Hubris - 17. Onward

He soared over the mountains, flying further north. The Daminion Highway unspooled like a black thread, cutting through thick stands of pine trees. He soared over villages not much different from the one he’d left or Timberford: villages made of one and two story wooden buildings with a well in the center. He should have been terrifying - he’d never like heights even when climbing trees - but this felt freeing. To be weightless. To be unrestrained. To watch the world unfold before him, revealing new mysteries in every corner. A reminder of the fact there was still so little about the world he knew. And perhaps, a darker voice said in the back of his mind, just quiet enough he could ignore it, the burden of the task that had been set on his shoulders. For the moment all of it was behind him, back in his physical body. He was a cloud of smoke with no shape. Clouds of smoke didn’t have problems.

He left behind the last vestiges of humanity behind. Brown and green gave way to the jagged peaks of white glaciers, the black waters of an ocean poking through the occasional crack in the ice. There was nothing above him except the sparks of stars in the Void. But for the stillness of the wind and occasional signs of movement - a pack of wolves hunting seal, a solitary polar bear moseying through the white plains - the Mirror Expanse was eerily remote. He relished having a moment’s silence.

The joy was short-lived. Black structures appeared on the horizon, poking out from the crust of the earth. The flying buttresses and pointed pinnacles reminded him of the black spires he’d glimpsed in Inferno. He drew closer to them, beginning to descend. There was no stopping the descent or changing course. He was not as free as he’d thought. Have I ever truly been free?

Drawing closer to the spires, his fears were soon put to rest. While he sensed a trickle of power somewhere in between its silent streets, whatever life had once existed here had faded from memory. Once the city had been majestic but the Theocracy had snuffed it out in their thirst to enslave and exterminate anyone who could channel mana. The only great city left where a practitioner could find safety was Caemyth in the South. Yet there was something here. He could feel it. It had been faint at first but now he could feel it growing stronger as he descended towards the roof of the tallest tower.

He dropped through a round oculus in the roof into a vast circular chamber with a vaulted ceiling. A slight hooded figure stood in the center of the chamber. Pearly white hair spilled out from beneath the hood like silver thread. The sensual curves of the lips suggested the mysterious figure to be a woman. He could her watching him though her face was obscured in shadow. She held a staff in her hand. He sensed this practitioner was old - even older than Cenya had lived to be; older than the earth itself. His descent stopped a foot above the ground.

A pulsing white glow filled the chamber, filling the cracks in their pale white flesh with shadow. It was impossible to say where the source of the glow came from; there were no torches or lamps on the walls to provide illumination. The woman spoke, her lips curling in a smile of welcome. “Herald of Monad I await your arrival. I know you have great plans in the work but there is a matter of great urgency that must be addressed.” The woman’s voice sounded like the scrape of dead leaves on mortar.

He had no mouth with which to speak so he listened. What choice did he have?…The dream was controlling him, not the other way around.

The woman’s smile saddened, simultaneously softening and growing more raspy with emotion. “To be Monad’s herald is to create change and break chains. There are those who want to keep the cycle of suffering - world after world, Iteration after Iteration. Forces that want to keep Monad’s people - your people - from finding their way back home. They are out there now in search of you and they draw close.” The woman’s smile faltered; her words became more urgent with every word. “You must travel here across the Mirror Expanse. You are not yet strong enough to defeat them on your own.” The woman smiled again with a ray of hope. “Not without help.” She tapped the end of his staff against the floor. “May you find ”

The aura of white light pulsed once so bright it cast everything else in the chamber in shadow. He shot through the roof of the tower, rocketing through the night faster than he’d gotten here. Shapes blurred past him, gone before he could register what they were. Night turned into day. He could see his body still cradled in the lycan’s lap.

Crowe fell back into his body with a gasp that made his chest rise. He winced at the needles of returning sensations that pricked at his stiff muscles. Awareness returned to him slowly. The blue sky above their head. The drowsy burble of the water. Louder yet were the teeth rattling snores. The Okanavian slept with his forehead resting against Crowe’s, cheek to cheek. The wings of urgency fluttering around inside the practitioner’s gut died. Memories of the previous night returned to him in a flood of images and sensation. He ran a hand across the bottom of his robes; still wet. He inhaled, breathing in the smell of Barghast’s musk. He winced. It was far stronger than he could remember it being. He groaned. Now my robes are going to smell really bad.

