Endure

9th of Bloom, 968 A.D.

He woke to the soft chime of the sunbell echoing through the stone corridors of the Stillmoon Council Tower. Morning light split through the high windows, painting silver lines across the floor of his small chamber. He blinked once, then again, his breath steady. He had those dreams again, but that was nothing new.

He sat up slowly, body already stiff from the past week of double shifts. The obsidian Gryffin on his tabard stared up at him from the footlocker, regal and fierce. He ran a thumb over the embroidery before slipping it over his tunic, then started the practiced ritual of strapping on armor: chestplate came first, then the bracers and lastly the greaves. Every motion was automatic. Muscle memory carved by years under Soren and Gabriel’s tutelage.

Outside, the tower was coming to life. Servants lit lanterns in shaded hallways. Council scribes chatter over documents. Somewhere, a lute played a slow, meandering tune. Lionel walked the halls in near silence, nodding to those he passed. He found the others in the atrium off the east wing - a circular room of arched windows and pale blue banners drifting with the morning breeze.

Ser Lathan was already there, leaning over the table with today’s watch rotations. He was older than the rest of them, grey streaking through his beard, one hand replaced with a silver-forged prosthetic from the war 9 years ago. He didn’t look up as Lionel approached.

“You’re early,” Lathan grunted.

“Habit,” Lionel replied.

“Good one. You’re with Myra and Garen for the first rotation. Atrium to council chamber. Standard pattern.”

Lionel nodded. Myra Vance arrived next, already mid-laugh at something Garen had said behind her. She wore light mail and twin blades at her sides, long braid tucked tight under her cowl.

“Morning, Lion-boy,” she smirked.

He sighed. “Still with that?”

“Forever.”

Garen Voss clapped him on the shoulder, a big grin splitting his weathered face. “Means she likes you.”

“No, it means I tolerate him,” Myra corrected. “Barely.”

Ell entered without a word, nodding once before settling into her post against the far wall. Kellen and Joric brought up the rear, one yawning, the other chewing a strip of dried meat.

Lathan straightened and gave the room a slow once-over. 

“Listen up. Routine day. Emmery’s got back-to-back meetings with the Thorne delegation and two guild reps. Courtiers will be coming in and out all morning. Keep your eyes sharp, your mouths shut, and your weapons sheathed unless they damn well shouldn’t be.” A round of nods followed. Lionel’s gaze lingered on the doorway. Nothing felt off, at least not yet, but there was an itch beneath his skin - a tension with no source. He let it settle into his posture.

They split into their rotations. Lionel’s group escorted Aleesia Emmery from her private quarters to the council chamber shortly after dawn’s second bell. She walked with purpose, boots soft against polished stone, a deep blue cloak trailing behind her. Her face was unreadable as always - cool and precise, in the way all powerful people have to be.

“Morning, Sir Adairn,” she said as they fell into step.

“Ma’am,” he replied.

She glanced at him sideways. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t make me overwork you now. I’m sure Soren would be mighty annoyed at me for that.”

He didn’t answer and her pace didn’t slow.

The council chamber was a tall, vaulted room lined with bookshelves and draped banners, its central table carved from old oak, the chairs high-backed and worn smooth by generations. Today, it was half-filled with aides and attendants, their whispers carrying the usual mixture of boredom and gossip.

Lionel took his place just outside the chamber doors, one eye on the hallway, the other flicking occasionally toward the inner room. Myra leant beside him, arms crossed, scanning the opposite side. “Bet ten silver the Thorne envoy starts a fight over restoration funds again,” she muttered.

“Not taking that bet.” Garen chuckled. “Could be worse. At least it’s not an Umbermore delegation.”

“Gods, don’t even joke about that,” Myra groaned. The morning continued its crawl and it felt like nothing had happened all day. Finally the time for lunch came. 

Lionel ate in silence at the edge of the garden level, sunlight warming the stone beneath his boots. The Moonriver glittered below, its slow current catching little flashes of the sky. From here, the tower felt removed from the world. Like it floated above the city and all its burdens.

