Cliff

  “The Baron has replied to my letter. I am to meet with him in Hilfen in three days. Stonefather be with me, for I fear I am making a mistake.” - Writings of the Sword Saint, 2154 Post-Separation (PS).

  Cliff washed himself in the pond on Ophelia’s orders.

  At first, he was hesitant to undress before her, as it did not feel like the proper thing to do. Yet, when it became apparent that she cared neither for his nudity nor his chagrin, he rid himself of his inhibitions and bathed in the waters, letting it wash him clean of the dirt and grime accumulated in the Depths.

  A pleasant breeze drifted through the glade, carrying gentle whispers wrought in leaves and birdsong. Despite the thick canopy above blocking out the sun, the temperature was nice and warm, and Cliff found that he was quickly growing fond of this place.

  Once he was finished with his bath, he found Ophelia waiting for him by the waterside, holding the half-eaten sandwich he had seen in the basket earlier.

  “Here,” she said, offering it to him. “Eat the rest of this. It’s good, I promise!”

  “Uhh…” Cliff said, looking down at his nude body, faded battle-scars glistening with drops of water. “Can I get dressed first?”

  “Sure, but your clothes will get wet if you do. Much better to let the wind dry you first.”

  “… Okay then,” he said, accepting the sandwich with a grateful nod. It irked him how quickly he was getting used to her particular brand of insanity. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome!” she smiled, before bouncing off towards some nearby bushes, arms swinging loosely at her sides.

  “She is quite something, is she not?” Nathaniel said, having witnessed their exchange from his seat atop the boulder.

  “She’s crazy,” Cliff remarked drily, before biting into the sandwich. At once, the taste of cheese and dried meat filled his mouth.

  “Maybe so,” Nathaniel shrugged. “Or maybe she simply appears as such to us, limited as our scope of understanding is.”

  “I don’t care for your philosophical musings right now,” Cliff said in-between bites. “Let me eat my sandwich in peace.”

  “By all means,” Nathaniel nodded.

  Cliff finished the rest of his meal in silence, enjoying it more than he thought he would. Then, he put on his blood-stained clothes once more, and went to sit, battling a sudden wave of exhaustion.

  “You look tired,” Nathaniel said, hopping down from the boulder to join him on the grass. “The Curseblade must have stolen more of your strength than I thought.”

  “Yeah, well…” Cliff said. “Like you said, she’s no kind mistress.”

  “Ahh… Unlike the one waiting for you back in Carthal?” Nathaniel smiled.

  At once, Cliff felt the hairs on his neck rise.

  “You know about her?”

  “Of course I do,” Nathaniel said. “She is a charming woman. Catherine Grace Valtier, Director of the Intelligence Office. You certainly know how to pick them.”

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?” Cliff frowned.

  “A compliment,” Nathaniel said. “I do not make light of such matters.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  "What about you?" Cliff said, against his better judgement. "Have you never been in love before?"

  "Oh, I have loved both fiercely and deeply," Nathaniel said, his tone growing pensive and wistful. "But only once. A long time ago."

  "What happened?" Cliff asked despite himself. He knew he should yet be wary of his old friend's tricks and chicanery, but this was a topic they had never really discussed before, not even during their time together as students of Godwyn. As such, his curiosity had been well and truly piqued.

  "Oh, it is not a particularly good story, I assure you," Nathaniel said. "It is, perhaps, the oldest and most commonplace of stories. A story of young, unrequited love."

  "Unrequited?" Cliff said.

  "Well, perhaps not entirely," Nathaniel said, casting his eyes toward the heavens. The smile on his face yet lingered, though it had now taken on a decidedly melancholic note. "Her name was Marielle. She hailed from a small village near Asius' Landing, a quaint little place of mellow nature and sociable peoples. We met at a roadside inn near Pardanien Falls, where we both found ourselves seeking shelter from a sudden rainfall. We bonded over shared drinks and good food, and I was at once captivated by her charm and grace. She had eyes like sapphires and a laugh that could brighten the darkest of days.”

