Blind Judgment

Standing, Alsonte brought his sword to the defence, but was his hands froze as Zaile stared hard into him, those large, mad eyes full of crazed malice. It wasn’t really Zaile that he looked into, but rather, it was his soul, a maelstrom of devastating horror.

A scarlet geyser shot towards the stars, accompanied by a demonic cry. The Vandeera regalia fell from Alsonte’s limp arms, his jaws fractionally ajar, glassy eyes of sapphire staring ahead, devoid of life. His knees gave way and he crumpled to the floor.

It took many moments before the elite Acolyte realised he was conscious, shrugging off the senseless awareness that hovered between his ears. Climbing back onto his feet Alsonte testily moved each limb, following up with a habitual pinch to cheek. The brief grimace transformed into a smile, eventually breaking into a laugh.

‘I’m…alive.’

Zaile unleashed another cry of agony, clutching his face. On all fours a hands went out in search of Asora, which he had lost sight of, while his other made failing attempts to slow his bleeding. Had his impulse become his undoing? His pride rejected that version of reality. More importantly, why can’t he see? Groping about, he finally reinstated his claim on the Guilty Executioner, using it to regain his footing.

Immediately he was down again, not that he was deterred by pain; at least his suffering has been dampened by his waning consciousness. Drained of his stamina Zaile found it difficult even to keep himself awake, or it was simply credit to the blood loss.

The slightest breeze sent cold blades down his spine, and he trembled shamefully, yet holding his eyes, panting like a wounded beast. Even his breathe shook as his control over his body escaped him. Despite that, he stood, this time more successful than before. Shakily, his pointed to where he thought Alsonte stood, and after some struggle finally formed the words.

‘It’s but the beginning…’

Ever so noble Alsonte sheathed his sword, ‘beginning of the end,’ he said quietly, ‘perhaps.’

‘Let’s…finish this,’ Zaile stammered; his speech now barely intelligible.

Alsonte was remote, but his compliance resonated with his unsheathing of the blade. Letting his darker side takeover his body he began at a walking pace, accelerating into a full sprint, spurred on by his Visor which locked onto Avarion hard. His Taction tapped the blade, igniting the cold steel into molten metal. Swinging it down at full force he watched in satisfaction as the tsunami of fire raced towards Zaile, carried by the cutting wind.

The scarlet flame engulfed Zaile, momentarily drowning down his high-pitched cry. Zaile’s flesh was scorched, and his resolve melted soon after as he beat about on the floor, struggling to remove his burning jacket. Having finally rid himself off his suffering the silver-haired Acolyte lay gasping on the ground, the pain almost drawing tears from him. The sight was pitiful.

Alsonte bellowed, stabbing down at Zaile with the Vandeera regalia. The thrust should’ve killed Zaile, travelling through his heart before punching into the earth. That possibility though, despite being almost of certainty, was changed.

Sincrotius, having placed a finger against the spine of the Vandeera heir, froze the execution style attack. Grimacing, Alsonte relented, and was released.

‘I’ll be taking him,’ Sin said coolly, not at all kindly disposed.

Hesitantly, the swordsman sheathed his weapon; he reasoned that nothing short of a miracle was required should he hope to escape alive. Strange as it seemed though, the Dark Knight’s movement hinted little aggression as he scooped up Zaile’s broken form, tapping his spine to hypnotise the boy who would deny defeat to death.

‘Stay still,’ Sin scowled before retreating, keeping a constant eye on Alsonte, as if daring the swordsman to move.

Casually waving off the demon Alsonte took off, homewards, where another battle awaited him; compared to the bout he just had, this one was much harder to win, in that desolation was much harder to beat. The young man mused for a while upon the fact that while proper nouns can be easily crushed, wars against common nouns rarely enjoyed success. Whistling the Orison of Fury the Acolyte found a spring in his steps. Avarion might have been his own downfall but I never doubted my victory. How silly of me to worry.

‘Risa, get me another towel,’ Sera ordered before turning to Arrowny, ‘Mother, is the ointment refined?’

Sin watched the frantic action of household with his arms folded, eyes seemingly at rest beneath his shades. Raven knelt by his brother, hands tightly clasping one another. Finally, with Zaile put away into a peaceful slumber the Arrowny made to speak.

‘Thank you, Sincrotius,’ she said, ‘your caution should never be doubted. I’m sorry.’

‘Mother, we have much to discuss.’

Away from prying ears the woman presumed a sitting position under the veranda, staring at Sin’s towering form in askance. The demon in return, removed his shades so to add gravity to his voice; he ruled out using gestures. During his brief description of the events that took place Arrowny’s frown increased, her brows inclined steeply. Casting her stare downwards the mother was seen to exhale deeply.

‘I’m fortunate to even have him around,’ the sorceress tremble, ‘tell me Sincrotius, honestly, am I fit to be a mother?’

