Nearly a year, and to watch the sun cresting the horizon, lighting the ocean's stretch aflame, still filled Amilia with awe verging on rapture. Here, if nowhere else in all the world, could be found the glory of the Seven, unveiled in purest holy fire. If a heaven awaited her, it would be a realm of tranquil seas and cloudless skies; a paradise of soothing winds, its waters vast enough to fill eternity.
It would not last, this fleeting, perfect morn. Such things could not last. No longer distant, its clouded banks alight with sinister allure, the Isle of Dreamers awaited them, as it had waited for centuries. Were they the first? The annals spoke of no others to ever make such a voyage; only in their murkiest depths, where history and myth were often one, was any mention of the Isle to be found. And yet... such was their need, Avalusia's need, that even a phantom of hope could bring comfort to unsettled hearts.
Her faith was unbroken. It could not be otherwise. Xavier bound them to this: in love, in duty, in the distant, quiet calm of his regard. He was salvation, his very breath the wind of deliverance.
She could hear him climbing up from the deck below, coming to stand beside her at the bow. His arms fell across the rail as he leaned over, searching the mists ahead.
“So soon now, sister.” The words undulated from him. “An end to our strife. Our kingdom shall discover the strength to rise from the abyss of squalor. Led by an undying god, the soldiers of Avalusia shall know eternal victory.”
Amilia closed her eyes, letting the spell of his conviction wash over her. She could feel his smile, warm with sincerity, and could well imagine the lordly cast of his gaze as he looked out upon the sea.
“Our people shall find happiness in the peace that I will create.”
The air seemed crisper in her lungs, the sun more radiant, now that he stood beside her. Letting it go in a weightless sigh, she looked up at her brother.
“What of the other realms?” she asked. “Will your light fall on them, as well?”
He turned and clasped her hands in his. “All nations shall bear witness to my apotheosis,” he said, looking past her in that otherworldly way that so captivated her, “and be given the chance to embrace to the wonders of Avalusia. Those who do, shall be annexed and made provinces of glory born beneath my divine reign. And those who do not, those who reject salvation... must face judgment.”
His head fell, and she could feel a sudden iron within him, the terrible drive and purpose that held up his burden. He sounded almost pained now, assailed by the inadequacies of the world.
“I will not tolerate any power to threaten Avalusia ever again. Enemies who dare imperil my beloved people shall suffer retribution.”
She stared up at him, but could find nothing to hold, no humanity to call back from that appalling brink. Not that she would. She understood the sacrifice Xavier had made, and would not question it. It had been made out of love, and that was enough.
Withdrawing from him, she looked away. “You shall be our vindication, brother.” She could barley manage more than a whisper, so chilling was the thought. “In fire, you shall carry our salvation. But still, I must weep for those who will feel the scourge of its flame. They are wrong to oppose you, and yet...”
“How naïve,” replied a new voice, coming from behind her. There was no scorn in those words, so softly spoken. They were more of a lament. Turning, she saw lord Ziethal Farashnir take his place at Xavier's side.
“True harmony cannot be achieved without bloodshed.” His one eye was closed; what he sought could not be found in the sea. Somewhere, a gull cried, its call drifting unanswered over the waves.
“Only by eradicating those who enslave us, those who propagate sin in our holy kingdom, may Avalusia finally enter a golden era of prosperity. Our oppressors shall be obliterated from the earth by the divine miracles of our god, Xavier.”
Such words should have inspired terror in her, disgust at the excess they promised. But they came from a man without bloodlust, a saint of battle who would come and plant lotus-ferns over those he had slain. Like her brother, Ziethal sought only peace, though it should be found at the end of his sword. If the world could but lay down its arms.
“Wisdom, dear sister,” Xavier told her, “must be my foremost measure. I shall act in wrath only to defend the Kingdom of Miracles, Avalusia.”
His gaze fell upon her then, and she found herself lost in his majesty, the way the sun framed him against the shrill blue backdrop, its light resplendent in his eyes.
“Our people cry daily for an end to their trials,” he said. “I shall be their messiah, clad in silver armor and laurelled in white roses. They shall cherish my protection, and worship my beneficence, as is just. Are these not righteous goals?”
Amilia could not abide the zeal there, the intensity he affixed her with. He surpassed her, as he surpassed them all. How long ago had he left meager humanity behind, to embark upon the cold path to ascendancy? He had been a child once, though she had not been around to see it. But he had been reared by Lore-masters, fathered by generals and kings. And where so many of noble blood failed, succumbed to the indolence of privilege, Xavier had triumphed. Emerging to manhood, armed with a host of virtues, he became not a lord of Avalusia, but her servant. Even now, on the eve of his exaltation, he remained true, his only desire to wield the sword of peace. As a god, he would give everything of himself to Avalusia, as he had given his entire life.
“Yes,” she said after a moment. She had not the words to answer more than that.
Ziethal stirred beside her. “For too long has Avalusia been made the puppet and play-thing of false emperors,” he said. “Beneath the guidance of our lord, we shall finally achieve the liberties that have been so long denied us.”
They were drawing near now. Soon, the fogs would part, and they would set upon the precipice. In this, as it had ever been, they would live or die with Xavier. She and Ziethal were here only to stand at his side, to bear witness. And to be the first to kneel.
There was something captivating about the Isle, the effect more pronounced in every moment they drifted closer. Amilia found she could not look away, and would not, regardless. She had come to this, had believed in Xavier, and that belief had not failed.
“My lord, Ziethal,” she called, her voice frail against the rising wind. “What need has the Kingdom of Miracles for a sword-master?”
“Mayhap,” came his wistful answer, “I shall hang these ancestral blades in the hallows, and never have call to draw them again.” As they had never been hung to before.
To think of a world without war, the world that Xavier would create, was to be overwhelmed by hope. But the depth of what they must all surrender to enter such a world suddenly struck her. She was a Hierophant, such as had not been born since the time of the Ancients; the Seven spoke in her dreams and gave answer to her every prayer. But with a living god upon the throne of Avalusia, what need would there be for priests and clerics? What need for counsel and faith, when the sun would never again set?
Ziethal was speaking once more. “If there is need, I shall be a sword to lord Xavier, that his hands may remain unstained. Never has Avalusia held to gods of war, and nor shall we now. If that demon must be roused, let the guilt fall on me alone.”
There was laughter then, soft and forbearing. “Be at ease, my friends,” Xavier said, the words like nectar to her heart. “Soon, all fear shall be vanquished. Behold!”
He threw his arms forward, palms turned to the heavens, and the mists rolled back from the shore. Lightnings flickered to either side, seeming to dance in welcome, their iridescence playing off the clear waters between.
“We have found it!” he cried. “The Isle of Dreamers awakens. Destiny call us home.”
And thus they were come to it, here to prevail or to plummet. Xavier carried the weight of a kingdom, but did they not in turn carry him? If the legends spoke true, if all they desired should come to pass, would he ever again know friendship? Who would remember the man, her brother? The truth of her vanity struck home now, worrying over sacrifice and surrender when it was he who stood to lose the most. Come victory or loss, Xavier had given his very life to a dream.
Filled with hope, Amilia would watch him die, and she would smile with him, in that last human moment, not for joy at what was to come, but for the love of what had been.