Legion of Light Gaiden: Prelude to Ruination

[Wings of Endymion]

Drip… drip…

Bleak rays of moonlight illuminated her white skin as she stepped into the lukewarm water. Her newly washed clothes were folded in a neat pile to one side, and only a single threadbare towel shielded her from the winter chill. Soon, even that was cast aside.

Once upon a time, the heated pool in which she now submerged herself had been a place of recreation and relaxation, a secluded sanctuary for the high-flying politicians and dons of the Raiaeran underworld. Located just below ground level, at the very heart of the building that had once been Trenyce’s seediest casino, it drew upon a private underground spring that had somehow remained uncontaminated by the corrupting plagues that had devastated the city of sin. Even after the harshest winter in decades had stemmed the tide of Xem’zund’s diseases, the pool was the only source of water in the entire city that Yuka could even remotely label as pure.

Drip… drip…

She luxuriated in the silky feel of the liquid against her skin, carefully applying suds from the precious bar of soap that she had so far managed to keep away from the filthily possessive claws of her undead neighbours. Ar’zhanekkar, chief necromancer to the Death Lord who now laid claim to the zombie-infested town and the surrounding lands, in particular seemed to delight in persistently annoying her at every opportunity, ruthlessly sabotaging what menial tasks she was assigned, and keeping her awake at night by sending his misshapen “pets” scurrying through her room. She was used to gritting her teeth and bearing her torment in silence, in the knowledge that the necromancer was simply jealous of her status as the favoured acolyte of the great daemon Natosatael. She knew that he was also attempting to sow discord to draw attention away from his ignominious and cowardly retreat from the Battle of Nenaebreth a week ago. In the meantime, however, she could not afford to jeopardise her tenuous hold on the daemon’s loyalty any further, having practically blackmailed him into fleeing the battlefield just as he was about to take revenge on a long-held grudge. It was true that he needed her to attain his goal of lasting power on the corporeal plane, but Natosatael was not so sane or so predictable such that she could be certain that he would not abandon her on a simple whim.

Drip… drip… Splash!

Briefly Yuka's mind settled on a vision of the young man she had saved that day. She took to the pool to disguise the rapid beat of her heart, letting her steady strokes sweep the involuntary thought from her head. The flow of water against her skin was even and rhythmic, as she carved a silent path through the velvet sheen of the dark depths. She’d been a champion swimmer once, and it showed in the effortless grace with which her slender frame slid through the water.

It had been him... her old friend, Ingwe Helyanwe. She had heard the rumours, of course, and had braced herself as best possible. But it was one thing to be told that he had travelled halfway across the world just to see her again, and quite another entirely to be confronted with that reality in the heat of battle, as he single-handedly defied one of the most powerful daemons in existence. Even now she could clearly recall the flush of exertion in his still-youthful features, the soot and blood that stained his white Academy tunic, the dusty beads of sweat trickling down the rims of his glasses...

Drip… drip…

The rigours of war had left their mark on his features, and it was with a healthy dose of guilt that she realised it was largely her fault. If she had taken the time to explain to him the circumstances of her departure before that fateful night at the Academy… if she had listened to Thomas’s advice and taken measures to prevent him from following her… if she had been able to dissuade him, all those years ago, from falling for her. But he was too shy for his own good, and she too kind, and their destinies had taken an unpredictably violent twist from the halcyon peace they had enjoyed back in Nippon.

The rhythm of her limbs never once faltered, a steady sixty strokes per minute. It was her heartbeat within her breast that sounded erratically in her ears, as her emotions circulated between concern, admiration, fear, and back again. When at last she came to a halt, her lungs fighting for air and her limbs like leaden weights attached to her torso, she was no closer to making any sense of the situation.

Drip… drip…

Floating spread-eagled amongst the gently cocooning water, Yuka Kanamai looked to the night sky through the glass roof and asked it a single question… Why? But in this area of the city of death at this particular time of night, there were none who could hear her cry much less answer it.

Only the steady drip of the broken tap sounded its incessant reply.