《Elhyrissian Chronicles》


 Prologue I: In Their House He Dreams…

    15<sup>th</sup> of Martzea, 1247 of the First Age.


    A soft sigh, veiled as a melodious hum, escaped his lips. His slender body was delicately embraced by a robe of ruby red and shimmering gold. The fabric, woven from the finest silks produced in Vhalleryon, possessed an ethereal luster, evocative of the proud Elder Dragons'' scales. Intricate patterns, commissioned to honor his family, graced the sleeves and back with exquisite detail. The high collar enveloped the back of his head and gradually descended toward his strong shoulders.


    On the bottom, the robe gently brushed against the ground as a soft breeze caressed his magnificent figure standing at the precipice. His form, flawlessly sculpted from alabaster golden marble, stood as a testament to artistry and precision.


    Beneath his feet, intricate carvings of aevhen maidens could be seen, gracefully dancing around a central motif depicting a radiant moon that transforms into the sun when night falls.


    Beyond the precipice, the grand capital of the Empire stretched as far as the eye could see, a vibrant tapestry of colors built upon the undulating terrain, with the Flaurdrenn River meandering through its heart as it separates the two sides, flowing gracefully toward the sea. Towers, temples, and dwellings on both sides of the river, rising gradually in numbers further up the folk made plateau on the once jagged walls of the mountains, their precise geometrical forms standing out from this elevated vantage point. Bathed in the soft, warm light of the setting sun, they created a picturesque scene before it slipped below the horizon.


    "Isn''t this magnificent?" He asked in his deep, resonant voice, exuding both grace and openness. His countenance was a testament to ethereal beauty and regal splendor. Each feature had been meticulously sculpted, with sharp lines that seamlessly melded together to create a visage that mesmerized all who gazed upon it. His high cheekbones had been exquisitely chiseled and refined, while his eyes had possessed elongated contours and contained a swirling kaleidoscope of colors within their draconic irises. Above them, arched eyebrows like delicate brushstrokes had lent an air of intrigue, hinting at the wisdom accumulated over countless ages. His nose had been straight and elegant, complemented by softly curved lips that had borne a gentle smile. His complexion had been flawless and fair, radiating a golden glow as if he had been touched by the sun itself.


    His long hair cascaded between his nape, gracefully draping over his chest and ending just above his waistline, resembling a cataract of fluid ashes. Its soft texture had conjured the vivid imagery of fine ash left on a field scorched by the ferocious inferno of a red dragon. Each strand of hair had resembled silken tendrils of smoke.


    Emerging beneath his flowing hair, at his temples, was his crown. Its surface had been a captivating fusion of sleek feathered scales of the Heavenly House, forming a harmonious union that had beckoned admiration from those who had beheld it. As light had playfully danced upon its exposed edges, the crown had revealed a mesmerizing display of colors, creating a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues that had shifted in a controlled rhythm. In that moment, it had reflected a serene blue shade, complementing the presence of the Impirith Praetoriar stationed near the grand structure atop the floating island.


    "Yes, My Elhyrissiar! It is truly a breathtaking sight!" The individual closest to the Emperor had spoken up, their voice velvety and smooth, as they had stepped closer to the ruler of the Elhyrissian Empire.


    "Thank you for your patience, My Elhyrissiar! They are ready to receive you!" A tall, blind figure had emerged from the imposing golden oak gates, clad in modest robes of muted mauve and gold. Their face had remained veiled beneath a hood as they had bowed deeply.


    "We are grateful for their time. Let us not waste any more of it." He said with a deep sigh, bidding farewell to the majestic panorama. Raising his hand to silence the servant with concern in his faded eyes, the two disappeared through the gates, leaving the Praetoriars to silently appreciate the view.


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    **


    The soft rustle of silk had accompanied their graceful descent onto the seating, knees folding and hands finding a comfortable resting place. "Thank you," The Emperor expressed with an amiable smile, acknowledging the Servant who had bowed silently before continuing their duties. With a slender rod held between his index and middle fingers, a gentle spark of flames had flickered and danced at its tip. The Servant carefully approached the candles, bringing the spark close and allowing its smoke to permeate the expansive room, filling it with a sweet and soothing aroma.


    Then, after offering a final bow, the Servant gracefully vanished behind cascading sheets of golden and red fabric. The Emperor''s gaze wandered through the room, fueled by the curiosity of a child. His eyes fell upon the intricate depictions of the Almodo, meticulously crafted from gleaming gold. One portrayed the Almodo as a flawless child, exuding perfection in every detail, save for the absence of ears on either side. Another showcased a majestic dragon, eyes closed in serene repose atop a peak, its sightless gaze turned skyward. The final sculpture embodied the essence of aevhen kin, featuring Draevhen with scales intricately carved with unparalleled care and precision. He reminisced about his grandfather''s tale, recounting that this particular masterpiece had taken nine hundred years to complete.


    As the warm light gradually took on a cool, yet tenderly dark hue, the Emperor''s attention had been drawn to movement behind the flowing silken sheets, positioned just beyond the soft cushion placed before him. From left to right, three graceful figures emerged, exuding an aura of captivating mystique.


    Each figure had been adorned in layers of gold and mauve, their bodies draped in opulent fabrics. The tallest among them had concealed her eyes beneath a delicate silken veil, while the second figure to her right, slightly shorter in stature, had covered the lower portion of her face with a similar satin cloth. The third, the shortest of the trio, had appeared to unveil all of her features, her warm and deep amber complexion fully exposed to the Emperor''s gaze.


