Present Day: Midnight
Reyneese sits alone at midnight, hands wrapped around cold tea. Her right hand glows faintly gold. Her left hand wisps purple-black smoke.
Reyneese (to herself): “Fifteen hundred years since that day.”
She looks at her mismatched hands—Light and Shadow, both burning quietly in the dark.
Reyneese: “The Light still knows me. But the Shadow knows me better now.”
The Day It Happened: 1,500 Years Ago
Temple courtyard. Bodies everywhere. Blood on stone. Smoke in the air.
Reyneese kneels in the center, covered in blood—none of it hers. Her hands glow with fading Holy Light, the gold dimming like a dying star.
Reyneese (staring at her hands): “The Light wasn’t enough.”
A wounded priestess crawls toward her, dying slowly.
Priestess (gasping): “You… you saved… some…”
Reyneese (hollow): “I saved twelve. There were three hundred.”
Priestess: “The Light… blesses your effort…”
Reyneese (voice breaking): “The Light is beautiful. Warm. Gentle.” (looks at the bodies) “And too slow.”
Priestess (shocked): “Blasphemy…”
Reyneese (quiet, not angry): “Is it blasphemy if it’s true?”
The priestess dies. Reyneese doesn’t move.
Two Weeks Earlier: The Warning
Same temple. A celebration. Music and moonlight.
Young Reyneese—only 500 years old, still idealistic—stands with her mentor, an ancient priestess who has seen too many wars.
Mentor: “You have such talent, child. Your Light burns brighter than mine ever did.”
Young Reyneese (proud, happy): “Thank you, honored one. I want to help everyone.”
Mentor (gently): “The Light has limits, Reyneese. It heals, but slowly. It protects, but gently.”
Young Reyneese: “Then I’ll work harder. Faster.”
Mentor (sad smile): “That’s not how Light works. It requires patience. Stillness. Peace.”
Young Reyneese (confident): “Then I’ll learn to be patient.”
Mentor (whispers, almost to herself): “I hope you never have to choose.”
The Day It Happened: Among the Dead
Reyneese stands, stumbling through the ruins. She sees faces she knew. Friends. Students. Children.
Reyneese (to the dead): “I was patient. I was gentle. I channeled the Light exactly as I was taught.”
She stops at a small body—a child, barely fifty years old.
Reyneese: “And I watched you die anyway. Too slow. Too gentle. Too… insufficient.”
Her hands shake.
Reyneese: “The enemy came with fire and steel. They were fast. Brutal. Efficient. And I stood here with my beautiful, warm, gentle Light…” (voice cracks) “…and I failed you.”
She looks at her hands again, the Light flickering weakly.
Reyneese: “The Light requires peace. But what if there is no peace? What if there’s only survival?”
The Memory She Carries
Her mentor’s voice echoes in her mind—a conversation from centuries before.
Mentor: “There is another way. Shadow. It’s faster, sharper, more aggressive. But it changes you, Reyneese. The Light is a gift. Shadow is a trade.”
Young Reyneese: “What do you trade?”
Mentor: “Your certainty. Your peace. Your ability to sleep without nightmares.”
Young Reyneese: “Why would anyone choose that?”
Mentor (long pause): “Because sometimes love requires sacrifice. Even of yourself.”
The Choice
Reyneese sits cross-legged among the dead, hands open on her knees, eyes closed.
Reyneese (whispers): “I understand now.”
Her voice is steady, but tears fall.
Reyneese: “Light, you have been good to me. You’ve taught me patience. Compassion. Warmth. But you’re not enough. Not for what I need to do. Not to protect what remains.”
She breathes deep.
Reyneese: “So I’m asking. Shadow. Void. Whatever dwells in the spaces between stars. If you can give me the speed the Light cannot… I’ll pay the price.”
Silence. Then—
Reyneese (eyes still closed): “I know what I’m trading. My peace. My sleep. My certainty that I’m doing good. But if it means I can save them next time… if it means I’m fast enough, sharp enough, brutal enough…”
She opens her eyes. They glow pale blue, but now there are threads of purple-black weaving through the Light.
Reyneese: “Then I choose the Shadow.”
Her right hand erupts in Holy Light—golden and warm. Her left hand erupts in Shadow—purple-black and cold.
Reyneese: “I’ll carry both. Light to heal what can be healed. Shadow to end what must be ended.”
She stands, looking at her mismatched hands.
Reyneese: “This is what love looks like when gentleness isn’t enough.”
Five Hundred Years Later: Teaching the Lesson
A young priest stands before Reyneese, confused and afraid.
Student: “Master Reyneese, why do you use both Light and Shadow? Isn’t that… wrong?”
Reyneese (patient, sad): “Do you know what’s wrong? Letting people die because you’re too pure to get your hands dirty.”
Student: “But the Shadow corrupts—”
Reyneese (interrupts gently): “Yes. It does. Every time I use it, a little piece of my peace dies.”
Student: “Then why—”
Reyneese (kneels to eye level): “Because I loved them more than I loved my own purity. That’s the choice. You can stay clean and watch them burn. Or you can get dirty and save them.”
Student (quiet): “What if the Shadow takes you completely?”
Reyneese (touches the student’s face gently): “Then you put me down. Gently. With the Light. And you remember I chose this because I loved you all too much to stay safe.”
Student (tears): “I don’t want that choice.”
Reyneese (sad smile): “Neither did I. But love doesn’t ask permission.”
Present Day: The Price
Vyrneese appears in the doorway, sleepy and concerned.
Vyrneese: “Rey? You okay? Your hands are glowing.”
Reyneese dismisses both Light and Shadow, smiles gently.
Reyneese: “Just remembering. Go back to sleep.”
Vyrneese (yawns): “‘Kay.” (pauses) “Rey? Why do you use Shadow if you’re a priest?”
Reyneese (soft): “Because sometimes love requires getting your hands dirty. I’ll explain when you’re older.”
Vyrneese (confused): “I’m twenty thousand years old.”
Reyneese (quiet laugh): “Exactly. Still a baby. Sleep, little one.”
Vyrneese leaves. Reyneese looks at her hands again in the darkness.
Reyneese (whispers): “I paid the price. I carry the nightmares. But I was faster the next time.”
Pause.
Reyneese: “I saved them. Most of them. That’s what matters.”
She closes her hands into fists.
Reyneese: “The Shadow took my peace. But it couldn’t take my purpose.”
Fade to darkness. End scene.
The Truth She Carries
Purity is beautiful until it becomes weakness. Gentleness is holy until it becomes helplessness. Light is sacred until it’s too slow to save them.
Reyneese chose Shadow not from corruption, but from love too fierce to stay clean.
She carries both now:
- Light for healing
- Shadow for survival
And every night, she pays the price in nightmares. But every day, she saves them.
That’s the trade. That’s the choice. That’s why she’s still here after 2,000 years.
Not because she stayed pure. But because she loved them more than she loved her own innocence.
Author’s Note
This is the second chronicle in the Reyneese series, exploring the pivotal moments that shaped who she is today. This story examines the cost of power, the weight of choice, and what happens when love demands you sacrifice your own peace.
Reyneese is a Discipline Priest—she wields both Light and Shadow not because she fell to corruption, but because she chose pragmatism over purity. This is her origin story for that choice.
Read more: Chronicle #1: The First Forgetting | Reyneese’s Character Profile | All Warband Stories
Content Warning: This story contains themes of mass death, trauma, moral complexity, and the psychological cost of choosing pragmatism over idealism.