Pandora's Box

(Inside the chest, you find an Imperial officer's uniform and a worn journal. You brush the dust from its cover and open it carefully.)

Here I bury my name, my memories, and everything I once was. Even now, I can still feel the scorching heat as artillery fire rained down from the sky. Only after the bombardment had ended, after my comrades' bodies had gone cold, did I leave the cave where I had been hiding and search for survivors...

I moved through the wreckage in a daze, calling for survivors. But the only answer was a hot wind reeking of blood. More than once, I reached for someone and thought I felt warmth beneath my hand, only to realise it was nothing but the heat left by the shelling... I searched through piles of bodies, one after another, until at last I heard a faint sound from the bottom of a shell crater. I scrambled towards it and almost lost my footing as I slid down into the crater. One of my boots came off and tumbled away, but I barely felt the gravel cutting into my bare foot. I kept shoving bodies aside, and then I saw... A soldier of the Elysian Church...

He seized my collar with his only remaining hand. I had never imagined a dying man could still have such strength. The next moment, he threw me to the ground. He pinned me down, his hand locked around my throat. My whole body went weak. It took the last of my strength to kick him off. I drew my gun to fire, only to remember, as I squeezed the trigger, that I had spent my last bullet before taking shelter in the cave. He lunged at me again and clamped onto my waist. I smashed the butt of my gun into his back. Once. Twice. Again. With every blow, I felt his blood spatter across my feet, but he still would not let go. Then a sharp pain tore through my side. I shoved him away. He spat something red onto the ground. Only when I clutched my waist did I realise it was a piece of me. With our weapons gone, there was nothing left but our bodies. No tactics. No honour. Only two half-dead men clawing, biting, and wrestling in the mud. Blood and filth soaked us both through. Every punch he threw was heavy enough to knock me senseless. All I could do was dig my fingers into the stump of his severed arm.

The pain dulled his punches. I rolled over, pinned him beneath me, raised both fists, and brought them down on his face. His remaining arm clawed wildly at me, tearing bloody gashes across my body. I don't know how long I kept hitting him. Maybe one minute. Or ten. When I came back to myself, he was dead. My right arm had dislocated at some point from the force of the blows, but even after it came loose, I kept striking him, again and again, as if I no longer knew how to stop. At last, I fell back from his body, wrenched my right arm back into place, and passed out.

When I woke, the dead soldier's remaining hand had finally gone slack. In his palm lay a blood-slick pocket watch...

With trembling fingers, I opened it and saw the one thing I had least wanted to see. Inside was a small photograph of the soldier and a young woman, standing close together, smiling as if the war had never touched them.

Panicking, I flung the pocket watch away and fumbled inside my coat for the sedative the alchemists had given us.

The sedative steadied my hands. I dragged myself out of the crater and looked across the blasted ground, across the bodies strewn over it, with no idea where to go or what to do. I wandered across the scorched earth until I saw something that should not have been there.

In the Empire, every soldier is taught to stand ready to give his life. But the villagers were not soldiers. The Elysians burned our capital. Killed our people. Slaughtered my comrades. That was why I went to war. But if this war was only going to take more of our own... Then what had I been fighting for?

Across Arcano, signposts, railings, and other fixtures had been torn loose by shellfire and flame. They lay toppled where they had fallen, gouging long scars into the ground. Fresh blood pooled in the ruts. At first, I moved carefully. Then I quickened my pace. Then I broke into a run. But no matter where I went, I found only ruin. And yet, I felt a flicker of relief.

Then I reached the centre of the village, and the fragile lie I had been clinging to collapsed. There, I saw the villagers' bodies, laid out in row after row. Trembling, I walked over and pulled off my torn gloves so I could feel for breath. With blood-slick fingers, I checked them one by one, searching for the faintest sign of life. Some were burned black. Some were no longer whole. I checked them anyway.

At the end of the line, I found an unconscious girl. Her lower body was trapped beneath the rubble of a collapsed building, but she was still breathing. Barely. I cleared the debris from her piece by piece. Blood covered the stones, the girl, my hands. Hers. Mine. Someone else's. I could no longer tell. All I knew was that she was alive. And I had to save her. She was alive. In that moment, it was the only thing I could still believe in.

She was Arcano's only survivor. I could not let her die. When she woke... Whatever she wanted from me, I would give. Whatever she asked me to do, I would do. Whatever she became, I would stay by her side. If she hated me, cursed me, struck me, demanded my life, I would not refuse. That was my redemption...

