The Colors that Never Come

[GSM]

Vera Cruz was burning, and calamity spread upon the whims of the Imperfect.

Aphros was dealt a mortal blow, some slain and more routed.

Had that night not been laced with a double-edged tragedy, it would have been a resounding victory for the fel.

Yet, Change is not what all would hope it would be.

My children, my beloved kin… I apologize.

The Imperfect, the grand Demon King, fell at the hand of the Oracle.

Yet it did not rage or scream or cry; it did not protest the End that came.

All of Na'Ria's blessed children, powerful allies, and close disciples would bear witness to it.

The final smile- if they ever saw one from it before- of the Lord of Knowledge.

We will meet again. Either in death, or in another life.

As Aetheric light consumed Na'Ria, it continued to speak, cradling its executioner with a reverent love.

Those that wept for its death were told to not shed tears for it.

Change had come, and its Era was not quite over.

It was not afraid as it spoke its last words.

I could not be afraid. I was happy.

"I love you."

Rejoice, my friends.

And then, it was extinguished.

Goodbye.

The Demon King was little more than a memory, a scar, upon Meranthe.

I have done much to earn my right to rule, but it is in your hands now.

But it would not fade.

I cannot.

---

This Hel…

No, where am I?

Storyteller persisted, and so would it.

Not once did its black form waver, its glistening eye of gold taking in its sights when held dearly.

Accursed to return, to remain, it would be trapped in a form of breathless eternity.

But as the soul persisted, the mind wavered; Death was upon the mind, as that was its fate.

Father…?

A reunion took place.

Na'Ria felt the embrace of its Father, Sak'noth.

For once, the Imperfect felt… hopelessly mortal.

Cold oblivion was welcoming, this ephemeral slumber a place where it could rest for eternity.

I never thought I would hold you like this.

Yet, that would not last for ever.

I always wanted to meet you… but it would not be when we are alive.

There was still more work to do.

Just say you love me, once.

---

I will return, some day.

I do not know when, or how, but I will.

Odd sights now grace what remained of Vera Cruz.

A gravestone- perhaps to be expected of lesser magi and simpler soldiers, lost in an endless war.

But a single unmarked grave, in the shape of a simple black obelisk, would linger.

It is cold, and left abandoned; for none shared its love.

Yet all are welcome to keep my memory company.

The grave of Na'Ria would be left to linger, one of few tangible remnants of what was lost.

Who constructed it- or if it was constructed at all- is unknown.

Rumor has it that those who linger too long around it would feel something tug away at their life force, absorbing their mana and brushing against their soul.

Perhaps one may hear a distant, feminine voice, sickly as ever, whispering silent words of reverence.

I only wish to comfort those who have lost. Loss is all I know.

Rumors that are best left to be that.

Nothing more than ideas spoken by none other than skeptics.

Yet my words ring true, for those who listen.

The death of Na'Ria was certain; it was a finality, a true End.

Yet, the Imperfect's story was not quite over.

It is never over. I will not fade.

What mattered most was what those who were left behind did, now that it was gone.

For when I return, it will be the seven trumpets that sound.

For now?

I can finally slumber.

The chapters of The Colors that Never Come have Ended.
Wake me when there is more to come, would you?
Eternally waiting for what may come next.
I cannot wait to see what becomes of Meranthe in mine absence.