He paused. It had been a few days since he’d bathed. I need a bath.

He tried to move. He couldn’t. Just short of being able to move his head from side to side and wiggle his toes, Barghast had him completely locked in a vice grip. He groaned. Something significant had happened last night. An Okanavian cultural thing he didn’t understand. He wished Tannhaus were here, if only to seek enlightenment. His cheeks reddened…Then again maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea to share something so intimate with the son of the man who had helped to enslave his people; a man who himself had ventured into the temple to find a weapon that could exterminate all life from the earth were it to spread beyond Timberford.

He drifted.

He awoke.

“Barghast,” he squeaked.

The lycan’s snore continues unimpeded.

This really wasn’t so bad the practitioner told himself. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t enjoyed last night. Being held so completely he couldn’t move. The feel of Barghast’s body completely enveloping his…the same way it was now. Restraining him. Embracing him. Protecting him? Only time will tell. Things will become clearer with patience.

Voices broke through the trees, jarring Crowe from his thoughts. The crunch of snow underfoot. Multiple feet. A whole herd of them. The practitioner’s pulse quickened inside his throat. “Barghast!” He wiggled against the lycan, tapping his shoulder with his fingers. He shifted his hips. He prayed to Monad to keep whoever was coming through the trees at bay until he could free himself from Barghast’s uncompromising hold.

Barghast blinked, grunting. He pulled his face away from Crowe’s, half-dried spit parting with an audible peeling sound. His gazed down to the sorcerer squirming frantically in his lap. His muzzle split in a broad grin. “Twin o’rre,” he rumbled. He leaned forward, puckering his lips. He made smooching sounds.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Crowe snapped. “Let me go you stubborn oaf!”

Barghast stood, hauling the sorcerer with him. He set Crowe down on his feet reluctantly. He stepped back, looking chagrined.

“Don’t give me that look!”

“There you are!” a familiar voice drawled.

Crowe stooped to pick up his staff only to realize he no longer had it. He steeled himself against the scream of panic that rang in his mind. He wasn’t powerless without it, it just made it harder to direct the chaotic flow of energy all practitioners stored within themselves. A fragment of Monad’s divine light. The fragment that linked Monad’s people to him. Taking comfort from the thought he faced the newcomer.

Rake appeared in between the trees, his rifle in hand. A sheen of sweat made his forehead shine. Other human shapes appeared behind him. He drew closer to Crowe and Barghast, looking as if he wanted to say something, and then stopped with a grimace. He sniffed at the air, a frown pulling at his lips. “You stink!” he said to the practitioner.

It was the practitioner’s turn to grimace. It took every ounce of effort not to throw a glare in Barghast’s direction. Instead he said, “I imagine you don’t smell that well either.”

Rake blinked, deciding to let the matter go. “What happened? I thought you and your lycan friend were goners.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the sorcerer said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He was exhausted. Like Barghast he wanted nothing more than to leave this place.

Tannhaus stepped into the clearing with Lagerof following behind, dressed in filthy garments. No longer were her eyes black but a dark green. Those dark green eyes darted around the trees like an explorer trying to make sense of an unfamiliar world. She staggered towards the stream, her eyes fixed desperately on the water. Crowe watched her bend, watch her dip her fingers into the water and bring the water up to her mouth, drinking greedily from the cup of his hand. Gregor remained where he stood with an empty expression on his face. Even now, even after the dangers they’d survived together, the practitioner felt no pity for the scientist. If it wasn’t for him and Lagerof…if they’d never come to this town Cenya would still be alive. None of this would have happened. Crowe pushed the rest of the thought out of his mind, He’d vanquished the evil in the temple - a small victory in comparison to the rest of his quest, but a victory all the same.

Rake and Gregor were not alone. More human shapes appeared through the trees. A red-headed woman and two men. They wore the same filthy uniform as Lagerof: the other members of the exploration tree. Slowly the small group of people split into their respective groups. Tannhaus and the rest of the expedition team gathered in one cluster; Crowe, Barghast, and Tannhaus at the other.

“What are you going to do about Cenya?” The practitioner lowered his voice. He glared mistrustfully in Gregor and Lagerof’s direction. The expeditions’ heads were bent intently in their own private council.

