After countless days of isolation, my father had finally counselled about Sarcadia.
I should affirm this was done forcefully, the culmination of me and my sister Abagael’s efforts.
We weren’t alone in our meeting.
My other sisters joined me, as did some of Caelum’s most ancient and wisest.
Our voices were united.
Some angry.
Some concerned.
But all echoed one another.
Sarcadia suffers as a result of the Shadow War.
Yet father still insisted he do nothing.
We asked why.
He answered: “Sarcadians are coping fine.”
He justified his logic by suggesting the damage caused by the Tenebites was minimal.
I couldn’t believe the words.
So long as the fiends are alive, there can be no peace on Sarcadia.
There will be only fear.
Agony.
Death.
The voices grew louder, but father’s bellow silenced them.
But it would be my voice that would silence him.
I spoke aloud the words that I had long said to myself.
First he appeared perplexed, then outraged, that I would speak to him in such a way.
But he listened.
He heard what I had to say.
He heard for what I asked.
“Allow me to go to Sarcadia.
Allow me to save them from further damnation.”
Father finally understood what we all were trying to tell him.
Yet he stubbornly refused my request.
He didn’t wish for me to leave his side again.
He didn’t wish for me to fall at the hands of the Tenebites.
Or against something far more sinister and wicked.
I begged him but my pleas went ignored.
Yet there was one voice which made him listen.
One voice made him understand.
My dear, beloved sister Abagael.
Father listened to her words, as stern and as blunt as they were.
He listened.
And then granted me permission to leave.
I thanked him and promised I would not fail him.
He knew I would not.
I promise you, father, just as I promise everyone.
I will not fail you.
I will heal Sarcadia.
I will rid it from the shadows that linger.
I will make you proud of me.
— “The Octavian Monologues: Sarcadia Beckons”, Bruce Boward, 218 AO
W.F. Thorne 