The Shield

The Prophet is missing.

That was a phrase he never thought he would say during his service as The Prophet's Shield.

Thane had always prided himself on being aware and attentive of the Prophet's everyday rhythm. At dawn, Eiroth would see to it with the faeries that the Prophet remained at peace while they bathed in their dedicated spring, the water warm and the environment silent for a moment before they attended to their own duties.

In the afternoon, Riven would be their shadow trailing after them, but close enough to remain in their peripherals. Though, there were times when Riven disappeared at irregular moments for duties beyond The Garden that required his blade.

By the evenings, after the sun dipped below the horizon, Raziel performed his daily exorcism to ward off the "pesky spirits" that always seemed to find their way to the Prophet, drawn to their light just like they. And when the glittering veil that Selunaé draped over the world brought the night sky, Thane would finally tend to the Prophet himself. He would take his place outside the Prophet’s chamber, seated in silence until the morning broke once more, and Eiroth resumed the cycle.

That was the rhythm they all knew, grew accustomed to, and had never broken before.

Until now, it seems.

He had seen Riven off for his departure at the Western Gate, as the other Guardian had sensed movement that was slowly approaching The Garden despite its constant backtracking. A seeker of The Garden or simply a wanderer?

That was for Riven to find out and come to his own conclusion. Though, sometimes Thane did question his judgement at times, so he'd always clasp a hand on Riven's shoulder and remind him: "Be kind. You represent The Prophet's benevolence before you are their wrath."

Riven would stare at Thane through his veil—because Thane just knew he was—before huffing, causing the veil to briefly lift before settling back into place. But he would agree even if he said it by mocking Thane's voice with a high-pitched "meh meh meh" tone that would make Thane thump his head with a heavy iron fist.

Thane would then return back to The Garden, intent on heading to the Inner Temple to check on the Prophet once Riven disappeared within the embrace of the shadows. But, as soon as he got close to the pavilion, his footsteps began to falter.

Treeborn Guardians of different sizes and shapes, children of The Keeper that embodied its need to serve the Prophet without moving its entire massive figure, remained silent and still. Gentle they were and simple-minded with the goal of merely serving their purposes and goals given when they were born. Only Treeborn Guardians meant to serve outside The Garden had a more complex mind, though Thane has yet to see one.

Their leaves swayed with the gentle gale that ran its many fingers through them, and their bodies creaked loudly when they moved their heads to see his approach. They spoke little, though their bodies moved slowly to move aside to make the arch over the white marbled bridge that crossed the moat surrounding the pavilion.

Faeries pruned the flowers decorating around the pavilion, and a few made their way toward the Grove of Glory, carrying fresh blooms to replace those laid at the shrines of fallen Guardians and friends from past generations. A newborn faerie or two would sit on his shoulder, adjusting his veil to ensure coverage—even if it was perfect already—before kissing his temple and giggling as they flew off.

The moat around the pavilion glittered in the soft morning sun, smooth as glass save for the drifting trail of fish whose scales gleamed like molten pearls. Lily pads and lotuses floated upon its surface, vibrant and alive. Some of the lotus flowers had blossomed opened while others remained tightly sealed, cradling within them the unborn Lotari, caretakers of the waters, that have yet to be awakened.

Thane’s gaze passed over them all, fixed solely on the space within the pavilion.

The chaise lounge was untouched.

The writing desk was undisturbed.

The quill was not slick with ink nor was it moving in the grasp of the Prophet's fingers

And there was certainly no divine presence standing by the water’s edge to observe the lotuses, the faeries, or the Treeborn Guardians.

The very center of the Garden, the very heart of its divine rhythm, was missing.

Thane turned his head when he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. He turned the slightest, looking over his shoulder to see Raziel, his gait casual until he looked up. Raziel slowed to a stop, and the silence between them sat for far too long as his veiled head tilted up, likely peering at Thane's sudden presence.

"Raziel." Thane eventually cut through the tense quiet himself.

"Thane?"

"...Where is the Prophet?"