He watched the narrow face man struggle to contain his own grief. Knots of tension appeared under his cheeks. His shoulders rose, his chest expanding. Crowe feared the man would explode but Rake took a deep, shuddering breath and exhaled. The tension in his face fell away. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “I couldn’t carry her on her own. I’m going to take a few men back up to the temple in the morning…”

“I’m sorry. I know she was important to you and the village of Timberford.” The practitioner wanted to say more but what more could be said.

Rake nodded in appreciation. “She was like a mother to us all…each and every one of us. She was alive long before I was born and I assumed she would be alive long after I was dead. Don’t apologize, herald. You did what you could. You did more for my village than anyone has.”

“What happened to…?” Crowe couldn’t think of the word to call the denizens the servants of Hamon they’d encountered in the temple.

Rake shook his head with a curse. “They died…they just started choking and dropping like flies. Whatever you did by feeding your blood to Lagerof kill all of them.”

Crowe looked at the scientist. She had the same malnourished look as Gregor but she would live as long as they found sustenance soon. “Why didn’t it kill her or Gregor?”

Rake shrugged with a scowl of frustration. “Fuck if I know. Your guess is as good as mine. Who knows how long they were down there, living in the dark? Who knows how long they were infected with that black shit the bear had? Maybe you got to Lagerof and Gregor before it was too late. The more important thing is that the nightmare’s over.” He rewarded the practitioner with a tired grin. “The temple felt empty when we left Before it felt…”

“Restless?”

Rake nodded.

“What are you going to do with Tannahaus and his team?”

More voices could be heard sounding through the trees: other souls freed from the grip of evil in the temple. Rake’s jaw clenched, ruining the smile. “I have half the mind to kill them. Put a bullet in them right now. Or hang them from a tree. This never would have happened if it wasn’t for them. But it’s not my call. It’s yours. Otherwise I’d shoot them where they stand…or take them back to town and hang them from a tree and sleep all the better for it.”

Crowe didn’t like the implications behind this statement. Running into demon-infested temples and battling demonic bears was one thing but deciding the fate of another was something else. It was easier to kill when the enemy forced your hand. Lagerof, Gregor, and the rest of their team had endured a fate worse than death: their minds possessed by a force that wanted nothing more than to spread through the world like a plague. And still…Rake had made a good point. He recalled the dread he’d felt when Elias, the prisoner from the highway, had killed the female scout in cold blood. It had been a brutal act. Did he want to be the arbiter of death in this situation? No I don’t.

He cleared his throat, speaking in a conciliatory tone. “I know your people have suffered greatly, Rake. I can understand your anger. Part of me thinks we should do what needs to be done…but then we would be no better than the Theocracy, would we? We’d be exactly what they say we are…savages. So stick to the original plan. Let them go.”

Rake grimaced. “What if they just go back to the Theocracy and tell them where we are?”

Crowe scowled. “Do you really think you’ll be able to stay in Timberford? How can you still want to? There’s nothing for you or your people here. The war is spreading through all corners of the land like a wildfire. How long before that fire breaches your town and turns it to ash?”

The color drained from Rake’s face. He ran a hand over his face. Tears of emotion seared the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry, herald. I can’t…I just can’t.” He turned away. “I need time to think.”

The herald of Monad watched the man walk away, too tired to press Rake further. A sense of urgency tugged at his mind last night…There are those who want to keep the cycle of suffering - world after world, Iteration after Iteration. Forces that want to keep Monad’s people - your people - from finding their way back home. They are out there now in search of you and they draw close.

An icy finger traced along the line of his spine. Goosebumps broke out along his arms. We need to leave this place by nightfall. We’ve been here much too long as it is.

“Where’s Clem?” A man scanned the woods frantically for someone who wasn’t there. Crowe remembered the woman who had grabbed his robes, begging him to cure her husband of his ailment. Rake shouted something at the man, waving at him over his shoulder. He looked back at Crowe impatiently. “Are you coming? There’s still a lot we need to talk about.”

The practitioner sighed in resignation. He waved at Barghast. “We’re coming.”

