The Rebuilder
by Maiji/Mary Huang

These are the shadows of the kingdom of El,
whose harbours once burst with caravels;
a land rich in dreams, from which glories welled
and all the delights of young civilizations were felt:
Labour, play, worship: all were joyful.

Here are the bones of the Warrior's Shrine:
a hallowed corpse now entombed in white
sand, where glass and ivory once spiraled to sky
blue as an eye, and crowned the steeples with light
against the bright day. Truly a sight to behold.
Would that fate had allowed it to grow old
and more beautiful in time.

It was not written. As such, the cathedral fell
in the face of the star. And El
was no longer immortal,
merely a scar of Expel.
Where god's faith has fallen,
human hands must now rebuild.

The remains are brittle beneath my boots. They look ashen and crack easily, crumbling into only so much dust. I grind it absently into the earth with my foot.

It feels gritty, even through the leather. It reminds me of bonemeal.

"The bones of a church," I mutter under my breath.

I hear a soft chuckle behind me.

"I didn't know you were a poet," he says.

Before I can reply, his comment is followed by a sharp gasp. I turn just in time to see the edge of the step collapse behind me, below him. He stumbles, trying to regain his balance, and collides face-first into the back of my shoulder.

"Walk much?" I ask.

He covers his nose and grumbles something incoherent, then raises a hand to shield his eyes, squinting at the light.

It is quite bright. The early sun lends a pale harshness to everything, giving ruins – and figures – a strange kind of halo.

We stand there, silently taking in the view. From the height of the mount we can see the edge of the ocean, the sea washing in and out, waves of translucent foam across the sand. White gulls float like clouds, barely discernable against the sky. Somewhere behind us, or below us, the master builder is scurrying about. The man is one of those scattered minds, but also, to hear the locals tell it, a genius capable of incredible feats of creativity and design.

If they say so: it makes no particular difference to me. The master builder's voice drifts to where we are, faint hollers of instructions indecipherable at this distance. His words guide the teams inspecting the remains, recovering fragments of anything that might still be useable.

The city has long been cleared of its last monster. Any remaining would be stragglers, far from the strength or numbers of the original waves that first swarmed these lands. The bordering watch towers, as makeshift as they are, ensure that there would be enough warning to muster up more than a decent fight. And soon more workers will be coming by way of Hilton: quarrymen and smiths, carpenters and masons, sculptors, builders, and others. There is no longer reason for us to stay in Eluria-on-El.

No reason to speak of. We would have already left for Tenue and boarded the first ship out, but Claude had asked to stay a while to - to explore what was left of the city, I suppose, to observe the beginning of the reconstruction efforts. As there was nowhere pressing for us to be, there was simply no point to argue.

Besides ...

It was foolish. But I did want to see it again.

Even though I knew it wouldn’t be much.

Every breathing soul should see the Eluria Cathedral at least once in his lifetime. Or so they used to say. It was a common refrain even in the most backwater of villages; Tria knows the Arlian priest worked it into his long-winded sermons often enough.

Once, for me, was near ten years ago.

When I left the village, I had no real destination. Only an obsessive desire to cover a great deal of ground, to put as much distance between myself and the past as humanly possible. Eventually I would trek everywhere in my fanatical self-imposed training, and there would be little of Expel that was unknown to me.

But first, I had gone to El.

Cross spanned the largest continent. Lacour was the most powerful kingdom. Bul El was the center of art and culture, and the least of its populace were said to rival the best that any of the other nations had to offer in these respects. Eluria, its capital, was obviously no exception. And as the heart of that capital, every aspect of the Cathedral supposedly reflected that, the culmination of years of knowledge and skill, handed down throughout the generations into one glittering, multi-faceted jewel. Some said it even outshone the gods.

I'm not sure what I'd expected to find there, all those years ago. What it was supposed to have meant for me, a stupid village boy stowed away on a merchant ship, deathly afraid of being found out and thrown overboard before making it to land. Perhaps it had meant that I might find answers to questions I couldn't articulate.

Answers I could live with.

The answers, of course, escaped me that day. And the next, and the day after that. But I did find the Cathedral: found it, saw it, touched it, walked through it. Heard human voices singing, echoing through an almost endless hall and sending shivers up my spine.

