———

Renaud

I loathe the past, for it was in those days that I was truly helpless: weak. I had no power of my own, no influence to wield. I was but a frail little child who could only trot pathetically behind the shadows of others.

Yet it was also in the past that I was at my happiest. Even if I had a brittle heart, or weak limbs, or feeble breaths, I remember feeling at peace. I would visit my mother's study when the pain was too much to bear, and I would lay on her lap by the fireside as she sang soft songs to lull me to slumber. I always worried I was interfering with her work, but no matter the circumstance she would always make time for me.

I did not resent my condition, for I had the love of my family to comfort me always.

But such idle days would not last forever. I was a scion of House Dordognes — the second child of the main family line. Such birthright inevitably came with many responsibilities, and so I trained at a young age to be a man worth upholding the household title. I was taught in the ways of administration, law, religion, and combat.

To no one's surprise, I was not adept at combat. Merely holding a sword required every bit of my strength, and a single blow to my body would quickly shatter my bones. It was embarrassing to put on such a display, especially when my father was a knight under the direct command of his late Holiness, Pepin the Malicious Prowler of the Ever Devouring Twilight That Which All Feared and Abhorred and Wept with Utter Fright. Yet despite all his renown, my father never pressured me to do more than I was able.

He was not often at the house during my childhood. The emperor sent him off to conquer those distant lands he called savage; but in the rare moments when he did return, I would spend a quiet moment with him by the training grounds. He watched me perform our family's techniques and would give sincere advice on little things: how to improve my stance, my hold, my footwork. I knew he had no expectations of me to truly succeed him as a paladin, but that never dissuaded him from respecting my efforts. His love was subtle. Even if he didn't show it, I felt his care nonetheless.

In truth, I had no real reason to keep up with my practice, for I was not the heir. My sister, Bradamante, had that honor in my stead. She was everything the elders looked for in a successor: the oldest, the strongest, someone who would bring honor to the family. She was not a sickly child who could barely walk through the halls without descending into a coughing fit like me. Her physical prowess and skill rivaled that of even the adult paladins. The only aspect I surpassed her in was through study, the more scholarly and financial pursuits.

It was because I was of such inclination that everyone assumed I would become an officer or perhaps even a judge. It was an honorable profession, and most importantly a realistic one. It would be dishonest of me to claim that I wasn't a bit disappointed in my lack of choice. But those feelings mattered little. What was important was how I could contribute to our house, our noble name. Bradamante was truly deserving of the heir's position, and so I resolved myself to better my skills and one day be of help to her.

I didn't envy her, for I already had all that I could ever want.

But even though my time was better off spent in the archives, I couldn't help but return to the training grounds occasionally and pick up the blade. I wasn't deluded — I knew I would never reach the paladin's level. But being there, exhausting my body and feeling the sharp pangs of labor… it was relaxing, in an odd way. A hobby. Swinging a sword was when I felt most connected to my father.

Eventually, the fateful day came when I was to be enrolled in the academy, alongside the other children of influence. The thought of interacting with them terrified me, at first. I had never spoken with anyone else besides those in my home. The other kids were much larger than me, so full of energy, and when I entered my first class it felt as if their every word was spat judging my appearance. I heard whispers of my family's name — jealousy, and awe, and disbelief that someone like me could belong to someplace so noble.

I came with the intention to make friends with those who had the same interests as mine, yet in the end I only retreated into myself out of shyness and spent the first few weeks alone. I never thought much about my condition other than the occasional ache it brought, but it was here that I began to look deeply at myself. I saw my sallow, thin skin: my eyes dark and covered in shadow. The ghostly pale white almost glowing as if I were some otherworldly creature.

I looked like a freak, so was it any surprise that I ended up isolated from my peers?

No one harassed me, nor insulted me to my face, or even deigned to come near me. I was protected thanks to my heritage, yet it was because so that I became lonelier than ever. I realized, then, that this would be my life for the rest of my days. Living like this, constantly listening to words of disappointment from both child and adult alike — reality was cruel. But nonetheless I pushed on. No matter how difficult my school days were, at least I could return home knowing I would be met with the loving embrace of my family.