                       …

Rake tipped the bottle against the glass. He had to hold it with both hands, they shook so bad. Crowe did not offer to help. He’d been around the man long enough to know he’d refuse. Rake was a man who did not like to show signs of weakness. Crowe glanced out the window before snapping his head back around to the man sitting at Cenya’s desk. Rake was too lost in his own grief to notice the practitioner’s growing trepidation. Already the light of day had begun to die. Barghast had taken up his usual spot in the corner of the room by the door. He watched the scene with a bored expression painted on his canine face, his arms crossed over his chest. The practitioner could tell from the impatient flick of his tail he was every bit as eager to leave as Crowe was.

Rake raised the glass to his lips. He drained its contents in a single gulp. The smell of alcohol bloomed spicily in the air. Barghast snorted, shaking his head at the sharp smell. He flashed Rake a disapproving glare but remained silent. Rake slammed the glass down on the table with a heavy thud that made Crowe wince. “Where do we go from here?” Rake asked Crowe once he’d clear his throat. The practitioner resisted the urge to turn his face away from the stench of the man's breath. “What do we do? Where do we go?”

“There’s only one place you can go.” The practitioner smiled sadly. “Caemyth.”

Rake's eyes widened. “That’s a thousand miles away. You can’t expect us to make that journey on foot. Not with the way things are.”

“Things are bad,” the practitioner agreed. “The Theocracy is relentless.” He tilted his head in Barghast’s direction to illustrate his point. “But staying won't protect you. You can’t trust Lagerof and Gregor.”

The rat-faced man scowled. “Then we should kill them…just to be safe.”

“Doing that could make things worse. You kill him and you could incite Tannhaus, Sr’s fury…” The practitioner trailed off, letting the implications hang in the air.

Rake swore. He refilled his glass until whiskey sloshed over the sides of the glass. “I’ve never been outside of Timberford…I’ve never been outside of these mountains. The thought of leaving everything I’ve ever known behind terrifies me.”

Crowe nodded, understanding. “I wasn’t always the herald of Monad…if that’s even what I am. Before this I was just a farm boy. Like you I’d never traveled beyond the borders of my home. I understand it’s frightening. But if this war doesn’t end with the Theocracy soon there will be no mana left in the world to burn away. If you stay you will die by fire. I guarantee it.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you’ll be going with us.”

“That’s the thing…I won’t be.”

“What?” Rake’s eyes widened. “What do you mean you’re not going with us?”

It was Crowe’s turn to scowl. “Because there are other things I must do. There are other places I must go. There are other towns just like you who need to be freed from Drajen’s tyranny.” Because there are far worse things than the demon in the temple who want to stop me. But if he said he was being followed by evil Rake and the villagers might not leave the town at all.

Rake plopped back in the chair. He shot Crowe an accusing glare. “You’ve made things better, not worse.”

A snarl filled the room. Barghast stepped towards the table, his paws curled into fists. He let the growl drop but continued to warn Rake with his eyes.

“Regardless of what you say or do Barghast and I leave within the hour,” the practitioner said in his most diplomatic tone. “Stay or go, the choice is yours. I can’t guarantee what will happen if you go but I can guarantee what will happen if you leave. Monad has shown me.”

Just as Crowe rose from his chair a scream sounded from outside. Rake was on his feet at once, rifle in hand. “Now what in the Void is going on?” he muttered.

Outside the tavern villagers had gathered by the well to point up at the sky. There the Eternal City sat on the horizon. A calling. A beacon. A message of doom or perhaps salvation. Gasps of wonder filled the air. Teary eyes looked up at the city with reverence. Even Rake who stood with his mouth hanging open.

“Careful Rake,” the practitioner teased before he could stop himself. “If you keep your mouth open like that, you just might catch a fly.”

“It’s real,” Rake said, barely daring to breathe. “It’s real. It’s actually real. I always thought they were just stories Cenya used to tell us when we were kids to keep us from getting into mischief.”

“Am I starting to make a believer out of you?” The sorcerer couldn’t hide a grin.

“Bit by bit,” the rat-faced man conceded.

The town’s population had grown larger now that the possessed had returned from the temple. Loved ones embraced under the stars. Wives wept with joy as they buried their faces in their husband’s chest. Fathers scooped up their children to pepper their faces of comfort. Crowe couldn’t bring himself to feel relief. If they were truly going to survive the war they would have to make the thousand mile trek to Caemlyn.

