Ashes like snow fell upon the rampaged ruins of Astorea, debris and bodies lying about haphazardly on paved roads. The conclusion of the war had been neither clean nor clear, enemies that had been trying to tear apart the players just moments ago now being absolved of all grudges and vengeance because they were being mind controlled. How could they ‘win’ like this, when they hadn’t even repelled the invasion with their own merits, when both walls that the players were tasked with protecting were broken, bevies of non combatants were forced to get involved in the war efforts, and the blood of the unarmed had been spilt on these ruined streets. No conclusion, no catharsis. There had been a brief sensation of ‘joy’ and ‘exhilaration’ as that giant wolf was slain, and there had been a brief sensation of ‘relief’ as he released all that remained of his strength into his arcane Finale, crushing hordes of enemies in a single spell. There had even been a smile, as he realized just how much his magic had changed compared to that one time in the forests of Brisshal, chased by wolves he couldn’t destroy with a single spell. But those feelings were fleeting, blown away with the vestiges of flame ravaged buildings, the warmth of fire replaced by smoke and painful daylight as the sun rose. How long had he been logged in at this point? An entire week? Maybe more? And here he was, remaining online still, to perform funeral rites despite not having any knowledge of it. Broken people, broken families were everywhere within the ruined capital, looking for what remained of the braves that marched off to a war they never wanted. Each face was another needle in Cain’s heart as he paced past the deluge of destruction and death. Past the estate of a merchant long gone. Past the pitched tents filled with the groaning injured and the putrid dead. They were in pieces, missing chunks of their body, white bone and yellow fat revealing just how grievous their wounds were. If he was kinder, more open hearted perhaps, Cain would have aided with the healing efforts, offering his own song in place of medieval medical procedures. But these weren’t his friends, nor his people. Astorea was just a nation he had decided to work for, just one he decided to attach himself to, nothing more than that. All these human beings, living and dying and fighting and suffering, they were just pixelated data constructs piloted by advanced artificial intelligence. For all their connections, all their dreams, they just became white noise in the end, deleted or repurposed within the database. There was no need to feel bad about them. No need to struggle to help them. No need to push himself to save...because it’d only hurt more if he honestly considered the quality of the lost. When did he become such a weak little bitch? When did he become so unwilling to try out this new, painful experience? When did he… Yeah, he never did become that weakling, so lacking in determination and grit that the mere thought of losing someone would stop him. He was never shy about his opinions before, he was never the type of person to shirk from his duties, to hold back from exceeding the expectations placed on him. And could he honestly, honestly feel any sort of relief or closure from this war if he abandoned all these people just so his own immortal heart won’t be burdened by a closer connection? Cain stopped, turned, and sucked in a deep breath. His own body hadn’t fallen to pieces yet. His own strength still lingered. His own flagpole, the Ivory Reminiscence, had not yet stopped thrumming. His will was still unbroken, and he was, first and foremost, a Muse. One that could not exist without an audience, without others to marvel at his words, without others to inspire. Life was short and much too cheap. If he could pay for a life with just energy, if he could create happiness and hope with just energy, if that’s all that it took! Quick steps brought him to the sprawling, makeshift shelter full of injured soldiers, those who only lived once, who were too young to just give up. They weren’t adventurers. They didn’t have the chance to see the prismatic mountains of Crystallized Zalra. They didn’t wrestle with the gargantuan sea beasts of Tora’s Wedding Ring. They didn’t get to live, to experience every wonderful thing their wonderful world had to offer. So he smiled even as his stomach cracked to bits and breathed even as his life seeped between his fingers. Musical magic suffused with human agony, numbing the pain and reminding all that listened to his song that there was still something worth living for. Still a light that shone past the mire of war.
