It all happened so quickly.
Lady Changing Star had blown a cloud of red dust into the cracks of Gunlaug's helmet. The effect was immediate—he could feel something taking root in his lungs, spreading, growing.
Brief aches slowly became unbearable, and the Bright Lord was forced to his knees as if commanded by an otherworldly authority. Muttering a string of vulgarities at the stuck-up Legacy, Gunlaug desperately searched his Soul Sea for a memory that might cure this blood-sucking flower; yet, deep down, he knew—there was no cure.
He had seen it before. Back when he had been freshly crowned as the Third Lord of Bright Castle did he first encounter the vermillion abomination. Several sleepers had unknowingly acted as carriers for the flower, bringing it inside the city walls—where all hell broke loose. The disease spiraled out of control within hours, killing dozens within minutes. And yet, they did not find the sweet release of death. Their bodies soon reanimated with a thirst for human blood…
Puppeteered by the Red Flower, the infected knew no fear or pain, only the desire to spread the pollen. After 7 days of carnage, the Red Flower was finally stopped, albeit at the cost of hundreds of lives.
Even when wreathed in his mighty golden echo, Gunlaug recalled how he had felt an instinctual fear upon facing a tide of these abominations.
Memories of him cleaving, stabbing, and crushing the disgusting creatures to save Harus still lingered fresh in his mind. He remembered how thoroughly shaken he was at the end of the ordeal, and how the sickly sweet smell of red pollen remained within the worker's dormitories no matter how many times it was cleaned. It was all so long ago—back when he still cared for his subjects. Back when hope still remained. Back when he was known as a Stalwart Lord rather than a Golden Tyrant.
"I… I killed you."
That was all Nephis of the Immortal Flame Clan said in reply to his previous statement. Or was it a question? Gunlaug couldn't remember. His ears were still ringing from the blow Nephis dealt to his head, and his mind was slipping to the insidious grasp of the Red Flower. And yet, that short statement was enough to break him out of his stupor.
Azure eyes narrowed in understanding before widening in shock—the gravity of the situation becoming clear to him. The Bright Lord had been defeated by a handful of pollen. How trivial. How anticlimactic. How banal!
He was indeed going to be a dead man within the next minute or two. As if to confirm his suspicions, Gunlaug had another violent coughing fit, except this time, blood, viscera and red pollen spewed out from his orifices.
Screaming out in pain, Gunlaug convulsed while letting go of his massive golden battleaxe.
Changing Star looked at him with a face motionless and devoid of any warmth or mercy.
Then he heard it. The familiar phrase that he used to whisper to his dearest comrades on their deathbeds.
"Rest easy now. Your nightmare is over." Lady Nephis said it in an uncharacteristically soothing tone, with such finality contained within it that Gunlaug could not help but stare in disbelief before laughing. How ironic for him to be on the receiving end of it.
It was quite strange, really. Only now, moments before dying did he put the final pieces of the jigsaw puzzle together. He knew from the moment her charade began that she was no 'Saint'. It was all an act to unite the people against him. Initially, he had thought the reason to be simple: she wanted to be the new Bright Lord. But now, he had the bigger picture in sight. Nephis and her cohort had embarked on a perilous journey to retrieve the 7 Shard Memories scattered around the Forgotten Shore.
Glancing at the crown of the First Lord resting on her pristine, white hair, Gunlaug now understood that lordship was never her final goal, but rather, it was only a stepping stone to that goal. Her deception was flawless—by painting herself as some form of messiah, she captured the hearts of countless sleepers. There was truly nothing more terrifying nor ingenious.
Now, lordship would no doubt be in her grasp soon. Her flames would melt Tessai's ice. Her deadly, fluid fighting style would overpower Gemma. Seishan's blood would boil before Changing Star's white flames were extinguished. Harus might be able to put up a fight, but what about against the rest of her cohort combined? No chance.
Gunlaug did not know what Changing Star's final goal was, but he had a suspicion. If he were to describe the origin of Nephis' unshakable resolve in one word, it would be…
'Hate.'
A word he knew all too well in the once blood-soaked halls of Bright Castle. Actually, it would probably become bloody again soon.
He barely managed a rasping chuckle, his voice thin and frayed. "Good… this is too good. Yours… yours is only just beginning, though."
With a shuddering breath, he staggered up the steps toward his throne.
The thorn in his side that was Nephis had been just like him in the beginning—except that her conviction was stronger. The Bright Lord had once yearned to escape and leave the dreadful shore behind. But the obstacles were too insurmountable at the time. If not even the First Lord and his cohort could do it, then who could? Well, the answer for the age-old question that plagued his nightmares now lay before his eyes.
As he neared the top of the steps, memories began to replay in his mind. He remembered the laughter that once echoed through the grand halls of Bright Castle. His six lieutenants, bound by loyalty and shared victories, raising their cups in celebration. He could still see their faces—smiling, determined, unbroken.
Then came memories of how the denizens of Bright Castle looked at him with reverence and hope. His presence reassured them that their future was safe, that no abomination, no storm, no shadow could break them as long as he remained on the throne.
But then over the years, the six lieutenants became five. Tessai the Jolly soon became known as the Morose Giant. Eventually, a worm of doubt found its way into the Bright Lord's heart, whispering: 'This place is better than what awaits you on the other side.'
Time was cruel and it wasn't long before the light faded from his eyes. Laughter faded, replaced by the weight of silence and distrust. The warmth of his people's gazes had turned cold, lost to disillusionment, betrayal, or oblivion.
Still, the memories did not stop. They gripped him, pulling him deeper into the past, whispering of everything he once had… and everything he had lost. In the end, he never sought to become the very thing he hated.
Finally, Gunlaug reached the dais and fell on his throne. Giving a wistful look at the people from the slums, the Host, and Changing Star's cohort, he whispered, "I tried. In the beginning… I really did…"
But fate had other plans for him.
With that, the Third Bright Lord breathed his last.