A Favour of the Divine

“Where is she?” The question immediately tumbled from his lips. There was no second guessing, no moment of doubt or consideration, no hesitation. Erica needed some kind of help, and he could do something about it, so he would. Just like he did with Velvet, and with Kitty. Perhaps he should have tried to consider a bit more, considering how those situations had ended up for him, but… it wouldn’t be right to just sit still, or to waste time, when there was action to be taken.

Moira was saying something, but John could barely pay her attention with his focus on her father. She was talking about waiting, or taking some time to plan, or calling in experts, something; it didn’t matter because it’d take time.

Lord Brighton’s eyes considered the Gamer, his gaze intense, as if peeling back pretense and peering at what lay inside. Then, softly silencing his daughter with a calm gesture, he questioned, “...You truly would go seek her wherever I told you, wouldn’t you?”

John blinked, and his eyebrows drew together, and he simply said, “She’s my friend.”

As if responding, a window popped into the air in front of him.

New Quest: Student and Mentor
Track down Erica and bring her home.
Rewards - Berserker Class Level, Divine’s Shattered Keystone

He tapped accept once he’d read it, and turned his attention back to the Lord-Protector, waiting for the information he needed.

The man sighed almost imperceptibly. “You could have been quite exceptional in our ranks, Newman. Such loyalty… Perhaps one day I will be able to offer again.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose for a moment, weariness momentarily filling his proud features, before dropping his hand and nodding once. “I shall tell you, against my personal judgement.

“She goes to the Winter Court of the Fae, to meet with the Queen herself, to whom she will give her life.” His lips thinned at Moira’s gasp, and he continued grimly, “She had hoped to spare you the grief, all of you, hence the deception of her transfer. I would not share this if not for the prophecy, and this chance of the Lady guiding you, Newman, because the Order does not have any method that allows us to travel to the Courts of Fae and their ilk. For another, this is a doomed mission, yet…”

There was the slightest softening around the corners of his eyes as he looked at John. “...who knows Her plans? You have beaten worse odds, as they say. Perhaps with her guidance, there is a way.”

The mood was tense, and oddly subdued, as the group made their way through the manor and sat down to breakfast, John’s high from getting a girlfriend utterly obliterated by the news.

Moira was talking, attempting to strategise or plan, anything to find a solution, and John was trying to give her his attention, truly. But, really, he could only manage to occasionally respond to direct questions, his mind whirring away, rolling over the same information again and again.

“Surely the vaults hold pertinent information or artifacts, Father. The Shield branch has long had roots alongside those of the fae, has it not?”

Erica was going to die. She’d gone somewhere nobody seemed to be able to reach.

“Much of our lesser keepings were lost, Moira, after… the transition from England. Some knowledge was lost as well. I already consulted Cornelius, hoping as you do that I might discover something.”

And according to a literal prophecy, he was the only one that might be able to stop it, to save her.

“Velvet! Your father. Eion has travelled far and accrued many favours, right? Couldn’t you ask him?”

He was willing, more than willing, but that didn’t change the simple fact that he didn’t know how.

“I-I could, but, um… It would, well, it might take some time? And I didn’t think…”

He’d only been in this new reality for a week, a week and a bit if you counted the time dilation. He barely remembered half of the terms for things.

“Agh! No, no, you’re right, we don’t have the time for that. John, you said… you claimed the Lady spoke to you?”

John responded absentmindedly, still internally focused, “Sure, but I’ve not had any messages, and they usually pop up if she’s going to say something.”

He was sure there was a way. Something he was missing. He refused to believe that Gaia would go to all this effort with the seer if he couldn’t do it. There must be an answer he was missing. Right?

“But, perhaps if you prayed, John. What if you prayed to her? This must be a holy quest, since Lorelei had visions, so what if you prayed for guidance? Asked for advice on what to do?”

John frowned slightly, oddly discomforted by the idea of praying. He shouldn’t be, he knew that, he’d basically done it before already when desperate, but the idea felt wrong right now. As if he were taking advantage or it was insincere or something.

