Omega's Rebirth-Chapter 595: Those Not Remembered ()

Estelle busily moved about the fabric room, picking out a few fabrics which she draped over her arm.

All the fabrics she had chosen were a variety of white shades, the kind that was used in making death shrouds in the culture of the human population of Fort Scabbard.

"Do you think these will be suitable? I hear in human culture, the family dress their lost loved ones in these shrouds, of the finest quality they can afford. Our kind mourns differently, I am not familiar with their ways." Estelle asked for the opinion of the dressmaker that accompanied her.

"My Lady is correct in your knowledge. I have witnessed it done as such." The dress maker affirmed.

"Though I have never tailored for a human before so I cannot claim to know it better." The dressmaker added.

"You are the most priced dress maker in all of Scabbard and you make the riding dresses for Scabbard riders. This will be your first... and your best. Make it with care, it is the only thing I can do for that poor child..." Estelle trailed off, breathing a heavy sigh.

"Have no worries, My Lady. I will pay attention to every last detail." The dressmaker assured Estelle.

Estelle nodded in approval, she carried the fabrics over to the table and gently laid them out, a pained look in her eyes.

"I will mark out the measurements myself... It was barely for longer than a few minutes I saw her, but remember her look all too clearly. I will remember it for a long time..." Estelle murmured, more to herself than the dressmaker.

"My Lady must learn to let go. The path of a rider will be greeted with many losses, some strangers with whom fate ties you unwillingly, others friends and comrades... that is the path you walk." The dressmaker still provided a response.

Estelle passed a look to the dressmaker, she was a nymph by race but had served in the Scabbard Tower for more than a century already, in that century, she had tailored the riding dresses of all Scabbard riders,

Single handedly, the Scabbard riders trusted no one else but her and she took her duties seriously too, she was practically a part of what made Tower Scabbard as it was.

Though the dressmaker was no stranger to Estelle, she had never realised she knew so much about dragons, their riders and the path they walked to fulfill their duties.

"You speak as though you have seen much loss yourself." Estelle pointed out quietly and carefully.

The dressmaker sighed quietly. Her appearance was still youthful, nothing beyond her late thirties if one were to count by human age, however Estelle knew nymphs had far longer lifespans, and this dressmaker had surely seen many more days than she looked.

And if that was not enough of a tell tale, the look in the eyes of the dressmaker as she heaved that sigh was that of one who had seen much of the passing of time.

"People have memories of their lost loved ones...we dressmakers have chests full of unclaimed clothing. Clothings unable to be claimed, because there is no one left to claim it."

"Throwing them out feels like a crime, keeping them is but a constant reminder. The death of one afflicts too many...every one man has come in contact with more than he can remember in his lifetime."

"Most do not remember the dressmaker, but we remember them... their bright smiles, expectant eyes, the masterpiece they never got to see." The dress maker smiled in melancholy.

"Riders... that have died in the past century." Estelle murmured in understanding.

"But we let go, with lessons... perhaps one tighter stitch can keep the next even a little bit safer. Perhaps a tougher fabric will keep out dark magic, or the claws of a beast." The dressmaker said, shaking off her depressed expression.

Estelle was quiet for a long moment, the words of the dressmaker settled heavily on her.

"I never realised... I only ever thought the horrors of death to be the pain of family, and loved ones left behind."

"But each day, we meet dozens of people, we exchange smiles with so many, save so many lives...every one of these people, those whose lives we have shared for even just a fleeting moment...those we meet just in passing, they may share the pain of loss in silence... like I do for that poor child." Estelle murmured.

"I always felt angry...at how quickly the world forgot my mother. How everyone moved on like she never existed, building a plaque in her honor like it could somehow replace her...but maybe I was too blinded by my own pain to see I was not alone."

"I never realised that there were perhaps many others who shared our pain of loss with us...do you think my mother’s dressmaker has one of such in her chest? My mother’s riding dress?" Estelle asked the dressmaker quietly.

"Did you ever ask? Wonder how she fared?" The dressmaker asked Estelle back.

Estelle winced visibly and slowly shook her head. She had never truly cared for anyone else’s pain but her own, she had always thought she was the only one in pain.

"There are many of us who are a part of your lives, of your missions and duties as protectors of the stronghold. Who stay up long nights making sure every stitch sits comfortably with no mistakes...yet we are never remembered...not by the world, not by you." The dressmaker said to Estelle.

"Then why do you keep working so diligently? Why do what you do if you reap no benefits?" Estelle asked uncertainly.

"Why do the dragons protect the stronghold? Even protecting all the races that still plot against them at every opportunity? Why do they keep the entire realm, both friend and foe safe?" The dressmaker asked back.

Estelle thought over it for a short moment before she replied to the question.

"Duty...honor..." Estelle said thoughtfully.