Trinity

The cathedral was in ruins.

To Johanna, that wasn't out of the realm of the expected. Ruins dotted the lands of Sanctuary, their points of ruination sometimes going back thousands of years, while others could attribute their fall to but a fraction of that time. Some ruins had succumbed to the touch of time – that unstoppable force that could break down even the most mighty of objects. Some ruins had succumbed to the touch of war, blasted apart in fire and fury, as Man did battle with demons, or themselves. Some ruins however, bore the marks of madness. Of being burnt down by the dammed, or the desperate, or the depraved. Sometimes all three. And standing in front of the cathedral, having dismounted from her steed, she could see the ruination of this structure was down to that last form of destruction. It was not old enough to catch the attention of time, and if war had been fought in this part of Entsteig, she'd not only managed to miss it, but it had managed to leave the lands surrounding it unscathed. So what then, she wondered, had directed the ire of those named damned?

She discovered the answer soon enough as she walked to the door. The door itself had been broken off its hinges, shards of wood scattered across the ground, but she could see the mark on the walls beside it. It was red, and running a finger across it, she could tell it was not paint, but rather blood. The symbol of a six-fingered hand. Poorly drawn, but one she recognised. The Hand of Zakarum.

Your madness has spread this far? She wondered. Or is it new madness given old name?

She couldn't say. The Hand of Zakarum had splintered after the destruction of Travincal. Anyone who had survived that corrupted order had gone on to form the Templar, and they too had been shattered – in part by her own hand. Had Templar come here, she wondered, seeking to 'purify' their faith by following the symbols of those who had preceded them? Or had madmen taken the symbol for themselves? Gingerly, she stepped into the cathedral, noting the torn books, the smashed pews, and the broken windows, glass littering the floor. No bodies, she noticed, but whether that was for good or ill, she couldn't say.

If you're following your creed of Zakarum though, then why attack a cathedral?

There were any number of reasons for that, she supposed. The faithful could attack the faithful under the charge that one group of faithful weren't faithful enough, or that perhaps that group of faithful weren't faithful at all, but rather heretics to be put to the torch. The Crusaders had been accused of that many times, even if they resisted the torch by wielding sword, shield, and mace. But as she made her way through the structure, down the narrow path, she began to wonder if this was a cathedral of Zakarum at all. The construction was in the same Western style of the faith, the same that had erected everything from the Tirstram Cathedral to the Saldencal. But there was something…different, about it. She had stepped into many places of worship over her life, and even in the ruins of those put to the torch, she had felt the Light close at hand. This place however, was bereft of it.

There was also the symbol above the dais. A symbol not of the Zakarum, or any faith that she was familiar with at all. It was a golden triangle, or rather, three golden triangles arranged to make a larger one. One at the top, two at the bottom.

"Do you seek guidance?"

She clutched her sword – even in her armour, she could have it out in half a second. "Who goes there?" she asked.

"Goes?" asked the voice. "I am merely where I have always been. You however, are new."

Half a second, she told herself. Or less. She was nephalem. The Master of Death. Speed and strength were her companions. She had nothing to fear. And yet, seeing the door at the end creak open, seeing the old man step into the dying light, she felt ill at ease. There was nothing about the man himself that put her off, but his eyes, his ears (pointed like daggers, like an elf of Entstegian folklore), his entire posture…she felt ill at ease. In a way, he reminded her of Tyrael, or even Cain. Old, yet wise even beyond those years. Yet those two were gone from her life. The one before her…it was as if he had been here longer than either of them, and would be here long after they had departed.

"Speak your name," Johanna said.

"Rauru," the man answered. "Sage, and master of the Light Temple."

"Light Temple." She looked around the ruins of the cathedral. "Is this your Light Temple?"

He chuckled. "No. Just one place of worship in this world."

She couldn't help but smirk. "As opposed to another?"

"Yes." He looked around the ruins of his place of worship. "Though it matters little now." He looked at her. "They came, you know. People that bore a similar creed as you did."

She frowned. "The Hand of Zakarum are-"

"Followers of the Light," Rauru said. "At least in their own minds. But it matters not. You no longer follow the Light, do you?"

The frowned deepened. "I am ever a servant of the Light, and-"

"You are Master of Death. The one who has travelled this world, and realms beyond. Your road goes into darkness, and even if you do not embrace it, your quest has changed." His gaze narrowed. "Hasn't it?"

"I…you…"

She felt like a child – that same, snot-nosed girl that the one named Johanna before her had plucked from a village whose name she couldn't even remember now. The girl who had taken her master's name and armour after her death.

"Do you contest it?" Rauru asked.