(Inside the chest, you find an Imperial officer's uniform and a worn journal. You brush the dust from its cover and open it carefully.)

Here I bury my name, my memories, and everything I once was. Even now, I can still feel the scorching heat as artillery fire rained down from the sky. Only after the bombardment had ended, after my comrades' bodies had gone cold, did I leave the cave where I had been hiding and search for survivors...

I moved through the wreckage in a daze, calling for survivors. But the only answer was a hot wind reeking of blood. More than once, I reached for someone and thought I felt warmth beneath my hand, only to realise it was nothing but the heat left by the shelling... I searched through piles of bodies, one after another, until at last I heard a faint sound from the bottom of a shell crater. I scrambled towards it and almost lost my footing as I slid down into the crater. One of my boots came off and tumbled away, but I barely felt the gravel cutting into my bare foot. I kept shoving bodies aside, and then I saw... A soldier of the Elysian Church...

He seized my collar with his only remaining hand. I had never imagined a dying man could still have such strength. The next moment, he threw me to the ground. He pinned me down, his hand locked around my throat. My whole body went weak. It took the last of my strength to kick him off. I drew my gun to fire, only to remember, as I squeezed the trigger, that I had spent my last bullet before taking shelter in the cave. He lunged at me again and clamped onto my waist. I smashed the butt of my gun into his back. Once. Twice. Again. With every blow, I felt his blood spatter across my feet, but he still would not let go. Then a sharp pain tore through my side. I shoved him away. He spat something red onto the ground. Only when I clutched my waist did I realise it was a piece of me. With our weapons gone, there was nothing left but our bodies. No tactics. No honour. Only two half-dead men clawing, biting, and wrestling in the mud. Blood and filth soaked us both through. Every punch he threw was heavy enough to knock me senseless. All I could do was dig my fingers into the stump of his severed arm.

The pain dulled his punches. I rolled over, pinned him beneath me, raised both fists, and brought them down on his face. His remaining arm clawed wildly at me, tearing bloody gashes across my body. I don't know how long I kept hitting him. Maybe one minute. Or ten. When I came back to myself, he was dead. My right arm had dislocated at some point from the force of the blows, but even after it came loose, I kept striking him, again and again, as if I no longer knew how to stop. At last, I fell back from his body, wrenched my right arm back into place, and passed out.

When I woke, the dead soldier's remaining hand had finally gone slack. In his palm lay a blood-slick pocket watch...

With trembling fingers, I opened it and saw the one thing I had least wanted to see. Inside was a small photograph of the soldier and a young woman, standing close together, smiling as if the war had never touched them.

Panicking, I flung the pocket watch away and fumbled inside my coat for the sedative the alchemists had given us.

The sedative steadied my hands. I dragged myself out of the crater and looked across the blasted ground, across the bodies strewn over it, with no idea where to go or what to do. I wandered across the scorched earth until I saw something that should not have been there.

In the Empire, every soldier is taught to stand ready to give his life. But the villagers were not soldiers. The Elysians burned our capital. Killed our people. Slaughtered my comrades. That was why I went to war. But if this war was only going to take more of our own... Then what had I been fighting for?

Across Arcano, signposts, railings, and other fixtures had been torn loose by shellfire and flame. They lay toppled where they had fallen, gouging long scars into the ground. Fresh blood pooled in the ruts. At first, I moved carefully. Then I quickened my pace. Then I broke into a run. But no matter where I went, I found only ruin. And yet, I felt a flicker of relief.

Then I reached the centre of the village, and the fragile lie I had been clinging to collapsed. There, I saw the villagers' bodies, laid out in row after row. Trembling, I walked over and pulled off my torn gloves so I could feel for breath. With blood-slick fingers, I checked them one by one, searching for the faintest sign of life. Some were burned black. Some were no longer whole. I checked them anyway.

At the end of the line, I found an unconscious girl. Her lower body was trapped beneath the rubble of a collapsed building, but she was still breathing. Barely. I cleared the debris from her piece by piece. Blood covered the stones, the girl, my hands. Hers. Mine. Someone else's. I could no longer tell. All I knew was that she was alive. And I had to save her. She was alive. In that moment, it was the only thing I could still believe in.

She was Arcano's only survivor. I could not let her die. When she woke... Whatever she wanted from me, I would give. Whatever she asked me to do, I would do. Whatever she became, I would stay by her side. If she hated me, cursed me, struck me, demanded my life, I would not refuse. That was my redemption...

