The Day the Song Went Silent

The snow had already begun to pile up. It was a chilling day, by all accounts, but the lone remaining Formis that stood within the halls of this Fortress felt no cold. Three years, they told him. Three years their Republic had stood as the primary protector of freedom in Duloris. Apollo found it humorous. To him, those three years had been a blink of an eye. Compared to the great Empire which he once served, well, there was no comparison. Still, as he looked down on his great, crystalline weapon, then out across the city, he felt pride.

Fires were lit across the town. Celebrations were underway. Songs, sung by soldiers across the river, were carried on the wind towards him. Even some of his own men were enraptured in the festivities, and Apollo did nothing to dissuade them. To the men of flesh and bone, three years is a long, long time. And Apollo would not deny those men their pride, for they were warriors, like him. He had grown into his role well. And he had sworn long ago that a child of Stelli'Aris would always stand to watch over what remained of her great, ancient City.

Even as the sun began to set, and the stars shone above, the people of Starcrest, and its twin fortresses, did not retire. Although it did quiet down, it never truly met its completion. Until, with no forewarning, it all abruptly stopped. It was a dreadful, rapid silence that spread across the town in an instant. Even the soft, peaceful music that strangely lofted out of the Heroes Requiem Keep had gone quiet. The people of the city still went about their days, Apollo could see as much from his position atop the walls of the Factus Fortress. But their mood had changed. Something had changed.

Then, for the first time, the metal warrior atop the stone wall felt a chill. But it came naught from the weather. Not from something natural at all. Something explicitly, and terribly... Unnatural. If he had a stomach, he would feel it sink. With a great gust of wind, a figure leaped from the roof of the Heroes Requiem Keep, ascending into the air with a pair of dreadful, blackened wings, flying towards him. Apollo knew who this was; he had seen him more times than he could count. And immediately, when he saw the harp this man held in his hands, he knew something was wrong.

Apollo greeted the man, careful not to reveal what he had deduced.

"**GREETINGS, LIEUTENANT NOVELLE**."

The man that, by all appearances, was Lucien Novelle, curled his lips ever so slightly.

"*Why, Captain Apollo. I'm afraid 'Lieutenant' Novelle isn't accurate anymore. You see, I've received a promotion. Hadn't you heard*?"

Apollo was nervous. He knew something was amiss with each word from the mans mouth. He stated, bluntly;

"**I HAD NOT.**"

The figure nodded several times, slowly shifting his head out towards the city as he did so.

"*Cornelius abdicated his position, Captain. And what's more, he named me his successor. The Council agreed.*"

Apollo's eyes and chest began to glow ever so slightly brighter, as dreadful rage began to fill him.

"**I SEE.**"

It took all of his strength not to strike the man down, there and then. But Apollo knew that Lucien Novelle was the better warrior. And when he looked into the glowing, pallid yellow eyes of what stood before him, he knew that he truly stood no chance. Better to bide his time, and strike when he knew he could finish the job.

The creature masquerading as Lucien Novelle smiled, no longer looking at Apollo at all. Then, after a moment, it began to laugh. Quietly, at first, but gradually growing into a full-blown cackle.

"*What's the matter, Apollo? Aren't you happy for me? Or, did you think your brother to be the better pick*?"

Apollo stood still, not answering the taunt. The man, nevertheless, continued to prod.

"*Oh, I won't be offended if you say so. But, I might be willing to give you a promotion, and a big one, at that, if you were to, oh I don't know, announce that you support my new position*?"

Apollo could feel the deceit emanating from the thing that stood before him. He knew it did not truly care if it had his support. It had not come to him for this reason, it had come here to taunt him, to infuriate him. It had begun to work.

The massive, armored Formis shifted his body towards the impostor before him. And he knew, that is all it was. A false Lucien Novelle. A false Archon. A false leader. He had never been sure what to think of the Archon, Alheim Cornelius. He had never been sure what to think of Westbrooke itself, either. His status as Factus' Right Hand had ensured his vigilance in Starcrest, not any personal loyalty to the Republic, or it's leader. Despite that, he knew that Cornelius would never attempt to beguile him, nor prod at his psyche. The Formis remained still, as he stared at the figure before him.

It made one final display of it's depravity.

"*Really? Nothing? That's too bad. And here I was, willing to offer you Factus' position in exchange for his life.*"

The dark figure before Apollo felt a cold, metal hand clench around its neck from behind. In a moment of blind fury, of utter disgust and hatred, Apollo had lunged forward, yelling as loud as his body could;

"**FOR SOMEONE WHO WISHES FOR SILENCE, YOU TALK MORE THAN MOST. NOW, YOU WON'T TALK AT ALL.**"

Apollo grabbed on with his other hand. He was irate, his body leaking anger, and glowing orange light. The thought of betraying Factus had sent him over the edge. How foolish this creature must be, to expect any other result from such debased goading.

Still, as Apollo clenched his iron hands around his enemies throat, he quickly realized his attack had been for naught. While he had tried to crush his throat, he simply could not. The False-Archon flapped its two black wings but a single time, nearly sending Apollo over the edge of the wall. He quickly regained his feet, looking up at the figure, who know floated in the air, held aloft by its dark power and figure. The Formis picked up his hammer, Devotion, and, in that moment, felt he truly understood what that word meant, and why it had been chosen for his weapon. He raised his right hand, pointing at the blackened form in the sky that loomed above him. He shouted.

"**WE ARE GOING TO DESTROY YOU!**"

His words echoed across the city, across the valley, up and down the river, across the now snow-filled landscape of Duloris. And, no doubt, his words were heard by the monster flying above him. He had expected death from such an ordeal. And he did not fear it. But it did not come. Instead, the false Lucien Novelles faced merely formed a scowl, muttering to itself.

"*Oh, how I'll enjoy seeing your head on a shelf, child. In fact, I think I know just the person for the job. Yes, she'll enjoy that very much. Yes."*

As it rose further into the air, eventually flying north, Apollo could still hear it's voice muttering to itself. He had been spared, for now. But he knew that Starcrest would not be. For as he looked across the river once more, he saw fires being lit. But not fires of celebration, or festivity. The fires of war.