[OOM: Calderon Valley] The Past That Will Always Be

[student_of_impossibility]

It had taken a week to have the time to attend to this far more private repair from Third Calderon.

Kitai was with him, of course. He had flown there alone, but she was waiting outside when he emerged from the Princeps’ Memorium carrying the Vord Queen’s body. She held his hand while they watched it burn, the fire white-hot just to be safe.

“What she said, chala--you know it was not truth,” she told him.

He had only sighed. If he dwelled too long on it, he wondered a little if it really wasn’t true. It was their blood, his and Kitai’s, which had given her form. Theirs which had given her too much humanity to be like other Vord—perhaps too much humanity to have won the war. That humanity had made her more dangerous, more inventive; it had given her access to furycrafting, once she had a teacher.

His blood had done that.

But it had also given her fear, uncertainty, and maybe even, in a twisted, confused way, love.

Maybe there was more to what she’d said that they had wanted to believe. They had needed not to believe it to take her on. But maybe, somehow, if only symbolically—

Kitai’s glance was obvious; she knew his mind too well not to know what he would think of. “It is a falsehood to make others—and herself—believe that which is not true.”

Very dryly he replied, “I’ve heard you say something like that before.”

“It is no less a falsehood, Aleran.”

“I know.” He had slid his arm around her, his other hand coming to rest on her abdomen. Through the armor he couldn’t feel their child—but that truth, at least, he could have faith in.

As the fire began to calm, she shifted slightly. “Do you want me to come?”

“No.” Tavi kissed the top of her head gently. “I can do it.”

The work had been more difficult than he had anticipated. His mother had told him the Vord Queen said his furycraft was not as subtle as his grandfather’s had been; this was, he decided, a painfully accurate assessment. He rather hoped with time he could rediscover those tricks. Others might know them individually; it might simply be a matter of accumulating them.

Asking Alera seemed a little like cheating. It was a challenge. The thought made him smile slightly, even as he worked to purify the pool in which Gaius Septimus rested.

Now he stood surveying his father’s tomb. The two suits of armor missing cape and gladii still stood out. Araris still carried one of the blades. He had used it in defense of his lord’s wife and son. Tavi suspected his father would have been all too pleased to keep that one out in the world. Leaving them that way was a mark, too. Taking them had been necessary; in the end, it had saved lives. Maybe the Realm.

Not even you could have known that when you built this, Grandfather, Tavi thought with some amusement. I think. Then again, with Gaius Sextus, who could really tell?

Alera might, of course. He doubted she’d tell him.

The thought was enough, it seemed, and Tavi turned his head slightly in a nod of acknowledgment. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the flicker of a grey dress. “She’s worried about you, young Gaius,” Alera noted.

“I know.” He glanced towards the garden still tending to itself. What little damage there had been had, apparently, already seen to itself by whatever furycrafting made this possible. Tavi found that astonishingly detailed feat more fascinating than any other. Even if I don’t have time for the rest, he decided, I’ll get around to learning that one some day.

He looked again at his father’s pale statue on its bier. He couldn’t be sure, of course, how accurate the likeness was; it seemed likely to be extremely so. At least, if he looked at it the right way, it brought to mind the painting he’d once seen on his grandfather’s wall.

“He did not ask for help either.”

For a moment, Tavi’s eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly. “No,” he said quietly. “He wouldn’t have.”

He thought she smiled a little, though he didn’t turn to see her face. She remained a few more moments, sharing the silence and contemplation. If he had to guess, she was remembering the day this had all been built. She did not speak again, however. He felt the change before he glanced her way. She was already gone.

Tavi knew he should move on. His work was finished. He didn’t know exactly how long he stood there, only that his cheeks were already wet by the time he realized he was crying. He wasn’t even sure what he was crying for. He had cried enough recently, with clear reasons each time. Here in the sanctuary of his father’s grave, though, it felt safe to let go one last time.

Finally Tavi firmly watercrafted the evidence of his tears away. “We’ll bring the baby by to introduce you some time,” he said quietly, without really knowing why. His words sounded strange in the still air. Not even the restored spring disturbed it. Despite the dome and hard crystal walls, his voice did not echo. They were simply absorbed by the tranquility.

And yet, the light of the ever-burning flames somehow felt like an answer, warm and welcoming. The shifting rainbow patterns all along the walls almost seemed to laugh. He had no final message from Septimus, no letter or words of love, wisdom. But somehow it felt like a blessing—and not just his father’s. Gaius Sextus had left so much destruction in his wake, in Kalare and at Alera Imperia, but in this moment Tavi saw none of that. There was only the eternal light and peace of this haven.

It was a beautiful place.

Tavi smiled faintly and threw a sharp, regulation Legion salute. “Thank you. For everything.” With one final glance to ensure everything was once again in order, he made his way back outside, where Kitai waited for him, concern in her eyes.

He just shook his head slightly, still smiling to reassure her. As she reached for him, he took her hand and pulled her close.

“Is it done?” she asked.

“Yes.”

He felt her nod a little. “It’s time, chala. They’ve started. We need to catch up.”

“I know.” After a moment, he released her and took a step back, his smile widening slightly in contentment as he let himself drown, just for a moment, in the endless green of her eyes.

They stood there a few moments, and then Kitai laid a hand over his heart. He took it and raised it to his lips, very briefly. A mischievous smile touched her lips. “Race you,” she said, and with no other warning shoved him lightly before hurling herself into the air.

He didn’t really lose his balance, but Tavi did pause a moment. He turned to look over Calderon. It had been home for so long. He had left almost nine years ago, still—as he now realized with the clarity of the years—a child in his inexperience. Even going to the Academy, living with the Legion, Calderon had been home. He vividly remembered it so rocky and green, all the trails the sheep preferred so familiar to him.

Now it was heavily burned, thousands of men still milling around it as the Legions sorted themselves out. Bernardholt was gone, unsalvageable after being used as the Vord Queen’s base. Nothing of the rooms he had grown up in remained.

Tavi wondered briefly if she’d known.

Leaving felt different this time. He had always known, before, that he would come back to Calderon one day. He would visit, as often as time allowed. He wasn’t a child anymore. It had never really occurred to him before that he might outgrow this home. He’d never accepted before that he already had. He had a family to prepare for, a Realm to rebuild—a future to create.

He closed his eyes briefly to take one last, deep breath. When he opened them for one final glance, he found himself smiling. For the first time since the battle the air smelled clean and fresh. It would live again.

Turning his back on Calderon Valley, Gaius Octavian leapt into the open sky.