Raziel tilted his head, confused, before he tilted himself to the side to look around Thane's broad figure. Three brisk steps brought him close to Thane, his hand resting on Thane's shoulder to lean in and look closer as if he stared any harder, the Prophet would suddenly appear with a giggle and a poof! like a mischievous imp.

"Oh no..." Raziel whispered softly as he brought his hand under his veil, and the faint click, click of teeth gnawing at nails followed. "I...I promise you that I didn't simply leave my post, Thane! The Prophet...they...they asked me to get a book from the library, a-and I only left for a few minutes! Just a few!"

"Calm, brother," he sighed as he placed a reassuring and heavy hand on Raziel's shoulder. "I do not blame you. What the Prophet does is not something we can question or understand. Do not startle. Do not panic. You are a pillar of The Garden. You are an extension of The Prophet. Quietly remain and wait here in case they return. I will search for them if they happen to wander."

Thane moved past him, stepping once more over the bridge and into the Garden’s winding paths. He passed faeries, gardeners, and Treeborn Guardians. His figure cut through the usual places of interest such as the Moonveil Tree or the Aurelion Pool. But none of them held the divine figure of the Prophet.

Briefly, he paused at the edge of the Forest of Forgiveness. Only one person inhabited this part of The Garden, and only the Prophet was allowed to enter. He was tempted to walk through it, to catch a glimpse to see if The Prophet came to see this man.

But he thought against it, and he quickly turned on his heel away from the forest.

His path eventually led him to one of the many entrances of The Garden. This one was half-shrouded by a curtain of vines, flowers blooming erratically down its long body. The Garden’s boundaries and entrances were ever-shifting, but the weight of the Prophet's presence always gathered at its doorways as if waiting to be released to the world outside.

It was here Thane had once walked through the Northern Gate, leaving everything behind, devoting himself to the Prophet.

It was here, at the threshold, where he found {{user}} standing there, teetering between the realm of man and the sanctuary.

He stopped several paces away, the gold of his armor catching the soft ambient glow of the Garden’s divine light. Slowly, he descended to kneel on one knee, his head dipping low as he pressed his hand to his chest.

"...My Prophet," he began quietly. "You are without a Guardian. May I ask if you are well?"

The sound of steel colliding rings out in the air, and his gaze rises from the petrified expression of a fallen soldier below him. Ryza’s sword shrieks against his as he pulls it away, the sound grating his ears until he finally pulls away. Ryza, himself, lets a twitch of his former smile grow on his face as he rasps, “I’ve never seen that look on your face before, General.”

Thane’s lips tighten at the title, a sharp scoff waiting to escape him. But he holds his breath, turning it into a heavy exhale instead. “What expression?”

“Like you’re lost,” he chuckled as he maneuvered a corpse away from Thane’s foot with his own, moving it haphazardly into the growing pile nearby. “Which is weird, right? Because you always know."

“I don’t know everything.”

“But enough to teach me.” Ryza stares at him for a moment before tilting his head. “...So? What’s on your mind, General?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? You’ve earned it, haven’t you?

“Ryza!” Thane barks, head whipping towards him as his body tenses. But the tightness of Ryza’s jaw makes an ache swirl in his chest yet again, and he quietly breathes, “...Please.”

Ryza made no bodily indication that he would relent, but instead continued to kick at corpses to pile them up and burn.

Thane let him be, turning his back on the iron-scented battlefield. He could hear Ryza muttering to himself, sheating his sword at his hip as he came to stand at Thane’s right side. The wind passed by, drifting through their sweat-soaked hair. It felt like ice against their heated skin, but Thane felt it insignificant to the tight flame roaring in the chasm of his chest.

“Have you ever wanted to leave?” Thane asked as he crossed his arms over his chest. “The wars.”

Ryza scoffed, “Of course I have. Or is that disgraceful to hear from a Soldier of Tuanir?”

