Burning Starlight

The air in the desert wastelands are of arid design. It draws on the lungs like sandpaper to steal the breath of life and its precious water. Frederick would joke that there is no such place as a 'non dangerous' place in Arhor'ha. If it isn't the sands then it is the ice of the mountain spine. If it isn't the ice then it is the lava of Judgement Peaks. The list goes on and on unless you live in a city. Yet for all the danger presented to the group, the travelers didn't shy from exploring these lands. Through this wanderlust they saw things that Frederick had only read about. He saw lakes of stars and fire birds among a long list of wonders. 
Step after step, the sun bronzed elf led the group further from Lara's little desert hometown. The torchlight could be seen on the vacant horizon. They twinkle as grounded stars reminding of the lights that hide behind the ribbons of color in the night sky. The aurora was vibrant this night with waves of prismic light. It play against the evening tapestry above their heads. All of these wonderful things were left to the backs of the group as they traveled away from the town. They fled at the pace of a caravan hand away from shelter. They fled from home and destiny.
"Frederick," squeaks the voice of a gnome from behind the elf taking point. He adjusts the goggles that rest on his forehead, "this is quite a distance away. I can appreciate the severity of the request and the faith required to see it through, but I am a man of logic." Logic. The god from which Mig Travers follows. To ask for faith without proof is to profain a ritual in its own right. "I can not deduce a reason to which we would abscond from the town! Please, friend," he reaches out with a small hand to tug on the warrior's tunic, "provide context. Provide an exposition or monologue if you must, but provide more than this lofty silence."
Lara was perfectly fine with the silence. She tilts her head down to the inquisitive elf as fiery red tresses escape along the desert winds. "The perfect puzzle is the one without pieces, isn't it?" She laughs. In truth she was also becoming concerned with the lack of information, so she laughs it off. She doesn't want her inquisitive friend to have any hints of her fears or confusions. The half-elf requested they take this dangerous path and she must maintain her resolve. Each prayer to the night sky becomes louder for guidance and each prayer has gone unanswered. 
"It is a good reason," Frederick says with as few words as possible. His pace slows to the tugging of the gnome. He is grateful only Mig and Lara spoke up. Another voice in the chorus of inquiry would only twist the knife deeper. His body is stiff from militant training, but it also hides his reluctance. His life has hit a crossroads and each path cuts the other off. Each step towards one path only brings dread that it was the wrong choice.
Mig scuttles ahead of the elvish swordsman. "Then speak it!" the short man demands. "Of all the towns, why avoid Lara's home town? What danger could possibly lurk there? What events could unfold? Do you have someone in there you do not wish to see? Have you wronged someone there? Do you think that they will treat Elohimian elves poorly? It makes no sense, man! By Oghma, this is madness!"
"Mig," stomps Lara onto the desert sand in response to the assault of questions, "enough! Its sweet of you to think of me wanting to return so dearly to my home town, but I do not need that to be used against our friends that way." The redheaded woman looks to the full blooded elf, "The townsfolk have always treated outsiders well, including elves. Many refugees from Elohim find their way there." She takes a breath. Her own heritage is tied closely to that fact. She isn't alone in the cultural mixing of the small desert town. "You swore on your sword that this reason was important." For an Elohimian swordsman, there are few acts that hold more weight. To go back on that is to sacrifice one's sword. One's purpose in society. 
Frederick reaches for his sword. Nimble hands of a tailor roughed by years of swordplay grip around the scabbard. "And it is," he says. The statement is more for himself than the others. 
The gnome smiles and softens his approach to the hint given by his scholastic companion. "You died for us. We went through hell to bring you back. All I ask is that you trust us. Whatever it is, we can face it..."
"Stop it!" Frederick yells loud enough to stop the gnome in his track. "Just, stop it," his eyes cast down to the sand at his feet. "I didn't ask you to bring me back. It would have been better if you let me die there."
Lara steps behind Mig and places a hand on his shoulder to calm the frightful levels of volume with a simple, calming voice. The tone is as much to calm herself as it is the swordsman. "Don't say that," she tells him, "we all have some rough times, but you need not be your own enemy."
"No, Lara," Frederick says as he acknowledges his cowardice. He was unable to speak the truth. He still feels unable when looking into the eyes of the ones that keep calling him 'friend'. The sand is all he can address. "My hand is forced as long as I live. I must deliver you to Nuya Dwin'annia." He grips his scabbard tightly. "By my sword I pledged to deliver you. A dead man can not do such a thing." He lets the silence of a desert wind howl around them.