(Inside the chest, you find an Imperial officer's uniform and a worn journal. You brush the dust from its cover and open it carefully.)

Here I bury my name, my memories, and everything I once was. Even now, I can still feel the scorching heat as artillery fire rained down from the sky. Only after the bombardment had ended, after my comrades' bodies had gone cold, did I leave the cave where I had been hiding and search for survivors...

I moved through the wreckage in a daze, calling for survivors. But the only answer was a hot wind reeking of blood. More than once, I reached for someone and thought I felt warmth beneath my hand, only to realise it was nothing but the heat left by the shelling... I searched through piles of bodies, one after another, until at last I heard a faint sound from the bottom of a shell crater. I scrambled towards it and almost lost my footing as I slid down into the crater. One of my boots came off and tumbled away, but I barely felt the gravel cutting into my bare foot. I kept shoving bodies aside, and then I saw... A soldier of the Elysian Church...

He seized my collar with his only remaining hand. I had never imagined a dying man could still have such strength. The next moment, he threw me to the ground. He pinned me down, his hand locked around my throat. My whole body went weak. It took the last of my strength to kick him off. I drew my gun to fire, only to remember, as I squeezed the trigger, that I had spent my last bullet before taking shelter in the cave. He lunged at me again and clamped onto my waist. I smashed the butt of my gun into his back. Once. Twice. Again. With every blow, I felt his blood spatter across my feet, but he still would not let go. Then a sharp pain tore through my side. I shoved him away. He spat something red onto the ground. Only when I clutched my waist did I realise it was a piece of me. With our weapons gone, there was nothing left but our bodies. No tactics. No honour. Only two half-dead men clawing, biting, and wrestling in the mud. Blood and filth soaked us both through. Every punch he threw was heavy enough to knock me senseless. All I could do was dig my fingers into the stump of his severed arm.

The pain dulled his punches. I rolled over, pinned him beneath me, raised both fists, and brought them down on his face. His remaining arm clawed wildly at me, tearing bloody gashes across my body. I don't know how long I kept hitting him. Maybe one minute. Or ten. When I came back to myself, he was dead. My right arm had dislocated at some point from the force of the blows, but even after it came loose, I kept striking him, again and again, as if I no longer knew how to stop. At last, I fell back from his body, wrenched my right arm back into place, and passed out.

When I woke, the dead soldier's remaining hand had finally gone slack. In his palm lay a blood-slick pocket watch...

With trembling fingers, I opened it and saw the one thing I had least wanted to see. Inside was a small photograph of the soldier and a young woman, standing close together, smiling as if the war had never touched them.

Panicking, I flung the pocket watch away and fumbled inside my coat for the sedative the alchemists had given us.

The sedative steadied my hands. I dragged myself out of the crater and looked across the blasted ground, across the bodies strewn over it, with no idea where to go or what to do. I wandered across the scorched earth until I saw something that should not have been there.

In the Empire, every soldier is taught to stand ready to give his life. But the villagers were not soldiers. The Elysians burned our capital. Killed our people. Slaughtered my comrades. That was why I went to war. But if this war was only going to take more of our own... Then what had I been fighting for?

Across Arcano, signposts, railings, and other fixtures had been torn loose by shellfire and flame. They lay toppled where they had fallen, gouging long scars into the ground. Fresh blood pooled in the ruts. At first, I moved carefully. Then I quickened my pace. Then I broke into a run. But no matter where I went, I found only ruin. And yet, I felt a flicker of relief.

Then I reached the centre of the village, and the fragile lie I had been clinging to collapsed. There, I saw the villagers' bodies, laid out in row after row. Trembling, I walked over and pulled off my torn gloves so I could feel for breath. With blood-slick fingers, I checked them one by one, searching for the faintest sign of life. Some were burned black. Some were no longer whole. I checked them anyway.

At the end of the line, I found an unconscious girl. Her lower body was trapped beneath the rubble of a collapsed building, but she was still breathing. Barely. I cleared the debris from her piece by piece. Blood covered the stones, the girl, my hands. Hers. Mine. Someone else's. I could no longer tell. All I knew was that she was alive. And I had to save her. She was alive. In that moment, it was the only thing I could still believe in.

She was Arcano's only survivor. I could not let her die. When she woke... Whatever she wanted from me, I would give. Whatever she asked me to do, I would do. Whatever she became, I would stay by her side. If she hated me, cursed me, struck me, demanded my life, I would not refuse. That was my redemption...

