The Primeval Era-Chapter 114: Honor I

They continued across the Lands of Stone.

The geography shifted beneath them as they flew, forests giving way to rocky outcroppings and then to grasslands that stretched toward distant horizons.

Herds of eland moved across the plains in the thousands, their spiral horns catching sunlight as they grazed on vegetation that somehow thrived in the thin soil. Zebras mingled among them, their striped bodies creating patterns that seemed to shift and flow like living art.

Damian watched it all pass beneath him, but his mind remained elsewhere.

He kept seeing the child holding its mother’s hand.

Small fingers wrapped around larger ones. Both still. Both cold. Both beyond any help he could have offered.

The images wouldn’t leave him. Every time he blinked, they returned with fresh clarity. The broken bodies. The scattered huts. The absolute finality of what had happened to people who had done nothing wrong except exist in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He forced his eyes forward and tried to focus on the horizon.

Serala flew beside him in silence.

Her wing-shaped pupils hadn’t stopped glowing since they’d left the destroyed tribe behind. That cold light pulsed with steady rhythm, evidence of power being cycled and refined through her newly achieved Vessel Completion.

The Holy Daughter had been taught that all life was sacred.

She had memorized the Doctrines of Peace before her seventh summer. She had learned the Rituals of Reconciliation that the Covenant used to resolve disputes without bloodshed. She had been raised to believe that wisdom and patience could overcome any conflict.

Those teachings felt hollow now!

And the Holy Daughter found herself wondering if everything she had been taught was simply a comfortable lie told by those powerful enough to never face such horrors themselves.

Beyond the mountains, the terrain grew more verdant. Rivers cut through the landscape in silver ribbons, feeding forests and meadows that pulsed with life.

And then the geography began to change in ways he recognized from Masamuk’s earlier description.

They were nearing the location where the Imperator would be.

Serala’s voice broke the silence.

"Can we rest?"

She spoke without looking at either of her companions.

"I want to be at my full power when we face her."

Damian nodded and began descending toward a massive tree rising from the forest below. One of the Pillars of the First Age, its trunk wider than some villages and its canopy spreading like a green cloud above the surrounding forest.

They landed on a branch thick enough to support a dozen huts.

The bark beneath Damian’s feet was rough and ancient, grooved by centuries of growth and weather. He ran his hand across its surface and felt Mana pulsing faintly within, not the concentrated power of a Sacred Mountain but something older.

This tree had stood here when even Neolithic Empires were still squabbling tribes.

This tree had watched empires rise and fall like seasons passing.

This tree would likely still be standing when whatever came next had also faded into history.

He found a strange comfort in that thought. Not everything was fleeting. Not everything could be destroyed by the cruelty of those who wielded power without wisdom.

Some things endured.

He sat on the bark and looked out over the forest below, trying to keep his mind on the present rather than letting it drift back to images of the dead. The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out with a melody he didn’t recognize.

Masamuk floated near the edge of the branch, his obsidian body turned away from them.

The slime seemed to understand that he should stay back for now.

Serala approached and sat beside Damian.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The wind moved through the canopy around them, rustling leaves and carrying the scents of the forest upward. It was peaceful here. Quiet. A stark contrast to everything they had witnessed and everything they were about to do.

"I was six summers old when my Physique awakened."

Serala’s voice was soft and contemplative.

"The Wings of the Radiant Dawn hadn’t manifested in a woman for seventeen generations. When they appeared on me, the entire Covenant stopped to take notice."

She looked down at her hands.

"They brought me to the Temple of the First Stone that same day. Took me from my mother’s arms and placed me in chambers I had never seen before. I was told this was an honor. That I had been chosen by forces older than memory for a sacred purpose."

Her jaw tightened.

"I never saw my mother again. She died three years later from a sickness that could have been healed if anyone had thought to send word to her daughter. But the Holy Daughter was too important to be disturbed by such matters. The Holy Daughter had duties. Obligations. A destiny to fulfill."

She fell silent for a moment.

"I was raised in the Covenant of the First Stone from that day forward. They taught me the Seventeen Doctrines of Peace. They taught me the history of our people, how we had descended from those who refused to make war, who chose wisdom over violence, who built an empire through trade and diplomacy rather than conquest."

Her wing-shaped pupils flickered.

"They taught me that honor was the highest virtue. That peace was the greatest achievement. That the Covenant endured because we were better than those who relied on bloodshed to expand their power."

She turned to look at Damian.

"And now I find myself wondering how anyone from the Covenant of the First Stone could ally with those from the Dominion of Crimson Stone. How those raised on doctrines of peace and honor could join hands with the forces of the Murderous Saint."

Her voice grew colder.

"Why would they do this? Why would families who taught me that violence was failure now work alongside those who murdered their way to power? Why would the Covenant betray everything it claimed to stand for?"

Damian listened to her words and felt the weight of them settle into his chest.

She was asking questions he had asked himself countless times. Why had those who claimed honor acted without it? Why had those who swore oaths broken them? Why did the powerful always seem to find reasons to abandon their principles when abandoning them became convenient?

He shook his head.

"Nowadays, there is no honor in the Lands of Stone."

...!