Lisbell

While idly leafing through an old newspaper in a tavern, you come upon a headline from far-off Elysium in the south. Across the front page sprawls a vast photograph of a girl named Lisbell.

The Empire's press, of course, heaps scorn upon that ancient land: Look! How far Elysium has fallen, that it should entrust the supreme name of the Seven Virtues to a mere slip of a little girl! So low has the realm of the divine decayed!

Yet such derision cannot dim the radiance of the girl in the picture. A slight figure lifts high a sacred sword taller than herself, its brilliance overflowing to illuminate her face. Her gaze burns with unfeigned candour, and her stance resounds with unshakable conviction. In that instant captured, the noonday sun hung above her, as though crowning her with a brilliance none could endure to behold.

This Lisbell seemed almost a stranger, and for the first time you understood: the Seven Virtues is no mere title for a girl to mention in passing, but the living embodiment of Elysium's faith, the Gods' Favoured.

Across the streets and alleys of the Continent of Atlasia, when talk turns to the Elysian Church, it is not the Great Nine, lofty as the sun and moon, nor the star-scattered ranks of priests that linger on people's lips. The heavens of the gods lie far beyond the reach of common folk, and the priests' prayers, disputes, and fiscal minutiae prove all too dull.

What they speak of, always, is the group known as the Seven Virtues, a body born with humanity's first nation, Elysium, and shrouded in legend. Church records tell that two millennia past, the gods descended from the high tower, bringing an end to the Age of Darkness, a time steeped in bloodshed and strife. Into sacred relics they poured their divine power, bestowing them upon the Patriarch and seven chosen ones, those who first bore the name Seven Virtues.

Bathed in holy radiance, they became agents of the divine will, safeguarding the harmony and prosperity of Elysium. Clad in gleaming arms, they repelled the tides of Filthoids and the fallen heretics, that the people might dwell in safety. And when a Virtue's mortal vessel fades, the relic falls silent, awaiting the hand of its next bearer. Thus has the mercy and might of the gods flowed through the dawns and dusks of Elysium, unbroken across the ages.

The young Lisbell, having drawn the sacred sword Samael, was duly named candidate for Patience among the Seven Virtues of the Elysian Church.

She did not at once assume the vacant seat of Patience, not merely because her years were too tender for so great a burden, but more so because Samael, from that moment on, never again deigned to answer her.

Thus, to rouse the slumbering spirit within the sacred blade, Lisbell set forth upon her path of cultivation.

Lisbell once set all of Elysium astir, for at the tender age of twelve, she drew the long-unclaimed sacred sword, Samael. In that instant, the young noblewoman shone like a diamond newly unearthed, no longer merely a child of lineage, but one deemed worthy to stand among the Seven Virtues, to wield authority and ascend to the very pinnacle of that ancient divine nation.

To the adults about her, however, there was little astonishment. The mantle of Patience had ever been borne by the ancient and honourable house of Evangelinos. Sooner or later, it was fated to rest upon Lisbell, their sole heir. Yet, still but a child, she understood nothing of it. The morning after she drew the sacred sword, Lisbell sat at the dining table as always, drowsily tapping the rim of her bowl with a spoon. Like any child, she had her fussy dislikes, quinoa, meat pies, sturgeon, pike. Yet for the sake of her health, the old steward unfailingly set those very dishes before her.

Unable to vent her anger at him, she showed her displeasure in the only way she could, a small breach of etiquette, the clink of a spoon against porcelain. The day was already shaping into an irksome one... She forced her way through breakfast, then, as her parents required, turned to the customary post-meal reading. Stretching on tiptoe, she tugged a stack of newspapers from a shelf four times her height, The Morning Bell of the Sacred Tower, a novelty of the northern lands, and at least less soporific than the usual tomes. Rubbing her eyes, Lisbell unfolded the paper. Petite as she was, her feet swung above the floor, and the paper, once unfolded, spanned nearly the breadth of her arms.

She wrestled with its yellowed, crinkling pages, which rustled faintly, when suddenly she came face to face with her own likeness.

"Huh!!?" A loud, bewildered cry rang out, wholly unfitting for a young lady of her station. It took her a heartbeat to grasp what she saw. Then her voice went echoing through the manor halls: "Mr Steward! Mr Steward! How did I end up in the newspaper!?" Still astonished, she dragged the unwieldy sheet along behind her as she ran, not fully understanding what had happened, but certain that the ever-reliable steward with the long white beard would have the answer.The steward, however, had scarcely slept all night.

As a son of Elysium and loyal servant of the house of Evangelinos, he knew full well: the girl in the paper, favoured by the gods, must be the long-vacant Patience. Yet he prayed to the Great Nine that time might be turned back, that he might somehow have stayed the hand of fate, held back his headstrong young mistress. If only it could have been a few years later! If the gods, or the family head, willed that she must join the Seven Virtues, why could they not show greater generosity, greater patience? At least until she had lived out the fullness of her childhood... until she came to understand the world's ways... until she learned to temper bewilderment with restraint, discontent with discipline... until she outgrew her wayward sympathy and compassion, and learned to accept and endure the fate bestowed upon all by the Great Nine.

Lisbell's shouts and hurried footsteps rang closer and closer. The old steward knew too well, in a moment, his young mistress would come bursting through the drawing-room door.

He had only just seen off the Patriarch's envoy. In his hands he now held the golden laurel crown bestowed by the Church, together with the summons calling Lisbell to an audience. They weighed almost nothing, yet in his grasp they felt heavy as lead. He could scarcely bring himself to imagine laying such burdens upon those slight, unready shoulders.

Ah, her footsteps, still brisk, the privilege of one unburdened by duty. He listened as they drew near, until Lisbell burst into the room, a crumpled newspaper clutched in her hands, her eyes wide with innocent wonder. "Mr Steward, what's that you're holding?"

And in that moment, he knew: the carefree days of his young mistress had come to their end.

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

Coming Soon