A few moments later, the Guardian Angels and their allies stand outside the far end of the tunnel that once led to the chamber of the Silver Flame, looking back to see the cloud of billowing dust expanding slowly within it, a result of the collapsing stone and rubble that they can still hear falling. A slightly shamefaced Prine rejoins them there, along with a number of the Cathedral’s defenders, most of them looking significantly worried, if not utterly shocked.
“What has happened?” one of them asks, her stunned voice not extending beyond a whisper, “I … I felt my connection with the Flame … die.”
Others nod helplessly, clearly looking for reassurance to those who stand before them: the Champion of the Flame, a planetar, a dragon, the greatest heroes of Khorvaire, and, above all, the Keeper of the Flame.
But there is none to be had. Jaela replies, in a voice more wretched than any the Angels have heard her use before this moment, “The Flame is … gone.”
Soft moans of terror and a couple of whispered, “No!”s are all that answer her. A few of the people in the vicinity collapse to their knees. Some begin to pray or weep, sometimes simultaneously. One man begins to curse under his breath, softly but fiercely, over and over.
Jaela looks around—her face utterly forlorn, with the marks of tears still on it—no longer the Keeper of the Flame but only a little girl. For just a moment, those around her think that she will break down. But then her expression firms and her eyes flash with a light which, at least for the moment, explains to those watching precisely why this eleven-year old had been chosen by the Silver Flame to be its representative.
“Quiet!” she says firmly. “This war is not over, nor is this battle. An army stands outside Flamekeep, which may still be a danger to us.” Jaela looks up at Cedric, her expression and tone calm, though her lips quiver faintly, “General – what do you intend to do now?”
The commander of Flamekeep’s forces looks down silently at Jaela for a long moment. His expression, which had been utterly stony moments earlier, softens and the look in his gray eyes momentarily seems like that of a father gazing proudly at his daughter. But when he speaks, there is only professional calm and respect in it. “I shall return to the battle and sweep the fields clean of the enemy horde.” Cedric looks up at those around him. “Anyone coming with me?”
Nameless and Luna are the first to respond, with the other Guardian Angels only a moment behind. After a quick discussion, Cedric takes the pair of them, along with Essirise and the planetar Samarien, leaving Six, Korm, Gareth and Prine to guard Jaela. “We shall return shortly,” he says, saluting Jaela, before the alienist teleports them away.
Once they are gone, Jaela looks around and says, her tone still commanding and certain, “Come. Everyone! We need to make preparations and look to the wounded.” Then she turns and walks away, not even casting a glance behind her at the now-silent tunnel.
* * *
Hours later, most of those who were present at the dying of the Silver Flame have gathered again in a large meeting room, where Cedric reports on the conclusion of the battle.
“And you’re certain they are utterly vanquished?” Jaela asks.
“Absolutely,” says Cedric. “The wave the Angels created devastated their army enough, and they were still mostly trying to regroup when we arrived. And I had these two,” he indicates Nameless and Luna, “With me.” He smiles grimly. “It wasn’t pretty.”
“Good,” says Jaela, though her expression is, understandably, hardly a cheerful one. Then she falls silent, saying nothing more.
Gareth coughs politely to attract attention and, when the others turn to him, says, “I wish I’d never had to ask this question, but is the Flame … gone forever? And what is the meaning of this?” He points at the other Guardian Angels, who all—as he does—now have a faint silvery glow which extends about a foot from their bodies. Within the glowing aura, little pinpricks of deeper light constantly appear and disappear, like argent fireflies. “Though I …,” the paladin hesitates for a moment before continuing, clearly attempting to best formulate his words, “… did think I felt the Flame … pass away, now I still feel the presence of the Silver Flame in and around me. I attempted to detect thoughts on this aura, mine and the others’, and I seem to be picking up a cloud of hundreds—or maybe thousands—of minds around each of us, but I cannot detect individual thoughts. It’s just like what I detected when I attempted the same thing on the Flame two days ago. And I pick up similar sensations near the two of you,” he indicates Jaela and Cedric, “But fainter and in a smaller amount … I think. What does it mean?”