She remained silent. She followed the Light, she told herself. Granted, since the defeat of the Fallen Angel, she had spent her time slaying demons and other monstrosities, travelling the land and realms beyond to deliver judgement to those that took the name of "damned." One thing after another had emerged to threaten Sanctuary, and she had smote them all. The thought of redeeming her faith though…that had slipped ever further from her mind.

"What happened here?" Johanna whispered.

Changing the subject, even to a matter as grim as this one, was preferable to discussing her own faith.

"Madness happened," Rauru said. He gestured to the cathedral, in all its ruined glory. "The madness of a world growing ever darker, where angels and demons alike conspire to destroy Man. In this case, the madness of those that would not tolerate another faith."

"This is Entsteig though," said Johanna. "The pagan superstitions of the people here have existed alongside the Light for generations."

"They have," said Rauru. "But as you yourself has seen, madness can take even the mightiest of men. And when madness directs might, the innocent suffer."

"But not you," pointed out Johanna. She pointed her gauntleted hand at him. "You're still alive. You haven't suffered."

His eyes narrowed, and Johanna could swear she saw an aura around the sage. Like…darkened light, dulled by time. "I have seen more than you could imagine," he said. "I have seen the King of Evil, and the splintering of time. I have seen the adult, the child, and the fallen. I have seen the end of the Sacred Realm, and I have seen a curse play out again and again, in some grotesque parody of life." Johanna opened her mouth, but he kept talking. "I do not ask for your pity, Crusader. But know that this world is not the only one beset by evil."

She frowned. "You speak as if you are not of this world."

"I'm not." His eyes lightened, and his lips formed a small smile. "Does that surprise you, Crusader? You, who have walked the paths of Heaven, Hell, Pandemonium, and Fate itself?"

She didn't answer. The man might have been mad himself, but that aside…what was there left to surprise her? The nights were long, her sleep was short. In the silence of the night, in the silence where only the mark of death was her companion, she had plenty of time to think and prepare. To anticipate what surprises Creation might have in store for her. If this man claimed to be of another world, then, who was she to ask?

"That symbol of your faith," Johanna said, pointing to the golden triangle. "What is it?"

She didn't have to ask of Rauru's story was true. But she could ask about something else.

"That?" Rauru asked. "That is the Triforce. Though I would not say it is a symbol of faith."

"Not a symbol of faith, yet you put it in a place of worship."

"I do," said Rauru. He sighed, kneeling down and picking up a piece of the stained glass window. "The people of this world are…different. They need things to believe in, far more so than those of the land I call home." He dropped the glass and looked at Johanna. "The Golden Goddesses demand no worship, but the Triforce can provide a path to salvation all the same." He pointed at the triangle, and Johanna followed his gaze. "Power, at the top. He pointed to the lower left triangle. "Wisdom," he said, before moving to the lower right. "And courage." He looked at Johanna. "All three are required to be whole. Power must be tempered by wisdom, lest it corrupt. Wisdom must have power to effect change. And courage is required for both, to undertake action at all." He paused. "You have two of the three, Crusader. Power, and courage both."

"But not wisdom," she murmured, not liking the assertion.

"No. You slew the former Aspect of Wisdom, but only mastered death. Without wisdom, you are fated to wander the world, searching for salvation for your faith. Without wisdom, you are blind to the path you tread, and where it shall lead you."

"And where does it lead me?" Johanna asked slowly.

Rauru paused. His eyes locked with hers, boring through flesh, bone, and soul.

"Even I cannot say. No word, but, farewell." He turned, headed for the back of the chapel. "I take my leave, in the knowledge that neither of us will again lay eye upon the other."

Johanna remained silent, watching the sage shuffle off. Perhaps he was mad, she thought. Perhaps he was wise beyond reckoning. Perhaps both. But if this was to be their first and only meeting, she could live with that. Or at least, 'live' as best as one who had become one with death could.

"What of your flock?" she called out.

She had one last question though.

"Did your Triforce save them?"

Rauru stopped and turned, with the pace of a mountain being whittled away by a bird. As he looked at her, for a moment, she felt as the bird, with he the mountain. Older than even the earth that gave rise to it.

"They are safe," he said. "They are beyond this place. In a realm where idols and books do not make men mad."

"Is that a fancy way of saying that they're dead?"

"No, Crusader. Just…saved. And isn't salvation what we both strive for?"

Johanna didn't answer. She didn't know what Rauru strove for.

But reflecting on his words, watching the man shuffle away into the darkness, beyond sight and mind, reflecting on the blood of hundreds that stained her armour…

She wasn't sure what she strove for either.

A/N

So, similar to Magic to Make the Sanest Man Go Mad, this is the result of me looking at the exclusive swag in the Switch version of Diablo III and going "write something." In this case, taking the Triforce portrait frame and somehow writing over 2000 words based on that.

Go figure.