Lugia Winning Entry

It had been months since the incident, but nightmares still plagued Dakota's sleep. Whenever the Lirionox closed his eyes, he was transported back to a night he'd tried numerous times to forget. The sound of putrescent wood splintering as he fell to his knees; the disbelief he'd felt when the severity of the matter hit him. He was forced to relive his worst day every night, and that tormented him relentlessly.

Dakota resigned himself from adventuring after he returned to his home on the hillside overlooking Kingdom Village. To him it felt as though he'd wasted what precious time he could've been spending with his daughter exploring. And for what? To find artifacts whose value were derisory compared to that of his only child's life?

He had thought she would live forever -- at the very least longer than him -- but his every expectation had been shattered by her murderer. And what pained him most was not how he'd found her body, nor the cold case -- it was the fact that he'd been traveling when his little girl had been abducted. His heart ached with contrite every morn he awoke in an empty house -- even the Lirionox didn't notice himself recessing into grief until he was given a wake up call from Pandoria herself.

It was on the afternoon of a particularly sweltering day, one where Dakota had been turning quester after quester from his doorstep. He'd been too sullen to give them tasks to do, much less part with any of his treasures, and the great Braenon had decided to pay him a visit. After a short flight, she arrived at the weathered shack of the Traveler. Stepping up onto a worn rug that acted as a doormat, the goddess rolled her shoulders and knocked on the door soundly.

"I'm not giving out quests today," a gruff, tired-sounding voice resounded through the wood. "Come back some other time." Pandoria knitted her brows and knocked on the door a second time, although more roughly. She heard a grunt of displeasure as someone pushed themselves out of a chair, then after a second the door opened.

"May I come in?" The Braenon asked. Dakota looked only mildly surprised by the appearance of Pandoria, and stepped back to allow her entry to his home with a curt nod. She walked by him, taking in the sorry state his one-room home was in.

Plates only partially cleaned of food lay scattered around the interior; it seemed as though there was an absence of any proper eating surface. Apart from the plates, various other dishes were dispersed randomly about the floor -- and they brought a terrible smell with them. Swallowing whatever comment she'd been thinking of muttering, Pandoria waited for the Lirionox to shut the door before speaking.

"Ahem," she cleared her throat when he did. "So, Dakota... why is it you're not giving out tasks for the questers to complete?" A withdrawn expression crossed the Lirionox's face.

"It's a personal affair," he mumbled, paw still gripping the doorknob. "I'll resume my duties when the storm passes." Anger rose in Pandoria's chest. It'd been months since the last reports of him giving quests on the daily had come through to her. Whatever 'storm' he'd spoken so lightly of had turned into an all-consuming tempest; even he didn't realize how much his inactivity effected Mistica.

"You're being reticent, Traveller. It's not becoming of one of Mistica's few quest-givers." Dakota's paw slipped from the knob and fell against his side.

"There's nothing to tell," he grunted. "I'm just having a bad da--"

"It's been months, Dakota! Haven't you seen the season change?" Pandoria interjected, her voice bordering a growl. She paused, allowing herself time to calm. "Have you truly forgotten yourself..?" The Lirionox gazed down at the wooden floorboards of his shack dejectedly, wanting to spill the emotions within himself and stay unexpressive simultaneously. He remained silent for what seemed like hours, but was in reality only seconds. When he did speak, his tone was hushed.

"It was on this day three months ago. I'm sure you received reports of a murderous Fey around that time, yes?" He paused and traipsed over to a four-paned window illuminating the right side of the building. When he reached it, he cast a cloudy glance to Pandoria, who nodded solemnly.

"That case went cold as soon as the site of the massacre was burnt to the ground," the Braenon mused. "Was your daughter... among those lost?"

"Yes," she could feel Dakota wince as he answered. "I was never given closure as to her fate -- other than what was obvious." Pandoria kept quiet, waiting for the Lirionox to continue. "I've recessed into my home, grief-stricken and lacking motivation to do anything unnecessary to my survival. And all because--" his voice broke, and the Braenon heard his paw squeal as it slid down the glass windowpane. "--I didn't spend enough time with her." There was a weighty silence.

"Dakota..." Pandoria began, heart heavy in her chest.

"And in the time you've been here, I've come to see there's nothing that can be done about that -- I can either wallow in regret for the rest of my life or be strong. And what kind of father would I be if I languished?" Pandoria looked up at the window, but the Lirionox had moved. She heard the airy creak of a door opening, then felt sunlight brush her fur. She turned to face Dakota, who was now resting under the shade of an ancient tree. The smile she gave him was one carrying mixed emotions; she couldn't deceive the Lirionox with an artificial grin when she resonated with his feelings of loss.

So instead she walked out of his bedraggled cottage with a neutral expression, only flashing the tiniest smile at Dakota, who was gazing out at the horizon with an unreadable expression. Perhaps he was thinking of his daughter...