"I have betrayed you since the day I met you," he explains to the sand, "I wasn't a lost traveler. I was looking for you. It was the only way to redeem myself as a son of heretics. To prove my loyalty to Elohim by delivering the prophesized witch back for judgement. At first, I thought, this is the way it should be. Then something changed along the way. You are a part of something bigger. Bigger than me. All of us, probably. You can't be given over to them. I wasn't being reckless because I was noble. It was because I was too much of a coward to challenge my orders. It was the only thing I could do." His blood drips onto the ground and burns into fire. "And you brought me back."
Mig closes his eyes and rubs his chin. This moment requires deep thinking. "Well we are not going to apologize for bringing our friend back. The rest of that, well, we can work through it. First thing first, though, we live to see the days were we talk it through. Then we don't go," Mig looks to Frederick. He looks up to Lara. "Simple as that, isn't it? We figure it all out another day."
Lara steps around Mig. She reaches out to Frederick who is shaking in rage and loathing. One touch along his jawline and it stops. She pulls his head up to look at her eyes. "I'm sorry, Frederick. You got tangled in my destiny and I am so very sorry for that. I have to see my father tonight. I may never get another chance to free him from his prison of duty. Seeing you, its grips it has on the people of Elohim? It only strengthens my resolve to meet him. Let the starlight in. Let this war end and pave these arid lands for peace."
Frederick is speechless. Mig is speechless. Lara is not known for this kind of sentiment, but tonight they flow as if they came from the divines themselves. 
"Go, Frederick. You have been true to your sword oaths. Live a long life," Lara says with a smile, "and remember me." She steps around him, past him. The party begins to follow her back to the town. Mig lingers longer. It doesn't sit right to leave Frederick alone like this nor go along with such a dangerous plan.
"Normally I'm the long winded one, right?" Mig says in an attempt to lighten the mood. It falls flat as Frederick is petrified in place. "She's set her mind to something and that's that."
"She is going to die, Mig," rasps out Frederick, "do you know what Elohimian inquisitors do to heretics? I do. My parents, my siblings, my home. I watched. Holy flames burn for days. They burn flesh and bone and soul. They purify for a 'new life' under our Lord." The sand is his audience. He yells at Mig through the ground, "I pledged my sword out of fear and called it honor. What good is a sword arm if I can't do anything with it!"
"You always have a choice, Frederick," Mig reminds him as he turns to rejoin Lara's group. "It may be your final choice, but no one can take it away from you. But maybe," the smile can be heard in his voice, "no one dies if we tackle this together. We are quite a team, you know."
Frederick stands there in the desert sands as time slips by him. If he can just stand there and do nothing long enough, will he be able to return to Elohim? He might even be seen as a hero. All he has to do is stand there. Do nothing. 
Do nothing. Like when he watched his house burn. Do nothing. Like when he knew his cause was wrong but kept the course. Do nothing. Like when he knows that inquisitors seeks to end a prophecy before it begins through any means necessary. 
Lights dance at his feet along the sand as flames illuminate the nightscape. Flames. Frederick gripped his scabbard as he ran towards the burning town.
The red haired elvish general did not arrive to Lara's hometown alone. A small band of inquisitors to the Elohimian faith accompany him. In their ranks the Head Inquisitor remains by Nuya's side. With long years between them, the Inquisitor is not above challenging even the Lord Commander for threats of heresy. "Was this town here last you traveled?" the Inquisitor asks Nuya.
Nuya, having visited it before long enough to have a daughter there, looks to the Inquisitor, "Yes. It has been here for many years."
"And we haven't cleansed it, why?" the Inquisitor probes.
"The purity of faith is your job. Managing logistics and stratagem is mine. They pose lesser threat than others in our campaigns and thus resources are allocated accordingly. Why haven't you read the reports and dispatched your own forces to cleanse it, if it concerned you so?" Nuya replies back in stoic dismissal. 
"It seems as if they have survived by not being the slowest prey," the Inquisitor observes as they are welcomed into the town by a diverse range of humanoids. "Disturbing," he scoffs, "that there are half breeds among them." Half elves count for the majority. "Like your daughter," the inquisitor jabs, "but I do not hold you to that, good Lord Commander. It was foreseen that your daughter would be born under odd circumstance and I can think of no odder circumstance than these animals thinking they could leverage the use of high blood with their own."
