i n t r o d u c t i o n
Warnings: Language, references to death
Summary: A month following catastrophe, a retired hero meets an old nobleman who still thinks there's something worth fighting for.
Embers fell from the sky, dangerous, smoldering droplets of titian rain that sparked flames where they made contact with the wood and foliage of the world, in villages and in forests and plains.
Then came rocks, huge rocks, rocks black as coal. They broke weakened roofs and shattered glass and cracked open the skulls of those who failed to take shelter from the fiery storm. They destroyed the simplest of homes and injured a multitude of creatures and people, some beyond repair.
Both the embers and the rocks were a precursor to the greatest natural disaster recorded on the world of Vos. Giant meteors, bold, grand, burning...they fell from the sky, and destroyed entire villages and crushed massive forests. Even the great iron cities of Meso could not totally withstand the awesome and immense power of cosmic rock and astral fire.
Caeron Jax, the people's hero, the savior of the Nine Provinces, the man who ended the long, tyrannical reign of the governments allied in the Pali Pact, could only sit back and watch as everything fell apart in front of him, for a man, no matter how great he was, could not stop the universe from running it's course.
Caeron was never one for drinking. Alcohol just never tasted good to him, and the end result was always disastrous in some way or some form.
He was already a part of the greatest disaster in the history of Vos though, so why the hell not? Drink away, and bring on more disasters. It seemed suiting. It felt right. It chased away, if only temporarily, the massive guilt that weighed down on his broad shoulders.
There was only one bar left in the small -- and now decimated -- village of Trisi, and coincidentally, it was the only building left standing within a ten mile radius. It was made of iron, the same impeccable iron that came from deep within the caves of Holovar, the same iron that made the cities of Meso so tremendously strong.
The roof was caved in, it was true, and the cold gray walls were dented and charred, and most of the food, drinks, and supplies had already been looted, but a bar was a bar. Caeron viewed it as a saving grace in a destroyed and broken land.
As the silver-haired ex-hero poured himself another shot of gin, another man came into the establishment. He was elderly, with a wrinkled face and cloud-white beard that fell all the way down to the top of his stomach. His pale bald head was covered in age spots, and he walked with a hunch. He wore long velvet robes, regal in their entirety, and dyed in the colors of maroon and vibrant purple.
His eyes were what drew the hero in, however. They were beady, dark, and utterly captivating. They possessed a light that had been absent from Caeron's universe over the course of the month. A hopeful light.
The noble gentleman took a seat beside Caeron, his robes hiking up above his swollen red ankles. "The rumors were that the great Defender was a teetotaler."
"That was when he actually needed to be sober," Caeron replied a bit more bitterly than he intended to, but he failed to apologize as he downed another shot of liquor. Sweat trailed down his neck, and caused his plume of silver hair to stick uncomfortably to his dark-colored skin. The gentlemen let out a low 'harrumph', and grabbed the closest bottle of water available, as well as a bag of jerky. Whoever the old barkeeper was, he was kind enough to leave supplies on the counter for people to take freely.
"Not even a hero can stop meteors," the noble pointed out simply as he collected his supplies. "It is the will of space, and space cannot be denied."
"I could have tried to stop it."
"And how would you manage that? By throwing one hand up in the air and yelling 'stop'?" The nobleman's voice was remarkably sarcastic, so much so Caeron actually cracked a small, drunken, mildly surprised smile.
"Maybe," he said, and grabbed the bottle of gin to pour another shot for himself. To his dismay, he had drank all the contents already. The noble passed him some water instead.
"It would not have worked," he replied, cracked lips hiding behind the white mask of his beard, and as Caeron accepted the water grudgingly, he kept his wrinkled old hand out. "A proper introduction is in order. Wen Harley. I'm on the pilgrimage to Opharia, for a new start."
Caeron gave it a firm shake. "Caeron Jax, but I'mma just...presume you knew that."
Wen could smell the alcohol on Caeron's breath, and his long nose scrunched slightly as he realized the Defender was indeed inebriated. "Yes, I know who you are. I came here to talk you out of drinking your life away."
"That's a dumb-ass idea."
Wen straightened himself and squared his shoulders off. Suddenly there was an air of authority about him. "The world's not dead yet, Jax."
"It's on it's way."
"So why are you not trying to stop it?"
Caeron turned to the wall, staring at the iron nails embedded in it as though they were the most interesting things in the world. "You can't stop death."
"Yes, you can."
"How?" Caeron sneered, looking back at Wen and using the old man's words against him. "By putting a hand out and yelling 'stop'?"
"No," Wen conceded, and stood from his seat to continue the inevitable trip to Opharia, the only place left in the province that was possibly inhabitable. "You can, however, assist those who survived make it to the safe-space, and help Opharia to grow back to what it once was. Not everyone has to be buried in the ground or burned to ashes."
The old man turned, food and water now strapped to his belt. "It was an honor to meet you, Defender."
Caeron stared ahead of him as Wen left the bar, then grabbed another bottle of gin.
As captivating as the hope in Wen's eyes was, Caeron knew in his heart there was nothing left worth fighting for.
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