After months had passed, however, I came to meet some… peculiar children. Our first semester had just ended, and I was put into a required combat course which encouraged us to experiment with different weapons and find ones that suited us, even if we didn't intend on joining the paladins' order. The nation was in a time of great war, mostly started by Pepin himself, so it was expected for every child to at least know how to protect themselves.

Of course, I failed. My instructors looked at me with frustration and eventually wandered off to teach someone more talented. Thus, I sat by the side and waited dully for the class to end.

It was then that two boys walked up and joined me in my little corner of self pity. I didn't understand why, nor did I really have the energy to ask. They merely gave me a bright smile and started rambling on without my involvement. The boy with a mischievous look and wild unruly hair was Roland—the son of an influential military leader in the castle—while the other child who looked more calm and sagely went by the name of Olivier. The two had been best friends ever since they were in cribs, and they made very, very sure to inform me of every aspect of their lives.

I was rather annoyed at first, but over time their incessant positivity began to grow on me. It was nice to speak casually with another after so long. I didn't care if they were merely trying to build connections with my house. I just wanted to savor that feeling of belonging, to pretend that I had finally made a genuine friend.

It turned out that I didn't need to pretend at all. Roland and Olivier never wanted anything. They approached me solely out of goodwill because, as Roland so innocently stated, "Doesn't it suck to be alone?" I had to agree with him. It really did suck.

I laughed at how boldly he had spoken then, and I laughed even more when he picked a fight with the instructor when they came to scold him for skipping class. Roland was a prodigy in the combative arts. He needed only look at a technique once to fully replicate it—no, improve it. The academy was desperate to nurture his potential; but unfortunately for them, he wasn't the type to bow down before authority.

Roland defiantly shook his head and then stood by my side. He asked why they were so willing to exclude me if they truly valued their students' learning; and when the instructor stated that I wasn't worth teaching, Roland winded his fist back and punched them straight in the chest.

I was mortified, yet deep inside my heart I felt a slight tremble of satisfaction. Here stood before me a truly righteous man, someone who embodied everything that I wasn't. He cried out at the injustice before his eyes and he cared not for the consequences that followed. All he wished to do was what was right.

It was then that, for the first time, I felt respect for another beside my parents.

From then on, I would spend my school days in the company of my two new friends. We laughed and went on adventures, terrorized the instructing staff, and played as children should. Eventually, we welcomed another into our merry group: Maugris, an aspiring priest. And so our next few years whisked on by. We had no worries or troubles. Those days of ours were truly my most precious memories... if only I knew just how short they would be.

On the evening of one such day, I returned back to the manor in an uneasy mood. There was a dreadful air about the space. I didn't know why, but my instincts screamed, begged, to flee. Even the servant quarters were silent, and the head butler was the only one to greet me at the doorsteps.

He told me to turn back. I should have listened, but the restlessness within me demanded to know the truth. What was happening in our home? No, more specifically, who was in our home?

I pushed past the butler and rushed into the halls. A wet squelch leaked from above. My mind began to unravel; I choked on my breath in fear, for that disturbing sound was coming from my mother's quarters. I quickly followed the source and charged through her doors, only to find—

I cannot describe it. I do not want to. The horror of what became my mother, and the bloodcurdling image of her murderer, remains ever ingrained into my mind. That thing looked at me then, and it gave me an insidious smile. It delighted at my fear.

I didn't know what else to do but run away. My bones creaked and spurt, my very blood felt as if it was aflame, but I cared not and ran. I ran as if this was somehow just a nightmare, and if I got away far enough, I would find myself back in my mother's embrace. I couldn't bear to face the reality. All it took was a single instant for everything to come crashing down.

When I had returned to the mansion's exit, I frantically pushed against the doors and came face to face with my father. I pleaded to him with my cheeks stained in tears to slay the monster in our house, but he did not move. I saw in him a helplessness that triumphed even my own. He could do nothing; we could do nothing.

For the horror inside was the very being we were supposed to serve.