There is similar uncertainty in Jaela’s face, but her voice is calm and collected when she speaks. “I don’t understand this much more than you do, but I know this much for a fact – the Flame is not completely gone.” She raises a hand at the murmur from a couple of her listeners, especially the pair of Cathedral priests also present in the room. “But I believe it shall never more manifest physically the way it did earlier. Now it lives within us,” her eyes sweep across the room and again, for a moment, she is the Keeper of the Flame, “In our hearts, in our deeds, and in our spirit. But,” she smiles softly and sadly, “I think it also lives a little more deeply in some of us. Something, or somewhat, of the Flame entered all of you …”
Six mutters to Korm, as softly as his mechanical voice can, “I hope that doesn’t mean they’ll try to install us somewhere here to be worshipped,” causing the Gatekeeper to chuckle and nod his agreement.
Jaela ignores their byplay and continues, “…, as well as Cedric and me, when the Serpent … consumed it.I no longer have the same degree of power granted me by the Flame, but I do still retain some.”
“As do I,” says Cedric thoughtfully, “And it’s not just us. After we mopped up, I spoke to many of the priests, paladins, healers and others. Many of them have completely lost all abilities that the Flame gave them, whether to cast spells or for anything else. And others still retain some abilities, though always somewhat less than earlier. It seems completely random to me.” He shakes his head and shrugs.
“Maybe it’s something to do with being close to us, since we’re all Flame-y now,” suggests Luna. Then she rises to her feet and walks over to one of the Cathedral priests. As he looks at her warily, she leans against him, letting her aura wash over the man and says, “Try casting a spell now – there’s some Silver Flame in it!”
The unfortunate priest eyes Luna, opens his mouth, closes it again, and then looks beseechingly at Jaela. There’s a faint clanking sound and a soft “Ow!” as Gareth smacks himself in the face with a gauntleted hand, muffled laughter from Korm and a metallic chuckle from Six, before Nameless rasps, “Luna – please leave the poor man alone!”
“I was just trying to help!” Luna complains, as she heads back to her seat. “I’m glow-y all over, after all. It must mean something.”
Partly swallowing his laughter, Korm chuckles, “All over? I wonder if you glow on the inside of your mouth too.”
“Oh yeah!” Luna replies with complete seriousness, “I checked. I’m glowing everywhere!” She enthusiastically points down to her crotch and says, “On the inside too!”
Korm’s eyes bulge for a moment and he quickly claps a hand to his mouth, muffling what sounds like a faint, strangely girlish scream. Then he looks at Nameless and says, “Can you cast programmed amnesia and erase the last thirty seconds? Please!”
As more laughter erupts around the room, Jaela—who has been forced to smile at the interplay—says, “Very amusing, as usual, but we have other things to take care of too. Such as clearing the chamber of the Flame.”
“I’ll help do it,” says Luna quickly. “You guys are all so dumb sometimes! And I want to take a nap where the Flame was, in case that helps.”
“I doubt it will,” says Nameless, “But I do want to go to the chamber. I’d like to see if Antaratma left anything behind when we destroyed it. I know he had a few powerful magical items, particularly a ring of three wishes. And, in general, I’m curious what actually happened there. And about the thing that emerged from the Flame.”
The Angels, Cedric and Jaela proceed towards the chamber, the former Keeper explaining as they walk about the Shadow in the Flame, the purported existence within the column of Silver Flame of the great rakshasa that the paladin Tira Miron died to bind, her sacrifice leading to the appearance of the Flame in Khorvaire. “It was a legend whispered by one or two old loremasters in the halls of Flamekeep,” she says, “And nobody really believed in it. But now I see that it—to some extent—was true. I wonder if the rakshasa survived the Serpent. As I’m sure you know,” she looks at Nameless, “The rakshasa rajahs cannot be destroyed, only bound. But this Mual-Tar has unusual powers, so …,” she shrugs.
