Light Bringer

I am Cassius Bellona, son of Tiberius, son of Julia, brother of Darrow, Morning Knight of the Solar Republic, and my honor remains.

He is my favorite smell, my favorite sound, my favorite sight. He will never know how much I love him because he does not remember the day Darrow and I conceived him, or the months I carried him inside me, or the minute he came into the world, the moment he said his first word or took his first step, or made me laugh for the first time. I remember all those things, and all the things about them. Where the sun lay in the sky, how his father’s eyes sparkled, what I feared in those moments, what I hoped for his life to be. That season of life is a haze to him, but when I die and reflect on my life, I know I will still believe that season was the meaning of mine.

Victra murmurs. “You’re the bookish one. Was it a man who said ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’?” A lancer brings her gauntlets. “It must have been—to imagine something so petty as scorn to be the utmost misery a woman could suffer. What, I wonder, would he make of a mother who has seen her husband sold like meat and her babe nailed to a tree?” She dons her gauntlets. “Perhaps: wrath, I am thee? They come for our children, Virginia.” She turns to me and cups my face with one hand. “Do not fear for me. Instead, pity them.

You’re acting like you share a secret language all of a sudden.” “Isn’t that always the case with those who’ve read the same books?

Forgetting is essential to learning, just as exhaling is essential to breathing. Breathe out, then in. Find the self, then lose it once again. Thus, the path goes ever onward.

Do not fear for me. Instead, pity them.

I think…if love is anything, it is truth. If life is anything, it is struggle.

I’m not really blessed at keeping friends. But you are. I truly respect that. I know how special your friends are to you, how protective you are of them. And it means…quite a bit to me that you’ve invited me into your pack and made me feel welcome. No…it means everything, really. Without this, without your friends, I’m very much alone.

I am ready for the enemy to come. I have more reasons to fight then they do. My armor is my love.

We achieve perfection first by acknowledging our failures. We increase understanding first by recognizing our ignorance.

I face Aurae. “It’s been a journey,” I mumble. “I wanted to say thank you. For bringing us here. For giving me The Path to the Vale. I was spiraling. People have saved my life before, but I think you saved my soul.” “And you saved Cassius’s,” she says. “It wasn’t me that did it. I liked him very much. In another life, I might have loved him. But he didn’t need a woman’s love. He needed a brother’s. The way he talked about you. Well…” Her eyes swim with tears. “Lysander was an obligation. You were an aspiration. He was so afraid on our journey to the Core. So nervous to see you and be rejected. But when he saw you respected him, valued him, he shined like a star. His path led back to you, because you made him feel loved. That is all that matters, Darrow. When he died, he knew he was loved. So when you think of him, when you feel sad, remember that.” She kisses me on the cheek. “If we do not meet again, I will see you in the Vale with Cassius. You know the path.

The point of war is not to kill your enemies, but to come to an acceptable peace while losing as few people as possible.

If a man cannot learn from his mistakes, then what hope is there but to kill us all at first sin?

How can we promise freedom and then be the arbiter of a people’s choices? That is not freedom. That is social engineering. That is the long road to tyranny.

I almost cave. But I know by now that voice of reason is the enemy. Inside me there is a coward who fears discomfort. That coward will offer solace in the form of excuses. But it is the coward who grooms a man for his defeats. The coward who makes him accept them because he is accustomed to finding a good reason to quit. The coward inside can only be killed one way. I toss down my pack and don my training kit.

In the cold prison of our minds, we are alone with our self-hatred, our doubts, and guilt. No one more than Sevro. A friend may reach through the bars and hold our hand, but they cannot open the door for us. Only the prisoner has the key. All I can do is remind him we’re waiting for him when he gets out.

Chains might be made by others, but we tend them.

A friend may reach through the bars and hold our hand, but they cannot open the door for us. Only the prisoner has the key. All I can do is remind him we’re waiting for him when he gets out.

Be wary of tyrants: they will help you today and own you tomorrow.

In another life, I might have loved him. But he didn’t need a woman’s love. He needed a brother’s.

Without you on this journey I would have fallen apart. You’re my brother, Cassius.” He thinks I speak in hyperbole. “What’s next then, when this journey ends?” he asks. “Cassius. I wasn’t just talking about this trip. By journey, I meant my life.” He looks over at me, touched and more than a bit surprised. “You’re my brother. We let ten years slip past. Ten years we should have fought side by side. I won’t make that mistake again. Whether you like it or not, you’re with me to the end.” A very small “Oh,” is all he can manage. He thinks for a long moment. “I mean that’s a lot of commitment, Darrow.” I knew the sarcasm was coming but I still almost burst a stitch laughing. “Brothers,” he murmurs. “It does feel like it fits. We’ll try it on.

The path is made of many stones that look all the same. When you trod upon evil, do not rest or look down because goodness is only a step away. The next may bring ruin, the next joy, but these stones are not your destination, they are but your journey to the path’s end.

To those who wrote that we might read, to those who fell so we might walk, to those who came before so we might come after, gratitude. - Virginia

If all lies were so kind, I’d never wish to hear the truth.

Worry is a spiral with death at its center,

A man thinks he can fly, but he is afraid to jump. A poor friend pushes him from behind. A good friend jumps with.

Oh. Darrow. I remembered. No more Truffle Pig. She hates it. Says it’s demeaning to her other contributions and athletic stature.” “Uh-huh. Well. She doesn’t get to choose her own callsign.” “Of course not. I was thinking Strawberry Lass. No? Crow Whisperer? Red Rabbit?” “We’ll figure it out later.” I have a thought. “What do they call baby eagles?” He acts like he’s just seen a puppy. “Eaglet. Oh gods. She’ll die.

Rather than fretting about whether I’ve made the right choices, I instead focus on preparing for the next one, whatever that might be.

I know a little of suffering. The worlds are very big. The people in them…and the systems…well they are very cold and very uncaring. I know what it is to be small. To be…stepped on. There’s dignity in holding up your hands against the boot. But it crushes all the same.” He touches his breast. “On this fragile heart of mine, I promise no harm will come to you here.