    "Thank you, all, for extending your warm welcome to us in your esteemed abode." He spoke with a tone dripped with honeyed melodiousness. With a deep bow, his forehead nearly touched the surface of the polished wooden table before him, he expressed his gratitude. "We humbly implore you once again to grant us the privilege of gazing upon our intertwined destinies, to find answers to our recent Dreams." He continued, his eyes of prismatic colors, shimmering with a mixture of curiosity and subtle unease.


    "The Night in the North stirs, awakening gradually, reclaiming his dreaded power. His fangs loom over us and all the Deosos." The ethereal whisper permeated his ears from the right, solidifying his anxiety and morphing it into fear.


    "But fear not, child of the Bright Lord, for heroes will rise once more to challenge the Head of the House of Dusk. Six will be blessed, scattered around the world." The lips of the Tallest Sister parted, their whispers filling the Emperor with hope, soothing his senses.


    Silence descended upon the room, his attention shifted to the right, his eyes shimmered with a kind and familial warmth. He had eagerly awaited for her to speak up.


    "We express our deepest gratitude for your revelations, oh Great Oracles!" He spoke up once more, bowing deeply in appreciation after believing these were all He offered to him. Slowly, he had risen to his feet, prepared to take his leave.


    "A shadow descends upon our world. Its tendrils penetrating the Veil, intertwining with His Dream, setting the course of your Empire, of this world in unseeable directions.¡± The Youngest Sister uttered in a steady stream of words, her mauve-golden lips moving with a sense of urgency. Her vacant eyes had met his, and her body trembled as she spoke.


    ¡°Its Song already pervades the Dream, altering His great work with Its own.¡± The Tallest added as she jolted up suddenly.


    ¡°It knows of them and knows of the Sleeping Feathered Friend. And knows of you, our dear Golden Child. Peace shall be swallowed, flames shall be lit, Order withers so that Chaos can bloom.¡± The Oracle with a veiled mouth said calmly with a soft, maddened chuckle dancing within his mind.


    ¡°But there is still hope our Golden Child. Find His seeds before It pierces their heart, before it ends them.¡± The youngest spoke with honeyed words ¨C words that gently caressed his ears and mind.


    For a fleeting moment, the atmosphere within the Oracle''s Hall had appeared suspended in time. Then, The Emperor turned back to His Oracles, his majestic figure bending in a profound bow to express his deep gratitude. Yet, a twinge of worry had pierced his heart as he became engulfed by the shadows, his magnificent presence swallowed by the darkness with a silent smile.

 Prologue II: Dreams In Their House…

    19<sup>th</sup> of Martzea, 1247 of the First Age.


    The melodious songs of birds harmoniously mingled with the rhythmic sounds of waves crashing against the sandy shore, not far from the vibrant green and yellow ground. The wind gently caressed the warm hues of amber leaves as the sun slowly disappeared beneath the horizon. In the center, as if having a mind of its own, a path opened, leading to the epicenter of the island. An enormous dome of alabaster stood, adorned with golden runes that resembled the intricate web of a spider, carved into its pristine surface, emit-ting a gentle glow at dawn and dusk.


    The radiant dome rested upon a contrasting structure, characterized by jagged spikes bursting forth from its walls. It was a mixture of alabaster and obsidian, with swirling structures that gave it an otherworldly appearance. Some spikes bore the mark of claws, as if deeply embedded to remain until the structure crumbled to dust, if such a day would ever come to this aevhen creation.


    As the guards in garish scaled armor emerged from the soft shadows of the trees, their scales gleamed even in the darkness that enveloped the sky. The vast yard of the epicenter was bathed in a bluish silver hue from the stars and moon above. With each purposeful stride, their deep red loincloths, adorned with draconic embroidery, swayed and shifted, gracefully following the steps of the Draenith Praetoriir, who had sworn to guard this place until the end of their lives.


    Their sabatons tenderly clinked as they traversed the pristine alabaster path, gracefully maneuvering around their fellow brothers and sisters as they made their way towards the forest. The spears they carried lightly tapped the ground, producing a soft metallic thrum, their forked ends reaching skyward as they held them firmly and upright.


    Emerging from the sharp openings of their horned helmets, their war-honed faces revealed themselves, while the deep red plumes gently caressed the scaled plates of their necks. Their eyes, hidden within shadows, gleamed with discipline and determination as they approached the arched gate made of oak and bronze.


    The scales on their armor softly stirred with each step, as if they were breathing, coming to a halt as they reached the gate. The two guards stationed at the gateway waited in silence, until one of them shifted his attention towards the approaching Praetoriir. Instead of uttering words, blood poured forth, staining his silver scales, and before long, loud metallic thuds signaled their sudden departure from this world. The Praetoriir, with fiery reddish draconic eyes and scales that covered his high cheekbones, extended his hand into a swirling, blurred circle, revealing a gaping blackness at its center.


    He produced a pitch-black onyx, its lightless aura engulfing the silvery light reflected off his armor. His resonating words poured forth from his mouth, surrounded by a passionate cascade of red facial hair. The dark-ness within the onyx pulsated as it floated in the air, spinning and cutting through the fabric of reality, forming a jagged hole that led to a welcoming and warm sanctuary. Within the sanctuary, figures draped in dark robes moved gracefully, their faces concealed behind simple ivory masks featuring only two eye holes.


    They glided through the sanctuary like shadows prowling the Deathlands at the heart of the continent. Amidst them, a tall figure stood out, towering over the rest. Under his cloak, the moonlight illuminated his murky, bandaged face, revealing two empty spots that seemed to howl softly. Both Praetoriars bowed deeply before a group of others, who called out to them before swiftly drawing their weapons and charging for-ward. A battle of strength and will, commenced in front of the Temple.


