Burning Fury

[Criala 728]

Snow crunched beneath boots, it being the only sound. Soon, the sound stopped though, as whoever the boots belonged to stopped.

 

An ‘aheral woman stood at the top of a snowy mountain, the wind causing her hair to whip about her face and shoulders. Blue eyes stared out at the expansive, snow covered land before her.

 

Neia surged up the side of the mountain, moving as fast as her legs would take her. When she reached the top and made it over the edge, she faltered. The sight had her frozen in place. Her eyes widened as she stared.

 

An empty set of armor, charred, with ashes within. A set of armor she knew all too well, one that matched the armor she was clad in.

 

Her heart dropped to the bit of her stomach, grief washing over the woman. She could only stare for a number of moments.

 

“Do you remember when you told me about Csarathaire, Mal’onn?”

 

The question was asked to the open air, her voice soft as she spoke. Of course, there was no reply. Not that she expected one. The dead can’t speak after all.

 

Soon that grief changed into a burning fury. And she turned her blade to the enemy. Her rage had her seeking vengeance in whatever way she could get it. Even as it crumbled down into pieces, she didn’t stop. She slashed and stabbed at whatever part of it she could.

 

A gloved hand dove down into a satchel at her side, rummaging around for something. A small container was pulled out, a box of sorts.

 

“It was on a mountain much like this one.”

 

Her gaze fell on the box, pain evident within it. Her features twisted, a deep frown settling onto her face.

 

“You told me all about Csarathaire.”

 

She had to pause here, to clear her throat, before continuing.

 

“It sparked something inside of me, and I knew then that I wanted to be one.”

 

Everything felt numb. She was on autopilot for the next several minutes. Her blank gaze on the charred armor. She made her way over to it, even as the others made their way down the hill to get Eretria back to the Vale.

 

The ashes were all that remained of Avius inside of that charred armor. With shaky hands, she patted at herself. Looking for something, anything, until she finally was able to fish out two vials.

 

As careful as she could, she did her best to sweep some of the ashes into one vial, then the other. She didn’t stop until they were full. It wasn’t all of them, obviously, but it was enough.

 

With her hands still shaking, she picked up the pieces of his armor, before setting off down the hill.

 

“I would have followed you anywhere, no questions asked, even to the Nether and back. You gave me family when I had none. You believed in me. You took the time to teach me and show me the ways of Csarathaire.”

 

The top of the box was pulled off. Ashes were inside. A lone tear fell down her cheek, leaving a chilled wet trail.

 

“Now sit and speak with me.”

 

Neia eased herself down so she was sitting in front of Avius.

 

"Now, I want you to think and tell me why you want to take this final step, why you want to join this clan."

 

She was silent for a moment as she thought, her hands resting on her lap. "Well, I felt something when you were first telling me of your clan's traditions and how they came to be. It stuck with me. And it's something I want to be part of, devote myself to."

 

"This is a lifelong commitment, Neia, and you know what the gods expect of you." Avius said, looking at her.

 

"I know. And I wouldn't have done this if I wasn't going to commit my life to it. You inspired me, honestly. To take the step, seeing you stand up for the traditions and beliefs of your clan."

 

She fell silent for a moment, merely staring into the box. The cold wind bit at her cheeks, but she gave no reaction.

 

“I won’t ever forget what you’ve given or taught me, Mal’onn.”

 

Slowly, she turned the box over, so the ashes would scatter across the snowy mountain top.

 

“And I won’t rest until everything that had to do with your death is burnt into nothing.”

[Unwillingly 11107]

Wildfire understands that the fierce are not devoid of grief.