Something pricked at his mind. A sense of urgency always at the back of his mind like a fingernail scraping insistently at a scab. While he’d been distracted Rake had drifted to the front of the crowd. He stepped up on the edge of the well, swaying slightly, using the well as a platform. He cleared his throat calling everyones’ attention to him.

“Tonight we stand under the lights of Metropolis, a light no one has seen since the Second Iteration. We gaze up at it in the arms of our loved ones who have been returned to us. It seems we can move on, yes? It seems we can persevere through every storm, yes?” Rake bared his teeth in a feral grin that was anything but inspiring. “The darkness is over. We lost Cenya, the pin that held this town together. She was older than most of the trees around here. She fed us. Raised us. Told us stories to keep us entertained during the long winters…and she is gone. May she find splendor in the Eternal City.”

“May she find splendor in the Eternal City,” the village echoed.

“There are dark times ahead of us,” Rake continued. “Our people are being systematically enslaved by a tyrant who will not stop and who knows no mercy. If we are to survive this war and go to the only place where we can be safe…accepted…then we must go to Caemyth.”

Murmurs and cries of fear and outrage broke through the crowd, laying waste to the cheer and wonder that had been before. Men shouted their objections. “What do you mean we need to leave? We’re fine just right now…” “Caemyth! We’ll never make it!” Mothers hugged their loved ones to their bosoms. The sound of their distress lit an ember inside Crowe. Only once he was standing before them did he realize he’d pushed his way to the front.

“I know you are frightened,” he told them. “I was frightened too when the Eternal City first appeared to me.” He relayed his story of how the Seraphim had dropped through a rent in the sky to deliver a prophecy. He left out Petras and how he’d burned the house down…those details were not important. The more he spoke the more he felt the tension unravel. They watched him with rapt attention. Not a breath stirred among them. “Do you know what I’m afraid of more? I’m afraid of being enslaved. I’m afraid of being experimented on. Aren’t you?”

Several nods of agreement. A few murmurs.

“Maybe all of this is pointless. Maybe we are stuck in an eternal cycle of suffering that will never truly end. But I believe the Seraphim came to me for a reason. I believe there’s a reason Metropolis sits in the sky right now. In order to find out what it is, you have to find it.”

He ended with this. It was enough. It had to be. I’ve done what I can. Whether or not you survive is up to you.

The crowd started towards him with the words “herald of Monad” brushing across their lips like feathers; in these same words he sensed a similar reverence to the chants of Hamon from the temple. Hands reached for him. Before they could touch him Barghast’s arms closed around him, pulling Crowe’s back to his chest. He made the Okanavian equivalent of a no sound and they backed away, afraid. Rake stepped in before the situation could escalate, waving them away. Barghast released the practitioner reluctantly.

“I know you can’t go with us…that you have work to do.” The rat man lowered his eyes. “Will you wait here while I grab a few things for your journey?”

“I can spare a few minutes.”

Rake walked away to grab provisions. The crowd dispersed slowly at his beck and call albeit slowly. The Eternal’s City glow still held them spellbound. Barghast looked at Crowe. Crowe looked at Barghast. For the time being they were alone separated by a few pieces of limestone. A mischievous glint entered Barghast’s eyes. He scooted an inch closer to the practitioner. The practitioner scooted a stone closer. Their hips touched.

Rake returned, leading the biggest horse Crowe had ever seen in his life by the reins; Rake looked like a child in comparison to it. The horse’s fur was mostly black with patches of white. The shire horse’s black mane looked shiny with health. “He will help you get to where you’re going a bit quicker. This is Mammoth. You will not find a better horse. Being more of a gentle giant, he isn’t the quickest when it comes to speed but he’s the horse we have big enough to bear the weight of your lycan friend here.”

He handed the reins to the practitioner. “In the bag are some provisions. I found a map of the entire northern region. There’s some bread and apples in there and a bag of grain for the horse. And I found this in Cenya’s things.” He passed a small satchel the exact same color as the one Crowe had carried. The second he opened it the strong smell of pine rose in the air. Barghast snorted, his nose twitching. Ground aether. And some rolling papers. Enough to get him through a couple of days. Maybe even a week if he was careful. He longed to roll a joint.