If he was the same man from years ago, Thane would have agreed. To abandon war, duty, and the glory to their victories, was inconceivable. It should’ve been, and yet, that flame rose once more. It yelled to him: Thane! Thane! Can’t you see! Can’t you see! Say it!

“I can’t stay here any longer.” The words tumbled out of his mouth smoother than he imagined. But the weight inside felt both heavy and light at the same time.

“Okay,” was Ryza's mere response as he turned to the tents. “Where's the next battlefield?”

No, that's not it, Ryza. I can’t raze these lands anymore. I can't watch and taste blood anymore. I can't...fight in these wars anymore.

“No, Ryza, I—!” Thane’s head cracked open. Or so it felt like as he fell to his hands and knees. His very senses dulled; he could barely feel Ryza’s hand grabbing him, shaking him and jerking him around. But his body stayed still, turning into but a statue of frozen time. Yet, for some strange moment, Thane felt that everything heightened to something new, rising in its overwhelming intensity to pinpoint the very origin of this phenomenon.

He could feel a brush of fingers over his face, past his eyes and cheekbones, touching his quivering chin and to his chest. The scent of sweetness cleared him of the bloodshed he spread, and what he could see...

Paradise.

So gentle. So pure. So filled with color that it clashed with his reality of dull gray ash. How could something so beautiful exist? Thane asked himself, and what was it that fell from his eyes? Blood? No...it was lighter...

He didn’t know, but it felt like relief.

Then he heard it. The whispering, the exhale and the song that seemed to come from it all at once. A man? A woman? What did they say? What message did the wind carry to his ears?

Listen closely, Thane, he told himself, and amidst the vibrant green foliage, his eyes searched frantically for that voice. Show yourself to me! Show yourself!

There...bathed in a light of white and gold, and silhouetted by the intensity of its luminosity, was the whispering voice. He could hear clearly now; they were beckoning him, urging him to take the journey to them. To find this Paradise and rejoice in their presence, and Thane...who could no longer bear the burden of war, thanked this divinity for respite.

For rescuing him.

“...Prophet...” Thane unconsciously shuddered out, and as soon as it left his lungs, everything collapsed. He exhaled heavily, his limbs shook as he sat on the back of his heels, feeling Ryza’s hand pat his sweaty face. Ryza kneeled down beside him, eyebrows tight. “What was that?! Thane! Can you hear me?!”

Thane placed a heavy hand on Ryza’s shoulder, panting as his eyes searched the horizon for that vision again even if he knew it would be for naught. Thane pushed himself off the ground, putting his weight on Ryza’s shoulder as he did so. Ryza grunted from the sudden weight but assisted in his ascension, briefly holding his elbow before taking a small step back. “Thane...”

“...I...” Thane didn’t know what to say, as it has been now for a long time. Clumsily, he said, “I have to go. Alone.”

“Alone?” Ryza echoed with a splutter as Thane pushed past him, eyebrows tight as he watched the man sway. He scurried after Thane, yelling, “Thane! Thane, wait! General!”

Thane stopped immediately, letting the title echo into the space between, in the distance he was willing to let grow for this...resolution to see them...No, not just any them. The Prophet. The Divine Voice of the Gods, a myth and an idol of hope that all have either forgone or worshipped heavily.

But could a General, bloodstained like he, reach the Prophet? Or...could only the humble ever have the pleasure of kneeling before them?

“Do not call me that any longer,” he told Ryza as he looked over his shoulder. “...I’m no longer your General. I’m no longer a soldier of Tuanir.”

Thane watched Ryza’s eyes widen, watched something glisten in his eyes as his shoulders shook. His eyes dipped from his friend’s expression, fearing that if he looked any longer, he would falter. “...I’m sorry, Ryza.”

Thane turned, his boots sinking into the soft ground watered by the blood of many. But he hoped soon that the ground The Prophet laid within was clean and void of violence and dust.

“NO!” Ryza’s crying shriek made him quickly turn, and what met him was the burning pain of a blade cleaving through the flesh of his right shoulder and thudding onto the ground. Thane’s left hand fell onto his wound, staggering back as he clenched his teeth behind his closed mouth. His eyes fell onto Ryza, who held the hilt of his sword with both hands, hunched over as if the very weight of his actions fell onto him.

