Lysander & Duffy

Consequences. The word rung in Lysander’s skull like wedding bells and a death toll combined. Happiness and disaster had followed him through the ages. Now, they stood either side of him before the pride of ill will that had assailed him through every one of his lives.

“He’s bigger than I expected.” Young Duffy sized up the titan on the horizon. “Sure you’re up to this?”

“If you think I brought you here to be a spectator, Duffy, you are more of a fool than I remember.” Lysander too took in what he saw. Death. Wrath. Ruin. Marching towards them with earth sundering steps.

“Oh, mate, you can count on me. But you said Apotheosis was an elf.” Duffy gestured to the creature ahead. “That isn’t no elf.”

When Leopold had told him of the future he saw, Lysander had felt fear. The primal sort that overruled all conscience and intellect. He knew, the moment he heard, that he had to do everything he could to alter fate. He had failed so many times, and people, people he loved dearly had paid the price for his hubris. No amount of metaphor or pathetic fallacy could steal away the sincerity and sobriety he now felt.

“If we’re to protect those who would have died in the future supposedly decided for us, we have to overcome this.” Lysander unsheathed his blade, the black hilted katana comfort in his shaking hand.

“Fair enough. I’ve got your back.” Young Duffy, naive, or perhaps fearless, mimicked his older self and unleashed his shorter, but no less deadly Tooth and Nail. “But if he shoots fire or some shit, I’m out of here.”

Appreciative of the humour, Lysander weighed up his options. Ahead, looming a hundred foot over the icy tundra of Berevar, was a monster. Trapped beneath the earth for centuries, Apotheosis had wallowed in a whirlwind of power unseen on this world for millennia. To circumvent fate, Lysander had done the very thing the last of the Forgotten Ones had set out to do. Kill the last of the Old Thayne.

“Our power comes not from that which was given to us, false promise to keep us loyal.” He clenched the blade tightly and raised it into a defensive stance. “Our power comes from the very thing that monster abhors.”

“Awkwardly timed metaphors?” Duffy peered out from under his hood, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “Or pitiful puns?”

Lysander smirked.

“No. Our power comes from and will always come from our friends.” Lysander called out with his heart to the last light within. Though he had plunged Wainwright’s blade into his heart and shattered his bond to the Tap, something else dwelt within him that was far greater.

“Wait. I thought that was the Aria?” Duffy shed his pithy expression and led shadows of doubt age him in the twilight.

“It is. But the Aria is not the Tap. They occupy the same space, just as you and I exist in the same time. But the Aria is our will – as friends, family, and bards, given life. We made that realm together, and it has become something far greater than can be defined by gods or planes.”

“But if the Aria is still there, and we are no longer part of it…”

“You’re not listening.” Lysander pointed his blade at Apotheosis’s chest. A vibrant rune burnt on the creature’s torso, which Lysander had carved in the Forgotten One’s withered corpse to ignite the soul trapped within. “We have lost our divinity. Lost the gift of eternal life. But our bond to the thing which defines us is stronger than ever.”

Now that their enemy was closer, the duo could see the cruel features aflame on the umbral and skeletal frame. They could feel the malice washing over them, threatening to boil the air where they stood. Dormant for centuries, the Forgotten One was rekindling the bond it once held so dear with the Tap; invigorated by it is new and blossoming life in Althanas.

“You’re saying we can die, but we’ll damned well die singing.”

Remembering when he and Duffy were one, he smiled from ear to ear.

“As far as the Orrery is concerned, we are already dead. But if I have taught you nothing bar this, I have done wonders: the mortal frame will wax and wane and crumble. What remains to make us immortal?” Lysander drew on his heart’s desire and channelled it to his blade. He prepared a song to bring the sword to life.

For the first time since his rude rebirth, Duffy finally understood what it was he was destined for. Lysander's insistence on ending their immortality had brought them the one thing they were now short of: time.

“Our songs. Our words. Our actions.” He clashed the daggers together and the snow beneath him shook thunderously. “It’s time for a swan song!”

Together the duo charged across the snow, something more dangerous and divine stirring in the pit of their stomachs than the gods could ever muster: the First Song.