The Light's Champion
A beacon of...
The chatter of the crowd is almost deafening as beings line the main street of San Ovila, looking up and down expectantly. Guardians are out in full force as well, keeping the crowd on either side contained as best they can, shoving them up against stores and leaving little standing room along the street itself. Faces in windows peer out, pushing and shoving one another to obtain a better view of… nothing.
Though thanks to his father’s magic, Isaac has been able to gain the best view of all: atop the roof of the general store. It’s one of the few three-floored buildings on San Ovila, and only slightly bigger than the other buildings around it to hold the beings that come to buy food and other tidbits that happen to be for sale.
He looks down at the beings below with a flat expression, confused. He doesn’t understand the excitement that hangs in the air around him, and he doesn’t really care to watch an empty street for very long, either. It’s boring, and it’s not like his parents brought along any toys he can play with to pass the time.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“The Champion of Light is returning from a trip,” his mother replies with a smile. “It’s not often they are seen out in public.”
Isaac just blinks back at her. He’s heard about the Champion, the being that runs both San Ovila and the Guardians, but that’s about all he knows for now. So, with all that being said, this is going to be his first time seeing the Champion.
He looks down the street to the port, with its long peers reaching out into the water like long wooden fingers. Approaching the island is a large ship made of white wood and gold fittings, glittering in the light of the midcycle. The large sails appear to glow with power, even as the crew rush about to roll them up, preparing to dock the massive boat. The flag that flies above it is a white sheet adorned with a gold diamond, with four swords radiating from it, one for each side.
“Is that the ship?” he asks.
“It is,” his father chuckles, placing his hands on his son’s shoulders.
The ship is slow to dock, so Isaac turned to playing with his sandals for a little bit, wondering what the Champion might look like. Do they wear armor like the Guardians? What weapon will they carry? If they have a helmet, what would it look like?
The image he comes up with is close to the Guardians he’s seen: Bright white armor with a helmet that hides their face from view, with maybe a sword or a spear somewhere on their body. The armor is detailed with gold trim, probably in some sort of diamond-like pattern, or at least a pattern with sharp edges and corners to it. And their helmet has long curved horns, because he thinks it just looks cool. He read a book with a character with a horned helmet, anyways, and how it was described made for an epic visual in his head.
The excitement of the beings below slowly begins to work its way into Isaac, making him eager to see the Champion as well, just to see if his depiction is right.
Finally, the ship docks, and the gangplank is lowered. Some of the crew rush onto the dock, though they’re probably doing other things unrelated to the Champion’s arrival. But a collection of Guardians do appear on the deck at the same time, all of them holding long spears that point high into the air. The marching of their metal boots on the wooden deck is soft, yet audible, a low and rhythmic drumming. Isaac sits up on his knees, heart thumping in his chest just a little faster.
The Guardians make their way down the gangplank in two lines, making some sort of white wall that he can just barely see through. And as he stares at the two lines, he thinks he sees a single figure between them, heavily covered by the spears and bodies, yet distinctive all the same.
The crowd of the street gradually fall silent as the marching begins to grow louder, until it’s the only noise that can be heard as it fills the excited air.
Up the main street first marches a couple helmetless Guardians with swords, once again in two lines. Their expressions are flat as they stare straight ahead, heading towards the barracks at the top of the hill, hidden in the shade of the First Tree. Following the swordsmen are a small collection of archers, their bows in hand as if a fight were to break out at any moment. But no Champion.
“Where’s the Champion?” Isaac asks, looking up at his parents.
They smile back at him knowingly, with his mother replying softly with, “Just wait. They’re coming.”
So he turns back to the street below, being greeted by another group of swordsmen and spearmen as they quietly march their way up the hill. The loud thrum of their boots is almost relaxing in a strange way.
A cheer arises from the bottom end of the street, a roar that quickly makes its way up the street like a sort of wave. Past the smaller groups of Guardians is a single figure that walks alone, with a presence that radiates power and authority.
Isaac sucks in a breath and leans forward, trying to get a better look at the approaching Champion. He’s about half-right with what he imagined, with big white armor accented with gold decals, though they’re more in a mirrored circular pattern than what he thought of. They wear a large, hornless helmet that casts their face in complete darkness, which is different from that of other Guardians, whom typically have their mouths visible, and maybe a nose too, depending on the helmet design. But although the Champion’s face is hidden, there are two white pinpricks of light where their eyes should be, shining through the shadow. A long cape billows behind them, and an axe hangs at their hip.
Isaac lets out a small huff of disappointment. He was really hoping for the Champion to have helmet horns, but they still look intimidating all the same, with their large frame and powerful walk, their footsteps just slightly more heavy than the other Guardians in front of and behind them. And yet, despite their bulky size, the Champion still marches with an air of dignity and elegance. The Champion occasionally waves at the crowd on one side or the other, though for the most part they remain to themself, giving the beings around them little attention. Still, the crowd cheers for them happily, basking in the Champion’s presence.
Isaac and his parents stare on in silence, watching the Champion begin to walk past the building they’re perched upon. The Champion turns their head and raises their hand to the side of the street that the family of three are on, though their attention is on the crowd below. Isaac wonders if he should wave back, or if the Champion would even see his wave if he did in the first place. After all, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever see them again, and they’re pretty much looking in his direction.
Though without doing anything, the Champion tilts their head upwards, and Isaac feels their gaze fall upon him. It’s a firm gaze, the kind that his parents give him whenever he’s in trouble, making his stomach sink. He wants to shrink away, but feels almost paralyzed at the same time, unable to do anything. The little pinpricks of light-for-eyes are not kind at all, but rather full of… something he can’t put his finger on, but he knows it’s not good.
The momentary meeting of their eyes drags on for an age, the cheering fading into a background drone.
Wizards, a voice hisses in disdain. It sounds like an older woman, kind of like his mother, with the deep undertone that a being like his father had. Two beings talking at the same time.
Did the Champion say it?
The moment passes, and the Champion moves on, turning their attention back to the street ahead of them. The cheers of the crowd fill his ears, though it’s not just that anymore. Voices rise, all chatting at once, creating an even louder drone inside his head. He slaps his hands over his ears in an attempt to stop the noise to no effect. The voices continue to talk, the noise only seeming to amplify further.
Hands fall on his arms, his parents by his side, probably wondering what’s wrong. He can just barely hear them call his name, but that’s all he can make out.
“Too loud…” Isaac moans, rocking from side to side as tears begin to well in his eyes. His head throbs painfully, not helping his growing distress.
And with that, the mother scoops up her son, cradling him in her arms, and the small family of Illusionists retreat back to their home.