    "This way, my Lord," spoke one of the taller figures, his melodious deep voice seamlessly flowing through the mask as the battle unfolded. With his head bowed and his arms extended toward the open gate, he guided the way. The Tallest Figure gazed skyward, his eyes fixed on the first roar that reverberated through the air, followed by magnificent flames spewing forth from the jaws of the fully grown dragon adorned with scarlet scales and golden eyes.


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    The flames danced above the group, their reach never extending beyond the woven robes, while a transparent wall manifested, accompanied by a cacophony of chants. The Tallest Figure turned towards the gateway, walking nonchalantly with the two Praetoriir by his side and the Masked Figure following closely behind.


    They entered a long hall adorned with sculpted figures in Draenith armor, their helmets tucked under their arms, and their marble complexions exuding a sense of sorrow. Within the oval space, finely painted depictions portrayed the Empire''s darkest and yet brightest hour, when the hordes of the Nightscale were vanquished and banished to the harsh North. It was a victory that came at the cost of the brightest and oldest of the Elder Dragons, ushering the Elhyrissian Empire and the continent of Vhalleryon itself into a new era of peace and prosperity, after a thousand years of turmoil known as the Dawn War.


    Their echoing footsteps ceased as they reached the grandest of gates in the Empire, adorned with a seal of myriad colors emitting a gentle glow. Footsteps from the distant entrance reached their ears, prompting His entourage to bow before hastening to confront the guardians of this sacred place. His cold hands, concealed beneath layers of dark bandages, caressed the shimmering oak walls of the gate, which suddenly lost its warmth and began to crack, crumbling into thousands of pieces with an eerie silence.


    Then, as He stepped through the remnants, a dim fluid wall arose in its place, obscuring visibility. Bubbles of light emerged from the darkness, illuminating the azure alabaster walls adorned with engaged columns encircling the space. There were nine columns in total, each possessing a different ethereal hue. The column closest to a bright white proudly stood on His right, while on the left, a blackness as dark as the starless night seemed poised to devour all in its insatiable hunger. Further to the right, a red column emanated with rage and creativity, and to the left, a calming blue column exuded wisdom.


    The rest of the columns remained unseen thanks to the colossal figure ever shifting hues, their gentle luminosity radiating with a soft, diffused brilliance. Dazzling scales almost as soft and shaped like the feathers of majestic gryphons. Long, beaked head with five horns the size of sleeping giants, sprouting in meticulous paths with graceful, divine quality. Eyes numbering the same, positioned on the right and left were four, the last resting in the center of His enormous slope of a forehead. [His five eyes, four situated on the sides and one vertically adorning his forehead, remained closed as the Tall Figure approached him.]


    He discarded his robes and bandages, revealing an assembled, decaying form with a mouth agape, filled with darkness. His ears exhibited both blunt and pointed ends, and his skin tones spanned both warm and cold shades, an enigmatic void within his eyes. His hands were a juxtaposition of short and long, muscular and frail, while his head displayed proportions that defied convention, devoid of hair. His arm reached out towards the dreaming dragon. His cold touch was a chilled whisper, a wet towel pressed against the heated forehead of a child battling a fewer.


    "Suffer no more, oh Great Wonder of the Heavens.¡± A deep, ominous yet clear sound reverberated, accompanied by a multitude of calm and raging whispers in reverse, as His left hand made contact with the lower jaw of the Heavenly Elder Dragon. Silence was His answer.


    ¡°Adjust the path as one, wake the world from his Nightmare. Together onto a path of boundless possibilities¡± He spoke once more, this time the whispers lessened in their impassioned moods, united in heartache.


    ¡°I wake old friend in the hope our friendship be amended, to try your truth together. Even if it may be a lie veiled in grief.¡± The Heavenly Monarchs¡¯ eyes opened, casting myriad legion of lights. Yet shadows remained, converged with the colors creating hues out from this world, from this Dream. His trembling kind voice distant and fading.


    ¡°I swear upon all my lives, lies never left my mouth. So shall a world of ours be realized upon this Nightmare. Once and for all.¡± His rotten lips trembled, slowly shaped into a morbid yet kindly grin.


    Decaying hand and the luminous jaw gradually merged, causing the space around them to twist and distort, drawing everything inward like a craving wound. Reality blurred, contorted even around the two, with cracks appearing in the fabric. Cracks that slowly expanded, a gaping darkness within them with unseen cold eyes watching in satisfaction as the two became one.


    Then a bellow straight from the Six Abysses erupted, sending debris all across the small island. Debris that didn¡¯t make distinction between friend or foe, crushing cultist and valiant knight alike. The stars dotting the sky faded as the Shadow spread over the world of Elhyrissian.

 Chapter 1: Sprouting Hope

    23<sup>rd</sup> of Indomitrua, 1247 of the First Age.


    The blazing Illius¡¯s searing heat gradually dissipated the shadows of the buildings in Qaib Dayrieth, a small village in the Golden Desert of the South. The few nomads resting in the gap between houses quickly woke up from their serene dreams as Armaan poured buckets of water on them. "Damn it, kid, a simple tuck of our shoulders would have done it," the man said as he slowly got up, his copper skin drenched in cold water, relatively compared to the southern standards. "That may cost you a bit more auryms, old man," Armaan said with a snooty tone before he started chanting, water pouring from his ebony palms held over it.


