Fury

The Hall of Mernda.

Compared to the ramshackle village, whoever had constructed that grand space had clearly done so with reverent intentions. As one stepped beyond its decorated antechamber into the choked, candlelit dusk of the main hall, a sense of history could be interpreted from the bruised floorboards. Pale had known silence--for all her life, she had known it, but somehow, within that hall, there was a quietus that overwhelmed her, as if left alone with her thoughts for the first time. Elder Gelda, who seemed completely unaware of her appearance, rarely left its confines. It was a wonder how he had heard the commotion when she had first appeared in the village.

"Pale." Drawing from his pipe, the old man didn't raise his head as the girl approached and sat cross-legged before him, "How are you feeling?"

"No better than yesterday, or the day before that." She answered, "The wife of that villager I killed came up to me with a knife and said she wanted to kill me."

"Sil. Good to hear she's up and about." He muttered, "Did you kill her?"

"No. She couldn't do it, so I left."

"Would you have killed her?" The Elder asked, "Had she leapt at you like a beast, would you have still resisted, even knowing she was pregnant?"

"Is there a correct answer to this question?"

"Would your answer be affected if I told you there was?"

"...No." She replied, "I would have."

"From what you have learned of Senpo, I'm sure it's become obvious that anger is quite an important part of it." He continued, "-But with that said, not everyone is able to exploit its secrets. If anger can be felt by all the creatures of this world, then why is it that Senpo can only be practised by a chosen few?"

"Are you trying to suggest that my anger isn't the 'correct' kind?"

"You seek vengeance. That much I know. But Sil also sought vengeance against you, and yet her anger invited nothing but sorrow. Unable to act against her husband's killer, it's likely that you have introduced her to an unending world of despair. Her thoughts will forever be plagued by a muted desire to see you dead, if only to avenge her husband. Would you say, then, that a desire for 'vengeance' creates strength, or destroys it?"

"She wanted to make her grief disappear." Pale answered, "Trapped within her own mind, that girl couldn't help but think that if I was killed, the tragedy of her husband's death wouldn't weigh on her heart anymore. But any reasonable person knows that wouldn't be the case. Even the others who tried to back her up knew that, but they didn't have the courage to tell her that killing me wouldn't be worth it."

"I suppose you imagine that your own revenge will be more gratifying, then?"

"I'm not looking for revenge." She corrected, "My people are gone--killed by an enemy they didn't have a chance of fighting back against. I don't want to avenge them. I just want to see Demons dead. I don't ever want to feel as powerless as I did on that day ever again."

"So your anger is like that of a child's tantrum, rather than something noble?"

"A child weeps because it feels misunderstood, or needful. Their minds interpret the smallest inconveniences of the world--hunger, thirst, unhappiness, boredom, as pains worse than they've ever felt before. Of course they would cry. But as children grow, their minds become more resilient. As they mature into adults, only great tragedies can move their hearts in such ways. Death, injustice, insignificance…" Pale answered, "A child weeps tears of innocence. But on that day, my tears… were those of despair. And as I was lifted from that despair, hatred moved to fill the void in my being. The hatred which killed that hunter, and which could have easily killed his pregnant wife, if it wasn't allowed to fester within me."

Standing up, the silver of Pale's alchemical prosthetics reflected the low candlelight.

"To fight back against a Demon… if I could grasp power like that…" Her eyes were furious, but purposeful, "...Then I would gladly cast aside the one called 'Pale' to do so."

A short silence filled the hall as she stood above the tiny elder. Almost certainly, she had spoken with a kind of true conviction that was rare to see in any one person. Rather than saying what she felt needed to be heard, those words had been her own. From the moment of her awakening after the battle of the Summit, she had been willing to throw away the very essence of her being to claim the strength she so desired. It was not the proclamation of a sound mind, but one well-suited to such pointless pursuits as violence.

"Hm…" Pale couldn't be certain of what Gelda's oversized pipe was stuffed with, but the aromatic scent of its smoke reminded her of the crushed herbs used by her tribe to treat grievous injuries, "What you say is true. Children are slaves to the simplest of wants and fears. Their desire to conquer--to mature, overcomes any rational understanding of the world or its arts, and thus, they are the perfect subjects to mould into practitioners of Senpo. It is rare to encounter an adult with such a pure understanding of 'fury' and 'anger', but exposed to the correct trauma, their minds, too, shall become infantile."

With great effort, the ageing elder stood to his feet, barely half as tall as Pale.

"I shall teach you Senpo." He proclaimed, "But know that the School of Iron invites only destruction. As your body withers and wastes away, you will be enlightened to the sweet future of a life unprovoked by absolute power. That realisation of your actions will most certainly follow you to the end of your days, as it has done for me and many others before me."

"I know that." Pale agreed, "But even so, I won't back down."

"Well, then…" Drawing from his pipe once more, Gelda turned his back to her, "We will begin shortly. No time like the present to learn."

.

..

…

There was much commotion among the splendorous streets of Gria. At the stroke of midday, many citizens departed from their workplaces or closed up shop to wander towards the city's main thoroughfare, melding with a crowd of onlookers to witness the apparent festivities that had gripped the city. Town criers, armed with their brass bells and newsprints, heartily declared to all who had the pleasure of listening that an Elven procession, headed by the so-called Queen of Elves, was to pass through the city's lower districts towards the castle, declaring that King Granda IV was currently engaged in talks to negotiate an alliance with the Elvenkind.

The news had arrived as somewhat of a terrible surprise to the people of Tor, who up until that day had been convinced that the Elves held no kind of central government or homeland. Indeed, beginning in the early hours of that day, rumours quickly descended from the heads of state to the common folk of a supposed Elven city hidden deep within the forests of Branda. For those who supported the occupation of the eastern peninsula by human settlers, it was a day of great contention, and among those who petitioned for the fair treatment of Elvenkind, one of elation. In any case, the royal procession which proceeded through the city gates at midday was clearly that of a kingdom's, rather than a diasporic collection of forest dwellers, with silver-clad knights and robed mages escorting a jewelled palanquin through Gria's main streets, housing a masked woman whose beauty could be inferred from the barest glimpses of her fair skin.

It was the first celebrated procession in Gria prior to the appearances of such leaders as Fleecia's God-King and the Lunar Dominion's Shah during the establishment of the Holy Alliance almost 500 years ago. Whether supportive or critical, the spectacle did well to raise citizen morale in the wake of Demonic rumours, and instilled hope for a brighter future in the hearts of all. Without even raising a hand to wave at the crowd which had gathered to witness her entrance, Larion was overwhelmed by the amount of humans who seemed excited by the presence of Elves in Gria, contrary to her mother's teachings that her kind would never be welcome in human lands, that even she was gripped with a certain hope while being carried to the city's royal castle.

"How wonderful…" She whispered, making sure to keep a straight face, "It pleases me greatly to have received such a welcome. Don't you feel the same, Din?"

Her lady-in-waiting, who sat by her side in the palanquin, seemed bothered by the attention.

"Isn't the King supposed to be sitting here?" She wondered.

"But there is no King!" Curling a hand at her mouth, Larion exclaimed, "-And I could hardly tell my personal handmaiden to walk by herself, could I?"

"Just be grateful that nobody in this city remembers what an Elven procession is supposed to look like."

"Don't you find it amusing?"

Din recoiled as she felt the Queen's fingers interlocking with her own, between the gaps of their seats as to not alert any of the onlookers. Larion's stalwart expression completely contradicted the teasing tone in her voice.

"It's our little secret~" She continued, "Allow me this much, Din."

"Unbelievable…" Despite her frustrated response, the girl's face was beet red as the procession moved further into the city.