  Cliff leaned backwards to rest on the grass. "You never told me about her.”

  “Oh, this all transpired some years after we took our Mastery Exams,” Nathaniel waved. “And, as you are already aware, our relationship has been somewhat rocky since then. Not much room for friendly heart-to-hearts when we are constantly at each other’s throats.”

  Cliff gave a noncommittal grunt in response, willing to concede the point. Just in the past few years alone, they had clashed on three separate occasions. Each and every time, Cliff had attempted to restrain Nathaniel. Just as many times, Nathaniel had eluded capture.

  “Either way, after enjoying a pleasant evening together at the inn, the two of us came to the mutual conclusion that we should travel together towards Carthal, as we were both headed in that direction,” Nathaniel continued. “And thus, the following morning, did we set off. Two individuals of drastically different make and circumstance, united in destination and… well, little else.”

  “Naturally, it took me all of three days to fall in love with her. For Marielle was unlike any other I had known. She was a gentle soul, with a kindness that touched everyone around her. She was also an excellent painter, and a lover of all things artistic, from the written word to musical theater. Together, we spent those halcyon days on the road talking about everything there is to talk about; our dreams, our fears, our worries for the future. By the time we finally made it to Carthal, we found that we were both quite unable to say goodbye to the other, and so we decided to prolong our partnership, pointless though it seemed.”

  “With the power of hindsight, I have since realized that this so-called partnership of ours was simply a poor excuse to maintain a budding friendship, one that would soon blossom into something more. But at that point in my life, I was still a young lad, with little in the way of romantic experience, and so I was blind to this reality.”

  “So, what…” Cliff frowned. “You settled down together? In Carthal?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes,” Nathaniel said. “Though we boarded at the same inn, we did not share rooms, as our relationship at the time had not yet progressed to that point. But we spent each and every afternoon in each other’s company, once we were done with our respective duties for the day. I was accepted into the City Watch as a guardsman on the basis of my swordsmanship, and she found employment as a midwife, for unbeknownst to me, she had received education in the practice by her mother, who had in turn been taught by her mother, and so on.”

  “The pay was not great, but it mattered little, for we had each other. We were employed, had a roof over our heads, and Marielle was even afforded the opportunity to pursue her artistic aspirations in her spare time, occasionally selling a painting or two on those days she had them displayed by the side of the road. It was a simple life indeed, bereft of much in the way of extravagance, but again… it was enough.”

  He took a break from his story then, using it to stretch his back and trap a loose hanging lock of white hair behind his ear. Cliff took the opportunity to ponder at the depth of the man’s emotions, expressed with an earnestness he had not often seen from him. There was a shimmer to his gaze, a nostalgia that seemed to pull him back to those distant days. Cliff sensed there was more to this tale than Nathaniel had shared, a hidden layer waiting to be uncovered.

  “Did you ever confess your feelings to her?” Cliff prodded gently, once the silence had stretched on for long enough.

  Nathaniel’s expression shifted, a mixture of sadness and regret clouding his features.

  “I did, in my own clumsy way. We were sitting by the fountain one evening, eating supper, rainbow stars twinkling above us. The thought of confessing had burned strongly within me for some time at that point, and so I tried at last to tell her how I felt. But I stumbled on the words, and she laughed, thinking I was teasing her. When she realized I was being serious, she grew at once thoughtful and silent. Reserved, almost. And then, she told me to kiss her, but not out of love. Out of curiosity.”

  “Curiosity?” Cliff asked.

  “Yes,” Nathaniel said. “I suspect she wanted to confirm something. Something I should have seen for myself, truth be told.”

  “Ah,” Cliff said, guessing at the answer. “She wanted to know if the kiss would trigger something within her, didn’t she? Make certain the feelings she had for you, whether romantic in nature or not.”

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  “Precisely,” Nathaniel said. “And so, we kissed, and it was everything I had hoped it would be... but not for her. I could tell as soon as we separated. The disappointment in her eyes, the quivering of her lips… She loved me, but not in the way I loved her. Not in the way a wife loves her husband.”