    ¡°"Watch your tongue, lad, or you might lose it sooner than your innocence." Raheem, the old nomadic Yhanubj, said as he slowly got up, his ragged clothes and turban framing his face beyond its prime, with a thick bush of a beard covering the lower half. As soon as he stepped out into the Illius radiated street, his clothes started rapidly drying.


    ¡°Hey kid, are you sure you don¡¯t want to come with us?¡± Then, as he sat down, he tried to entice Armaan once more. Most Yhanubj lived in nomadic tribes to this day, with only a select few who decided to settle down among the other races of the Empire, helping with their sand magics to cultivate the golden deserts of the south.


    "Nah, you''re talking to a soon-to-be Velefinaar of the Legion." Armaan proudly stated.


    ¡°Venefireth.¡± Raheem corrected him while moistening his wrinkled forehead before covering it. "Same thing," Armaan said, feeling a bit awkward while kicking up sand. "How old are you, kid?" Raheem asked.


    "I''m in my sixteenth year." Armaan replied after a bit of hesitation. "Then shouldn''t you already be enlisted? I doubt the Legion will come here anyways to search for recruits." Raheem added, his jade eyes gleaming with the finesse of a fox.


    "That much I''m aware of. That is why I''ll set out in a few days." Armaan added while flicking the coin, a blinding sheen leading to it landing in the sand after the young boy tumbled back a bit, scrubbing his intense argent eyes.


    ¡°Are you sure? Only the Impure Legions await folks like us. And let me tell you that is far from what you may imagine it to be.¡± Raheem added with a dramatic sigh as he crouched down, picking up the coin. He rolled it across his knuckles before he flipped it back to its Armeen who awkwardly caught it.


    ¡°Trust me old man, you¡¯ll hear of me soon, when I cut down my first great sandworm. Also I¡¯m aware of that. My father served in the Fourteenth, he even had his arm augmented with a goortslang¡¯s¡± Armeen said while puffing out his chest, in his head he already stood over the mighty beast stalking beneath the sands a bit further north from where he lives.


    The Impure Legions or in aevhen Immunirith Legionethir were the military force of the Empire consisting of the lowest tribes amongst the humans, merkin, plant-kin and even included some of the pariah folk including the orkhin and the much reviled vampyrok.


    Their youngest were recruited at the age of fifteen and had to serve at least five years before they could get their first augmentation, which was rarely their choice. It was mostly decided upon which arkhaine element they had an affinity with, so for example Armaan¡¯s father who was a natural Chtonmancer in his life got the arm of a Grootslang, a serpentine monster capable of bending sand and earth to its primal will.


    ¡°I have no doubt about it.¡± Raheem nodded his head while caressing his beard like some sage from the west. ¡°Say kid, what about we escort you to the city, making a few stops here and there maybe and if you like what you saw, you join us?¡± Raheem added while circling around the boy like a shark.


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    ¡°What stops?¡± Armaan asked with eyes brimming with excitement. Once upon he truly wished to join the nomads as he heard many tales about them. But those days were long gone by now.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, maybe some ancient ruins filled with lost treasures of the Dawn Age, mighty artifacts that may grant your des¡­¡± As he started listing, he walked to the edge of the single street, staring proudly at the Illius savoring the victory in his mind. Then when he turned around, only the empty street and the footsteps in the sand greeted him. ¡°Told you, we should have brought Maahir.¡± Faadil, a fellow mercenary of his said while lifting a gourd filled with sweetened water. The two men returned back to their nearby camp with Raheem looking back one last time, one last sigh left his dry mouth.


    **


    ¡°Mother, I¡¯m home!¡± Armaan softly yelled as his feet stepped from the scorching silken sand onto the soothing smooth surface of their home. Before another word escaped his mouth, he remained silent after realizing the hour of the day. With tender steps, he approached the doorway diagonal to the entrance, stepped through the arched doorway, and knelt beside his mother, putting his palms together, his silver eyes closing shut.


    The two started whispering their prayers to the Shepherd of the Dreamers, whose hauntingly exquisite carved form rested on the small pedestal surrounded by black candles, each burning with a small spark emitting a sweet-scented fume. An aevhen maiden draped in layers of fine clothing, a small hood veiling her alluring face covered in skull markings. Her mystical, slanted eyes closed eternally.


    Laying in front of the small sculpture, a medallion with a copper serpent molded, possessing the texture of swirling, smooth sand. The last thing left to remind them of their loss, his father, his beloved. ¡°How was your day? I hope you behaved today.¡± After several moments of silence, his mother, Muneera, broke the silence, her hands still locked together, eyes closed.


    ¡°I did Mother. but¡­¡± As he opened his eyes and mouth, the words stopped flowing as if something were blockading the way. ¡°I know. Every son wants to follow in their father¡¯s footsteps.¡± A tender smile curved onto her lips, easing the tightening of his tongue and throat. ¡°Yes, I wish to be someone who he could be proud of.¡± He added while looking at the medallion lying silently, the serpentine gaze focused on him.


    ¡°I think he already would be. But I know you, and I¡¯ll support your dreams. Just promise to me that you return whenever you can, and always write. Especially tales of glory to read to your siblings.¡± She added, focusing her attention on the medallion, bringing back fond memories, including the time she met her beloved, in a tent full of wounded, including him.


    ¡°When will you plan to set off?¡± As her words reached his ears, he froze while standing up, hoping to evade this question. ¡°In two days when the desert soothes.¡± he answered, forcing the words as a coldness gripped his heart. ¡°I still want to say farewell to the others.¡± He continued with a somber look.


