Yunara, The Unbroken Faith
“The War of the False Kanmei—a name bestowed by those who know nothing of which they speak.”
- Human
Ionia
[For your attention: a series of damaged manuscript fragments, recovered from the old ruins of Koeshin during restoration of the upper promontory. Please advise on how these should be archived.]
I mistook the scuttling of azakana across the roof for rain today. Leaving my quarters, thirteen awaited me outside the temple. Most were dispatched quickly, but two proved more difficult.
One clung to the temple’s side with its grotesque maw. Its teeth shattered against the Aion Er’na—I knocked its shriveled remains off the cliff. The second rose from the waters like a shadow, eyes piercing the gloom. As it attacked, darkness swallowed the temple’s glow.
But I do not fear the dark.
It felt good to face a real challenge again. With each strike, each gesture of my hand illuminated by my weapon, I cast the thing away.
However, the skirmish brought me perilously close to the temple’s entrance. Until that moment, I had avoided coming so near. I returned to my chambers to meditate.
Of late, there has been far more akana activity in general, and I fear his power attracts the restless.
I have added another full circle of the perimeter to my daily duties.
I find that here, in the spirit realm, my mind drifts often to thoughts of the dead.
It is Master Lao I think of most—and he’d probably laugh at me for saying so. His teachings, though offered sparingly, punctuated our routine with deeper meaning. It would be years before I came to understand how precious and fragile it all was. How important we were.
By the time Grand Master Bhinan raised us to full acolytes, Lao had already begun preparing us for war.
He warned that confronting the Fallen Ones themselves was utterly futile. Even their mortal followers were not to be taken lightly.
Sadly, his words did little to dissuade those who heard not a warning, but a challenge—and in seeking victory, found only death.
Zai tah'lo. I only wish he had followed his own advice.
In the moonlight, I caught sight of a servant of the Fallen—only one—right in Lao’s blind spot. I slipped between the shadows and struck him down. As Lao turned, his face held a proud smile—one that shifted to horror when he spotted the symbol on the dead man’s tunic.
“The blood… She will come for us.”
He tore my gloves away, and wiped them on his tattered robes. His eyes told me to run.
And then I saw her.
Lao stood to face our immortal foe, but was bound instantly. What she does to people… It is something I wish I had never witnessed, yet—
I have had time to reflect on my vows—in particular those I pledged to uphold on becoming the Fist of Shadow:
I will follow the Eye’s guidance and turn to the Heart for wisdom.
I will vanquish all who disrupt balance.
I will prune the tree of weakness and blight.
I will serve no false gods, nor kanmei.
I will not allow my feelings to prevent what must be done.
My parents entrusted me to the order as a child, so I knew the oaths by heart, and swore to live by them without question. I channeled guidance handed down to me by the learned masters, and strived to follow their example even when their true wishes were unknown to me.
Even so, after the war, I was forced to relinquish that role to another.
I swore to guard the Temple of Twilight, and Bhinan’s parting words haunted me the most. “You go now into a place where few can follow. From here, it is you who must determine what is to be pruned. Deliver your judgments as if they were my own.”
I knew then that we would never speak again, in this realm or the next. Did her words in that moment come from the heavens, or were they simply what I needed to hear?
Does it matter?
The days I spend out of meditation now bleed together.
With endless time to train, I have begun experimenting with non-combat uses for the Aion Er’na. I can now dance with them in perfect synchronization, and use them as stepping stones between my chambers and the temple.
After bathing in the spirit waters, I feel faster, stronger, and more attuned to the relic. A martial pattern that once required sixteen invocations of the Twilight Orison now takes only eleven—whether this is due to the water or cold, I cannot say. Still, I miss the hot springs of Koeshin.
A vision came to me as I was meditating. Or was it a memory?
Once more, we were chasing the Fan and its followers up a mountain, beyond the treeline. The Darkin shrieked in anger at the pursuit, echoing among the snowy peaks.
I sent the Aion Er’na soaring through the air, caving in the chest of a woman charging me with a sword. Voices rose behind me as a kunai grazed my ear. I pivoted and arced ruin upon them both.
I looked down to identify our assailants… but I was no longer on the mountain.
The walls of the temple surrounded me, alive and seething. Where my companion had stood, a stranger now loomed—cloaked in foreign robes. A new threat?
The temple is warded against all intrusions, even dreams. Was this a prophecy? A wayward nightmare? I cannot say.
But it is clear I must not lose faith.
Not in my cause, and not in myself. There is still more to be done.