Dead in Daylight Part 1

Grief

The day I completed the education I needed to become an archaeologist was the second happiest day in my life, just barely edged out by the day I met Nathan. As an adventurer, it was only natural for him to cross my path as I exploring an underground temple outside of Beldor. The ruins were said to have been abandoned since the mythical Age Zero, before the gods gave mortals our independence, but that didn't matter to him. I explained that there was likely no treasure to be found, but still he remained, saying that he was there for the thrill of doing something no one else had done before then. I delighted in the irony behind our respective reasons for being there. I went to that temple to learn what people did there in the past while he seemed to have his hopes on setting a standard for future thrill-seekers.

And there were plenty of thrills to be found. These decrepit halls may have predated the technology behind even the most rudimentary of traps, but they also seemed to predate the age-old techniques of competent builders. After roughly have a millennium, there were more holes in the cobblestone floor than there were unbroken stones. We kept each other alive in this crumbling site and developed what modest people would call a deep appreciation for each other and our work. And at the end of it all, I found a treasure trove of previously unknown information about our tightly-controlled ancestors. That was how we became partners, both professionally and intimately.

This was over three years ago now, which left us two years and five months of excitement and discovery. Nathan, the one with the eye for danger, looked out for me and I possessed the knowledge to make sense of all of the places we have been. It was an ideal relationship for someone who struggled to come out of her shell like me and I like to think the context I could place our adventures in kept him alive.

Until it didn't.

Last fall was our last adventure together, across the southern sea atop the legendary Dragon Pillar. After deciphering one of the ancient glyphs that the windlords had recently uncovered, a tornado formed just above us, threatening to throw all of us into the unforgiving blue. I was the first to be picked up by the wind, but Nathan was quick to grab me. It took all of his strength to pull me to safety in the lower chambers, leaving none left for him to save himself when he too lost his footing.

The search party took a week to reach the Pillar and only two more days to give up their mission. Nathan's last act had been to save me from the inherent dangers of my work once again, but it wasn't long before even I was forced to conclude that there was no hope of finding him. I wanted to throw myself into the sea when they broke the news that they were calling off the search, but even then I could hear his voice in my head, assuring me that would be a pointless and disappointing way to die.

One thing was certain, though: after losing the love of my life to such a random calamity, I couldn't keep exposing myself to danger. What if I were to die on my next outing? Wouldn't I only be wasting the life that Nathan gave his own to save? I returned home for the first time in five years and withdrew into myself, leaving the house only to buy provisions once a week. But I could never settle into such an uneventful life for good. To do so would only tarnish the memories we made together. Last month, I decided to get back to work as I had before Nathan came along but with no clue where to begin anew.

So I returned to my old university to reconnect with my colleagues. The well-wishers and sympathetic ears were abound from the moment I set foot in the halls of my former place of learning, which was the last thing I wanted. I went back with the hope of getting back to normal, but everyone insisted on treating me as a fragile thing, just one odd recollection or insensitive statement from a complete breakdown. In hindsight, I wonder if they were right to worry about me, but since I made it through the next few weeks with nothing but a few spots of irritation I suppose we'll never know.

But still, there was only so much I could take. With no one offering me anything to latch on to besides my own misery, I withdrew my original thesis on the broken beacon discovered under Lake Whitetree over thirty years ago and began to examine my own conclusions. After so many years in the field, what I had to say about the beacon and its hypothetical function seemed rather naive. For that reason, I decided that my next project would be to dive further into this unsolved mystery. With my research already completed, I decided that my first step would be to get a closer look at the beacon to see if there was anything I or the many sources I cited in my work had missed.

But what I saw there, rather than illuminating this mystery of the decades, only exposed me to yet another.