    ¡°You should.¡± The two walked out together, Armaan trying to ease his mind after the thought of setting his feet beyond the boundaries of the village started settling in, filling him with a fear he could not fully yet grasp. ¡°And the sooner the better. I remember your father regretted it when he enlisted. He tried to escape the barracks numerous times¡± Muneera added as they entered the small kitchen where he left the bucket of water after returning home.


    ¡°Almost forgot. But that¡¯s the other thing, is it not a problem if I stay out a bit late today? I want to say farewell with one last delve into the old ruins.¡± He leaned onto the counter, watching as his mother prepared dinner, stew made of a one-eyed batwing creature called Popobawa usually emitting a sulfuric scent that can paralyze its victims, native to the area. Mostly found in caves and ruins like the one near Qaib Dayrieth.


    ¡°You can, but beware and don¡¯t venture too deep.¡± She grabbed a sharp knife, cutting the hen-sized creature¡¯s cadaver with brutal efficiency, scaring Armaan a little. ¡°I won¡¯t. But even if¡­¡± He leaned a bit back but before he could finish his sentence, Muneera stopped and stared into his eyes saying. ¡°Even with your magical prowess, there are dangers lurking beyond what you can handle currently, trust me. So do not enter the deeper floors.¡± Her voice firm and calm, sent chills down his spine.


    ¡°I won¡¯t. I promise!¡± The two embraced each other before Armaan rushed out to meet up with the others, Muneera watching his back with proud eyes, yet unease crept through her being, sensing Shadows encroaching their little settlement before waving them away by blaming her motherly worry before returning to preparing dinner¡­

 Chapter 2: Sprouting Hope

    As the hour of dusk approached, the vindictive rays of the Illius tempered to a bearable level as Armaan and his group of friends slowly approached the ancient ruins.


    ¡°Should we really enter? When the Harmonic Artiste hues the sky red, he does so as a warning, my mom told me.¡± Tetitae said, as the sky turned from a gentle hue of deep blue, to scarlet wrapped in thin layers of murkiness. The top of the ruins still poked its crown out from below the golden sand, reflecting a crimson hue. Her swirling flaming orbs gleamed with fear as chills ran up and down her spine. Her pointy ears shivered as they peeked out from her colorful turban.


    The ruins themselves were now half swallowed by the whispering gold sands. Decrepit, massive columns engraved with glyphs of various beasts three rows, resembling the jaw of some sand beast as they form a circle with no roof to offer some tender shadows for the weary traveler.


    They each heard different tales about it. Armaan himself believed in it being a House of Almodo, where his children, their ancestors converged preparing for the approaching battles during the great war between the Deos and their fallen brethren, a term he had heard quite often from the Arameithons of the Golden Sands, an order of Yhanubjs worshipping their own version of the Almodo.


    There were no answers as the four friends stood silently, their naked feet sunken into the sand. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I only planned the usual.¡± Armaan spoke up first, burying his thoughts bothering him since the morning. He is still unsure how to bid farewell to them, how will they react. Thoughts of them being angry at him surfaced on the way, making it even harder. He even fiddled with the thought of not saying anything, just leave and deal with it once he returns one day.


    ¡°Also, according to the nomads, this hue can be a good sign. Maybe we find some long lost artifact finally.¡± Numinyim their phaeggoorn friend added, at thirty years of age he already bore a lush beard, that they both found weird and funny at first with how it contrasted his childish face. Even now Armaan smiled unconsciously as he looked down at his friend with a tanned bronze skin with akin to a flesh and steel melded together. ¡°And in the worst case, we have Battlemage Armaan here.¡± He added after noticing his gaze, his voice annoyed a bit as he noticed the dullard smile on his face.


    He walked a bit further, crouched down, his palms cuddled the sand waves flowing as the gentle wind picked up. His voice that carried hints of depth and resonance echoed as he calmed his mind, started his chanting. The mana flowing into his body and through the arkhaine point in his throat, towards his right arm¡¯s felt as a warmness that tickled his being. The feeling put a smile on his face. one that was less mocking, more genuine.


    The golden sand shimmered unnaturally as he straightened his posture, his sweat starting to flow out, gaining mass out of nothingness while also changing into a state closer to clean water that mixed with the sand, turning it into liquid gold that took the shape of a long, curving blade in a gaudy hilt.


    ¡°Armaan of the Golden Sand at your service!¡± Then he bent his left arm behind, and bowed elegantly, like the dragon knights of the Empire in tales. At least in his head.


    ¡°Practice that a bit more brother.¡± Abasu, his little brother, second amongst the siblings said with a wide smirk as he walked past him with the others.


    ¡°Probably just my mind.¡± He let out a sigh as he turned around, chills ran across his spine as he felt a gaze upon his back. When he turned in the direction, he saw nothing.


    **


    The shadows danced around the columns with meticulous edges with each one positioned according to the cardinal directions. Sand had covered the smooth marble floor for centuries now, melding in as their hues matched almost perfectly. In the center edge opposite whence they arrived, a crumbling cartouche laid on a tall pedestal, its faded golden leg close to giving in to the ravage of time.


    ¡°Are you guys ready?¡± Armaan asked as he approached the cartouche turning back.


    ¡°Just go ahead.¡± Numinyim replied firmly and he pushed his left palm onto its carved surface. He exhaled slowly before he started another chant. The ground in the center howled, a slab moved into another in Armaan¡¯s direction revealing a dark pit with steps covered thickly in sand.


