Lost Time

As Charlon laid on the ground, ashy, burnt grass surrounding him, his smoky grey wings spread out beneath him, he lost himself in thought. As he looked at the cerulean sky, painted many colours from the sunrise, he saw memories of his life play out.

The first thing he saw was Avelin. He stood up and was back in the pub where he first met her. He was leaning against the wall in the dimly lit corner at the back of the pub, watching her as she stood on her little stage before the patrons, singing, her voice full of passion and vigor, her calloused fingers running across the strings of her lute. He watched her through the entirety of her song, enthralled by her voice, by her mastery of her instrument

The next thing he took in was her beauty. The way the dim light of the gas lamps in the pub reflected off of her dark red skin, which was shiny with sweat. Her horns, clearly identifying her as a tiefling, poked out of her short, pixie-cut black hair, extending to the back of her head when they curled upwards. Her slim body made her look small on her stage. As she reached the climax of her song, she closed her eyes, which were pupilless orbs of gold, her tail making smooth motions as she continued her ballad.

Charlon followed suit and closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the wall behind him. As much as Avelin stood out in the pub, so did Charlon. His jet-black hair was threaded through with red and gold and pulled up into a small bun at the back of his head. He wore a jade doublet with black antlers embroidered across his chest and shoulders, with holes in the back made for his large, grey wings and wore pants of a matching green. Over his left shoulder, a medallion hung on a silver sash, the circular piece of gold bearing an asp. No one wearing that medallion had ever entered this pub before.

The medallion marked Charlon as a member of the Order of the Faded Accord, an order of paladins who served Al’Khashar: the current avatar of Rhodis, the god of judgement. In the kingdom of Kagan, the Order wasn’t exactly well-liked. Though Kagan had a king, he was merely the puppet ruler of Al’Khashar. The Order knew it, and so did the people. Al’Khashar was responsible for an atrocious genetic cleansing known as the Heltarren Persecution, which led to the extermination of most Heltarren people living in the city and caused the living survivors to flee.

The Order of the Faded Accord was founded by Li-Bashan, a serf from the fiefdom of Butara, and the first chosen avatar of Rhodis. The Order were made up of paladins of all races and nationalities, all sharing the same drive to achieve order at all costs. Charlon joined the Order after his young daughter was executed in front of him by anarchists in his home village. That day, he learned the dangers of anarchy, and what happens when order is not upheld by strong leaders.

Avelin usually frequented a different pub, on the other side of the kingdom, where Charlon had seen her sing a couple times. When he heard that she would be singing here, he found himself unable to resist attending.

When the tiefling finished her song, she bowed and received a round of applause and cheers from the patrons of the pub. Charlon clapped from where he stood, opening his eyes again. Spotting him, Avelin put her lute down somewhere and strolled over to where he stood. Many in Kagan were unused to tiefling, and many feared them. But Charlon had seen much horror in his life. In his eyes, there were things much scarier than tieflings.

Charlon himself was a member of a race that was seldom seen in many places: a malakh. The malakhim were beings with divine heritage, with distinct sub-races that possessed certain abilities. Charlon was a member of the stormmaker sub-race, and as such could harness lightning and summon epic storms. Some marveled at the sight of him, others feared him. Honestly, Charlon didn’t care what people thought of him.

“Enjoy the song?” Avelin asked him as she reached him. This was the first time she had ever spoken to him. Her voice was smooth, like silk. “I recognize you from the Eagle’s Nest.”

“I was surprised to hear that you weren’t singing there tonight,” Charlon answered. “I couldn’t miss another great performance.”

Avelin crossed her arms and gestured to his medallion. “You must love my music if you decided to show up here. Your Order is not appreciated around this part of Kagan.”

This pub was located was once the area where many Heltarrens used to live. Many who still lived there were friends of those who died. Many still held a grudge against the Order of the Faded Accord.

Charlon shrugged. “What can I say? Your music is marvelous.”

Avelin surveyed the malakh with a curious, devilish gaze, as deciding whether she liked him or not. Charlon found that he cared about what she thought about him.

“What’s your name?” the tiefling asked him.

“Charlon Saint-Lucile,” Charlon said.

“My name is Avelin.” Avelin grinned. “But you already knew that.”

As that memory faded from the clouds, Charlon saw a collection of other memories play out from the time he had spent with Avelin. Since that day, Charlon had gone to all of her performances. He learned that she was a member of the Stellars, an organization of people from all races who tried to achieve peace through non-violent means. They also hated the Order of the Faded Accord, Charlon learned quickly.

Particularly, Charlon remembered one time when they spoke about the Heltarren Persecution. They’d been on a walk around King’s Square, which was actually a large botanical garden in the center of Kagan. They’d been talking about their differing ideologies about how to achieve peace, which happened often.

“What about the Heltarren Persecution?” Avelin asked while smelling a tulip. “Did you participate in that?”

Charlon grimaced. “Yes. It was not one of my more fond memories.”