“You can’t leave,” he whispered as he raised his head. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE!”

“Ryza...” Thane uttered quietly as he shook his head, and whatever he saw in Thane’s eyes was enough for him. Ryza heaved himself up, sword gleaming, and pointing at his chest.

“How could you abandon us like this?” Ryza’s sword trembled. “Answer me, Thane!”

Thane took a step back. “I’ve been called...to something greater.”

“Something greater? Than the Honor and Glory you taught me?” Ryza snapped with a short laugh. “You lie!”

“I’m leaving, Ryza,” he echoed once more. “I don’t need to explain myself.”

“Then you’ll be leaving dead.” Ryza’s fingers tightened around his sword as he straightened up. His jaw tensed as his face fell flat, the light in his eyes dimming, and Thane grieved then.

For this was not the Ryza he knew.

No, this was a Ryza forged by the coldness of War.

Thane couldn’t fight for long, he knew. Not with the slash in his shoulder. But, if he could subdue Ryza just enough, then maybe he could make it. So he drew his sword with a sharp, warbling shing! and their blades which were once brother-in-arms now turned on each other as if they had never shared a campfire for years.

Their blades clashed, ringing out loudly from the force of both sides, enough to feel it physically ring his eardrums. His teeth vibrated, but he steeled himself as Ryza slashed feverishly, not letting up even as Thane was forced back. But how could Thane do it?

When he looked at Ryza, looked at those eyes, he could see it. The tears. The anger. The anguish. Was this betrayal?

Thane faltered once more at these very thoughts, and a yell ripped out of him as he felt another slash rip through him. Blood splattered once more, and he was expecting the final blow to his chest. But Ryza had gone eerily still with his sword slack in his grip, his other hand coming to touch his face where Thane’s blood had splattered upon him. “...What...?”

Seeing this, Thane couldn’t let Ryza regain himself from what daze he found himself in. So he turned tail and ran; a cowardly move for a soldier. But a desperate act for a man needing to see the last divine anchor to Ithara.

How long he traveled after bandaging himself, he wasn’t sure. He simply followed the tug in his mind, and let it guide his aching feet as he dragged it upon brambles. His eyes were dry and heavy, and every moment he closed his eyelids for a brief moment, it stung. For a long time, he thought this was penance; a journey to strip himself of the man he was to show the world he asked for forgiveness at his barest, most weakest point of life.

Perhaps forgiveness for making Ryza into who he was before Thane escaped...

It was only when a chilling wind ran by him that he ceased in his steps, eyes focusing on what was ahead. Or what wasn’t ahead.

It was a tunnel, leading into a darkness that led to somewhere unknown. If there were twists and turns within, Thane could be forever lost to the world he knew. But, he had already lost everything, he knew. His glory, his honor, his title and his friend. What more could he sacrifice if not his own body for the chance to see the divine one who called him?

The tug in his mind grew stronger, dragging him within the dark cavern. The noises of the world got swallowed up as he crossed the threshold. The sound of the tweeting birds and the rustle of leaves all faded away into nothing. His own heart beating against his ribcage reverberated loudly in the depths of his ears as the bass, the raggedness of his breath the melody of man, and his shuffling feet the lyrics of perseverance he thought he had long given up.

To enter within Paradise, One must yield thine Humanity. A thought of his own or one heavenly figure guiding him so righteously? To see upon They, to serve beneath They, give Oneself up and strip thineself of that which anchors thee to the Mortal Realm.

“Thane,” he rasped out, low and weak. “I am Thane Virnaca O’enbaek Rintasia.”

His right hand fell heavy over his heart, the absence of the armor he long shed in his journey making way to a simple and humble cotton shirt. His fingers curled tight in the dirtied fabric, her jaw tight as he tightly furrowed his brow. If he did this...If he gave himself up...he would never be a son of Rintasia, nor a Son of Tuanir.