  A profound sadness seemed to settle over Nathaniel then, his face cast in shades of regret. Though he spoke of it with certainty, there was no hiding the weight of the moment. The memory alone seemed to pain him greatly.

  “From that point on, our relationship shifted,” he said. “Though we yet spent much time in each other’s company, an unspoken rift had begun to form between us, a crack in the foundation we had built. Her smiles grew distant, carrying doubts and misgivings that I could not ignore. We tried to pretend as if nothing had changed, but deep down, we both knew where the road was leading us.”

  “And then… it happened. The thing I feared most, yet knew would transpire, given enough time. Marielle met another man. A traveling doctor from the village of Maris, come to Carthal to establish his own practice. The two of them had met at the market, when the man had spotted one of Marielle’s paintings that were on display, and approached her to inquire as to its price and origin. And much as with the two of us, there had been instant chemistry between them.”

  A resigned sigh went up from Cliff at the words. He could tell now where this story was headed.

  “Naturally, she found this man awfully interesting, as he represented something new and different to what she was used to. She talked to me about him at length, conversations which only grew more and more impassioned with time. It was clear to me from the first that she was falling in love with him, yet I remained powerless to change this. Every word from her lips was like a knife to my chest, yet I took them willingly, for that was how deeply I loved her.”

  He stopped for just a moment to catch his breath, and perhaps even his composure. The somber mood seemed at once both tense and all-encompassing.

  “In the end, though, there was a limit to my resilience,” he finished. “There is only so much suffering a man can take before his mind starts to unravel, and thus, the following summer, did I make the decision to leave Carthal for good. It came as an awful shock to her, as I am certain you can imagine, but I did my best to placate her with promises of letters and frequent visits. In my heart of hearts, however… I knew the words to be hollow.”

  Cliff gave a slow nod, having predicted the outcome of the tale. “Did you ever see her again?” he asked. That was the only thing yet unclear to him.

  “Not after I left, no,” Nathaniel said. “The last time I ever laid eyes on Marielle, she was standing outside the gargantuan gates of Carthal, teary-eyed and with a smile upon her lips. It was around sunset, and her features were lit in the brilliant orange of a dying day. There, we said our goodbyes, and she assured me that I would always have a place in her home, should I ever happen to be in the area. Then, we hugged one last time, and I left.”

  He spoke the last word with harsh finality, as if reaffirming its weight and import. It carried far in the silence that followed.

  “That is a terrible story indeed,” Cliff said at last, still with his eyes on the clouds. “The ending is so unsatisfying. No closure. No happily ever after.”

  “Well, I did warn you,” Nathaniel said with a shrug. “Unlike the stories we find in great literature and dramatic stage-plays, real life tends to lack tidy resolutions. We are never guaranteed a happy ending, no matter how badly we may strive for it. I loved Marielle more than I have ever loved anyone else, yet our relationship eventually came to naught, for that was what destiny had in mind for us.”

  Cliff frowned. He had always disliked the notion of destiny and fate. That some things were simply preordained, bound to happen no matter the struggles of the ones afflicted. It was much too restrictive a view for his tastes.

  “So you’re telling me it was pointless, then?” Cliff said. “Your relationship with Marielle. It had no meaning, for it was always destined to end?”

  “Oh, heavens no,” Nathaniel grimaced. “I would never dare make such a preposterous claim. For you see, love itself is never wasted. It is the paradox we must navigate all our lives, acting as both the source of our greatest anguish and our greatest joy. And I pity those who never get to feel both its electrifying highs and devastating lows, for to be robbed of such experience is to be robbed of life itself.”

  Cliff took a moment to think upon this, keeping silent as he pondered. Was that the answer, then? That to love someone was never a waste, for even if those feelings were to be rejected, you would have gained precious experience in the process?

  “Even though I never got to love Marielle in the way I wanted to, I am still left with an abundance of happy memories,” Nathaniel continued. “Memories of long nights spent in each other’s company, of shared laughter and warm smiles. Of the way I felt when she hugged me, and the way her presence would chase away foul moods and dark thoughts. This, life can never take from me. This, I shall carry for the remainder of my days.”