Avelin turned around to face Charlon. She was a couple inches shorter than him, having to tilt her chin up to look him in the eye. “Did you think that violence was necessary then?”

Charlon sighed. “The Heltarren Alliance were conspiring to overthrow the King,” he said. “They wanted to replace him with a new government. One that had less rules and more leniency for criminals.”

“Is that what the Order told you?” Avelin challenged.

“It’s the truth,” Charlon insisted.

“Huh.” Avelin walked towards a bench and sat down, Charlon following suit. “Would more leniency for criminals be such a bad thing?”

“Criminals must be punished for their crimes,” Charlon said, “to deter others from committing the same crimes. Or worse.”

Avelin was silent for a moment. And then, “the Heltarren Alliance never wanted to replace the King.” She turned her head to look Charlon in the eye. There was a curious expression on her face, as if she was deciding whether to hold something back or not. “They were trying to replace your leader. They wanted Al’Khashar dead.”

“Because Al’Khashar had their leader killed for attempting to tamper with diplomatic talks between the King and the Baron of Ulzara,” Charlon said. Avelin raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You thought I was unaware of my leader’s motive?”

“And yet, you still insist that it was the right call?” Avelin asked.

Charlon was quiet while he tried to figure out how to word his response. “The Heltarren Alliance wanted to take Al’Khashar’s spot as the King’s advisor. I’ve known ambitious people like them. They wouldn’t have stopped at that. They would’ve always wanted more power, and it would’ve torn Kagan apart.”

Avelin looked down at her feet. “Many who were killed weren’t even members of the Alliance. They were just … people. Innocents.”

Charlon nodded. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t happy with the way it was executed, and I killed many more people than I had wanted to. But it was necessary to maintain order.”

That was the last time they’d visited the subject of the Heltarren Persecution. 

The next memory that Charlon saw was his favourite memory of Avelin. They’d been at another pub, this time the reason was for Avelin to meet Charlon’s friends. They’d sat at a table off to the side of the pub which offered them more privacy.

“Well, well, who do we have here?” one of Charlon’s friends asked. He had brown hair the colour of tree bark and skin as pale as milk. Over his skin, there were cracks, with a faint orange light emitting from them. He wore a viridian tunic and his sash and medallion, identical to Charlon’s.

“This is Avelin,” Charlon answered, gesturing to the tiefling, who waved. “Avelin, this is Owl, one of my closest friends.”

Owl offered Avelin a small wave. Owl was an aasimar; a planetouched human with celestial lineage. Owl didn’t know much about his family, as he was abandoned at a young age. He and Charlon met when they had both first joined the Order. Being two of the only members with celestial heritage, they’d become quick friends.

Next to Owl, Charlon gestured to the man sitting next to him. He had aquamarine skin and turquoise hair. He wore a dark blue shirt with a brown vest and had kind, navy-blue eyes. 

“This is Ripple,” Charlon told Avelin. “He and Owl are happily dating.”

“That we are,” Ripple said, taking Owl’s hand. His voice was smooth, like a peaceful stream. Ripple was a water genasi, another type of planetouched. His father had been a genie, but he’d been raised by his mother, a human woman. When he was older, he’d become a sailor, but had joined the Order after experiencing the chaotic agony of a pirate attack.

Finally, Charlon gestured to the short, stocky woman sitting next to Ripple, who had just downed her third beer of the night. She had bright red hair and beige skin. She still wore her armour, her favourite thing to wear, and her large battleaxe leaning against her chair.

“And this,” Charlon said, “is Lokara Battlehammer. The finest warrior I’ve ever known.”

“You flatter me, Charlon,” Lokara drawled, her voice rough and scratchy. Charlon had known Lokara for the least amount of time. He knew that she had once been a blacksmith, but had enjoyed using her weapons rather than making them. Lokara, he knew, had been involved in deposing a tyrant before leaving her city to join the Order, her goal being to eliminate tyranny.

The night had gone great. Avelin got along splendidly with Charlon’s friends, who liked her in turn. At one point in the night, Avelin had decided to sing a song for them and the other patrons in the pub.

“She’s remarkable,” Owl said to Charlon as Avelin sang.

“She is, isn’t she?” Charlon commented.

The pub went silent as Avelin’s voice rose in volume, singing about a couple whose time together had been cut short. The song was full of emotion and passion, and Charlon could’ve sworn he saw a tear well in Lokara’s eye, though she violently denied it when he brought it up.

When Avelin’s voice decrescendoed to a whisper and died out, she got a round of applause and returned to sit beside Charlon. Charlon extended one of his wings to cup her back and wrapped his arm around her.

“I wish we stay here forever,” she said as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “We wouldn’t have to worry about the outside world. We could stay wrapped up in each other. I could just sing for you and you could tell me jokes. Make me laugh.”

Charlon planted a kiss on her head, right between her horns, and they remained sitting there for the remainder of the night.

