The kind thaumaturge nad Urias continued on her way to the Academy of Magnus Gravitas. Tristessa said her goodbyes, but she hadn't yet departed for that so-called Plaza of Rembrance yet.
First, she needed to appease her voracious hunger.
“Such a wild and strong taste, but I'd eat ten right now,” she thought as she swallowed the only strip of dried at left in her backpack. She had sat on the ground, imitating other civilians who found eating in the presence of that superstructure a mont of peace. “I wonder how much food I could buy with the last great soul-jewel I have left... I wouldn't complain about a nice cheese, lettuce, and tomato sandwich.”
Fantasizing about food from Earth didn't help satisfy her appetite. She emptied the remaining content of her waterskin and, as she was about to set off towards her destination, she looked back.
At the Evil-Warding Pillar, from where she could hear the incomprehensible and yet whole-hearted voices of its countless architects.
“…”
A wish lodged in her heart, but she didn't have the courage to express it. She felt ashad to even consider it. Soone like her wasn't worthy of asking for anything, much less the spirits of great heroes of antiquity.
“…you’re worthless, Tristessa Irandell.”
She walked in the direction the thaumaturge had indicated, trying to avoid the groups of soldiers patrolling and detaining anyone who seed suspicious.
The Plaza of Rembrance turned out to be a beautiful green space, with stone paths, trees with beautiful lilac leaves, and, in the center, a large monunt on top of a platform reached by climbing several stone steps.
Out of curiosity, Tristessa decided to climb those steps to see what that large group of statues was all about, using a giant block of marble as a base.
When she reached the top, blocking her path and covering the entire surface, there was an imnse field of flowers. Thousands, of every color and shape imaginable, turning that platform into a dreamlike place.
“How beautiful!” she thought, smiling as she carefully walked through one of the tiny walkways made of all those flowers, held in place by vases of various sizes.
There were people who, at that very mont, were either replacing the most wilted flowers with new ones, or—making the girl frown—leaving letters and tiny power crystals at the foot of the marble block.
“…”
Slowly and in silence, Tristessa turned and walked to stand in front of the monunt.
There, her soul shattered, upon seeing the statues of dozens of children, from toddlers to so who, due to the sheer level of detail, seed to be the age of Lucahn or Cyela.
All of them had been carved in simple, tunic-like garnts, and smiled with perfectly represented innocence. There were also many adult n and won accompanying them, sitting at eye level and laughing with them, playing, or hugging them.
None showed regret, or fear, or pain. All that negativity, all those emotions that left irreparable scars, were reserved for those mortals who could only read a ssage engraved on a plaque that stood out among so many other small, rectangular ones and covered the entire surface of the marble block.
“Here empty-handed, young one?”
Startled, Tristessa saw that an elderly woman, perhaps of eighty or ninety years old, had approached the monunt and stood beside her. Dressed in black, with a tweed jacket and long skirt, and her aged and wrinkled face could be partially seen behind a veil attached to an elegant hat.
In her hands, she carried a bouquet of flowers with deep red petals flecked with blue.
Before Tristessa could co up with a sentence, sothing to justify her presence there, the old woman left the bouquet at the foot of the monunt. Then, after plucking a single flower from it, she turned and offered it to Tristessa, surprising her.
“Here. If you would, I would appreciate it if you could pray for the mory of my grandson Marcus,” she asked, her veil hiding much of the deep suffering expressed in her exhausted voice. “Today he would have turned eighteen. He would have been a grown man, with dreams and goals to fulfill. But those damn witches took him into the forest…”
Before breaking down in tears, the old woman decided to leave, turning her back on the monunt and walking past the frozen girl with gray eyes.
“M-ma'am, wait!” Tristessa exclaid, driven by a need stronger than hers and any empathy for the old woman, who stopped and looked back at her, her dark gaze hidden behind her veil. “Could I make a selfish request to you?”
She pointed to that great plaque in front of her.
“I can't read the glyphs. Could you…?”
“Oh, dear!” The old woman gifted her with a broken smile, tainted by the tears she couldn't hold back. “I've read that plaque so many tis over so many years, it's impossible for not to rember every word of it.”
In a clear, firm voice, she said:
In mory of all the missing children and those who died during the Massacre of the Endless Night.
Never forget, never forgive. mory and justice for the vanishers, fire and blood for those who worship evil.
May there be peace and rest for the dead. May there be solace for the tears of the hundreds of broken families.
And let hatred and thirst for revenge be only a matter of the living.
When she finished, the old woman let out a sigh from the depths of her troubled soul.
“Rember the carnage, young lady. The Vanishers' trail fading within the Sea of Trees...”
She couldn't stay there a second longer, Tristessa understood instantly, and followed her with her eyes until her figure disappeared down the stone stairs.
Alone, the girl once again cast her saddened gaze upon that monunt to the mory of the Coven's victims. Those who suffered as the result of the betrayal of Jin and Tiara's eldest daughter.
Rembering that malicious laugh, her detestable voice, and her maddening smile made Tristessa feel as if a swarm of angry insects were crawling under her skin.
Every single vile aspect of that witch… The cruelty of that Priestess of the Black Eye, servant of the mysterious Moebius.
Tristessa wanted to see her die. To see her pay for all the evil she had caused and will if she’s left to her own devices.
“Damn you, Daiana!”
Thinking and biting back bitterness, Tristessa placed the red flower at the feet of one of the children who resembled Lucahn and belatedly realized that a single tear had just run down her right cheek.
A tear that shared both the grief for all those dead and the frustration of knowing, now without a doubt, that it would be impossible to receive help.
That ssage on the plaque had been engraved in the collective spirit of the citizens of Entrana. Beneath all those flowers to rember the vanishers, there were rivers of fire, blood, and hatred reserved to punish the Priestess of the Coven for her unforgivable sins.
And the daughter's sins were passed on to her parents, to her siblings.
Only Severus Malak Drakan could help her save the rcer-Archeos, that was the absolute truth.
She and the blood elf were alone.
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