Nephthys stood, feet actually on the ground this time, staring at the carnage. Her mind was in turmoil, though her body was calm. Before her were dozens of skeletons, the bones picked clean, shining alabaster against the mute red glow from the sky.
This outcome was obvious. She had ordered a demon duke to take care of the attackers. What was she expecting to happen? Did she think Horemheb would have taken prisoners? Maybe she thought he would capture them and…what then? Present them for judgment?
Would Nephthys pass judgment on them? Just days ago, she had adamantly declared that Nemesis was not a nation to Ramose, so who was she to pass judgment on anyone? What would she have done, anyway? Would she have imprisoned them? Maybe done the NPC conversion procedure from Prelude and held them prisoner until they decided to join?
That was a game mechanic. Such a process was, in the real world, inhumane. ‘Join or die’ has seldom been a slogan for forces history remembers fondly. So, what would her options have even been? Let them go? Allow them to walk free so they might eventually launch another assault against Nemesis? Or, even worse, let them walk free so that they could enslave other innocents?
There were no good options here, but Nephthys had not even considered them. She had no thoughts about the consequences of ordering dozens of people’s deaths. She had been in guild master mode, and when a rival guild attacked, one must retaliate. That was just how things were in Prelude.
This is not a game.
Nephthys’s head throbbed. Her mind felt swollen, the thoughts slamming around inside her skull. Her impassive body refused to allow any emotions to externalize, and she felt like they were backing up, damaging her internally.
The beginnings of a portal began to manifest next to her, but with a stray thought, she dispelled it. Ramose had been attempting to portal to her location for several minutes, and she had shut him down each time.
These people died because of her, because of her orders. She might as well have held the ax herself. No, what she did was even worse, cowardly. She ordered someone else to kill them, even if she did not realize that was what she was doing at the time.
Pop!
She felt a sudden snap in her head, as if a small pressure valve had been released. The pressure reduced as tears ran down her cheeks, falling to the parched ground, which drank them greedily.
She had killed these people, without even the decency to look at them while she did it.
Nephthys collapsed to the ground, sitting on her knees before a skull. She picked it up, staring into its empty sockets. Who was this? Who had she slain? She felt obligated to remember them, but she never knew them to begin with. How could she remember them? How could she atone?
“My lady,” Ramose said quietly, standing a few feet behind her. He had flown all the way from the guild after his third portal was rejected. “If Horemheb failed to carry out your orders satisfactorily, please allow me to correct him.”
“No. He carried them out as instructed,” Nephthys whispered. “That is the problem.”
Ramose mulled her response over in silence, and Nephthys continued to stare at the skull, imagining what the person might have looked like. Was this a mother? A father? A brother or sister? Did this person have family somewhere out there, waiting for their return?
“My lady, it pains me to see you waste tears on such fiends. We both saw the condition of the slaves, yes? We both know what—” Ramose started.
“Stop,” Nephthys commanded, her voice loud, echoing out across the Crater. An ember of anger burned in her gut, but she snuffed it out quickly with a long exhale. Lashing out at Ramose would not solve anything, would not bring the dead back. It would not even make her feel better.
Ha, ‘make me feel better,’ as if I am the victim, here.
“I do not need you to rationalize on my behalf, Ramose, though I thank you for the thought. I firmly believe that every death is a tragedy, regardless of circumstance. It is I who brought this tragedy, and it is I who must dwell in it. It is the very least they are owed,” Nephthys said, her voice back to a whisper.
Ramose stood straight, mouth open as if to respond, but he closed it. He stood behind her, a silent sentinel as she stared down at the remains. Eventually, she stood.
“If you wish to help, I would appreciate it if you brought me a shovel,” Nephthys said suddenly, still staring down at the skeletons before her.
“A…shovel, my lady? Whatever for?” he asked, perplexed.
She turned around to look him in the eyes.
“I am going to bury them,” she said, tears gone, voice firm.
He nodded, a portal opening and swallowing him whole.
It is the least they are owed.
————————————————————
Akhenaten rose from the burbling red liquid as if floating, his blindfolded face pensive.
“Mistress, welcome. It has been some time since we spoke. Congratulations on your recent victory,” he greeted.
Nephthys stared, her face impassive.
“I see,” he said, nodding. “It is for this reason you have come, yes? You wish to use the whispers in the Altar to silence the whispers in your mind?”
“Are you accusing me of escapism?” she replied dryly.