My father hugged me tight and demanded that I ignore what transpired this day. Even when his teeth dug into his bloody lips, and his eyes carried such deep, festering hate, he told me to look away and carry on as I always had. I despised him for his cowardice, but it is only now in my older years that I realize he simply wished to keep us safe. He had already lost his wife, his beloved. He couldn't bear losing us as well.

And so I had shut my lips and closed off my heart. I promised to never reveal the emperor's insanity. Thus did I drag myself to the academy the next day—tired, frightened, without even the chance to mourn. It felt as if I were moments away from snapping entirely. I wanted to give into the madness, to rip my heart out and succumb to the grief that so plagued my soul… but there was something even more powerful, more visceral, than my pain.

Revenge.

I swore to the Stars, to the sacred trinity and all who'd listen to my resolve, that I would slaughter Pepin no matter the cost. My every thought was of revenge, and everything I did, learned, manipulated, was all for the sake of bringing that despicable wretch to the grave as he deserved. I didn't care what would become of me afterward. I merely wished to avenge my mother and rid this nation of its parasite.

My friends noticed the change in me and tried to uncover the truth, but I merely waved them off and spent the rest of my academy years searching for ways to weaken the emperor. Roland and those fools would only get in the way. They were not like me; they still had families of their own, whereas I was alone in my plight. I could not rely on my father, who so meekly accepted his position as a hunting mutt. I could not tell my sister, for she had not the intelligence to plan and would have likely gotten herself killed in her recklessness. No, it was up to me. I, and I alone, could bring about Pepin's fall.

But to my surprise, I wasn't the only one with plans of treachery. I came to meet Uncle Ganelon after I graduated, and it was through his tutelage and guidance that we schemed in secret. For years we attempted all manner of ploys to slay the evil resting on the throne. When the emperor declared holy war on every nation in the continent, we rejoiced, for surely this man would soon die from his hubris.

But no, he lived. He survived and even brought forth the grand empire he had always lusted after. Ganelon and I had failed. All these years we had spent sabotaging this scourge, throwing away our morality and involving those innocent in our methods. I brushed aside my sins under the assumption that this was right, that I, like Roland, was fighting for justice. In the end I was left a weary, miserable husk, and thus the next ten years passed under the emperor's demented reign.

We thought our fate was inevitable. Perhaps Pepin was God's punishment onto us of the mortal world, or maybe he was simply an evil man given far too much power solely because of his birth. Whatever the reason, it changed not the atrocities he committed.

And then he died.

One day, the demons descended upon our lands from the mountaintops, and they brought danger to Pepin's reign unlike any other challenge he'd faced thus far. So relentless was the demons' march that the emperor became too busy to indulge in his pastime of debauchery. The priests decried the things as evil, but a part of me was thankful toward those hideous, nonsensical things. They brought Ganelon and I hope again that our filthy lord might finally be brought down, and he was. He perished alongside thousands of our kindred at the site now known as Sleeping Hollow. It was a surprise for the both of us; we initially intended to have the Beast Lord slay him, but why obsess over specifics? The monster was dead. At the sacrifice of many others, we had saved this realm from the his grasp.

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I thought I was finally free, and for a time I did experience bliss. Yet what came after was but a slow gnawing emptiness. I no longer had anything else to aspire toward. I had no dreams, no desires, nothing else but the smoldering hole where revenge once festered.

I had nothing else but the gradual creep of envy.

I wanted the prestige and honor the Peers had. Even though I inherited this title from my father, surely I deserved to be among them, right? I helped rid this nation of its corruption. I struggled so that no other child would become like me ever again. I deserved to be praised; I deserved to live a life of glory. I wanted to be happy after all my years spent bitter and resentful.

But the people cared not for feats brought from intelligence. They only adored what was flashy, what could be explicitly seen. That was why Roland and Maugris came to be so respected. They flaunted their garish strength and attracted words of awe from the masses. I, meanwhile, was relegated to the shadows.

That was why I volunteered to take command over Expedition Argo. Ganelon was against it at first. He had intended for someone more replaceable to take up the mantle and use them as a sacrifice to weaken Roland's faction, but I insisted on taking charge. This was my moment to finally gain recognition from the people. With our successful return, I would have an accomplishment worth flaunting.

