#ceorcar

[crstaluth-portfolio]

A Vicious Cycle

The cycle — that was all Ceorcar could think about. It was all around him. Every step he took, every breath he pushed through his lungs, every battle he suffered through was in service to it. In his younger years he was blind to it. Though now, as he stood as the new Grandmentor of the Huntrivikyos Order, he could see it everywhere. Ceorcar was tethered to it; all he could do was play his part.

In his childhood, Nalias had told him that there was always an exception to every idiom and law. Ceorcar often pondered these words for the rest of his life. He found it paradoxical: if every certainty had its exception, then Nalias’ own rule had to have one. Yet, with every natural law, Ceorcar could find inconsistencies. Every mandate was bound to be broken: not all Cou-ul were bound to their hatred, not all Sprites were without spirit, not all Humans were infallible, and some cycles were broken. Not everything was made to last forever.

However, in these years after the ‘final’ war, he might have found an exception to Nalias’ old saying. The cycle of life and the struggle that came with it was eternal, and there was no escape from participating. Even the Goddesses were not immune to it; they struggled and fell as all mortals did. Humans, who walked the line of mortality and godhood, were still bound to the Doro Nand and forever intertwined with its fate. Though, they were only bound to it as long as they lived, and death came for all at some point. Even if Huntrivikyos could live forever, they were still human. Ceorcar was eventually going to slip up and perish all the same. He wasn’t the first Grandmentor, and he doubted that he would be the last.

There were some things that Ceorcar couldn’t control, and this brought him comfort. Actions had consequences, but some things happened no matter what choices he made — not everything was his fault or his triumph. This simple fact lessened the burden on his shoulders, but didn’t nullify it. No matter what, he still had to lead. To this very day, one hundred or so years after being named Nalias’ successor, Ceorcar felt unfit to lead. The fact that he had the lives of others in his hands was daunting, and someday those lives will be cut short. It was something that he had to live with.

Ceorcar ran his fingers down Nalias’ broken blade. Even if a hundred years have passed since Nalias’ death, the loss of his grandfather never stopped hurting. Ceorcar used to blame himself for it, but he came to understand something: Nalias had made his choice, and there was nothing Ceorcar could have done. All that Ceorcar could do now was try his best.

The young Grandmentor could hardly know what the future will hold, but he resolved to walk this path to the very end, even if it will cost him his life at some point. In the futility of the cycle there was life, and it was this life that Ceorcar was bound to protect. His people will not fall. He was willing to sacrifice anything to keep them safe, even the lives of his fellow Huntrivikyos. Although this fact pained him, he knew that as a Huntrivik he was willing to lay down his life for others, and he did not doubt that the others felt the same. He knew that even if he blamed himself, they wouldn’t blame him.

He knew who he was now, and what he had to do. The cycle was his burden to bear.

Ceorcar reverently gripped the hilt of Nalias’ sword and inspected it. The jagged, irregular edges of the shattered weapon stood in stark contrast to the expert Sprite craftsmanship of the hilt. The deep silver blade itself was starting to show signs of rust. Ceorcar always meant to clean the sword at some point, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Nalias would have died laughing if he caught the boy trying to clean a broken blade. Ceorcar chuckled quietly to himself. It certainly would be an odd sight.

As Ceorcar thumbed the sharp, jagged edges of the blade, he heard a knock on his door. The Grandmentor sighed. He didn’t have any meetings until three hours past midday, and this disturbance was unexpected.

“Come in,” he said, trying his best to mask his disappointment.

The door opened and a young Huntrivik made her way inside the office. Her light armor and leather harnesses showed little to no wear, and the design of a serpent rested on her spotless dark-green cloak — a new graduate with little experience, and his personal apprentice.

“Acrethos, Grandmentor. I’m sorry to bother you, but I have important news for you,” the Huntrivik apologized.

“It’s okay, Rainor. What is it?”

“We intercepted a Thraika passing through the mountain range in the south. He was a messenger of sorts — a message for you.” Rainor elaborated.

“This is the farthest west a Thraika has ever been. Hardly a good sign,” Ceorcar said mostly to himself, “You said it had a message for me? Where is it then?” Rainor shifted her weight nervously. “It perished shortly after telling me its message.”

Ceorcar immediately grew curious regarding the circumstances of its passing, but elected to ignore it and not question her about it further, for now. “Then tell me what it’s message was.”

“Actually Grandmentor, it was more of a challenge,”

“A challenge?” Rainor nodded solemnly. “The Thraikas told me that a Human now leads them, and that this Human personally wants to duel you.”

Ceorcar’s heart sank. Deep down he knew who this other Human was. There was only one who was willing to betray his people like this, going against his nature. Ceorcar’s past was coming to haunt him once more.

“His name — what was his name?” the Grandmentor asked

“It’s him. Yuanor has returned,” Rainor confirmed what Ceorcar had already known.

Ceorcar set down Nalias’ blade and picked up his hatchet and knife, nestling them into their holsters. The Grandmentor walked out of his office, Rainor following close behind.

“Where are you heading?” she asked, trying to keep pace.

“Settling old scores and reopening old wounds. Kaivir is in charge until I get back,” Ceorcar left without another word.