Aure of Love

         The Svensfire River danced its way through and around the village giving the snow-covered landscape of Togiatti, a serene grandeur. Set in the southern area of the continent Sandor, the village was teeming with life. Young children played and artisans of all trades walked the flattened cobblestone streets after the evening’s snow. Stone houses adorned with wooden doors, and window panes lined the streets. The evidence of fires could be seen as wisps of smoke rose out of chimneys and into the air.

         Outside the orphanage, a young man wearing only a pair of tattered white pants, slept on the cold iron bench. His lean, muscular body was curled up in a ball to preserve any warmth left in him. The Matron of the orphanage passed by on her return from the afternoon’s errands and gasped at the appearance of the young man. As she reached out, touching his pale face, a chill climbed up her spine and she rushed inside to call for assistance.

         Aided by some of her older boys, they carried the mysterious vagrant into the orphanage, clumsily wobbling up the front steps. Nevarin , giving into to her curiosity, followed behind catching only a glance of the young man being carried upstairs to the washroom. Even his mortal condition could not subdue his angelic features. Nevarin offered to care for him and allow the Matron to calm the other children and tend to matters of the household. His clothes were taken to be washed and he was gently eased into a warm, soothing bath.

         There he lay motionless, his head cocked against the ivory tub. A smile slowly crept across Nevarin ’s face as color rushed back to his cheeks. The steam from the bath clouded the mirror and windows, as the young man stirred. The movements were tepid, infantile in nature, like a caterpillar emerging as a butterfly, unaware of its new body. His eyes opened to discover Nevarin ’s beautiful face. Their eyes met, and with an exchanging glance, they knew this was something.

         It had been four months since Asrai’s arrival at the orphanage. Welcomed by the other children as one of their own, he was able to make friends easily. His friendship with Nevarin was steady and they began to grow close. One evening, after dinner, Asrai crept into her room, where he deposited a parchment. He had inscribed his feelings for her and hoped to celebrate the Saint's day of Ianda, goddess of love and beauty, with her.

         On her dresser, he discovered another parchment, exceedingly more elaborate than his. He began to read, it was a letter of acceptance to Magadan, the Academy of the Arts in Sandor. The pinnacle of scholarly prestige, Magadan was on the other side of the continent. Asrai knew of Nevarin ’s forte in the arts of enchantment and strategy, and a wave of sadness drowned him in the knowledge that she would be leaving. Disheartened, Asrai trudged back to his room to wait for Nevarin ’s reply.

         Unbeknownst to him, she had already taken leave. Asrai’s heart sank as he heard the news. His sadness enveloped him. The brothers and sisters at the orphanage tried to console him with no avail. Unsure of what to do, or where to look, he vowed to take up the sword and apply to the Magadan. Throughout the day he trained rigorously, and at night he read all that he could find on swordplay.

         In the beginning of his fourth year of training, he received a letter. It was from Archon Majesticwolf, of Magadan. All of his training had finally paid off. In the coming few days he would leave. The evening prior to his departure was the occasion for a great feast and celebration. Toasts were made, tears were shed, laughs were had, but none compared to the feelings Asrai possessed. His thoughts wandered to his reunion with Nevarin . Asrai realized just then how much he had missed her, had yearned to see her smile, listen to her voice. Asrai set out on his journey, reflecting on the orphanage and the kind people who had given him new life. He smiled, and waved one last time before vanishing around the corner.

         The train ride through the Snowfields of Fylg to the city of Magridd was lengthy. When the train finally pulled in, Archon Majesticwolf greeted Asrai. Taking note of his obvious zeal, she smiled and led him through the streets to the guildhall. Magridd, the capital of Sandor, was much larger than Togiatti. The hall itself was a grand building of stone and wood, accented by intricately carved figures, and a grand rose window on the upper floor.

         The wooden door creaked open, and Asrai was introduced to the other guild members. A warm welcome was appreciated, but his attention was directed elsewhere. He peered through the crowds for Nevarin, wondering if he would recognize her, or she him. Concerned, he approached an officer for inquiry.