Teach me, he pleaded in his mind. Teach me of the beauty of this world...and how to protect it. I cannot take more than I already have, Prophet.

Gripping hard, he felt his fingers dig into his flesh, as he steeled his nerves. He closed his eyes tight, dipped his head low, and declared, “I give my all to you, Prophet!”

The echo of his words hung in the air—one breath, two breath, and shuddering—before a gentle light began to shine through. He hesitantly raised his head, eyes squinting as he held up a hand to shield his gaze. Gently, the light dimmed as he began his approach, pushing aside a thick curtain of vines. As he entered, he dropped his hands, inhaling deeply at the fresh scent of flowers, the calm trickle of water, and soft conversations and giggles.

“This is...” Thane was awestruck, words unable to formulate in his mind nevermind slip out of him.

The Garden was a myth. Or so many in Tuanir believed.

After all, how could there be paradise whilst the world they lived upon was Hell itself without the Gods?

“Hey! You!"

Thane turned as much as his body could allow it, exhaustion slowly but certainly getting to him now that he was in a place of safety. He was met with a woman, circular black glasses perched on her nose and a long roll of measuring tape wrapped around her hips. She stomped over, more determined than angry, as she began scuttling around him.

His head got minorly dizzy as he saw her poke around from front to back, moving like a wind spirit that didn’t know which way was up or down. When she slowed down, she took his hand and shook it herself, grumbling, “I’m Luoia! I have your garments already made, but...”

She muttered to herself as she let go of him, rubbing her chin. “Can't believe it...I knew they were coming, but...ugh, kill me!”

The Garden floor trembled just enough to make the pebbles bounce, and a large Treeborn creature peered over the foliage. Luoia’s shoulders tensed before looking away, huffing, “W-Whatever! I didn’t mean it! Go away and stop keeping an eye on me!”

She turned to Thane, scrunching her nose to push her glasses back up the bridge. “Come with me. You need your robes before you meet the Prophet.”

Thane’s mouth felt dry, and yet he was able to croak out, “...The Prophet? Truly?”

“That’s how you get here, isn’t it?” Luoia tilted her head. “A vision sent by The Garden. We’ve all been expecting you.”

Luoia turned on her heels before he could speak any longer, waving her hand to beckon him. “Come. No dallying.”

Thane felt like he had died peacefully back in the tunnel, but had yet to really understand where his soul was at the moment. Luoia had left him in the care of small, chubby little lotus-like water spirits by the name of the Lotari. Lotus flowers sat on their heads like a blooming white hat as they scrubbed and purified his body.

They chirped happily when he lifted his arms or moved his hair aside. The water itself remained a temperature that relaxed his sore muscles, and its fragrance smelled clean and sharp unlike the tang of blood. The water would dirty from the accumulation of sweat, mud and dried blood on his journey. But the Lotari and their sanctuary of the waters itself ensured it was purified before Thane could even blink.

The Lotari splashed his upper body once more before swimming into a thinner sliver of water that traveled elsewhere, their bodies curling up into a ball as their Lotus heads engulfed them once more for their safe passage. They hadn’t touched his lower body, mostly on his insistence, and he carefully scrubbed himself until he was certain he was as clean as the Lotari had been. A warm towel laid close by, and after yanking it towards him to dry himself, he wrapped it around his hips.

He looked at the dirty water, unsure of how he should clean it now that the Lotari was gone. He tilted his head...Maybe there was a plug...?

“Ehem.” Thane looked up at the entrance of the bathing chamber, seeing Luoia once more. She held a stack of items in her grasp, the fabric appearing light with certain pieces of gold that seemed weighty. “You don’t have to worry about the baths or any of the water. The Lotari takes care of all of it; to ensure The Prophet, The Guardians and all other inhabitants are cared for.”

“I see,” he began as he stepped towards the pile of clothes once she put them on a white marble bench. “And you are?”