(Inside the chest, you find an Imperial officer's uniform and a worn journal. You brush the dust from its cover and open it carefully.)

Here I bury my name, my memories, and everything I once was. Even now, I can still feel the scorching heat as artillery fire rained down from the sky. Only after the bombardment had ended, after my comrades' bodies had gone cold, did I leave the cave where I had been hiding and search for survivors...

I moved through the wreckage in a daze, calling for survivors. But the only answer was a hot wind reeking of blood. More than once, I reached for someone and thought I felt warmth beneath my hand, only to realise it was nothing but the heat left by the shelling... I searched through piles of bodies, one after another, until at last I heard a faint sound from the bottom of a shell crater. I scrambled towards it and almost lost my footing as I slid down into the crater. One of my boots came off and tumbled away, but I barely felt the gravel cutting into my bare foot. I kept shoving bodies aside, and then I saw... A soldier of the Elysian Church...

He seized my collar with his only remaining hand. I had never imagined a dying man could still have such strength. The next moment, he threw me to the ground. He pinned me down, his hand locked around my throat. My whole body went weak. It took the last of my strength to kick him off. I drew my gun to fire, only to remember, as I squeezed the trigger, that I had spent my last bullet before taking shelter in the cave. He lunged at me again and clamped onto my waist. I smashed the butt of my gun into his back. Once. Twice. Again. With every blow, I felt his blood spatter across my feet, but he still would not let go. Then a sharp pain tore through my side. I shoved him away. He spat something red onto the ground. Only when I clutched my waist did I realise it was a piece of me. With our weapons gone, there was nothing left but our bodies. No tactics. No honour. Only two half-dead men clawing, biting, and wrestling in the mud. Blood and filth soaked us both through. Every punch he threw was heavy enough to knock me senseless. All I could do was dig my fingers into the stump of his severed arm.

The pain dulled his punches. I rolled over, pinned him beneath me, raised both fists, and brought them down on his face. His remaining arm clawed wildly at me, tearing bloody gashes across my body. I don't know how long I kept hitting him. Maybe one minute. Or ten. When I came back to myself, he was dead. My right arm had dislocated at some point from the force of the blows, but even after it came loose, I kept striking him, again and again, as if I no longer knew how to stop. At last, I fell back from his body, wrenched my right arm back into place, and passed out.

When I woke, the dead soldier's remaining hand had finally gone slack. In his palm lay a blood-slick pocket watch...

With trembling fingers, I opened it and saw the one thing I had least wanted to see. Inside was a small photograph of the soldier and a young woman, standing close together, smiling as if the war had never touched them.

Panicking, I flung the pocket watch away and fumbled inside my coat for the sedative the alchemists had given us.

The sedative steadied my hands. I dragged myself out of the crater and looked across the blasted ground, across the bodies strewn over it, with no idea where to go or what to do. I wandered across the scorched earth until I saw something that should not have been there.

In the Empire, every soldier is taught to stand ready to give his life. But the villagers were not soldiers. The Elysians burned our capital. Killed our people. Slaughtered my comrades. That was why I went to war. But if this war was only going to take more of our own... Then what had I been fighting for?

Across Arcano, signposts, railings, and other fixtures had been torn loose by shellfire and flame. They lay toppled where they had fallen, gouging long scars into the ground. Fresh blood pooled in the ruts. At first, I moved carefully. Then I quickened my pace. Then I broke into a run. But no matter where I went, I found only ruin. And yet, I felt a flicker of relief.

Then I reached the centre of the village, and the fragile lie I had been clinging to collapsed. There, I saw the villagers' bodies, laid out in row after row. Trembling, I walked over and pulled off my torn gloves so I could feel for breath. With blood-slick fingers, I checked them one by one, searching for the faintest sign of life. Some were burned black. Some were no longer whole. I checked them anyway.

At the end of the line, I found an unconscious girl. Her lower body was trapped beneath the rubble of a collapsed building, but she was still breathing. Barely. I cleared the debris from her piece by piece. Blood covered the stones, the girl, my hands. Hers. Mine. Someone else's. I could no longer tell. All I knew was that she was alive. And I had to save her. She was alive. In that moment, it was the only thing I could still believe in.

She was Arcano's only survivor. I could not let her die. When she woke... Whatever she wanted from me, I would give. Whatever she asked me to do, I would do. Whatever she became, I would stay by her side. If she hated me, cursed me, struck me, demanded my life, I would not refuse. That was my redemption...