Verdant Lux

Viktor knew he was dying and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Still, he continued walking in the hopes that someone—anyone—would find him. He walked for hours, fighting the nausea and lethargy caused by extreme blood loss. The hand plastered to the gaping wound was nothing more than a stopgap, like cupping a waterfall in one’s hands and keeping his insides from spilling across the ground. Had he not been the Elden Knight, death would have embraced him long ago. His mythical constitution had led him this far; perhaps he could lead him just a bit further on.

”Doubtful.” The voice sounded all around him and Viktor stumbled, then fell pinwheeling down a hill in a manner unbefitting a Knight of his order. Normally, such a fall would have been nothing more than an inconvenience. But he was injured, severely, thus felt every. Fucking. Bump.

He came to rest—quite unceremoniously—at the base of a large oak, the thump of his head against the unyielding wood causing stars to explode before his eyes.

“Well,” came that voice again. Familiar in its haughty condescension. “At least you shall not be fried by the sun. It is quite murderous today.”

“Quinn,” he muttered in exasperation. “Enough with the games. Show yourself.”

There was a pregnant pause before an all-encompassing sigh reverberated through his bones and then Quinn appeared.

At first glance, the creature looked every bit like a run-of-the-mill tabby cat. True, it was a sight larger, in both length and thickness, but its gray fur, slashed with black stripes was as ordinary as a cat milling about in a back alley. But there was a curious, almost sardonic repose to the creature’s face was an inconceivable contradiction.

“There is nothing about me,” the creature hissed and flicked its tail in disdain, “one could categorize as ‘ordinary’, thank you very much.”

Viktor pushed down the irritation that always accompanied his interactions with Quinn. Such emotion seemed trivial when one was quite literally bleeding out.

“I’d ask that you refrain from prying into my mind.”

The creature shrugged, licked its paw and began grooming itself. “It is not my fault your mental shields are shite.”

“I apologize, good sir,” Viktor said dryly. “Far be it from me to be worried about such things. Soon enough I’ll have a date with the Fair Lady That Is Death.”

Quinn nodded. “So why does it concern you whether I am, as you so crudely put it, ‘prying’ into your little mind?”

“I’d like to keep a modicum of my dignity in the end, Quinn.”

“Says the man who will shit himself when the end comes. Forgive me if the eons have failed me in understanding your species’ lingual oddities, but I would not call defecating one’s self dignified.”

“And yet,” Viktor growled, “I ask that you stay out.”

“Besides, you are an Elden Knight of the Al-duin Order,” the creature continued as if Viktor hadn’t spoken. “You have been trained to be diligent against mental skullduggery even if rendered unconscious. I fail to see how a trivial flesh wound should interfere with such iron-clad discipline.”

Removing his hand from the wound, Viktor glanced from it to Quinn and back down again. Several times. Quinn stiffened and sniffed imperiously before glancing into the surrounding forest. “Still,” it muttered.

“Quinn…”

“It is not my fault that you tried to parry a Galian thrust.”

“Quinn…”

“I lack the necessary appendages for swordcraft and even I know that much.”

When Viktor said the creature’s name, he infused the pronunciation with a sprinkling of Power and his skin radiated with a dull green light. The result was immediate. Quinn’s feigned disinterest vanished as its hackles rose and an ancient, and dangerous, growl sounded from its throat.

“Careful, Elden Knight,” it warned. “Death may be upon you, but there are far worse things than falling into the Lady’s embrace.”

Viktor said nothing and stared into Quinn’s hauntingly green eyes. It was a dangerous gamble but Viktor had lost all pretense and caution. In seconds the prolonged effects at locking eyes with Quinn surfaced. A metaphysical shiver of glacial cold snaked through Viktor like lightning and something within him—lungs, or heart—began to shrivel. He refused to look away. I’m already dead, he thought wearily as his flesh buzzed with a sensation of exquisite heat.

For reasons Viktor didn’t understand, Quinn dropped its gaze, stretched out its front paws and stretched, opening its mouth impossibly wide and brandishing several rows of sharp, curved teeth. Viktor deflated from the effort and his body reminded him of its current state of dying.

Focusing on his breathing, Viktor watched his uninvited companion groom itself. The sight drew a tired grin from him. Quinn didn’t stop what it was doing but that chuffed voice sounded in Viktor’s mind.

“If you could turn your attention elsewhere,” it said, “I would very much appreciate it.”

Viktor laughed (and regretted it). “You’re ancient beyond measure, can appear anywhere in an instant, are capable of things even I am not privy too, and yet you’re uncomfortable that I’m watching you bathe?”

Quinn responded with a level look and a high-pitched, annoyed whine. Viktor raised a hand in supplication before glancing back up the hill. It wasn’t far and, on any other day, he’d traverse it on his hands as a warmup. Now? He wouldn’t make it ten feet before falling on his face.

“I was there when my father died,” he said after a while. “Fifteen, angry, and confident. Five years into my path towards Knighthood and thought I could handle anything. Mother had them pull me from the training grounds, a rare occurrence, even for such an event. She wanted me to look into his eyes at the end. To understand.”