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    ¡°How many more before this fills up with sand?¡± Abasu asked as they started climbing down with him on the front. ¡°Thanks.¡± Tetitae slipped as a host of small black bugs crawl out from under a small dome of sand. Thanks to Armaan¡¯s timely catch, she evaded a fate of bugs crawling over her.


    ¡°Not a problem milady.¡± He spoke playfully, making her chuckle a bit before her body was swallowed by the hard shadows beyond the arch.


    Armaan headed in last, the sudden drop in temperature felt like small icy needless poking his arms while his breath became visible.


    ¡°That is not normal.¡± Numinyim noted while scrubbing his arms in tandem with the others.


    ¡°Certainly.¡± Armaan added, before the torches circling around them in the entrance area lit up one by one. His scream echoed after the warmth of arkhaine turned into pain akin to dozens of heated needles piercing into his flesh. They all rushed to him as he inspected his arm covered in seared marks, still emitting a vile smell.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I got a little cocky.¡± Tetitae slapped him in the back of his head before giving him a healthy dose of her preaching, while the other two watched them with taunting smiles plastered onto their faces.


    ¡°You can preach to Brother as much as you want Tet later when he takes your hand. For now, let¡¯s move on.¡± Abasu interjected just as Armaan started to resemble a hapless puppy.


    Armaan headed first to the door, gripping his makeshift swords handle, and grabbed one of the torches as he led the way forward. The narrow corridor had always felt suffocating to him, after his first venture with Tetitae, he suffered a long nightmare where the corridor appeared as the throat of an enormous worm that swallowed him along with his home. Then just like in said dream, he noticed the light at the end.


    The statues of tall, masculine figures in sturdy armor embracing their muscular, slender bodies drawn out in the light. Each interlocking piece formed protective barriers leaving a small gap showing the skin sculpted out from a marble appearing stone. Their heads resembled various beasts native to the south.


    In ancient times the Yhanubjs and Aurhen have held rituals in which they have fused their brethren with captured or domesticated beasts, the Rite of Indyamerh as was known in the present. These ancient flesh and soul magic as her mother referred to it, granted these warriors reflexes, sight and power beyond what one could achieve with decades of rigorous training. It also eliminated the weakness of chanting, for the non-aevhen folk.


    Yet it had its issues, including the primal nature of said animals slowly taking over the mind of these warriors, mages. In some cases, these warriors had been confined to tombs to guard their lords and ladies for eternity, or until the sharp end of a blade ends them.


    And these warriors, mages were part of the reason why he wanted to join up the legion. To be granted to right to the rite, to one day not have to rely on chanting to weave spells.


    ¡°What could be the source of this cold?¡± Abasu¡¯s question broke his train of thought as they arrived at the circular hall of the second tower buried under tons of sand.


    ¡°Could be an artifact. Or maybe some beast settled in since we last were here.¡± Numinyim added his theories while walking down the right stair curving down towards the center. The source of the light was a large crystal sphere with glyphs of Arkhaine kind glowed all over its still pristine, jagged surface.


    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful every time, isn¡¯t it?¡± Armaan gazed up, his silver eyes glinted with wonder then his attention turned to Tetitae. Her juvenile, amber face enamoring to the young boy, something that enchanted him for the past six years since they both entered into their adolescent years.


    ¡°It is.¡± The words flowed out tenderly before the weight of sorrow etched upon his ebony complexion.


    ¡°Now, before we move further in. Is there something you want to tell all of us.¡± Her words hit him like a cold shower as she and Abasu and Numinyim circled around him with their arms crossed.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± He said awkwardly scratching his temple with one finger.


    ¡°Brother, you are easier to read than¡­. well, anything.¡± Abasu added his sentence breaking as he tried to come up with something to compare his Brother¡¯s inability to lie.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± His sigh reverberated in the air, as he mustered his inner strength. But before he could voice his words, his feet picked up on distressing resonation shaking them. He sensed numerous small steps rapidly approaching them far beyond the shadows occupying the arch facing him.


    ¡°Well??¡± Numinyim asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell later, for now we have to leave.¡± They quickly noticed the distress on his face as he counted the approximate number of steps.


    ¡°Somethings are..¡± Then deep, gravelly shrieks reached their ears from the dark path behind Tetitae.


    ¡°Run.¡± Before Armaan could finish his sentence, Tetitae yelled while rushing, grabbing his arm yet he determinedly stood in place.


    ¡°It is not time to be heroic!¡± She yelled at him. ¡°It¡¯s not about being heroic, but to halt them a bit. The nomads are nearby! Call for them.¡± He countered.


    ¡°Be safe please.¡± She said after realizing he won¡¯t budge, and ran after her fear got the best of her. After she left, Armaan¡¯s chanting echoed through the air, his face contorted as a stronger pain assaulted his being. The frames of the open path in front started shaking as the small horde of Tokoleshes, a type of gremlins native to the South started appearing from the shadows¡­

 Chapter 3: Sprouting Hope

    Armaan stood still, his chanting echoed as the structure of the pathway quivered as the marble started giving in to his will. His magically created mud blade scraped the ground besides his leg, its dried hard surface glinting under the light of the artifice above. The war band of tokoleshes¡¯ footsteps felt closer and closer to him as the faint seismic waves created by their charge turned from a tickling feeling to a painful, numbing one.


    His calmness slowly changed, a shiver ran down his spine as he gazed at the darkness, short hairy humanoids with horrific visages, a large mouth with only a few sharpened teeth, empty black eyes and a large circular crater shaped into their flesh, putrid green skin and bone. Crude, ivory weapons they have crafted from their victims after consuming all the flesh found on a body, in their right or left hands.