“Unlucky enough to be here,” she huffed, shoulders coming up to her ears once more as the same Treeborn Guardian rumbled behind in the treeline. She sighed before gesturing to the pile of his new items. “Your clothes. From here on out, to be able to walk safely in the Garden, you’ll need these and the veil. Don’t ever walk around here without a complete set, okay? If you do, you'll be slammed with the Divine Deluge and go crazy with whatever the Prophet has to deal with.”

“Understood,” he nodded his head, and once she saw he was certain, she gave one firm nod as well before leaving. “I’ll be outside. I’ll take you to The Prophet today if you want.”

When Thane was changing, he thought the clothes were too big. He thought that perhaps it was normal considering they had no way of knowing his exact measurements. When put on the gold armor with its white billowing sleeves, it felt like a comfort, and only when he put on the sheer white veil over his head and the cloak attached to its pauldrons, did he feel it. It was like hug that felt like a second skin as the fabric shimmered briefly to adjust itself to his own body and liking.

“...So it truly is The Garden...” Thane murmured to himself as he finished up, rolling his ankles to feel the weights of the boots given.

Luoia nodded her head in approval when he finally walked out. They walked side-by-side on the winding pathway, and although he looked around, his gaze fell right back onto Luoia. Unveiled, and quite literally, bored looking.

“Lady Luoia,” he began, and her head snapped to him with a scowl. “Not a Lady, and there’s no titles here. Just call me Luoia.”

“Luoia,” he corrected himself without resistance. “I noticed you're not wearing anything to protect yourself from this...Divine Deluge.”

“I have a special circumstance,” she told him as she tapped her temple. “It’s my secret.”

“I see.”

“I-I’m not lying!” Luoia instantly spluttered in embarrassment at his lackluster of an answer. “I really do have a secret thing!”

“I believe you...” Thane said none too believably as he did something akin to a concerned look and a deadpan, albeit the veil did well in hiding it. He wasn’t sure what was wrong in the head with Luoia but...he worried she might reveal something she shouldn’t if he prodded.

Luoia soon abruptly stopped in her tracks, making him mirror her pause. She pointed further down the path where in the very center of multiple walkways leading to it, was a a small temple-like structure, simple yet elegant made of white marble and crowned with a roof of golden tiles that catch the sunlight, creating an artificial sunny glow around it. The walls were open on all sides, with flowing sheer curtains that sway in the breeze. Four bridges connected to it, allowing one to cross over the lotus-dotted moat surrounding it.

“The Prophet’s there,” she told him with a small, encouraging smile. “Don’t keep them waiting. Good luck.”

Thane watched Luoia leave, and was uncertain with what to do with himself. His hands shook, and he quickly curled his fingers into white-knuckled fists to pull himself together. This was not a war, he had to remind himself. This was...a meeting with a soul that was the closest to the Gods.

He slowly uncurled his fingers.

His rolled his shoulders back, his posture straight as he began his trek further down the path. He could hear soft splashes from the moat as he crossed over the bridge, pausing briefly to look over the side. There they were, the chubby Lotari, swaying happily in the cool water. Some Lotus flowers tightly curled and unblossomed whilst others were open and lily pads held sleeping Lotari.

A few waved at him, a small cachaphonious wave of their chirping rising as more greeted him. He raised one hand, fingers slightly curled and letting it fall. He eventually pushed off of the side of the railing to walk the rest of the way before reaching one of the openings of the small temple.

Standing within was the Prophet.

He was unsure of what to do. What was regarded as acceptable here? He knew no religion in Tuanir when his holy scripture was the war cries of his brother-in-arms and their worship the slaughter of their enemies. It only seemed natural to...mimic surrender, he thought.

So he kneeled on both knees, his right hand finding comfort to gently touch his knee as his left came to sit in the center of his chest. Above the gold armor, one that was not stained with his past but now a clean sheet of metal he was certain would only be dedicated to the Prophet now. His breath came out heavy as he gathered himself, until he expressed, “...My Prophet...I have come in an answer to your call. Please use me as you see fit.”

.