And I vaguely remember being, very simply, awed.

This couldn't have been built by human hands, I remember thinking at the time. It was too beautiful; too flawless. Unearthly. If there were a place for the holy to settle upon Expel, it would have been here.

Now, ten years later, with only sketchy memories of how it looked and a general idea of where things had once been, it leaves me to wonder. I wonder: if it were still standing, if I were to see it today for the first time, would it have the same effect?

Or - would it still have the same effect?

I wonder.

I kick idly at a broken piece of carved rock. Before it rolls under a jutting remnant of the wall, I notice that it's shaped vaguely like a feather. Here and there in the shadows, the morning light glitters on bits of coloured glass.

The cathedral was filled with light from the stained glass windows, I remember. And I suddenly recall how immense they were, how tall and wide, and how rainbow flecks dappled the pale walls and floors like morning dew.

I turn my head in the direction of the path we had just walked. Where the entrance had once been, where the light-speckled trail would have reached, all the way from the innermost altar.

The temple wasn't the landing site of the Sorcery Globe, of course. But it had been close enough for the initial wave of monsters. Even now, it's difficult not to imagine it, like something out of a children's book. A sacred shrine targeted by an otherworldy evil, or however the story tends to go. In my mind, it more resembles the celestial fist of some wrathful, short-tempered and unforgiving god, smashing offending hubris into the ground. Crushing decades of human genius and toil to next to nothing in a matter of seconds.

In reality, it had been nothing more than bad luck.

So simple. Of course.

My eyes trace the edge of the ruins around the hill. In some ways, it's worse than nothing, the rubble a painful reminder of weakness, failure, mortality. It's a pathetic sight, seeing something built to withstand the ravages of time, now reduced to as much powder as its creators probably are, fully rotted away in their graves somewhere.

"I heard a story about a church made of bones, once," he says, stirring me out of my ruminations. His voice is quiet, distant. "Human bones. A long time ago."

"Is that so," I reply. "It must have taken a while. I'd think they'd have had trouble finding willing donors."

He doesn't turn his head, but I can see the corner of his mouth curling into a faint smile. "No, it was real. They were ... people who wanted to be there." He squints again, even though the sun hasn't changed. "They believed it was holy ground, and that anyone laid to rest there was assurred heaven."

I laugh. Somehow it comes out harsher than I intended. "If only anything were that easy."

"Right," he says, still looking away. "People believe a lot of things, don't they."

I open my mouth, but he continues before I have a chance to respond. "If I remember correctly," he says, folding his arms, "there was a horrible plague at the time. Even people who were dying traveled long distances just so they could be buried in the church. Eventually ... there wasn't enough room for all the bodies. That's why. They just made do. I remember looking at holos. Crosses, chandeliers - all different bones, completely white." He pauses and rubs the back of his neck. "It was pretty surreal."

I step forward, kicking another broken chunk of limestone out of the way. "The Eluria Cathedral was white," I say. I wonder why I feel a sudden need to change the subject. It isn't as though I hold any particular revulsion for skeletons. "White marble. Every inch of it was carved by skilled Elurian craftsmen. There wasn't a surface left untouched."

I reach out, placing my hand on the rough edge of a piece of the wreckage, probably the remains of some tabernacle against the shrine walls. Remembering where pillars once stood, carved into swarms of winged creatures soaring to the sky. My mind's eye can still see the milky alabaster sculptures: columns of sinuous dragons, rearing griffons, flying steeds, the most fantastic and ordinary of birds and butterflies. And more. Tangled together and climbing towards an impossibly high ceiling - an impossibly blue, painted ceiling that echoed somebody's idea of a cloudless heaven.

I stand there, wondering how much of it is really the way it had appeared, and how much of it is my flawed memory falsifying some imaginary perfection from an experience at least a decade old.

He watches me quietly. "This place must have really left an impression on you," he finally comments.

I take my hand off of the weatherworn slab. "It was a building made for show. For showing people what they wanted to see."

He looks at me with an odd expression, his face strangely drawn and tight. For the briefest of moments, I almost - almost - think he's about to launch into some harangue.