It didn't matter if we never discovered any traces of the demons, for the fame of crossing into the Beast Lord's domain would be great enough to serve as the start of my heroic tale. Yes, everything was to be simple. Ganelon forced the homeward jewel in my hands in case of peril, but I never once considered using it. Why would I? Under my direction, we couldn't possibly fail.

And yet, here I am now. Maugris is dead, I've lost over half of my expedition, and this rancid Evil has me thoroughly trapped in its hold. I cannot see anything within its folded ears. There is only darkness and the occasional bump of movement. Why it chooses to do this instead of simply taking my life, I know not, but it takes not a sage to predict that my fate shall not end well. Perhaps that is for the better.

I am truly, truly foolish. I let my envy take sway over my heart, and because of it I led many undeserving to their deaths. If someone more competent had been in my place, another Peer, someone worth respecting, would the expedition have ended up this way? The past is ever so painful because it can never disappear. I cannot go back and undue my actions. There is only regret, as I'm forced to witness the consequences of all I've wrought.

So even if I were to die here, I cannot complain. I've lived my entire life drenched in misery. Does someone like me deserve to live happily? I do not know. At this moment, I am merely tired.

I want to let it go, this stubborn yearning for life. I want to never think again.

"No, you must not die. You do not deserve the comfort of death."

Just when my eyes began to droop, a disgusting voice forces itself into my ear. I look around only to discover myself in some sort of throne room. In front of me is the vile Evil that's brought us so much pain, but something is odd about it. It does not move or attack. It simply remains still and watches me.

"So you things do have intelligence," I spit in amusement. Never did I think myself to ever engage in conversation with a demon. "Why have you brought me here?"

The Evil does not reply to my words. It continues on with its rambling.

"I can hear it, the weeping inside your heart. Such envy lies within you. So miserable, so pathetic. Your life is worthless, so why bother caring for those ignorant fools? Let your envy spread. Take revenge on this world until there are none left more broken than you."

I lean back in disbelief for a moment, before breaking out into a roaring laugh.

"I am many things," I begin. "But no matter how low I stoop, you will never turn me against my fellows. I am ugly, I am abhorrent, but if there is one thing I know for certain, it's that I at least have my pride as a Frankishmen—no, as a son of House Dordognes. Seethe in failure, wretch. I will die before I lay hands on another."

The Evil curls its ears, confused by my response.

"I do not understand. You carry such envy in your heart, more than all those mutts of the outside combined, and yet you refuse to let it out. Why, why? Let it out. You do not need to pretend. There is no one here for you to impress. Acknowledge it, the filth and muck in your heart. Become more pathetic than me."

"You will never understand. There are things more important than myself. I pledged, way back when I was still yet guiltless, that I would never become like that monster Pepin. If I must vanish into obscurity, alone, forgotten, then so be it. You hold no power over me."

I spread my arms out in a mocking welcome and taunt it. "Do it already, you dirty cur. Kill me. No one will mourn my passing, but at least in my final moments I shall ruin the plans of a creature like you."

The Evil doesn't respond. I keep my arms out and wait patiently, stubbornly. I know there is no escape. The others of the expedition have likely long departed. Faced with my death, there is no fear or worry. I will accept it like a noble of House Dordognes would—with pride.

However, the demon moves not as I expect. Its strange ears begin to wrap around its grotesque blade, and it reduces in size, smaller, even smaller, until it is no wider than a needle.

I have not a chance to react, before it rushes forth and pierces my chest.

I gasp and attempt to grab hold of the sides and pull it out, but the squirming tendrils cling on tight. They creep along the needle and onto my body, before eventually spreading until I'm covered from the neck down in the filthy layer of cartilage. I cannot move or break free. The demon worms into my mind and whispers a maddening spell, a command to give in and become as one.

"You will not die. You do not deserve to die. I do not understand, but I do not need to. You will become like me, tortured as me. I envy how you can still resist. So I will steal you. I will steal your envy, and your will, and everything you are. Only then will you comprehend it: the worthlessness of this world. They will all suffer. They must all be more miserable than we."

