Sorry about the noble,” said Igna, “-were you interested in him?”

“Not particularly. The man is easy on the eyes and has a lot of money... what else could a woman want, sadly, I-I.”

“Crying is unbecoming of you,” he spun and grabbed her shoulders, “-look at me, Alta,” her freckled rounded nose stared deep into his eyes, “-you’re beautiful, never let anyone else dictate who you are as a person,” he wrapped around back and tightened a hug.

“Thank you,” her body seemed to melt by her relaxed breathing, *knock,* the door barged open, “-I’m sorry, did I interrupt the prelude to a feisty midday snack?”

“Kion,” her voice cracked, “-what ar-.”

“Never expected you to have tact,” he said, grabbed her palm, and dropped a handkerchief, “-a woman should wipe her own tears and look forward, my stewardess is strong, I believe in her wholly.” She made for the bed whilst Igna made for the desk.

“Master, sorry to say, said desk is but a furniture for my room,” in what he thought to be his office turned out to be Alta’s bedroom. The confusing situation served for a few laughs – shortly after, Igna found himself at Glenda’s extension within the town-hall building on the third-floor at end of the corridor. The administrative floor, so said the noticeboards. The walk to the new office was broadening – there laid a sense of pride within the bystanders and inhabitants. Crossing the arched bridge and waking into the town hall was a thing of praise as only the affluent did so regularly. By all means, the hall was opened to anyone, to avoid trouble, a guild-hall stood to the side, after a road. Common troubles and complaints were handled yonder, filtered, and finally brought to the hall’s attention. The reluctance showed the level of respect the hall wielded, especially since the town grew to be the Capital of the olden rulership.

‘A clean and simple office,’ he nestled behind the desk, presided by blinders, “-Kion, care to explain?”

“Right,” he tore the meat off a brochette, “-I bring guests.”

“Guests?”

“Yeah, we hitched a ride from a passing trader and made it to Glenda. They’re in the lobby, I think Alta’s speaking to them.”

“Understood,” he leaned and took out his phone, placed it over the empty desk, and tapped the screen, a dim blue screenshot outwards with multiple windows, “-send them in.” Before long, the guests stood timidly at the entrance, Alta remained on hand to Igna’s side. To an outsider looking at Igna, the terrifying aura which lain his body movements and sharp facial features were enough to dumbfound the coldest of men.

‘Fox ears and tail,’ he observed, ‘-a very rare species, why is she here?’

“Are you Igna Haggard?”

“Yes, and you are?”

“Ania Gard,” she took bold steps towards the desk, “-this letter should explain my situation,” a frizzled orangish enveloped threw its dying breath at Igna.

“It has seen better days,” he said and broke the seal, ‘-Dear Staxius Haggard, it has been a while since we spoke, I suppose thee goes by the name of Igna Haggard. Before asking how I know, remember this, I was part of Kniq and the olden party. We might have run away – however, the kindness shown has never been forgotten. I’m sure you must have an idea by now, the little girl’s face and features are blatant. Auic and I are writing this letter while we sit overlooking a mob of angry fundamentalists. Our story is one known to Undrar, we relayed much of our correspondence to her. The years I spent with Auic are the best years I ever lived. The end is upon us, our faction was uncovered and will be culled shortly. Our legacy runs in her veins, Ania, she has her mother’s features and her father’s magical prowess, not that it matters. There’s so much I wish to say and lesser I can add. Please, take care of our daughter, she’s hotheaded and eccentric; she’ll ask for thee to avenge us, and I request this, please don’t. We choose said lifestyle and looking back, we should have flown to Alphia instead. What is done can’t be undone, we leave on this, on the day the letter is received, I want my master, Staxius Haggard, to promise the safe-keeping of our daughter. It’s selfish of us, we know, circumstances dictate sacrifices have to be made, farewell, we’re grateful for everything. Signed: Auic Gard and Avon Gard,’ he rocked into the chair and allowed the paper to drift onto the table, ‘-Avon and Auic...’