But all he says is, "I wish I could have seen it."

Below us now, I can see workers sifting through the ruins. At this distance, they all resemble one another: a group of anonymous, vaguely middle-aged men from the colony who have all somehow survived through to this day. I can't tell a stone cutter from a glass maker. Mere scavengers now, all of them, turning the rubble.

Eventually they will shape that rubble, rework it, set in the foundations again and fuss over the finishing details, every step shifting ever closer to their old livelihoods through familiar labour. Their previous lives, or some semblance of it. For however long this cathedral will take to grow, and perhaps one day stand, in the long shadow of its predecessor.

"Even if it is rebuilt," I finally reply, "it won't be the same."

"I don't know. Maybe it doesn't have to be the same." He gazes off into the distance. The sun makes his hair almost white.

I think about stained glass. Light falling through it.

"How long do you think it will take?" he asks, turning his head back to look at me.

"Who knows." I shrug. "At least twenty years. Probably fifty, or more. It'll be a long time."

He brushes the hair out of his eyes. "Not that long," he says.

A hundred thousand hands have placed stone setting upon stone. And one by one our carvings rise: we flying, flitted, flown.

A hundred thousand years may pass before we are complete. And never eyes within the guise of sire may we meet.

A hundred thousand prayers are wept by paupers and by kings. And all of these in silences will sleep within our wings.

A hundred thousand faces we have seen both flesh and gilt -

Stone crumbles. Flesh rots.

Some things may be rebuilt.

Author's Notes: This is going to be reeeeaally long.

Staggered version of Dias' past, again, because I still find the "everything happened two years ago" storyline ludicrous. The "church" Claude mentions is an extremely simplified version of a real-life chapel called the Sedlec Ossuary, located in the Czech Republic. It is decorated with (NOT actually built from) over 40,000 human skeletons. You can find out more about it here: .

Caravels are a type of ship.

The Rebuilder was originally supposed to be the 6th wend, but I took so long that it very nearly died. XD; Which is strange to say considering it isn't even that long in terms of length (this Author's Note will probably be at least as long lol). This is a piece that gave me a lot of problems with narrative (both voice and structuring), overall construction and background. I probably shouldn’t have done it first-person, but I had a specific image in my head and I really, really wanted to try, although I think the level of depth I wanted is something beyond my skill (or lack thereof :P). I'm still nowhere near happy with it, but meeeh! C&C appreciated as always.

This depiction of the kingdom of El, as well as its interaction with Dias' past, is a conglomeration of ideas I've been nursing for quite a long time (I first touch on it in my AU series If/Then (briefly mentioned in Chapter 2: tell-a-tale). There are many truly awe-inspiring real-world stories and creations that are such a testament to what human hands can accomplish, and they are nothing short of epic. They've strongly shaped my view and interpretation of the SO2 world, and the rich feel of that art and history is something I always try to aim for ... although my success is doubtful. XD But, if you want to learn more about some of the historical/real world background that inspired my meagre attempts, please check out these gorgeous and truly fascinating books:

- Cathedral or The Making of Cathedral by David Macaulay. The latter is the 25th anniversary edition of the original book. Cathedral is an illustrated narrative about the construction of a (fictional) Gothic cathedral in France that was started in 1275 and took over 80 years to build (which is actually quite an optimistic timeline). The art is completely pen/ink drawings that are simply amazing and do a wonderful job of conveying the incredible sense of scale, labour and dedication that goes into such a structure.

- Stained Glass from its origins to the present by Virginia Chieffo Raguin - explores the history of this highly religious art form, with gorgeous photographs from periods and churches around the world. Another fabulous book on the subject (that I didn't pick up until this thing was almost done) is Stained Glass by Sonia Halliday and Laura Lushington, also with many more amazing reference images.

- Annotated Guides - Architecture - the world's greatest buildings explored and explained by Neil Stevenson - has stunning photographs (even some floor plans!) and data about the background and construction of a number of remarkable structures from ancient to modern times. Most of the ancient buildings are, naturally, temples and churches.

Of course, there are lots of other great books on art and history and architecture. And nothing beats seeing the real thing in person. Which I hope to do some day. Dammit!!