It was something that she had desired to do alone, but Vealynn would not leave her side, not let her have that solace she so desired. Perhaps it was better this way. They had climbed on top of a hill leading to a cliffside above the sea early in the morning, followed by four envoys of the Spire, carrying the bodies of Dyandria Firetreader and Rillothan Ashfury. They were placed on wooden beds, adorned with blooms of yellow, pink and white, picked from the woods of Eversong. These were nameless blossoms, beautiful weeds growing by trees and near bushes. The daughter of the two traders could have selected something more exotic, though she knew her parents not to like anything beyond the very simple things growing in their Kingdom. It only perhaps existed to serve as a testament to their lack of aspiration in life, but such were their tastes and Celysiel treated them like their last wish.
The envoys of the Spire eventually placed the wooden beds onto the soft, green grass, towards the edge of the hill. Into the horizon, the sky was painted with rose and peach colours, as if the gentle brush of an artist had been stroked against the white canvas on blue. And from the sea, like a new hope would emerge the sphere of the sun, the herald of a new day. But staring directly into it, the apprentice found herself unable to look. Sensitive and sickly as she had been bored, her eyes could never bear the radiance of sunlight. Now, it reminded her of that awful crystal that sadistic hag had bound Eye them to, showing no mercy for those who deserved it. However, the hatred the girl had for Whitestep was only second to the pain of her parents and matching the one she, till this day, saved for Sherazel.
She could feel Vealynn's hands cover her with her velvet cloak, one that she could no longer feel behind anymore, after accepting such an awful strike. The young elf made no attempt to run from the other's supportive touch. The latest events had made her forget how uncomfortable even the slightest touch made her feel. Celysiel was now in dire need of being held, having someone nearby, lest she would collapse and the whole world would fall apart.
Words were carried with the wind. The people of the Spire spoke of the Sunwell, of loss and courage, of blood and vengeance, strength and the power to rise from the ashes. Of all that it meant to be Sin'dorei. But their words were hollow and carried no true meaning for the only living Ashfury. Blood for the Fallen had a meaning for the first time in her heart, it felt as if she did only hear these words truly and comprehended what they meant. But when spoken by strangers, they were so little. Yet when echoing in her mind, they meant so much more.
There was sorrow. A merciless sting loss and guilt alike. All Celysiel ever did, it was for her parents, to see them proud, happy, rested. For so long, they were away from the Kingdom, oblivious of their daughter's practice and studies of the dark arts, something they feared as much as the one who would now teach her. She would never have the chance to tell them. Like many others, those she loved the most had become pawns to secrets and secrets were not meant to end there. They had become a way of life now. She had known that very well. It was a choice consciously made that dark night, on the abandoned shore. Ever since the previous night, when the Light had shocked her, burnt her, when the awful news came to cling into her mind, the pain would only manifest. And she would only grow weaker as her soul would look for that other part of it, forsaken and locked away, out of reach. They had been bound, after all, a promise had been made.
My agony is yours. Our suffering shared.
So far away, out of reach. She had to find it.
The concealed bodies of her parents and Vealynn's embrace were not lost from her eyes, but there was white noise now, as if her senses were drifting between worlds. She never heard the Spire envoys finish their words, but only hollow, muffled howling as they all four reached fourth to release fire from their palms onto the wooden beds, delivering through flame the Sun its children. It was the last farewell and the pain it inflicted was of the worst kind. Whether the Heart would mock, whisper words of promise, or silence, Celysiel could not know. That other, lost piece of her relinquished its hold over her, for they would soon be together again, sharing in the promised ordeal.
And so, the young elf collapsed onto her knees, barely feeling the other apprentice follow her on the grass. As the sun rose, golden sunlight soft and tender, it found them by two burning pyres that symbolized the end of innocence. Celysiel kept her weeping features into her cupped palms as her mind spoke the last goodbye to her parents' souls, as she promised to herself never to be seen so weak again.
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