His once frequent visits to the Dragon Temple had now grown arbitrary, ever since the wielder of Coraveau made their unexpected debut within the Conclave. Although his once great nemesis had swiftly found acceptance in the cradle of his allies, the Peirgarten was, as he always were, slower to trust. The environment had been a stranger to him since the departure of his creator, the Matron of the Central Spire. He would have said that ever since Cordenia traveled to Anglia with no intentions of returning, an unforgiving rift between himself and the loyalists of the Dragons had painstakingly developed. After a heated exchange in the heart of the worship site, the Peirgarten trekked through snow past the forests of the countryside, neglecting both the steed and the flight. His mind, busy with ill thoughts, kept him walking on aching feet. Cordenia was gone. Coren was gone. Concordia was gone. And although some of his allies had lingered, like Lyonel, Silver and Lynmard, and though he had discovered new friendships in Maiyusa and Senira, the elephant in the room had grown to a size that the walls could no longer so easily contain: he was turning into a stranger in that Temple. Was he the odd one out for mistrusting Haqet? He could think up a thousand justifications for his unyielding hatred of the Raven Lord. Would some acts of grandeur and camaraderie so easily waver his stalwart certainty? Would a tale of misfortune spun by the Raven Lord’s mouth so easily shift his emotions? It made his body ache to watch his comrades so welcomingly accept one who had brought his family so much burden, and it pained him even so to see the tears that Haqet wept, that guilt-ridden expression plastered on their face which brought closer and closer the torturous idea that his revenge was now an impossibility. “How narrow sighted you are. Haqet is not the only Vampire to have brought you pain.” a bleak voice echoed in his head, bringing him halt. “You have demonized one face, and acquitted many other of a shared guilt in the act of it.” Confusion and fear riddled his face in equal measure, violet eyes frantically pacing about the woodland surrounding him. He felt an invisible shadow creep in his direction, but he could not perceive nor acknowledge the identity to which it belonged. “Say you’ve defeated your nemesis. Will your desire for revenge be satiated, when the pain done unto your loved ones was the act of a greater cabal, many of whom continue to terrorize the very land you walk on while you ponder incessantly about an ignorant vendetta?” A shaky voice bellowed from the owner of Ostarius. “Is that you in my head, Ruin? I hadn’t thought I’d already fallen so low.” An amused cackle erupted to answer his challenge. “You were never high to begin with, Peirgarten. I’ve watched you struggle as a Marshal when Vampires swarmed your Generals and swept doom upon Carrhen. I’ve watched you struggle as the Commander of the guard force when Infection wreaked havoc on your streets and dominated entire communities.” The truth was difficult to listen to. The shadows he’d felt the presence of began pooling into the vague form of a horned man. By instinct, he retrieved Ostarius from its sheath and struck the blackened figure, but the electrified blade landed on naught. “That enchanted blade you carry with so much pride. You thought it brought you glory to run it through Ravann’s chest. You believed you singlehandedly ended the occupation. But you are blind, Peirgarten, for the city is still occupied; it has always been occupied. And the Infection is the occupier. An unyielding enemy you have yet to vanquish.” With gritting teeth, he steeled himself, hands gripping the hilt of Ostarius firmly. “It’s not so easy,” he mustered from his hoarse vocals. The shadowy figure turned into a maroon skinned devil, with eyes of red, and blackened claws which sought to grip the Peirgarten by the neck and force him to pay heed with involuntary obedience. “It is not easy, and it is not impossible. The Dragons know that, but they are more forgiving than I. But they also have their vices, vices of keeping secrets from you. A vice I do not possess. That tale Haqet told you? The Armoury and the kill-switch.” The memory came flashing back into Rodrigo’s head, recanting every word that came out of Haqet’s mouth. “Your comrades share the reluctance of the Dragons you obey. The reluctance to destroy. To inflict a permanent, final wound. They seek to rehabilitate that which cannot be rehabilitated, that which /refuses/ to be rehabilitated - and you know that very well.” Though the firm squeeze on his neck would’ve prevented him from vocalizing his defence, the Peirgarten sank into defeat when he realized that he had none. Any words of blind virtue and goodliness would fall short in the face of a strong argument as the one Ruin posed. “Infection is not just a disease, Peirgarten. It is also a choice. A deliberate one. Coren knew that. It is time you should, as well. Your inaction will not go down in history, but initiative, though it may be deemed violent and cruel by those without the stomach to fathom it, will certainly change the course of future. Violence and cruelty were never unfamiliar concepts to you, were they?” A blade would not be necessary to pierce the Peirgarten’s confidence, for the words of Ifrit had already sank deep into it. His mind replayed the words over and over again, as his hands reached out to try and grapple the wrists of the vision of Ruin, to no avail. “Not – yet. I will not – fall. Yet.” he desperately mustered his words of ignorant defiance, eliciting only an amused grin from his possessor. “You may cling onto your flawed ideas of mercy and honor, but when your hopes and dreams crash around your feet and you find yourself alienated among your allies, that is when your time will come.” said Ruin with a piercing tone, releasing the Peirgarten, and departing to the Void from whence it arrived. Defeated and exhausted with mental anguish, the armoured giant clambered to his knees and his calloused hands clung to the soil. It proved a challenge to stabilize his anxious breathing. Once he was sure that the puppeteering voice in his head had released his collars, the Peirgarten lifted his blurred gaze to look beyond the trees ahead, unable to see the beaten path leading to his Summer Palace. How peculiar, he thought. Perhaps he truly was losing his way.
