Alpha Instinct-Chapter 53: “The Amber Eyes”
The rain lashed down on Mount Lichtwelt, turning the sacred ground into a cold mire. Leonard, on his knees, exhausted, wept. These were not sobs. Not wails. It was a dry, silent cry, the pure manifestation of emptiness. The tears, indistinguishable from the rain running down his face, washed away the dirt, but not the pain.
His trembling fingers traced the inscriptions on the tombstones. "Leah Winters." The memory of Evelyn, a pale ray amid the storm, brought a sharp pang to his chest. "Ahh... it’s true... Mount Lichtwelt is never wrong... is it, Eve?"
Hours dissolved in the rain. No one approached. Mount Lichtwelt, sanctuary of death, commanded respect even from the king’s hounds. Leonard didn’t care. Inertia dominated him, the will to disappear, to join the dead, to return to the emptiness of the well in Besen.
His eyes turned to Roland’s tombstone. "Uncle Roland... Ah, ironic... I never even had the chance to call you Uncle. How would you have reacted?"
More tears. An internal deluge that mixed with the storm. Lost, aimless, without strength. The relentless rain beat against his open eyelids, but he didn’t blink. He didn’t feel.
"AAHHHH!" A scream. A tear in the soul. Useless. His clenched fist struck the soaked earth. Vengeance. Answers. Strength. He wanted, needed, but the mud just sucked at his fingers, trapping him further in his pain.
Leonard was on the verge of giving up, of taking out his fruit knife and taking his own life right there. "What’s the point of fighting? Why?" He thought.
His hand hovered, hesitant, over the handle of the knife. The cold metal, a brutal contrast to the feverish heat of his soaked skin, offered a final refuge, a final plunge into silence. The idea was sweet, tempting, an end to the pain.
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But then, a light. Not the weak and gray light of the storm, but a soft, almost imperceptible glow that seemed to be born from the rain itself. Leonard, too exhausted to feel surprise, slowly raised his eyes.
And she was there.
Imposing. There was no other way to describe her. As if the storm had conjured her, a tall and serene figure amidst the chaos. The silver armor, gleaming even under the rain, reflected the diffuse light, creating a subtle aura around her. A face of severe beauty, but not cruel. Eyes of a deep metallic amber, like the sun revealing itself after the storm, fixed on him. With a compassion that Leonard did not think he deserved.
She knelt beside him, the armor emitting a soft metallic click as it touched the muddy ground. The rain, as if in deference, seemed to avoid her figure, creating a small dry circle around her.
"Child," said Mikaela, her voice melodious yet firm, a clear and comforting sound amidst the roar of the storm, "why are you weeping?"
The question, so simple, so direct, hit Leonard like a blow. It wasn’t an accusation, nor mere curiosity. It was...understanding. As if she saw the pain, the emptiness, and the hopelessness that corroded him.
With a slow, almost hesitant movement, Mikaela reached out and touched Leonard’s face. The metal glove, surprisingly, was not cold. A gentle warmth emanated from it, spreading where she touched, dispelling the chill of the rain and, more deeply, the chill of death that had settled in his soul.
It was an indescribable peace. A calm in the eye of the hurricane. A feeling of... presence. As if, for a brief instant, the weight of the world, the weight of loss, had been lifted. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what it was. But he felt that, in that moment, in that touch, there was something more. Something greater. Something that, perhaps... was worth... continuing.
The knife, forgotten, slipped from his numb fingers, sinking into the mud with a soft thud.
"My name is Mikaela. Don’t be afraid." The voice, soft but charged with a gentle authority, cut through the storm. For Leonard, it was a crystal-clear sound, a call to sanity amidst the chaos of pain.
He couldn’t speak. He only felt her touch on his face, the emanation of an almost tangible aura, pulling him away from the edge of the abyss, from that torpor.
"Roland wouldn’t like to see you lost in despair. He didn’t save you once, but twice." Mikaela smiled, a welcoming smile that briefly illuminated the darkness.
A weak nod. Leonard’s first conscious reaction, an acknowledgment. And, together, they stood up. Mikaela’s hand, as it moved away from his face, left a void, but not a painful void. A void that asked to be filled with purpose.
"He is not gone. He will be forever alive in your heart and throughout the kingdom of Dunkel." Mikaela’s eyes, for an instant, shone with a golden yellow, intense, deep, as if reflecting the very essence of hope. "This is not the end," she concluded.
Leonard stood up, but he didn’t feel himself. There was no pain; there was no weight. Just a strange peace, an unexpected stillness.
His eyes met Roland’s tombstone. In an instinctive gesture, Leonard removed the leather cloak he had received from Silica and carefully placed it over the tombstone, covering the engraved name, the silver bear. A symbolic protection against the rain, a silent vow. "Now, I protect your name, your legacy," Leonard thought.
Mikaela silently observed Leonard’s gesture, the dark leather cloak protecting Roland’s name and symbol from the incessant rain. A simple act, but loaded with meaning. A transfer of responsibility and a silent promise.
"I am a paladin of the Church of Light, Leonard," she said, her soft voice breaking the silence. "A sworn servant. It was I who took care of Roland’s funeral rites. I ensured that he rested in peace, as a hero deserves."
The revelation, delivered with simplicity, hit Leonard with the force of a lightning bolt. The Church of Light... Roland... peace... The pieces fit together, forming a picture of care and devotion that he hadn’t expected.