There is a growl in the inquisitor's voice, "How do we proceed then, Lord Commander?" A test of sorts. One that Nuya doesn't hesitate to order, "Burn it. Every man, woman, child, and building. Leave to trace but the ashes in the wind."
The inquisitors get confirmation from their Lord and immediately begin conjuring fires to burn everything in sight. The screams are not short lived as they burn long and through. They let no nook or cranny of impurity escape its cleansing heat. The town becomes a site of holy death when Lara arrives through the flames to confront Nuya and the Inquisitor. "Stop this," she demands of Nuya. "You do not have to do this, father."
The Inquisitor steps back to observe Nuya's loyalty to the faith. Nuya looks to his daughter, a half-elf, and the most likely of his two daughters to be the witch of prophecy. "It is what is required. You, too, must burn. But not like this. You have become far too corrupted to burn by a simple flame. Six days you must burn to save your soul."
"It is not my soul that needs saving," Lara replies without anger in her voice. It has a calming peace to it. Where she walks the fires end as if suffocated. "It is your soul, father. Open your eyes. Is this what you want? Unending pain and suffering?" It is not just Nuya that is listening. Panicked townsfolk turn to look at the exchange. Fires everywhere begin to lower and extinguish. Inquisitors are unable to conjure more flames. They also turn to see what enchantment has befallen the town.
"Look around you. It doesn't need to be this way. There can be peace," Lara says as the night aurora opens up like clouds parting on a night sky to a thousand glittering gems along canvas of obsidian. In this moment Lara no longer appears to be a half-elf beseeching her father. She appears as a messenger from the gods themselves.  
Nuya steps forward to address her choice. In his mind there is only one. He is a father, but saving one condemns the other. His blade cuts effortlessly through her abdomen without spilling a single drop of blood. The heated blade leaves the singe of heat into the air as another swordsman rushes past the enchanted crowds. She steps forward, drawing herself up to the hilt to drape her hands around her father for the first and only hug she has ever given him. And a message whispered with fading breath.
"No!" shouts Frederick as he arrives too late to stop Nuya from dealing the blow to Lara. He rushes up to pull her off of the blade. Still alive. He can take her to the Phoenix. They just need to run away. He doesn't get but two steps before his back is sliced open by Nuya's heated sword. Lara's body tumbles to the ground as Frederick loses the strength to carry her. He turns and looks to his attacker. The Lord Commander is so beyond Frederick's fighting ability that he might as well be fighting a god. 
"You did your duty," Nuya states as he points his sword at Frederick, "why falter now?"
Frederick draws his hand on his scabbard. It quickly pulls up to the hilt and in a flash of fire parries out Nuya's sword in an eruption of light as hot as the stars. Frederick draws to his feet with weak legs and holds a stance over Lara's body. He breathes. So many things he wants to say. Something brave. Something inspiring. He only gulps down the air to his lungs and yells "Hyaaah!" swing after swing at Nuya. The attacks are parried easily as Nuya's eyes inspect the motive. When he is satisfied, the Lord Commander strikes down Frederick the same as Lara.
"One of yours?" the Head Inquisitor asks of the panting swordsman on the ground.
"A deep agent that made this capture possible," Nuya replies, "but his time away from the city must have eroded his faith."
The Inquisitor looks hard at Frederick, "I remember this one now. His mother was a heretic as well. We were right to purge the family line, but we failed in these notions of 'hope' and 'peace' by sparing him." This crime appears levied against Nuya.
"Nonsense," Nuya states, "we used our enemy against our enemy and now you can resume the holy cleansing to the rest of the family."
"Ah, Lord Commander, it rekindles my heart to hear such devotion. I shall light a candle for my sin of doubting your devotion," the Head Inquisitor states.
"You'll do no such thing," Nuya states sharply as he turns to his Judge, "the prophecy is clear that it is my daughter that brings it about. You will not stay your duty on sentiment. However, she is caught and needs be burned."
A sly smile on the Inquisitor's face, "We will burn them together."
Time slips away from Frederick as life jolts back into him. The blessing of the Elder Elemental of Fire brings a curse of restoration as he finds himself tied to a stake with flames licking at his feet. Across from him is Lara. She is unable to speak, but her eyes do it all for her. There isn't pain in her eyes, but peace. Like she is not leaving things undone but going to see someone she has longed to see. That things will be okay and Frederick should be okay with it too. 
The benevolence burns more than the flames that peel at Frederick's body. There is no one to hear the screams for six days as his body returns only to burn anew and eyes to witness the burning of Lara under a starlit sky.