03 Last Days
Part 3: Alexion's Last Days Before the Expedition
The Farewell
The sun had begun to set, casting a warm, amber glow over the city. The militia marched in a grand procession through the streets, their armor clinking with each step, their weapons gleaming in the fading light. Mothers and wives waved tearfully from the sidelines, while fathers stood with stoic pride, watching their sons march off to face the unknown. The air was thick with the weight of what was to come, an undercurrent of fear and uncertainty lingering beneath the surface of the parade's triumphant facade.
Aetherion stood near the entrance to the temple, watching as the soldiers passed by, his heart heavy with the knowledge that his grandfather and Alexion were among them. This was not the first time the militia had been called to push back the Cyric cultists—a group of Tieflings and other races that had been growing in number and influence on the outskirts of the city—but this time, it was different. The scale of the deployment was unprecedented, the stakes higher than ever before.
Rumors had spread like wildfire through the town. Some said the cultists were planning an invasion, while others whispered of a valuable artifact hidden within the city's walls—something the cultists would stop at nothing to obtain. Whatever the truth, the threat was real, and the militia was the city's only line of defense.
As the procession continued, Aetherion's gaze drifted to Alexion, who marched near the front of the column, dressed in the garb of a temple acolyte. Unlike most of the others in their order, Alexion carried a rapier beneath his cloak, a weapon that seemed almost out of place for someone in the service of Oghma. But Alexion had always been different—his divine connection with Oghma had been evident for years, and small miracles seemed to follow him wherever he went. His ambitions extended far beyond the walls of the temple, and Aetherion had no doubt that Alexion was destined for greatness. He had often spoken of rising through the ranks, perhaps even becoming a High Priest one day.
But now, as Aetherion watched his closest friend march toward battle, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had settled in his chest.
The Last Game of Dragonchess
That night, before the militia was to depart, Aetherion and Alexion shared a quiet moment together in one of the temple's secluded rooms. The noise of the temple—the rustling of parchment, the scraping of quills against scrolls—was distant here, leaving the two of them alone with their thoughts. A single candle burned between them, casting flickering shadows over the Dragonchess board that lay on the table.
The game had been going on for some time, both of them focused on the pieces before them. Alexion had always been the more aggressive player, pushing his pieces forward with a boldness that often caught Aetherion off guard. It was a reflection of his personality—strategic, yes, but also impulsive when he saw an opportunity. Aetherion, on the other hand, had learned to bide his time, to wait for the perfect moment to strike.
"You've gotten better," Alexion remarked, moving one of his pieces forward. His tone was light, but there was a hint of pride in his voice.
"I've had plenty of practice," Aetherion replied with a small smile, carefully considering his next move. He was beginning to see a pattern in Alexion's strategy, a vulnerability in his aggressive playstyle that he could exploit.
As the game continued, they spoke in hushed tones about the upcoming Rite of Enlightenment. It was the ceremony that would mark their official transition from acolytes to clerics, assuming they were deemed worthy by Oghma. For Alexion, it seemed a foregone conclusion. He had shown all the signs of divine favor—the small miracles, the ease with which he grasped new knowledge. Aetherion, on the other hand, had always felt like he was falling short.
"I don't think I'm going to make it through the ceremony," Aetherion confessed after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper. "I haven't exhibited any signs of being favored by Oghma. Not like you."
Alexion looked up from the board, his expression softening. "You're being too hard on yourself, 'small horn.'" The nickname was a term of affection, not just a reference to their shared heritage, but to Aetherion's unique appearance. His horns, smaller than most Tieflings' due to his mixed lineage, had earned him the name. Despite the difference, Alexion had always treated him like an equal, but there was a hint of playful teasing in the way he said it.
"But what if I don't have that connection?" Aetherion pressed, his doubts spilling out before he could stop them. "My father... he tried, and he failed. What if I'm cursed to follow the same path?"
Alexion leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Do you know the story of Larenthios the Humble?" he asked, his voice taking on the cadence of a teacher.
Aetherion frowned. "The one who started as a simple scribe?"
Alexion nodded. "Yes. He had no grand miracles, no divine visions. He was just an ordinary man, but he devoted himself to the pursuit of knowledge, to understanding the truth of the world. Oghma didn't bless him with power immediately. It came later, when he had proven his commitment, his faith."
He moved another piece on the board, a subtle smile playing at his lips. "And then there's Verathis the Boundless. They said he was the least promising of all the acolytes, barely able to keep up with the others. But when his time came, Oghma revealed his true potential, and Verathis went on to become one of the greatest scholars of our time."
Aetherion remained silent, the weight of Alexion's words sinking in. He wanted to believe that there was a place for him in the temple, that his contributions could matter. But the doubts still gnawed at him.
Alexion, sensing his friend's turmoil, leaned forward, his voice soft but firm. "We all have a place in Oghma's temple, Aetherion. Each of us contributes to the greater understanding of the world. Your path may be different from mine, but that doesn't make it any less important."
For a moment, Aetherion felt a flicker of hope. Maybe Alexion was right. Maybe there was a place for him, even if he hadn't seen it yet.
As the night wore on and the game neared its end, Aetherion hesitated before making his final move. "Why are you going on this expedition, Alexion? Why take the risk?"
Alexion's expression grew more serious. "Because I believe it will help me ascend faster through the ranks of the temple. The corruption in the city—it's festering. The people in power use words not to seek truth, but to manipulate and control. They twist reality to serve their own ends, and the rest of us suffer for it."
He paused, his gaze flickering to the pendant hanging around Aetherion's neck—the pendant their grandfather had given him, a symbol of their family's faith. "I want to change that, Aetherion. I want to use knowledge the way Oghma intended—to expose lies, to bring justice. And if this expedition gives me the political and spiritual power to do that, then I have to take the chance."
Aetherion reached up, unclasping the pendant and holding it out to Alexion. "Take this," he said, his voice steady. "When you wear it, you'll know that we're with you. That you're not alone."
Alexion smiled, accepting the pendant and tucking it beneath his cloak. "Thank you," he whispered.
The next morning, Aetherion stood among the crowd as the militia marched out of the city. He watched as Alexion disappeared into the horizon, a sense of foreboding settling over him. He wished he had known what was to come. Perhaps then, he would have tried to stop him. Perhaps he would have asked for one more game, one more smile, one more moment.
But it was too late. Alexion was gone. And when he returned, he would not be the same.