  … It was a placating thought, Cliff supposed. That no matter the outcome, the journey itself offered purpose and a lived experience of something meaningful and profound. Yet, he found himself feeling sorry for Nathaniel all the same, for the love lost and the friendship shattered.

  “Do you ever regret leaving?” he asked quietly.

  Nathaniel paused, his gaze growing distant as he ruminated upon the question. “Regret is a complicated emotion,” he said after a while. “There are moments when I wish I had stayed, moments when I wish I had fought harder or perhaps even surrendered to the inevitable and accepted a different kind of love with Marielle. But regretting the past serves no purpose. It is what we do with our experiences, how we grow from them, that truly matters.”

  “Hm,” Cliff said. “And did she ever try to reach out to you, after you left Carthal?”

  “She did,” Nathaniel nodded. “We traded a few letters over the years. Amongst other things, she invited me to her wedding, as a guest of honor. I thought long and hard about attending, but ultimately decided not to. I did not wish that kind of pain upon myself. To witness the woman I loved sharing vows with another man… That, I fear, would have ruined me.”

  “... I see,” Cliff said. It felt like a poignant enough reply. He could think of little else to say on the matter.

  The lull in conversation was ultimately brief, however, as Ophelia had grown tired of playing by herself, and was now skipping over to them, blonde hair bobbing with the weight of her steps.

  “Hello there,” she said as she came to a halt before Cliff, green eyes alight with mirth. “You two seem a little sad. What happened?”

  “Nothing much,” Nathaniel said, dispelling the lugubrious mood with a wave of his hand. “Just reminiscing a bit, is all. I so rarely get the chance to speak with my friend these days.”

  “Is that what we are?” Cliff said drily. “Friends?”

  “Oh, Cliff! How you wound me!” Nathaniel said with theatrical fervor. “I have just opened my heart to you, and this is how you respond? Truly, there is no limit to your cruelty!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Cliff said, rolling his eyes. “My deepest apologies. I suppose we can be friends, even as I hunt you for your crimes.”

  “Crimes?” Ophelia said, cocking her head. “What crimes?”

  “Cliff here thinks us guilty of much evil as a result of our affiliation with the Archon,” Nathaniel smiled. “He still believes the Archon to be some kind of petty criminal, intent on wreaking havoc upon the innocent people of Alwaar.”

  “Oh!” Ophelia giggled. “That’s funny.”

  “I fail to see the humor,” Cliff said, raising an eyebrow.

  “You fail to see much of anything,” Ophelia said. “Especially if you think the Archon is evil.”

  “Alas, I have already tried to explain this to him in the past,” Nathaniel shrugged. “But he refuses to listen. At this point, I fear he shall not see clearly before he meets with the man himself.”

  “Wait… You’d give me an audience with the Archon?” Cliff asked. “Even knowing what I think of him and his little cult?”

  “But of course,” Nathaniel said. “In fact, I think it is quite imperative that you do meet with him. But first, there is something else you must do.”

  “Oh, right!” Ophelia said, snapping her fingers. “That thing! Yes, that is very important!”

  “What thing?” Cliff said, furrowing his brows.

  “You must go to Mistweave Forest, and find Amelie Harthway,” Nathaniel said with a nod. “And you must do so quickly, for time is running out.”

  Cliff felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. Yet again, someone spoke to him of Amelie. Yet again, her name was mentioned. Why did she keep popping up in all of his conversations?

  “And why must I do that?” Cliff asked, eyes narrow.

  “Because of the man she keeps in her company,” Nathaniel explained. “The interloper. The bearer of the Empyrean Sigil.”

  A prolonged silence followed in the wake of this revelation.

  “So… you know, then,” Cliff said with no small amount of resignation.

  “We do indeed,” Nathaniel said. “And we know more besides. But that is not important right now. What truly matters is that you make your way to Mistweave Forest, and aid the Flame Princess and the Bearer in their quest.”

