Sadness

While the rest of the party had gone to seek out some nearby ancient ruins, Nohran stayed behind for the day. The attempt to remove the Ferven Gauntlet had taken its toll on his body, so he had taken a day for stillness. He did not mind the quiet.

The outer wall of Duskreach cast a long shadow into the field beyond it. Nohran sat there in the grass, back straight, legs folded, the way he had been taught. A strip of dried meat and hard bread rested in his hands, chewing each bite slowly.

He sat, slowly breathing, taking in the surrounding area, and the stillness of evening. The wind slowly moved through the grass around him, drifting on by. As it did, Nohran’s thoughts too drifted. Even with years of training behind him, his thoughts lately had begun to wander, back to the Atriun Bastion. His former home.

The Atriun Bastion had always been a place of quiet, of balance. Its stone halls had been raised with perfect symmetry, wards humming with psionic power - a sound that never quite faded, even in stillness. He remembered the former Stillwarden’s voice correcting his posture. The weight of the title settling on his shoulders.

Nohran found his thoughts wandering further, to the one person who had trained alongside him his entire life. To Serenya.

He remembered how she used to glance sideways during training, correcting his stance with a quiet word or the tap of two fingers against his elbow. The way she smiled when she thought no one was looking. Where Nohran had learned to control his emotions by repressing them entirely, Serenya had mastered hers. She could hide them entirely, or wield them in beautiful displays of discipline. Nohran always admired that about her.

The memories tightened something in his chest, and this time, he did not correct it. He let it take hold.

The loss came in pieces.

The stone corridors now empty, the order broken. The way Serenya stood her ground without hesitation when the end came, to give Nohran a chance.

His throat tightened. His breath faltered.

For a few moments, Nohran simply sat in the grass and felt it. The sadness was heavy and uncontrolled. It was the grief of something taken. His home. His purpose. A person who should have been beside him still.

The wind moved through the field again, cool against his face. Nohran drew in a slow breath, then another. He wiped the single tear making its way down his cheek. He bowed his head slightly and exhaled, and felt the stillness return.

Nohran reached into his bag, and withdrew his journal from it. Its familiar weight felt grounding. He opened it to a new page, writing another entry.

“Day 70
Sadness
Memories of Serenya, of the Atriun Bastion overcame me. I lost control. I should be better. More disciplined. But this time… it did not feel wrong. Still, I must remember my teachings. For the sake of the order.”

He closed the journal and put it back in his pack. The ache in his stomach still had not fully vanished, but it no longer ruled the moment. Nohran remained where he was, back straight, legs folded, breathing as he had been taught. The grass swayed around him. He did not mind the quiet.