Ell found him leaning on the railing, a small plate of dried fruit and half a sandwich in hand. She didn’t speak for a minute. Just standing beside him, watching the river.

“Garen told me,” she said eventually.

Lionel didn’t turn his head. “Told you what?”

“About the Obelisk. About your sister. About what happened when you were a kid.”

His jaw tightened. “Did he also tell you how many people keep thinking that’s who I still am? Some orphan boy? Well, I still have family, and even if I was an orphan, so is half the damn world after what went down.”

“No,” she said. “He told me you were a part of a group of heroes who fought and defeated evil.”

Lionel exhaled through his nose. Not quite a laugh. “I was nine.”

“And nine-year-olds don’t usually stand on battlefields.”

He finally looked at her. Her eyes were calm, not pitying. Just… curious.

“I didn’t stand on the battlefield,” Lionel said. “I hid behind one.”

There was a pause.

“She was all I had left. Thena. My sister. She was everything. And I watched her burn herself alive trying to protect me, the world and people who barely remembered our names, if at all. If you want a hero, it’s her.”

Ell listened, not interrupting. Just letting the words fill the space.

“After the war,” Lionel continued, “I spent a few years with my guardian Gabriel in Enya. He trained me. Taught me how to hold a blade, how to breathe through pain. My father, Soren, trained me too, before I got stationed here. I had teachers. I had mentors. But none of them expected me to come out of that war and still want to be a sword.”

“So why did you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Because I never stopped hearing her voice.”

Ell shifted slightly, then nodded toward the council tower behind them. “You think she’d be proud of where you ended up?”

“I don’t know,” Lionel admits. “But I think she’d understand why I stayed.”

Ell was quiet for a while. Then she said, “You don’t talk much, Adairn. But when you do, it makes sense why your eyes are always scanning the exits.”

He chuckled, just a little. “I think you just like catching me off guard.”

“You make it fun,” she said, and smiled.

Before he could respond, they both heard the sharp, distinct bell chime from within the council wing. A courier rushed past them, boots slapping the stone floor. He carried a sealed scroll, and disappeared into the inner chamber. Ell and Lionel exchanged a glance. Their lunch was forgotten.

They moved to rejoin the others just as the scroll was being unrolled in Aleesia’s hands. She read it once. Then again, slower. Then she started speaking, and the room hushed.

“Northern Reaches command reports that Ascillian banners have been lowered across their territories. Their forces are retreating - withdrawn entirely, and now boarding ships across the sea, returning to Ascil itself.” Murmurs ripple through the aides and guards. Garen muttered a breathy “I’ll be damned.” Myra, nearby, let out a low whistle.

Aleesia rolled the scroll and passed it to her adjutant. She spoke without ceremony.

“We may be nearing the end of this war. For the first time in a decade, Ascil is stepping off the stage. There may finally be space for peace.” Someone clapped quietly. An ambassador murmured a prayer. One of the guild envoys even smiled.

Ell leant toward Lionel. “That itch still in your gut?” Lionel nodded with a smile on his lips as he responded. “Worse than ever.”

She was about to respond when the north archway exploded.

The world tilted.

Stone fractured, glass rained down like razors. The screams of aides and ambassadors  pierced the council chamber as the blast-wave rolled through. Lionel’s vision blurred with smoke, his ears rang, but he was already moving.

Ten of them, minimum, masked and coordinated. They flooded the breach like water through a broken dam. Two pistol-wielders fired from cover, striking a pair of emissary guards clean through their chests. One in the back channeled magic - glyphs and coiling flame, hands glowing green. The others spread out, blades flashing silver.

“ON THE COUNCILOR!” Lathan bellowed, driving forward with terrifying speed for a man his age. He cleaved the first assassin nearly in two. “LOCK THEM DOWN!”