His frown stayed as he blinked and focused on Moira, meeting her green eyes. “That… I don’t think so. It’s not like she’s-” John’s eyes narrowed slightly and his head tilted to stare at nothing as he suddenly cut himself off, and his voice dropped to a mutter as he tried to remember, “Guidance… quest… advice-”

His eyes widened as he remembered. The Gamer’s hand shot into an empty patch of air, shimmering for a fraction of a second as he ordered the item from his inventory. Then, his hand pulled away with a large coin, almost too large to be called a coin, pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

Another mental demand of his powers had the description appearing for his inspection.

Gaia’s Support Token
A reward for the achievement Lean On Me. ‘The true measure of a person is not their strength to stand alone, but how they help others to stand beside them.’
Redeemable at will for one instance of true divine guidance, if it should suit my whim.

John’s eyes shot up from the panel. He only needed a glance to Velvet to see she had read it already and was nodding in agreement. So he copied and flicked one of the panels over to Moira to read, who was thankfully still in his party, then read it aloud to Lord Brighton.

Both father and daughter’s eyes widened, and jaws dropped. Well, in the older man’s case, it was more of a slight lowering, but that was more shock and surprise than he’d displayed in front of John before.

Moira, for seemingly the first time, seemed truly without words. “Y-you… I can’t… the Lady-”

John spoke, unconsciously setting his shoulders, “I’m using it.”

The redheaded girl’s eyes widened further. “A chance for the Lady herself to- No, no surely we must-”

“I am using it,” the Gamer repeated firmly, unyielding. His eyes shifted to the lord of the manor to gauge his resistance.

Steely eyes pierced his own, meeting an ironbound certainty and clashing, scraping a line of wild sparks… then the elder paladin very slowly gave a single nod. “It was rewarded to you. I… Goddess knows that I and any of the Order would kill for such an artifact. Crusades have butchered hundreds for far less than this. Yet… I have led the Shield branch in Her name for these many years without faltering, following the guidance that my advisors, my daughter, and my heart have offered. I have turned Her shield into an honourable weapon, one that acts with knowledge of its past failures, to never again shame Her name. And I have done this without this blessing you hold.”

The elder paladin’s presence seemed almost to swell in the room, a sense of absolute self-certainty and indomitable strength of will, which grew with each word, until it was not merely Moira’s father, or Lord Brighton, that sat at the table with them, but it was William Brighton, Lord-Protector of the Golden Rose.

“In this shall my faith overcome my doubt. Do what you feel is right, John Newman.”

John breathed a soft sigh of relief. It was strange, because he knew he was going to use it anyway, but having the paragon of nobility and honour and all that stuff agree with him and approve his choice was reassuring, in a way.

He held the token in the palm of his right hand, curling his fingers around the edge of it, and took a deep breath with closed eyes. Then, he opened them again, and determinedly said, “Gaia… please help guide me. How can I get to Erica in time to save her?”

The coin grew warm in his hand, then glimmered with golden light, motes softly falling from the edges like golden petals from a cherry blossom tree. Little by little, the token dissolved into shimmering holy light, fading from his palm and falling through his fingers, golden sand lighter than air and warm like a summer’s day.

Where the motes landed upon the table began to take shape, fragment by fragment, until the last pure ember of gold landed, the familiar icon of the Golden Rose, etched and carved and embroidered in hundreds of places around this manor, and intertwined with it, seeming to fade between background and foreground, was a simple depiction of a twin-bladed axe, the blades reaching past the petals of the rose and the spike emerging through the rose’s central bud.

The symbol shone with light as the last mote joined it, casting rays of gold across all the surfaces of the room, the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the furniture, and each of the people seated, a beautiful mimicry of the sun’s setting rays, a perfection that photographers would weep for the chance to capture.

Then it faded, leaving golden sand where the divine light had rested on the wooden surface. In its wake, a cascade of golden glitter fell from thin air in front of John, forming a message box in John’s system. For the older Brighton’s sake, since he clearly hadn’t reacted to the glitter and was still staring at the symbol on the table, John read it aloud.

“You bear a debt, and the one that owes will fulfil it. Seek Katherine’s service. To one such as her, the old paths may not bar passage. Take with you only those you would help to stand beside you, not those with strength to stand alone. Lastly, seek the fathers, one in light and one in shadow, to safeguard what you hold dear. Consult each in matters of the Hidden People, for tricksome they are, and little do they respect mortals, save for seldom few.”

John paused as he finished the bulk of the message, and his eyes lowered to the solitary line below, at the end of the message.

“Be swift, John.”