When they do reach the chamber and clear it of rubble, a process that is significantly sped up by the presence of the Guardian Angels and especially the huge elementals that some of them can summon, there is no sign of either rakshasa or Mual-Tar, nor of Antaratma’s remains or any items. All they find are the ruined bodies of the other creatures that died in the assault on the Flame. Among them is that of Jaela’s dragonhound Skaravojen, its corpse both crushed and actually in multiple pieces.
Jaela looks silently down at the body of her faithful guardian for a few moments, her shoulders slumping, and then slowly kneels. A small, chocolate brown hand reaches out to gently stroke the mangled head. Then she sighs softly and looks up, eyes gleaming with unshed tears, and says simply, “He was a good dog!”
Those around her remain silent for a moment too, uncertain how to respond, till Nameless says, “I’m sorry. If there is any way we can bring him back, we will do it.”
Jaela’s face pinches in slightly, the kind words clearly affecting her, but she controls herself and responds calmly, “I appreciate that. Very much! We’ll see.”
As she rises, Luna—now in the form of a huge bear—says enthusiastically, “I can try to reincarnate him too, you know!”
Jaela purses her lips as she shakes her head. “I doubt that would work. Skaravojen is … was a unique creation of House Vadalis.”
“Yeah, but at least I can try,” Luna insists. Then she stretches, waving gigantic paws above everyone around her, and yawns prodigiously. “I’m tired! It’s been a damn busy day. I flew for soooo long!”
“I’m feeling a little tired too,” says Korm, stretching as well. Then he frowns slightly, rubbing his forehead. “More than I should.”
As the Gatekeeper looks around for confirmation, Nameless and Gareth nod as well, but the ultimate corroboration comes from Six. “I had not mentioned anything,” the warforged says dispassionately, “But I feel fatigue. I am not supposed to feel fatigue.”
If that didn’t confirm that something very strange is occurring, the following sound does. In the space of a few seconds, Luna has curled up right next to the circle that had marked the position of the Silver Flame, and is already asleep. Nameless looks at her, shakes his head, and says, “I suggest having someone nearby with food and water for her. She wakes up cranky!”
Cedric mock-shivers at the words and says, “I’ll see to it.” Then he glances at Gareth and Korm, both of whom are yawning hugely, and adds, “You need rooms?” As the alienist nods, Jaela says, “I’ll arrange for it. Get some rest. You’ve earned it. When you awake, we … will have a lot of work.”
“There’s something very odd,” Nameless says, a few moments later, as the Angels are walking away, feeling his eyes beginning to shut. “This is clearly not natural.”
“We are clearly not natural,” Korm chuckles, but the Gatekeeper’s droopy eyelids and shambling gait make it clear he is feeling the same thing too.
Not that there’s any real discussion of the subject. Barely five minutes later, Nameless, Korm and Gareth lie in a comfortable suite in the Cathedral, all fast asleep where they hit the beds, not one of them having changed their clothing. A much more unusual sight may be found in the corner of the room, where Six sits, his metal head lolling against the wall, just as deeply in the grip of slumber as the others. And, though nobody is present to realize it, if one were to listen very, very carefully at Gareth’s metal hand, one might hear the faintest of snores emanating from it. Even the Endless Blade is asleep.
* * *
When Luna eventually awakes, it is to find a pair of warforged watching patiently over her, albeit from a safe distance, with a cask of water and half a dozen plates of food placed nearby. She wipes groggily at her eyes with giant paws and then growls, “Whoof – I feel like I slept for a long while! And something feels, um … different. How long was I asleep?”
“Thirty hours,” one of the warforged responds.
“What?! Why didn’t any of you wake me?” The giant bear lurches to its four feet and then Luna looks down at herself curiously. “Something’s really ….”
A few moments later, the door to the chamber in which the other Guardian Angels were sleeping smashes right off its hinges and to the ground, as Luna barrels through it. “Guys! GUYS!! Guess what happened to me …”
“We know,” says Nameless dryly. “It’s happened to all of us. Again!”