The memory faded into a much darker one. He was standing on a battlefield, clad in silver and green armour. He wore a helmet, with guards the shape of wings and a brilliant green crest. He had his sword drawn, and was standing in an offensive position back-to-back with Owl, who wore identical armour and wielded shortsword in one hand, his other hand glowing with magic.

It had been a sneak attack. Traitorous rebels belonging to a conspiracy against the king had attacked the Order’s camp outside the city walls while they met with a diplomat. They’d killed the diplomat and injured Al’Khashar.

Charlon slashed at one of the rebels, cutting him across the stomach and felling him. Behind him, Owl killed one rebel with his sword and melted another with a ball of fire. All around him, Charlon could smell the metallic tang of blood and steel, the sound of blades clashing surrounding him.

Two rebels charged at Charlon and the malakh dispatched one before spinning, Owl taking his place and beheading the second. The two had fought so long together that they had become a single unit, united in mind and spirit. 

And then, something had happened that made Charlon’s heart stop. He heard a voice yell.

“Charlon!”

It was Avelin.

“Is that–” Owl began

“Why is she here?” Charlon demanded. “She shouldn’t be here!”

Charlon whipped his head around in every direction, looking for the girl he so dearly loved, but he couldn’t find her.

“I’m going to fly up and see if I can find her,” Charlon told Owl.

“There are still more rebels to kill,” Owl argued. “We need to–”

“I don’t give a fuck about the rebels!” Charlon yelled. “I will not allow Avelin to die.”

Charlon shot up into the air, flapping his wings to keep him airborne as he searched for Avelin. After a moment, he spotted her; a tiefling girl at the edge of the camp. She was surrounded by four rebels, all armed and ready to attack her. She dodged one of their attacks and climbed on top of a supply chest, but she was no match for them. She bore a dagger, but he knew she didn’t know how to fight.

In an instant, Charlon was hurtling towards her, lightning crackling around him, thunder roaring. He gathered his magic around him, transforming himself into an unyielding bolt of pure electricity, zeroing in on its target.

Charlon landed on the ground before the rebels, the impact launching them into the air or frying them, turning the grass into ash. His eyes became pupiless, replaced by glowing orbs of lightning. He swung his sword at the attacking rebels with incredible strength, launching bolts of electricity at others. In the distance, Charlon could vaguely spot Ripple unleashing great torrents of water at the rebels, drowning them, and Lokara, splitting rebels in half with her battleaxe. And Owl, who was running towards him, executing all in his path.

“What are you doing here!” Charlon yelled at Avelin as he fought off the traitors.

“I was supposed to meet the diplomat!” Avelin yelled back. “She was supposed to help the Stellars with something!”

“Get out of here!” Charlon demanded.

“I will not leave you here!” Avelin insisted. “I can fight!”

“No, you can’t!” Charlon yelled as he severed the legs of an attacking rebel. “You’ll be killed!”

“And what about you?” Avelin called back. “There are too many rebels! You’ll be overwhelmed!”

“Then at least you’ll live!” yelled Charlon.

Three rebels attacked Charlon at once. The malakh had no trouble slaying the first with his sword, but the other sliced him just under one of his ribs. He cried in pain before summoning a bolt of lightning to smite him.

“Charlon!” Owl bellowed.

The third rebel struck too quickly for Charlon to react. Before he knew it, there was a sword through his back, protruding through his chest. It missed his heart, but it was still a fatal blow. Charlon hollered in pain, but managed to spin and hit the rebel in the head with his pommel and he pulled the sword from his back. Charlon beheaded the rebel, but fell to his knees immediately after.

He looked around him. Avelin was right. There were too many rebels. They had no chance. Left with no other options, Charlon pulled a move that he didn’t even know would work. He drew all his magic inside him, all the lightning and thunder and storms into a singular point deep inside himself. He thought of Owl, of Ripple, of Lokara as he readied himself. He thought of Avelin as he threw his head back and let out a world-shattering bellow that rang through the world. 

Lightning exploded from Charlon in every direction and, for a long moment, his vision went white, and he saw nothing but electricity. 

When he regained his vision, he looked around him again. He’d scorched the entire battlefield. All around him were the burnt and disfigured bodies of the rebels and some Order members. Others were in shock, many were injured. But the rebels were all dead. The Order had won.

Left completely exhausted and drained, he fell onto his back, his wings outstretched behind him. The sky was peaceful, and he could see red, orange and pink suggesting that the sun was beginning to rise. He could feel his blood pooling beneath him, and he knew he was dying.

Avelin ran to him, crouching over top of him. “No,” she whispered, her eyes full of tears. “You will not die today.”

Charlon raised a hand to caress her cheek. “Please. Lay next to me.”

She did as she was asked. As she laid next to him, he remembered their time together, and he smiled, tasting the salt of his tears.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” Charlon said, softly.

He could hear Avelin sob as his world grew dark, but he rested easy, knowing she would live.