Ple-Sen
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Alright, I'll write this down in advance, otherwise I'll put it off again. Lokken has already gotten ahead of me with the reports...
Tonight, Alaria was visited once more by something that was neither a vision of the future nor a vague memory, but perhaps simply a manifestation of her troubled imagination, inspired by recent events. It was another dream where she was a demon, but this time, the girl saw what had led her to such a life. Contrary to Eugene's words, in the dream, it was not an avaricious choice, but a process that happened on its own. A natural process, which she, even in her dreams, did not realize until the transformation was complete. Contrary to her own words, there was no insatiable greed that followed – the metamorphosis was the final stage of her re-evaluation of her own life, her own values.
In the dream, she felt pride, superiority, and pity for ordinary mortals, and the feeling of overwhelming power was truly intoxicating. Freed from the guilt and pain of loss, and perceiving the pain and suffering she caused as a mere fact, she was not the same indecisive commander she had been in Calcite. She was efficient. Terrifyingly efficient. Was this what the Patriarch saw when he looked into her soul? If so, Alaria was surprised that he didn't banish her on the spot. She herself would have done exactly that.
However, even with her new body, against which her enemies broke their swords and on which cannon fire left nothing more than a scratch, could she be called truly happy? And did these abilities seem so impressive now, after becoming familiar with the school of Baldur? Despite her willingness to leave the past behind, the demonic self of Alaria sometimes succumbed to melancholy. Due to her age, it was difficult for her to see those around her as anything other than children, which led to a feeling of loneliness. Fantasies about starting a family were nothing more than, well, fantasies – something that could not be realized. After all, her child would also live with the curse of demonic blood. What surprising mercy from someone who has more than one life on their conscience. From someone who was otherwise quite content with their existence.
Despite all her successes and talents, the path chosen by this Alaria from her dreams led her not to triumph, but to yet another defeat. As if the mysterious demiurge was punishing them for their wrong choice. She and her kindred had failed, and those who survived faced an unenviable fate – eternal slavery, from which one could only be freed in death. It was a path leading nowhere. Whether this dream was a warning from her conscience, or something that had actually happened or could have happened, the Tanarrian did not know. But it had its effect – the girl woke up in a cold sweat, thoughtfully gazing at the ceiling of her dwelling for some time.
Extending her palm in front of her, the warrior carefully examined it. Everything was normal – ordinary human skin, not marble. Feeling her forehead, she also found no horns. And yet, the dream felt so real. It was difficult not to perceive it as a warning from herself. A warning that was worth remembering well and from which important lessons should be drawn, so as not to make similar mistakes in the future. If not for the sake of some hypothetical ideals of "goodness and nobility," then at least for her own sake.
Tonight, Alaria was visited once more by something that was neither a vision of the future nor a vague memory, but perhaps simply a manifestation of her troubled imagination, inspired by recent events. It was another dream where she was a demon, but this time, the girl saw what had led her to such a life. Contrary to Eugene's words, in the dream, it was not an avaricious choice, but a process that happened on its own. A natural process, which she, even in her dreams, did not realize until the transformation was complete. Contrary to her own words, there was no insatiable greed that followed – the metamorphosis was the final stage of her re-evaluation of her own life, her own values.
In the dream, she felt pride, superiority, and pity for ordinary mortals, and the feeling of overwhelming power was truly intoxicating. Freed from the guilt and pain of loss, and perceiving the pain and suffering she caused as a mere fact, she was not the same indecisive commander she had been in Calcite. She was efficient. Terrifyingly efficient. Was this what the Patriarch saw when he looked into her soul? If so, Alaria was surprised that he didn't banish her on the spot. She herself would have done exactly that.
However, even with her new body, against which her enemies broke their swords and on which cannon fire left nothing more than a scratch, could she be called truly happy? And did these abilities seem so impressive now, after becoming familiar with the school of Baldur? Despite her willingness to leave the past behind, the demonic self of Alaria sometimes succumbed to melancholy. Due to her age, it was difficult for her to see those around her as anything other than children, which led to a feeling of loneliness. Fantasies about starting a family were nothing more than, well, fantasies – something that could not be realized. After all, her child would also live with the curse of demonic blood. What surprising mercy from someone who has more than one life on their conscience. From someone who was otherwise quite content with their existence.
Despite all her successes and talents, the path chosen by this Alaria from her dreams led her not to triumph, but to yet another defeat. As if the mysterious demiurge was punishing them for their wrong choice. She and her kindred had failed, and those who survived faced an unenviable fate – eternal slavery, from which one could only be freed in death. It was a path leading nowhere. Whether this dream was a warning from her conscience, or something that had actually happened or could have happened, the Tanarrian did not know. But it had its effect – the girl woke up in a cold sweat, thoughtfully gazing at the ceiling of her dwelling for some time.
Extending her palm in front of her, the warrior carefully examined it. Everything was normal – ordinary human skin, not marble. Feeling her forehead, she also found no horns. And yet, the dream felt so real. It was difficult not to perceive it as a warning from herself. A warning that was worth remembering well and from which important lessons should be drawn, so as not to make similar mistakes in the future. If not for the sake of some hypothetical ideals of "goodness and nobility," then at least for her own sake.