Chapter 490 Flights of Hearts (1/2)
CHAPTER 490
FLIGHTS OF HEARTS
Hannah oversaw the retreat of the regrouped army from a balcony of a brick-cast tower perched on top of a cliff overlooking the open valley that lay in front of her. In the distance, she could still see the smoke billowing out into the sky, the western wind carrying with it the scent of what once was. A somber expression rested on her face, her emerald-green eyes trailing along with the army's movement.
She sighed audibly, shaking her head. For the first time, perhaps, she could understand Lino -- why he always fell silent when returning from a battle he led where people died. Had she been cleverer today, she could have avoided many deaths. Perhaps, after the enemy's commander saw she read him, they might have withdrawn their forces, avoiding the escalation of the conflict completely. She didn't, however. It fell on top of her, invisible, the weight of the fallen.
With a last glance, she spun around and began descending the tower. The spiral stairwell was lit with embedded gemstones shining a faintly cool, cyan light. It has been a long time since she fought, many years since she'd last donned the mantle of the Elysian. Though she never admitted it to anyone, she missed it.
In a way, with the creation of Empyrion, she was relegated to being the Empress -- tasked with the dull and boring paperwork, with conferences held to make smooth transitions, with discerning which option was better. She didn't mind it much at first, but as the years passed, she had grown more and more hateful of the inaction. Even with constant sparring and training, the itch in her never seemed to be properly scratched.
The exit to the tower set her out into a fortified courtyard, tall walls laid out into a crescent curve, from one edge of the cliff to the other. It lacked the luster and polish she had grown accustomed to back home... yet she found herself eerily drawn to it. On the left side of the tower, a stretch of shacks arose where the guards slept and where the scouts transferred through. On the right side were a massive cauldron and an even greater firepit beneath it, tasked with making meals for everyone. The world beneath her was of dirt, dust, and mud, wild weed growing relentlessly by the edges of the walls, vines sprouting out through the cracks.
She, draped in the adorned, golden dress with crimson threads and intricate folds felt surreally out of place. She seemed like a fine sculpture plastered onto the farmer's field, a fancy distraction but nothing more. It made her feel empty, restless. Even in the eyes of the people around, she felt it; they avoided her gaze, looked around, lowered their heads, jittering when she would walk by. She, now, also understood why Lino avoided meeting people, why he dreaded walking among them; he didn't want to recognize this reality.
It was childish to believe things wouldn't change, she knew. More than people, the two of them were symbols -- something larger than life, something ordinary people like those stoking the flames of the firepit didn't wish to understand. Or, rather, didn't feel worthy of understanding. She walked over, slowly, not caring that the tips of her dress trekked across the mud and throwaway branches, splintering. The closer she approached the massive cauldron, the more she could feel its heat, the more pervasive the scent of the cooked soup became. And the stiffer the people became.
By the time she stood right near it, she couldn't hear any other sound beyond the boiling water and the crackling of the fire. People seemed to have stiffened their breaths, froze their bodies in place, afraid they might set her off. Reminiscing, she realized it was partially her fault; since Lino never embodied the throne, largely ignoring his position, she had to take the reins of the crown. Become the judge of everything -- especially early on. That image must have stuck and spread. She hardly regretted it, or blamed Lino for it, but wished nonetheless she could go back in time and make some changes. Perhaps be less curt, less direct, more welcoming. Alas, the time for regrets was not today.
”At ease,” she mumbled lowly, though it hardly helped. ”What are you cooking?” she turned toward the four women who were using steel ladders to reach the top of the cauldron, throwing ingredients into it.
”I-it's... it's potato soup, Your Majesty.” one of the women replied in a low tone, barely audible, nearly falling off the ladder.
”Do you mind pouring me a bowl?” Hannah asked.
”A-ah, Y-your Majesty... Y-your meal... is already prepared...”
”...” Hannah stayed the gaze for a moment, her heart wringing inside her chest. ”Very well.” she said, swallowing the bitter complaint. ”Good work. Keep at it.”
”Y-yes, Your Majesty.” the people about bowed, not raising their heads until she was out of their view.
She retreated to her room, built into the tower itself. Unlike those shacks, floorless, beds made out of simple wood and straw, lacking any decoration, hers was not much different than the one in the palace -- wide and squared, spacious enough to engage in a proper duel, adorned with works of art hanging on the smoothed, painted walls, beautiful, hand-sewn rugs decorating the tiled floor beneath... the life billions would kill for... seemed all-too-dull to her now.
She walked over to the balcony, a somewhat narrow extraction, fortified with hundreds of arrays. Sitting down, she took out a bottle of ale, not the expensive kind she was gifted on daily basis, but the old sort, the one that Lino and she used to drink when it was just the two of them. A part of her really did wish to return to those days, to when the two of them traveled through the Titan Realms, irreverent to the rest of the world. She knew it was impossible, however. The two had mantled the responsibility consciously. Nobody threw it at them, forced them into it.
The ale tasted bitter, causing her stomach to rumble in protest. She didn't care, a faint smile escaping her lips. Thanks to the arrays surrounding the balcony, she was doused in stilled silence. Just the sounds of her gulping and the rumbles of her stomach broke out. Eerie. Peaceful. Rewarding.
Glancing sideways, she managed to spot the sun breaking out, golden rays showering the world down below. It was yet to recover its luster completely, though it wouldn't be too long. She found it rather strange how, with all the stories she'd read, it would always rain insistently after a battle, as though the heavens were crying. Yet, there was the sun, shining ever so bright, not a droplet of rain to be found falling.
She started all of a sudden, feeling the talisman brimming in her void world. Taking it out quickly, her expression mellowed as she burned it. Rather than a screen forming from the ashened and smoldering pieces, space next to her tore open as a figure wearing ordinary clothing, one that would make him seem the part of the fortification, walked through. Amazingly, he hadn't changed much, Hannah realized. Not in the way he thought, not in the way he behaved, not in the way he spoke. He hadn't allowed the world to change him, for better or worse.
”My, my,” he said, grinning, as he sat down opposite of her. ”You look sour. Almost as much as that old ale you're drinking.”
”Fancy a cup?” she asked, smiling back.