His chest tightened at the memory but he continued. “I expected to see gaping wounds, sword slashes or something, and his will keeping him alive long enough to name me lord of our House. We’d been warring with House Reymoor for nearly a year and I assumed a skirmish had gone bad.

“I did not expect to see a…thing more skeleton than man to greet me. He’d been…infected. By some rare virulent, a splicing of nature and magik.” He glanced over at Quinn. “His skin hung from his bones, sallow and stinking, like some overlarge suit. One eye had liquified and his tongue lolled from his mouth, purple and swollen, but shapeless and empty.”

“Ahh,” Quinn’s voice sounded. The creature lay on its belly now, front paws tucked away. “Spleilner’s Cant. It creates a black hole of sorts inside the victim, but the soul not the body.”

“Black hole? What is that?”

Quinn told him.

Viktor stared up at the sky, eyes wide in amazement. “There are things of such power?”

Quinn nodded. “And beauty. As for what your father was afflicted with, it pulls in on a vessel’s lifeforce, destroying the outer shell in the process. It is quite effective.”

“And agonizing.”

“Oh, we must not forget that.”

Viktor smiled weakly. “He couldn’t communicate in any meaningful manner and though they believed the affliction wasn’t contagious, the mages erected a barrier between him and the outside world. I watched my father suffer alone, the agony apparent in each pained breath and I was powerless to help him; to tell him it was okay; that we were here. My mother understood my frustration and her words focused me; not just then but through my entire life.”

Behold the frailty that is life, my love. We must all face our mortality, no matter our favor with the Gods. See your father, how he refuses to give in. Strive to be this type of man. A man of honor; one who does not rest on the laurels of birthright, rather indemnifies himself through action. Be true to thine self, my son, and fight to make ours a better world. Like your father before you…

“Were you?” The question shook Viktor from his memories. He looked down at his hand then, bloody and shaking. For three decades he had ventured through the lands, a scythe to the wheat of those who would cause pain and suffering, who sought power for their own gain. Once in Viktor’s sights, that was the end. Some were defiant to the end. Others though…others begged forgiveness, promised to do better. But the die had been cast. And Viktor’s sword felled them all—men and women alike—without hesitation.

“I…I don’t know,” he admitted. “Am I worthy to judge my own actions? That sentence rests with the Gods.” His eyes felt heavy now and he realized his legs had gone numb.

“I’d like to think my path was a righteous one, but I am still human. Fallible. I could have strayed and never have known.” He closed his eyes for a moment and felt the stirring of tears. Could that be true? Could the life he swore to live have been nothing more than a fantasy? Could he have become no better than those he cleansed the world of? Would his ancestors look down at him as he lay dying and scoff in shame at what he had become? The thought of their scorn was unbearable and a pained sob tore from his chest.

The butt of a particularly furry and insistent head against his cheek was an astounding impossibility. Viktor opened his eyes to see Quinn leaning against him, emitting an unpracticed yet sincere purr. The vibrations eased the fiery pit of despair threatening to overwhelm Viktor and he sighed.

“Had I the strength, my friend, I’d pet you.”

“And your death would be a cautionary tale celebrated by the denizens of the Thirteen Hells, Elden Knight. Songs would be sung about it.”

“Fair point, sir.” Viktor’s entire body was numb now but instead of the cold that preceded death, his body was filled with a gentle warmth.

“You never answered my question,” Quinn said, eyes glazed in curiosity. “Do you believe yours was a life well-earned?”

“We can never really say,” Viktor said as his consciousness slipped away. “But I…I think so. I lived the best life I could with as much dignity and honor.”

“And that is all a man can do, Elden Knight.” Viktor’s smiled at that and exhaled. He wanted to say Thank You but the words never came.

Viktor, the Elden Knight, was gone.

Quinn watched, unblinking, as a stuttering green light drifted from the Elden Knight’s husk and exploded in a brilliant pulse, bleeding into the surrounding wild. This place would be Hallowed ground now; the weary that traversed it would be gifted with vigor that would strengthen them for days.

“That was…unexpected,” whispered a haunting voice that silenced the ambient sounds of the forest. Quinn’s gaze remained on the body. And decidedly not because She disturbed him.

“My Lady,” he murmured.

“He is gone.”

“He is gone.”

The figure floated towards Viktor’s body and stopped. “There was still much for him to do, Grimalkin.”

“Aye.” Quinn hesitated. “Though he just bested Cossidan moments before the madman was able to take the Obsidian King mantle.”

“Another unforeseen circumstance.”

“That act alone saved millions.”

Quinn felt Her eyes narrow. “What is your design, Grimalkin?”

“I believe that such a heroic sacrifice is deserving a reward.”

“You were fond of this mortal.”

“He was...entertaining.”

“Perhaps you spent too much time in his wake, Grimalkin.”

Quinn offered a casual shrug, an impressive feat for a creature that was ostensibly feline. “Perhaps.” Silence rained down on them once more until the specter sighed.

“What do you suggest?”

Quinn told the specter, who responded with a scoff in indignation before fading away. “See to it this time he not die prematurely.”

When the forest sounds returned, Quinn studied Viktor’s lifeless corpse and smiled. “I shall see you soon…” it said and started to walk away.

“…old friend…”