The Solitaire sat on the arch bridge which connected the public space of Doron with the secluded. Below her feet rushed water through the landscape, wearing away the rock and soil beneath it. The waterfall’s clamorous passage at the foot of the steep rock formation threw up sparks like a curtain of blue aluminium in the light of the solar noon. She was a moment engrossed by the wooshing vortex that was a new starting point for the rest of the river, the salvo of sound moving to the background as she stared.
Even for an elf like her it felt like ages ago since the last time she was here, likely due her experiences of the past ten years. What felt even more distant were the memories of her family, and of how she and the family’s servant had become closer and closer. Of how they both had decided to run because of the fierce disapproval of their love by her bloodkin. Of how she had crossed a desert with him to get rid of their authority, and how they eventually ended up here in Doron where they married.
Her gaze shifted upwards. Water poured from rocks like liquid silver tear tracks on an old face.
And after that happy moment… nothing but doom. He got banished from the village because of his impetuous and quick-tempered nature. And she… she…
Soraya squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could help banish dark memories from her mind. She couldn’t. Somehow she had to process them. And she had to deal with them alone. To her family she was dead. And to her Kali was dead. She was now the last of her kind.
Become one with the arrow, choose a target and aim.
The mentor she had encountered a few years ago was someone who had been able to help her channel suffering and sorrow into a flawless form of archery. He taught her how to be elegance in motion, the drawing of the bowstring and the release of the arrow executed with seamless grace and a sense of rhythm. She had been taught how to block out distractions and merciless honing in on the target. And she was nearly able to visualize the arrow’s path and the point of impact. Every shot was being turned into a work of art, the result of movements resembling a choreographed performance. During her training she learned to sense the bowstring’s vibration, the soaring flight as an arrow climbs and the gentle thud when it landed. It had all turned into some kind of symphony to her.
And it was through this “symphony” she sensed the gaze of the Archer, observing her with approval as she hit the mark over and over again. Both the bow mentor and the Archer had provided her clarity. The ‘matter’ could only be solved with closure and in this case only with death. A crusade was the only answer.
Until this day she was still convinced of that path, especially with how she had felt when she encountered that female Drow in Soubar, freely walking the Surface like it was her new domain.
But what after her crusade was completed? Only since recently she had started to wonder. Did she still had to remain a Solitaire in order not to drag innocent people in her pursuit of revenge? Would she still be an excellent archer when He abandoned her, or when she turned to Hanali? The question the Guardian had raised was comprehensive.
Who... are you, Soraya?