I can feel it. It wishes to turn me into one of them. Now, I understand what Maugris must've felt. The voices, the whispers… there is no escape from it. All I hear are the words of my childhood. I hear those voices so envious of my family. If only they knew what I felt; if only they could understand the pain I suffered. Would they still be so envious, then? Take it! Take it all if you wish. Take these memories away from me.

I do not want to succumb like this. If only I could just die, then it would have no mind to take over. Yes, I just need to bite my tongue. I have to kill myself before it can use me as its thrall.

But I can't. Every passing second, I lose further control of my body. Even my thoughts are starting to unravel. I can't… think. The noise is so loud, so deafening. I am helpless just as I was back during that terrible day.

I can no longer hold on.

"Will you truly let it end this way, Sir Renaud?'

A voice snaps me back to consciousness. Oddly enough, I can hear a certain gentleman through the chaotic whirl of sound. My vision unblurs; my mind focuses. And there, standing before me, is Sir Lucius in the flesh. A strange floral mask covers his face, but there is no denying his presence. He is real.

"Lucius…?" I mumble. The demon around my body screeches out in fear. I do not quite understand why, but beholding the man causes its influence on me to weaken. It is disgusted. It is afraid. "You never should have followed me."

"But of course I would, my friend!" he replies. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I were not concerned over the kidnapping of a fellow? But oh my, you appear to be in dire straits."

Even in this situation, I cannot help but chuckle at his casual demeanor. "It is good that you are here. Now you can… you can slay the demon. It is trapped around me. You must end it."

Lucius tilts his head. "That would mean slaying you as well."

"It does not matter. This is my fate. At least allow me to die with dignity."

There is nothing left for me. Fame, glory, all I thought I desired — it's useless. The one I sought revenge on has long since passed, so let me die here whilst I am still sane.

"Hm, but is there truly a need for you to perish as well?"

"What other way is there?"

Lucius bids me a laugh, before summoning a chair and taking a seat. "The demon has not yet consumed you, Sir Renaud. It covers your body, yes, but what's important is the mind. Your will. Sir Maugris was too far gone to be brought back; however, you are different. There is just one thing you must do."

"And what is that?"

"Accept your true self."

I do not quite understand. I've already accepted responsibility for my peoples' deaths. I've acknowledged my naivety, my weakness, this bitter remnant that has long refused to let go. What more must I confess?

Lucius rubs his chin in thought for a moment, and then gestures to me with a wave. "Let us start with this: Are you truly alright with dying here?"

A strange question. "Is anyone ever eager to die? I do not wish for it, nor do I have a particular urge to fight against it. I merely… want for this feeble life to be of some use. If dying here alongside this demon may atone for the mistakes I've made, then so be it."

I think it a befitting response, but to my surprise Lucius shakes his head.

"Lies. You still refuse to see it."

I hold my tongue back, trying to understand his words. "How is that a lie?"

Lucius tuts and points at my heart. "The man I have accompanied alongside this journey and the man you believe yourself to be are different, my friend. You claim to resent Roland, and Maugris, and the other Peers for undermining the privilege they've received due to their natural talent. They are welcomed as heroes despite their lack of effort, and you see that as a grievous offense as one who cannot ever reach their heights. That is why you envy them, is that correct?"

I do not particularly enjoy having every facet of my nature so thoroughly analyzed, but my bafflement at least helps with fending off the demon's control. "I suppose it is."

"Lies, again. Tell me truthfully, Sir Renaud. What is it about them that you envy? What are the words hidden deep in your soul?"

I scrunch my face in concentration and try to think. When did it begin, this spite? Was it after the war when I had to witness those I once called friends be celebrated out on the streets? Was it after the emptiness I felt when Pepin had died, and I was left with no further cause?

No, it was even further back. Back to the day my family was split apart forever.

I remember walking into the halls of the academy, and to my eyes then everything had changed. It no longer seemed welcoming. Every minute that passed during class was of pure agony, for I heard the voices of my fellows. But those voices were not of envy. No, they were casual, bright, and unknowing. They continued their day just like the one before, and they laughed and enjoyed their schooling as a child should.