    As the first two stepped out from the shadows, Armaan changed subconsciously his chanting, sharp spikes of murky earth sprouted forth the ground, piercing through their small bellies, pinning them to the frames of the pathway. Armaan took a few steps backwards involuntarily as he listened to their death wailings while he continued the chant. One more reached the end, leaping towards him. Murky blood flowed out from its mouth and neck as his blade lodged into his neck, his legs wriggled before going limp.


    With a bit of shaking, the corpse fell off the blade, landed on its side with a loud thud. Through his feet he sensed the others still relatively far, he started hastily chanting the next spell. His voice broke as the previously comforting as the pain increased in volumes. Jagged, small rocks protruded out from under his index fingers¡¯ nails first, pushing it out followed by a steady stream of his blood.


    His chanting stopped for a moment as he screamed through the top of his lungs, the whole area trembled as it combined with the weight of their charging steps. Then his voice suffocated, his throat hardened, dried as he silently coughed. The sensation of the tokoleshes got closer and closer. He exerted all his muscles to get back and continued his chanting, forcing every arkhaine syllable out.


    His eyes started hurting like the Six Abysses as something rigid, jagged started pushing them from behind. His sight blackened, blood poured like tears down his ebony cheeks. Even through all this pain he continued regardless, his eyes flattened under his feet, the holes expanded as the two stones carved their way out. Breathing became harder and harder too, while his remaining finger and toe nails also departed one by one, pushed out by crystalline like rocks sprouting forth.


    The sand started moving away in terror as the ground trembled just like when a dragon moves with heavy steps, revealing cracks underneath. The columns holding the ceiling gave in, shattering, flattening the few more tokoleshes entering the area. Pieces of ceiling fell all around him, landing with a loud roar, he remained silent as he wrestled with the indescribable pain.


    The images of his mother, his siblings and friends, Tetitae flashed in his mind. His lips started moving, no words escaped them as he articulated a simple word. Farewell. The ground caved in, the darkness swallowed his body as he fell into the depths.


    **


    Armaan¡¯s consciousness slowly returned to the air hung with the heavy pungent, putrid odor assaulting his nasal senses. It combined with the stinging pains pulsing in the two large holes of minced flesh where his silver eyes once rested and the exposed flesh that once hid under his nails, now framed in crimson tainted crystals. The sand that found its way into his wounds just amplified this sensation, yet he could not cry or shriek in pain. His throat while still somewhat fleshy made gulping hard and painful, and only blood flowed forth from the holes.


    Yet he pulled through all this agony, he searched for anything to grab onto. For a moment repulsion filled him as he touched the soft, rotting flesh of a tokolesh buried under heavy debris. His palm searched, found the smooth, cool sensation of elven marble exuding elegance and timelessness even in its decrepit state.


    After I finally managed to get on my feet, my head jolted forward at the sounds of rushing footsteps. ¡°Oh kid, what are you doing here?¡± The voice, I recognized the voice of Raheem as he worriedly asked me accompanied by a gasp.


    ¡°We were here with my friends on a final venture.¡± I said after a bit of silence, thinking it may be some monster that can tap into one¡¯s mind, mimicking the voice of the old man. But as I felt his creasy palms warm touch I calmed down.


    ¡°Are you alone?¡± I asked Raheem as I started feeling calmer as the prospect of survival reared itself in my mind.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t but then they charged, then they left, then the whole place caved, well, now I am.¡± He uttered while my heart beat so hard I felt it was about to burst out from my chest. My legs shook, then finally give in. Raheem caught me in time and helps me sit down on what felt like a large slab.


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    ¡°Your friends? Did they get out in time?¡± Then he asked me. I sensed a tinge of worry in his dry voice.


    ¡°Yeah, thankfully. I managed to buy them some time as the tokoleshes approached us.¡± For a moment I remained silent, then said while I sensed my tears mixing with my slowly drying blood flowed out as the true depth of agony reared its head.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. We better get out sooner before your wounds get infected. Do you need help with walking?¡± Strangely I sensed Old Man Raheem¡¯s gaze inspecting my wounds inflicted by the Devouring Mother told me about countless time during our lessons.


    ¡°I can manage.¡± I forced my voice to keep low as I answered amidst the pain increasing ever more. In the end it was better to hurry out and get healed then wait around until the pain washed-out.


    ¡°So boy, its probably the worst time to inquire about this, but why do you seek to join the legion?¡± I leaned on the old man¡¯s - eerily neither cold or warm - firm shoulders he probably honed through years of adventures. Then all emotions and depth faded from his voice as he reached the end of his sentence ¨C that felt calming in that moment.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m being honest. A few years ago I wanted to follow in my father¡¯s footsteps, to provide for my siblings, to my ma. But now I want to see the world beyond the deserts, while still to help my family, and even others if I can.¡± For a while I mulled over whether to answer, then decided to do so to help alleviate my mind a bit from the pain that seemed to lessen a bit.


    ¡°Oh-ho what a noble soul he has chosen.¡± Raheem chuckled a little at my words.


    ¡°But are you sure this is the path you can help others? Aren¡¯t there better paths to make this world better? To improve upon His Dream?¡± Then he questioned me, even his touch was now devoid of warmness and coldness. I only sensed a numbing emptiness in its place. Yet I still found myself relying on his hold, feeling some sense of comfort from it while mulling over my answer.


    Then we both stopped and Raheem helped me sit down on some cold, smooth surface once again. Now I felt his vacant gaze on my face.


