Once mounted, the four aristocrats, flanked by the six guards, made their way out of the palace gates, wound through the cobbled streets of Saeren and passed beyond the city walls into the wilderness.
“Have you had much time to explore Vyrica, YourHighness?” After they had been riding in silence for some time, Thiete called over to Jarryn.
“No. I have visited these lands with my father, but always with a purpose. There was never any time for sightseeing.”
“A shame, to be sure. I am glad of the opportunity to rectify this. You have chosen a truly remarkable site to visit first. The Ruins of Pasiara are shrouded in legend.”
“So I’m told.” Jarryn glanced sideways in Leander’s direction. “Something to do with your mother, Lord Leander, I am led to believe?” he pressed.
Leander nodded. “But it was long before I was born. I’m sure Theite knows the story much better than I do.”
“Really? This is your heritage. Your legacy. Do you care so little for the history of your immortal mother?”
“She is a millennia old. More. It’s hard to cram a thousand years of stories into my small brain.”
Jarryn frowned. “Not even the touchstone events? As I understand it, the Ruins of Pasiara were the site of Vyrica’s first settlement. Sounds like something I would endeavour to remember.”
“What may seem like an event of some significance to you is not necessarily what my mother or I would consider to be worthy of remembrance. We place value on that which brings us joy, not sorrow. For the sorrowful events are only worth what lessons they teach us, not because we wish to be reminded of them,” Leander responded monotonously.
“Oh, so you do remember the story then. And you know it is not a happy one,” Jarryn returned with a cold smile.
Leander scowled. “I remember enough from what my mother taught me. I remember the lessons she instilled in me for what can happen when a god interferes in the lives of mortals.”
“Oh really? You understand the impacts, then?”
Leander looked over at Jarryn sharply as he took a moment to ensure his mental barriers were securely erected.
“We’re here,” Lucien interrupted Leander’s reply, and the demigod was ultimately glad for the reprieve from Jarryn’s attention being solely on him.
Dismounting, the horses were secured to a post and Leander followed his companions up a hill to see what stones still stood proud as the enduring reminder of his mother’s involvement in the welfare and accomplishments of Saeren.
Moss covered stones, weathered by centuries of wind and rain, stood as a testament to the engineering ingenuity of builders and architects of the time. On the grassy ground, there was a carpet of fallen leaves in amber, gold, and rusty hues. The autumn sun shone brightly in the azure sky, filtering through the treetop canopy and casting shadows upon the ground and cracked stonework of columns and crumbling archways of what had once been a grand cathedral.
A chilled breeze caught Leander, and he shivered as he walked slowly through an archway, eyes cast upwards. He told himself it was due to the wind and not a result of the haunting beauty that sang to his heart, reminding him of his mother. Reminding him of his home.
Thiete fell into step beside him as Leander reached outto trace the remnants of the durable grey stones. “What do you think?” Thiete asked softly.
“It’s… I can tell how this would once have been a majestic place of worship.”
Thiete nodded his agreement.
“It was so much more than just a church, though, Leander,” Lucien called over. “Tell them, Thiete.”
Leander looked in askance in Thiete’s direction, waiting with uninhibited curiosity to learn more about the ruins.
Thiete began. “Centuries ago, these lands, lands that would one day become Vyrica, were plagued by a drought, leading to famine. Crops could not grow, livestock were dying. The people were starving, suffering, desperate for salvation against the devastation on the land, on their very lives. They could not survive this alone, and enough had already died, so they prayed for divine intervention to save them.
“Touched by their plight, the goddess Leía, deity of storms, descended from Estalian, and summoned forth a mighty storm that brought life-saving rains from thunderous clouds, saturating the sun-baked lands with the water it desperately needed.
“However, this act of mercy came at a price. The unleashed fury of the storm wrought havoc upon the land, causing floods that ravaged entire villages. That’s what ‘Pasiara’ means: ‘withstand the storm.’ This lone hill is all that survived that storm brought by Leía.”
Everyone, even the Saerian soldiers who had grown up on this legend, were listening with rapt attention.
For his part, Leander knew of the story, but had notremembered it as it was being told now. The gods always had a different spin on it, as it was their own story, not the story of their ancestors. They remembered it correctly.
“Remorseful, Leía wept tears of sorrow, and these ruins are all that is left of the civilisation from before Vyrica’s union into one kingdom. Leía vowed to always support Saeren as penance for the destruction of so many lives. And the ancient ruins of Prasiara now stand as a warning, a reminder of not only the benevolence of the gods, but also the consequences of seeking divine intervention.”
“As well as a warning as to the fickle nature of the gods’ involvement in mortal lives,” Jarryn, who had also been listening in, interjected.