“It’s not much…” Rake looked away sheepishly. “It’s less than what you need…”

“But it’s more than you have to give,” the practitioner interjected. He slung the bag over his shoulder. He turned to face the horse. Standing just under eighteen hands tall, Mammoth made him look even smaller than Rake. “Hi Mammoth.” Crowe ran a hand carefully along the length of Mammoth’s muzzle. The horse wickered in pleasure.

Crowe felt awkward trying to climb up on the saddle. Though he was long of limb it was impossible to lift his leg that high. Before he could lose his grip on the saddle Barghast’s paws closed around his waist lifting him easily into the air. Barghast grinned at him mischievously. Even at night his lycan’s eyes could not mistake the fire of embarrassment that burned across the practitioner’s cheeks. He probably did that just so he could touch my rump. He only had a moment to prepare himself before Barghast saddled behind him, those arms closing around him like a band of steel. Always looking for an excuse to touch, to make contact. The way a dog always vies for its master's attention. Rake led Mammoth by the reins around the well several times to make sure the massive horse could bear the practitioner and lycan’s combined weight. Once he was sure they were compatible he gave the horse a friendly pat on the flank; it sounded like he was slapping his palm against a wall.

“Are you sure you want to leave in the middle of the night like this?” he asked with a final look of uncertainty. He looked up at the sky. “We can find a corner to tuck you boy in until morning.”

Crowe followed his gaze. He suppressed a shiver. Somewhere beyond his sight he sensed a black cloud closing in. It was just beyond the horizon. He clenched his teeth. He forced himself to take a deep breath. “We’ll be fine.”

“This is probably the only time we’re going to cross paths.” Was it just the practitioner’s imagination or did he hear a hint of sadness in the rat-faced man’s voice.

“We’ll see each other again,” Crowe said with empathic certainty.

He bade a final goodbye to Rake. A pale figure with red hair that glimmered in the dark approached Mammoth from the side.

“I never thanked you for what you did,” Tannhaus said. A gust of wind blew hair in his face. He huddled against it, looking stronger than he had a couple of nights ago but still sickly. The practitioner wondered what he’d looked like before Timberford and if he would ever truly regain his strength again. Some events change you to the point of no return.

Crowe looked away. “I don’t need your thanks.”

“You saved my life…many times. You could have killed me and you didn’t. You could have let that…that…” Gregor’s face tensed in the struggle to find the perfect word. “...demon kill me and you didn’t. You could have let Rake? You didn’t? Why?”

“Because even though the world we live in is a mistake I think it can still be changed. Bit by bit act by act. I don’t know if you’re capable of change, Gregor. But then I believe Monad’s flame burns in all of us…even you.”

“Do you think if the circumstances were different we could have been friends?”

“I could never be your friend.”

“Because of who my father is?”

Crowe let his silence speak for him. I could never be your friend.

He left Gregor in a veil of silence somehow knowing their paths would cross again. Voices called after him, called him herald, but he ignored them. I never wanted to be the herald. I never wanted to be a soldier. He pondered the source of his motivation. What drove him to forge ahead even when he’d pushed his body to the breaking point?

Monad’s flame burns in us all…even you.

“Goodbye Gregor. I hope he didn’t see each other again.” He said this knowing they would see each other again just as he knew he would cross paths with Rake; and it would be with a divided line between them. He pulled on Mammoth’s reins lightly. The horse started forward.

Only when Barghast and he were at the top of a hill did he look over his shoulder at Timberford. War no war, the town was in full spirits tonight. He could still see pallid faces looking up at the sky. Lights flickered in the windows. He wondered if they would make it to Caemyth…if it was a mistake to not go with them.

An invisible cord pulled his eyes to the southern horizon. He could feel the pull and tug of fate shifting around him, setting things in motion; conversely he sensed a troubling darkness. It was not here yet but it would be soon if he didn’t move. If I stay I’ll only doom them…I’ll undo everything I worked so hard to finish.

“Are you ready to get out of here?” the practitioner asked.

He felt Barghast’s cheek nuzzle against his own. “Crowe,” was all he said.

I’ll take that as a yes. Crowe pulled on the reins again. Mammoth sped from a canter into a light trot. Rake had been right when he said Mammoth wasn’t the fastest horse. He ignored the prickle of fear at the back of his neck. He kept his eyes focused ahead of him with Elysia’s the glow of Metropolis at his back.