         Nevarin, adept in her skills, had been swiftly accelerated to the Nexus of the Arts in Harpalyce, on the other side of the country. The Nexus was a prestigious academy, forbidden to all melee combatants. Its true location was known only to a select few outside of its scholars.

         Disappointed, Asrai put his entire focus into preparation for the upcoming battle. Valorguard would embark on a march to the Plains of Lynnaya to battle the denizens of Atrapos, the god of death and suffering. The night of the great battle was approaching. The officers met one last time to plan and pray for victory.

         The fighting was fierce. The demons approached from all sides. Shield wall was breached and many had been slain. All that could be heard were the moans of the dying, grunts and screams of the living as the steel violently clashes. The night sky cast a shadow on the battlefield. Amidst the confusion Asrai was hacked down. His will continued to fight, but his body was broken. He lay in the snowfields as the sounds of battle grew distant.

         Visions of things he could not understand flooded his unconscious: great cities of stone and glass, wing creatures that soared through the skies. Smoke and noise, the din of millions of voices. His mind wandered, and the image of Nevarin flickered. Somehow knowing she was in this place, Asrai fought to hold on to the visions.

         They found him at dawn. Men with torches and wagons, old women wailing; young women running, searching for their fallen lovers. He was loaded into a wagon and taken to the monastery in the city of Mizal, just north of the battlegrounds. For days he laid in a fever, and many times the good brothers gave up hope, but his love gave him strength. Though unbeknownst to her, Nevarin’s love was the beacon as Asrai’s soul wandered the ether between their worlds.
         When his fever broke, he was granted clarity. Strength slowly returned. He spent his days walking the courtyards, watching the monks pray and do their chores. His thoughts would always return to Nevarin. The gods had granted him another chance. When he is whole again, he would ride forth with mended armor, and sharpened sword. Having been through the crucible of fire, his soul burned stronger.

         As he was granted permission to leave, Asrai’s transportation had been arranged. He would travel by griffin to a land unseen by his kind: to the city of Harpalyce. The flight took days due to uncooperative weather.

         Finally, past the Great Forest of Drydin, the marvelous city was in view. The griffin roared as it encircled the landing pad. Its wings gently tapering to a soft beat as it lowered itself to the ground. Asrai dismounted, petting the griffin as he thanked her for his ride. Baffled by the sheer magnitude of the city, he started down the path in hopes of finding Nevarin; a task that would prove less difficult than expected.

         There she was, his vision of beauty and grace poised on the edge of a fountain. Neither the serene water flowing nor the vibrant foliage could compete with her. Asrai rushed to her side where he grabbed her hands. Startled at first, Nevarin then looked into his eyes, and could see the young man she had cared for. The one who always made sure she was safe. The one who never got to share his true feelings.

         His quest was nearly complete. After a friendly embrace, his mouth slowly opened, and then he fell backwards, crushing into the ground. Nevarin called for help and brought him to the inn. A vicar was sent for and he promptly examined Asrai. After a brief account of the boy’s history, the vicar made his diagnosis and confided in Nevarin. Asrai was a victim of Malosinia, a disease carried by one of Atrapos’ minions that in this age remains untreatable.

         He lay bedridden for days. This sudden illness struck fast and immediate. Nevarin sat by his side all the while. She knew the inevitable would happen. He only had a few days left. It would be in this house, his quest would finally be complete. Summoning the rest of his strength, he spoke of his love for her. How much he had thought about her and that even in these dire circumstances, how thankful he was that she was back in his life. Nevarin’s face became flush. She was overwhelmed with emotions. Having always thought of him only as a friend, she began to cry. Her heart shattered as she contemplated her response.

         Asrai perished that evening. Though in his final hours he was not alone, but with one who he cherished. His body was brought home to Miredhel where a ceremony was held in his honor. The now elderly Matron, still caretaker over the orphanage, and her children were present. Many of the Valorguard officers and members were in attendance, as was Nevarin.