Lionel moved with him, shoulder-to-shoulder with Myra. She blocked high, he cut low - one assassin screamed as blood sprayed across the table. To their left, Ell intercepted a blade meant for Aleesia. She parried once, twice, before a second attacker drove a pommel into her face. Bone crunched and she fell, blood trailing from her temple.

“ELL!” Lionel snarled, moving to cover her.

A pistol cracked. The shot hit Garen in the upper chest, spinning him into a wall. He didn’t rise. The mage finished casting a spell as a shockwave of force erupted from the center of the room, throwing Lionel and Myra back. He landed hard, armor biting into his ribs.

A blur of motion - one of the assassins was already on him. He rolled, just in time to avoid a killing thrust. Blade scraped metal. He brought his sword up from the ground, slicing across the attacker’s thigh. The man yelped and stumbled back, only to be impaled a heartbeat later by Joric’s glaive as he charged in. “Tighten the line!” Joric roared. “Don’t let them break us!”

But the line was already breaking.

Kellen was dead - shot through the throat. Myra was dueling two at once, barely holding against the onslaught. Joric and Lathan were anchoring opposite ends of the fray. Lionel turned to find Aleesia crouched behind the table, sword in hand, knuckles white.

Then - a dagger buried itself under Lionel’s ribs as an assassin came through the smoke.

He gasped.

Another blade slashed across his forearm as he raised it in defense. He stumbled backward, bleeding badly. Another blow landed - a hard kick to the chest. He fell hard.

The marble was cold to the touch. His side burned. His arm was numb. He tried to rise, but a boot slammed into his chest. He hit the floor again with thud. His vision doubled. The masked attacker knelt and slammed Lionel’s head into the stone. Once. Twice. Three times. Blood flooded his mouth. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just pain and ringing and smoke.

The world tilted sideways, and then black.

He didn’t know how long he was gone. A second? A minute?

He heard metal. Shouting. Blades clashing. He forced one eye open. His sword was gone. Blood coated his stomach, leaking through the gaps in his armor. He felt broken ribs, maybe more. Then - Lathan’s voice broke through the pain, shouting a cry of defiance. Lionel turned his head, barely seeing what was happening.

Lathan was bleeding and limping, weaponless as he threw himself between Aleesia and two assassins. One blade went through his abdomen. The other across his back. Lathan grabbed both attackers by the throat, even as they stabbed him again. Aleesia took the opportunity to shoot a bolt of fire into one of the attackers. The attack hit true and the assassin’s face melted away.

Lionel watched as the last remnants of Lathan’s strength disappeared and his body collapsed. He then turned towards Aleesia, who was alone as the last few assassins approached. Lionel’s vision started darkening again, and as his eyes started closing he heard Gabriel’s voice.

“You endure.”

“You protect.”

“No matter the cost.”

He grit his teeth and willed his body to move. Every nerve screamed. His left leg barely responded as he dragged it. His side bled freely. His right eye was swollen shut. But he picked up a blade from the ground, and he moved.

One assassin turned too slow. Lionel drove the sword into his gut, pushing until it caught bone. He twisted and the man screamed. Lionel yanked the blade free and turned into the next. The second slashed and Lionel took it across the arm - muscle split, but he didn’t stop. He grabbed the attacker’s arm and drove his sword into the ribs under the armpit. Deep enough to punch through armor, flesh and bone. The assassin dropped. The last turned toward Aleesia again, hoping to finish the job. And as he turned, Aleesia buried a dagger into his throat. He gurgled and collapsed.

Silence.

Lionel blinked and swayed. The sword dropped out of his hands. His arms were soaked with blood. He reached a hand down and felt the wound below his ribs - he pulled the hand up and saw it drenched in blood. Then he heard someone shouting. It took him a moment to realize it was Aleesia.

His knees buckled.

He hit the floor. The marble was warm now - his blood spread beneath him. Aleesia grabbed onto him, yelling. Her hands pressed against the wound in his side. He tried to speak. Tried to tell her that she was safe, but no sound came out. The light above him blurred.

Then faded.

Then -

darkness.