  “Quest?” Cliff scoffed. “You speak as if they are beholden to some greater purpose.”

  “Oh, but they are,” Nathaniel said, eyes alight with the spirit of cunning. “And so are you. You simply do not see it yet.”

  “...”

  “You should do as he says,” Ophelia added, a thoughtful finger poised beneath her lips. “If not, you’ll maybe… probably… die. I think. It’s difficult to say, really. I’ve only tasted you twice.”

  “What?” Cliff frowned.

  “Ahh…” Nathaniel said. “Do not worry your mind with it. Ophelia speaks out of line. I have told her a great many times about the futility of predicting a man's death. Such estimations are typically ambiguous at best, and misleading at worst.”

  Cliff was quickly losing track of the conversation. In fact, his confusion only seemed to deepen with every word they spoke. And so, he focused on the one thing he did understand.

  “So you want me to head to Mistweave Forest on some obscene whim given to you by your master, the Archon, whom I do not trust in the slightest?” he asked.

  “... Yes,” Nathaniel said, after giving the statement some consideration. “That sounds about right.”

  “Then you also realize what my answer is going to be, yes?” Cliff continued.

  “You are going to say no,” Nathaniel nodded. “And it will be the worst mistake of your life. I mean that sincerely.”

  “If you do not go to Mistweave, then there is a chance we will lose both the Flame Princess and the Bearer to madness,” Ophelia said, following a stray butterfly that just so happened to drift past with her eyes. Her whole demeanor seemed completely at odds with the serious nature of the topics being discussed. “And that would be bad for everyone. You included.”

  “Why should I trust a thing you say?” Cliff scoffed. “You are my enemy. It’s only natural that you should attempt to trick me.”

  “There are no tricks, Cliff,” Nathaniel sighed. “The villains you think are chasing you are naught but shadows. We do not wish harm upon you. We only seek to help.”

  “Oh, help, is it?” Cliff said, his anger rising. “Is that what you’ve been doing? Were you helping in Abengarde, when you told the Mountainborne Empress of my intentions? Were you helping in Borger, when you let that innocent kid lose his parents over a half-baked promise?”

  “Yes,” Nathaniel said, without hesitation. “I was. Even if you cannot see it.”

  “This world is dying,” Ophelia interjected, speaking now in a serious tone of voice. The shift in disposition happened so suddenly, it was enough to quell Cliff’s ire, if only for a moment. “Its creator lies broken and shattered at the World Crucible, his power stolen by thieves thinking themselves wise. False gods bicker and fight upon its carcass, hellbent on assuming control over its fate. Yet what point is there in being lord of the ashes?”

  She took a firm step towards Cliff, pushing her finger against his chest. Her eyes found his, a relentless stare filled with conviction.

  “You see but a tiny sliver of a larger whole. You are blind, fumbling about in the darkness. I offer you light.”

  Cliff sensed it then. The truth behind her words. The beckoning of terrible purpose.

  Although he could not remember much from his fight with the Nymphora - lost to bloodrage as he had been - there was one thing that yet lingered in his mind. The creature’s final words, spoken on a wet, gurgling breath, as the life drained from its veins.

  F-Forest, it had said. Mistmother… takes them both.

  “This life is cruel, Cliff,” Nathaniel said, shaking his head. “It takes so much, and gives so little. Yet, we must fight to preserve what little there is.”

  “Go to Mistweave,” Ophelia said. “Find the Bearer.”

  A harsh sneer forced its way onto his lips. He had spent so much time trying to carve a life for himself amidst the misery and torment. So many years chasing forgotten shadows and hopeless dreams. And now, when he had finally achieved some measure of happiness, the world seemed intent on taking it from him yet again.

  He would not stand for it.

  “Fine,” he spat, feeling his jaw tighten and his nostrils flare. “Stonefather take you both.”

  The widening smile on Nathaniel’s face only served to deepen his anger.

  “I’ll go to Mistweave. I’ll find the Bearer. And I’ll talk some goddamn sense into Amelie.”

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