‘Circumstance produces people,’ Sin’s reply proved ambivalent, and having spoken, he averted eye contact.

The mother managed a laugh, and it was under that expression, captured by Sin’s acute Visor, that the demon made an observation; Arrowny was not old, but at least in her late forties. To ask such a question only further emphasises her mental exhaustion.

‘Yes, I suppose,’ she finally managed, ‘Sincrotius, if you please.’

With a knowing nod and a face of stone the Dark Knight helped Arrowny to her feet. Bowing, he took off to his own device, leaving the motherly woman to reflect upon the consequences that her son had endured. Being the emotional void that he is Sin decided not to dabble in such matters; tears never dissolved problems.

Arrowny, now accompanied by but her thoughts placed herself against a beam, leaning with her arms folded beneath her bosom. Sera, despite being up at this hour, had ushered the children to bed and was presently watching over Zaile. Sin was out in the streets, presumably collecting more information. Left with no occupation she began processing the facts.

Zaile had unleashed Divinity, a hazardous force that should only be summoned in desperation. When he failed to control it, Alsonte all but killed him. How close she had come to losing her eldest son! A stolen glance at the clock drew a silent gasp from her, hastening her towards Zaile’s bedroom.

‘He should regain his vision in no time,’ Sera said, her voice considerably calmer, ‘but he’ll need to rest a while to allow for the drugs to take effect. I’ll stay here in case he –’

‘Sera,’ Arrowny smiled warmly, ‘you’re tired. Go to bed,’

‘But mother –’

‘Go,’ the elder woman chided, ‘young folks need more rest than I.’

Obediently, Sera left, closing the door so gently that the soft click was barely audible. With no witness around Arrowny pulled her arms around Zaile, clutching his sleeping form closely. Pleading tears raced down her cheek, which she hastily wiped away. In silent confinement she caressed his cheek, displaying an affection none of her child has ever seen.

‘Maybe I’m not fit to be your mother,’ the woman whispered shakily, ‘but at least allow me the chance.

‘It’s been such a long time, and I still see you as that child, dancing about, measuring your father’s coffin. Where has the time gone? If only you can see me now, my child, how I’d love to live that moment again, to guide you through you years, and to watch your every step…and to think I could pretend you were my weapon…’

This profoundly moment, every touching word with tears of sincerity, did nothing to rouse the boy. Overlooked by his mother Zaile seemed content, and shifted to gain more comfort, which Arrowny allowed, having failed to provide for her son over such a large part of his life. She was not optimistic enough to believe that all wrongs could be erased, but was sure what happened here today, would ease her mind.

Zaile woke with a cry, groping for Asora. With a ring of white dressing around his eyes the boy did not sense his lost of vision. Panting, he tested his limbs, and found considerable agony restraining his motion. An embrace only surrounded him with more confusion, and that was the last thing he required. A slight moment of reflection was followed by a soft choking protest, smothered by the feminine affection. Soft fragrance invaded his nostril, long, silk-like threads brushed his cheek and warmth coursed through his body.

‘Master – Zaile,’ the familiar correction was comforting, ‘are you…’

‘Sera…’ he stammered, credit to the surprise, or the fact that his face was against her bosom, ‘I…I’m quite all right.’

‘I heard your dismay,’ she continued, placing a hand upon his forehead, ‘your fever is down –’

Zaile made to open his mouth but could not find a way to refuse this – intimate moment. He wasn’t about to let the opportunity of lying upon a woman’s breast pass him by. He was blind, and that alone should suffice as excuse for his present dependence which may seem excessive to another’s eye.

‘I’m fine,’ he persisted, ‘Sera,’

‘Yes?’ Her words were softer than a whisper.

‘When shall I see again?’ The questioner attempted to change subjects.

‘Soon enough,’ the answer was voiced in quiet joy, ‘should I ready breakfast for you?’

‘Uh, yes, that’ll be – nice,’

She giggled, laying him down before tucking him in. Sin greeted her with his daily apathy in the kitchen, but curiosity over the healer’s expression overwhelmed him.

‘You seem in a good mood,’

‘Is that so?’ She hummed as she began dicing a tomato.

The repetitive, dull drumming of the knife upon the chopping board could be heard. Occasionally, a grating sound was audible as the blade shoved sliced ingredient aside. Oil sizzled in the pan, growing louder into a hiss as lettuces were tossed in. Sin observed silently as Sera went about her task, his eyes, rather than mouth, put forth the question.

‘If you must know,’ the maiden laughed, ‘there’s no better comfort than to hold a dear one close.’

Sin nodded.

‘Let me wash your coat later,’ she changed the subject without giving much thought, ‘why not leave it here so –’

‘It’s alright,’

Sin was last seen walking out into the brisk morning air.

A/N: It’s been a while; this chapter was an attempt at sentimentality. But due to a lack of foreshadowing…yeah, I’m still working on it.