But to me, that brightness was ever so stifling, for I knew that I could never go back to it. I had been corrupted, changed. There was no returning to those youthful, naive adventures with my friends. And so every word spat by their oblivious maws were no different than jagged knives. They stabbed at me, mocked me, reminded me of the innocence I had lost. So even when Roland and the others tried to comfort me, I glared at them with hatred.

I envied them, those smiles still yet untainted. I envied how they could still live their normal lives. Just being near them stoked my bitterness, because there was nothing else in the world I wished for than to be just like them.

All this time, I fooled myself into believing it was glory that I wanted. If I had it, could I eventually escape from my sadness? With fame, I could be welcomed with love once more, even if they came from those who didn't truly know me. With power, I wouldn't need to despair at my helplessness ever again. I thought becoming a respected and honored Peer was what I had to be.

But that was just an excuse. All these vain little things… they weren't truly what I wanted. No, it was much simpler than that — something more foolish, and naive, and so hopelessly bright.

I wanted to be happy.

I wanted to be rid of the nightmares that would plague me every night, and I wanted to confidently face the morning sun without any worries. Year after year, I busied myself for the sake of revenge, so at the end of it all I hoped to find some semblance of contentment, but that contentment never came even with his death. Thus I chased after other goals believing it would bring me the peace I sought.

However, such thinking was wrong from the start. I would've never found my happiness like that; and for as long as I lived I would have likely remained miserable, unknowing of my own folly.

The truth, my true self… I realize it now.

I am still that frightened little boy who ran away from his mother's killer. And no matter how old I became, no matter the experiences and suffering I underwent, I have remained in that spot: unable to progress, to move forward. The Renaud I am now is stuck in those bygone days.

"It doesn't need to be that way, my friend," Lucius says as if reading my mind. "Everyone is capable of change. What matters is knowing where to start. Your story is a tragic one, and deeply unfair. Out of everyone in this world, you were among the unlucky few robbed of an innocent childhood, and nothing will change that. But it is never too late to look toward the future. What do you want to do now, Sir Renaud? What is it that your soul cries out for?"

I can feel a burning, passionate fire bursting from my chest. It rages at the cruelty of this world and mourns the child I couldn't be. But more than anything, it wishes to be free.

Free of envy.

Free of revenge.

Free to finally live.

"No. No! What do you think you're doing? You must be miserable like me. You must despise yourself, hate yourself. So why? Your envy, it is disappearing. I cannot feel it. I cannot understand… cannot understand…"

I slowly bring my head back and let out a deep breath. I can no longer hear the voices, those words I once obsessed day and night over. Instead, there is only peace.

It is time I finally let it go. The Renaud of my past, that innocent little boy scarred by trauma far too great… he must go now and find solace. Somewhere in my heart he will remain, but no longer will I let his pain control me.

I will let him go, so that I can finally strive toward my future.

"You were right, my friend," I say to him. "I do not wish to die after all."

With a shout, I tear into the flesh coating my body and rip it apart piece by piece, more, even more until my ears can hear nothing but the Evil's scream begging to stop. Even when my fingers turn raw with red, I dig even further until the grotesque blade finally reveals itself once more. I grab it tight, blood trickles from my fingers, but I hold firm and ever slowly pull it out.

The blade clatters onto the floor, alongside the remnants of what once was the demon. It squirms pathetically on the ground and tries to wriggle away, but Lucius steps forth and blocks its path.

"Would you like to do the honors, Sir Renaud?" he says, offering his blade.

I take it without hesitation and loom over the demon. It warbles and cries, and for a moment I feel a brief flash of pity for it. Perhaps this thing was once like me, burdened with a tragedy it should have never experienced, but rather than wallowing in resentment I choose to move forward. I choose to take a step into the unknown, uncertain it may be. And so I will learn to heal that one day the phantoms of the past will become but a distant memory.

"Thank you, Sir Lucius."

I raise the blade, and then stab it down. The Evil soon falls limp and, ever slowly, dissipates into dust. The blade melts into the floor and the wrinkled ears blow out of the room, vanishing without a trace.

Perhaps now, it can be free as well.

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