“I am neither accusing nor judging you, mistress. The mind has many coping mechanisms, none more or less valid than the others. The Altar is here for use whenever you please,” he said, motioning below.
Nephthys strode forward, standing before the steps and staring into the swirling red depths. The strange liquid flowed in shades of red and black, mixing and repelling. Its motion reminded her of hot oil, how it seemed to flow too fast for its viscosity, and how wrong it felt.
“For what it is worth, my personal opinion is that death should never be easy. However, if you press me into a corner, where my only choices are your life or mine…well, that is not really a choice, so while it is not easy, I am also not wholly responsible for the circumstances forced upon me,” Akhenaten said.
“A comforting thought,” Nephthys replied, looking up into his covered eyes. “If a small rodent attempted to scratch the hem of your trousers, would you say that your life was on the line? Is eradicating the rodent that could never harm you, no matter how hard it tried, justified self-defense?”
“Is it me you are asking, mistress?” Akhenaten responded.
The two stared at each other for a few moments, a pointed silence passing between them. Nephthys looked back toward the pool, wading in as the fluid rushed around her. With a glance, she confirmed that Akhenaten was gone, likely back into the fluid, though his ability to vanish without her notice was distressing.
The Altar wrapped around Nephthys’s head, her body fully submerged, and whispers began to pelt her ears, like the pitter-patter of rain. One particular set of voices immediately drew her attention, for she recognized them.
————————————————————
“Effectively nothing, then. Nothing concrete, at least,” the king declared.
“Apologies, father. Information from Ashreach is simply difficult to come by, not only due to the great distance, but the sea routes have become treacherous of late,” Rodward said.
Redra nodded. She had heard similar tidings. Increased piracy in the Argent Sea led to the Sardvend Strait being locked down. The kingdom allowed only pre-screened traffic through. This was problematic for many reasons, not the least of which was that news spread slowly.
They relied almost exclusively on intel from embedded kingdom agents and informants, having very little gossip from traveling merchants and the like.
“Nemesis is a guild that arose during the tumult caused by the collapse of the expeditionary forces,” her father summarized, counting off on his fingers. “Last anyone heard or saw, it was based in the center of the Crater, which is inhospitable and unbelievably dangerous.
“No one has heard from or seen any Nemesis members in generations, and many only know the name as a legend. The guild was, apparently, quite competent when they were in operation, the sole force to not only occupy the Crater, but thrive in it.
“The Crater lies north of an area called the Fungloam, where the air is poison and friends become enemies. Few venture in, and fewer return.
“In between the two regions is the Scoured Peaks, a mountain range where descendants of the expedition have devolved into scattered tribes and clans, barely eeking out an existence in the very narrow band of habitable terrain within the center of the Peaks.
“The few survivors who have left the Peaks and made it through the Gloam tell stories of horrors and atrocities committed by and to the clans and tribes within the mountains. They are in constant conflict, and the threat they pose is no less than any other natural danger in Ashreach.
“To distill it all down, we know very little, and acquiring more information will be…difficult,” he finished.
“Father, please allow me to take the reins on this issue. I have contacts in Promise City that, I believe, could handle things if they had official support from the crown,” Vitrimis declared confidently.
Redra narrowed her eyes, studying her brother. Vitrimis had ‘contacts’? Since when? Who?
“Very well, Prince Vitrimis. Prince Rodward has been heading this effort, so coordinate with him,” the king said, waving his hand dismissively.
It seemed he had already written the affair off as a lost cause. It was hard to blame him, considering how far away it all seemed. Ashreach was across the sea. It was a different continent entirely.
“Is no one going to say what we are all thinking?” Redra asked.
Normally, she would never be so brazen, but this was a closed meeting with only her immediate family and the chancellor, whom she had known since childhood, in attendance. She could dispense with a few of the more trivial formalities.
“Yes, sister. Obviously, we all suspect Nemesis to have been founded by the Hero,” Vitrimis said with an exaggerated sigh. “However, rulers cannot make decisions based solely on supposition. I do not blame you for your lack of experience, having just come of age, but as you said, we are all thinking the same thing. That none have said it thus far should give you pause, not embolden you.”
He gave her a weasly smile that no one could mistake for ‘kind’ or ‘indulgent’. They stared at each other, and though her father said something, Redra could only hear the sparks that flew as their gazes clashed.
Vitrimis was up to something.
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