    The only answer that came to my mind in that moment was this one simple word. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Do you feel this?¡± Several moments of soothing silence followed before He spoke in a deep, distorted voice accompanied by reversed whispers echoing through the path.


    ¡°What is this?¡± I asked ignoring as His empty palm touched my chest, erasing both warmness, coldness within, while also easing the pain that had been assaulting me for the past few minutes or even hours ¨C I¡¯m no longer sensing the flow of time.


    ¡°A reward for the answer.¡± He continued as he wrapped my damaged fingers around his. In that moment, in the endless void that replaced my vision, I noticed outlines - weirdly familiar as if I looked into a mirror that only reflected my body¡¯s ethereal frame - accompanied by a feeling of power I never felt before.


    ¡°Why?¡± I had to ask as my gaping gaze turned to face his head veiled beyond a gaping darkness under a hood.


    ¡°This is the right step towards the world of my dreams.¡± He spoke as his voice became distant, joining the whispers accompanying it. Then I felt as my power, my possibilities grew exponentially. I felt that I could make this world mine by just a snap of my fingers. I felt the edges of my mouth curl up as madness overtook my mind while I watched myself walk out alone from the tomb.


    **


    ¡°Armaan thank the Elders you¡¯re¡­¡± Shuhaih the elderly head of their settlement walked out to join the group prepared to venture into the ruins after the kids returned hastily. As he walked through the sand plantations, he noticed Armaan standing solemnly at the edge. He quickly rushed through the center path and grabbed his shoulders. His scream reverberated through the air as he gazed upon his eyeless, torn visage.


    ¡°What happened to you boy?¡± After he calmed down, Shuhaih asked while inspecting the rest of the boy, searching for any other wounds.


    ¡°I¡¯m alright. Never felt better if I¡¯m honest.¡± His words flowed out with a haunting serenity as chilling smile curved onto his lips before turning around. After four steps, he stopped beyond the edge of the plantation, slowly raised his arms in the air while his empty eyes stared at the sky.


    ¡°Armaan!¡± His mother¡¯s voice reverberated the fields as she rushed with the others towards him. He tilted his head ever so slightly towards the sound¡¯s direction before focusing back on the skies.


    Then clouds formed on the sky, blocking the tender crimson rays of the night sky. His chanting filled the air with an eerie quality as rain started to fall, making it harder for them to reach him in time. The golden mud grew small hills before revealing saplings turning into bulky trees in mere moments, growing high towards the sky. Their tender golden leaves offering sheltering against the conjured storm.


    ¡°Stop Armaan!¡± She shouted as the storm got more and more intense, a forest grew around their small settlement. Then as she reached within a few steps, a swiftly growing tree impaled her from under, bringing her towards the heavens while its slender trunk ran through her body. The impaled cadaver explodes into chunks, spraying the golden leaves in crimson drops and bones as it expanded in width in the blink of an eye.


    Armaan continued, the storm muffling her deathly wails while the sensation within him turned from tender to agonizing as his, veins popped out, hardened, changed into roots. His bones similarly turned into bark, bursting forth from his body, tearing it while growing into the largest, exquisite tree amongst all with the strongest bark.


    His flesh still hung onto the branches, slowly changed into leaves of crimson and ebony rustling in the winds while the storm slowly passed. Children¡¯s shrieks passed between the leaves as shadow blanketed the small village of Qaib Dayrieth.

 Chapter 4: In Her Eyes Hope Lies

    24<sup>th</sup> of Septupruo, 1249 of the First Age.


    Her indigo eyes reflected the azure tinted rays of the sunlight, high on the sky. Her childish face was covered in dirt, tainting her pristine fair skin in heavy layers. A tattered cloth of red and gray wrapped around her head, flapping in the cold wind in this season of passing and memory, while her frail body draped in a ragged robe, faded silverish tunic underneath.


    Bridges like the ones she stood on adorned the valley, pathways between both sides of the plateaus the capital. Each bridge was built wide, to fit hundreds of the citizens traversing between the vast capital, Luth-Asturuil. The bridges had been built with differing motifs, the one she stood on possessed motifs of the Lord of Needs, the golden outer frames covered in golden marble sculpted into the shapes of coins, of goods including breads, jewelry.


    His statues placed on each sides, facing the sea and the vast plains of the inner land. An aelven man dressed in the finest of clothes, his long hair sculpted from gold, each strand made with the finest care.


    Between each, kiosks set up by merchants of the Luth-Asturuil, and those who came from faraway lands of the continent. Their offerings varied between food delicacies she had never seen before, slaves varying from the Orkhin to even her corrupted kin whom ventured beyond the ranges of Dhaugruz. There were even those dressed like priests, long robes ornamented, embroidered with the symbols of the Great Sculptor. Their goods included well kept parts of exotic monsters with the tent behind them serving as the ritual grounds.


    On the other end, folks of the city, as varied as the merchants prowled for goods. Dwarves from the Hogstol clan with their mechanical arms inspected the crafted goods, their faux eyes slanting to see beyond the honeyed lies of desperate vendors.


    Ardhror humans with warm tones, falling for the easy smiles of merchants, buying food that will bring many ailments upon their unprepared stomachs, while other of their kins negotiate in heat for a better price. A few she noticed even reached for their weapons, threatening traders new to the heart of the Empire.


    As her gaze wandered around, searching she even spotted a few free Orkhin, hired muscles to some Elk-Folk, a human who augmented himself with the flesh of the proud children of the Bountiful Mother. Long hair as fine as their fur, seamlessly flowing onto his gaudy, gleamy robe. Majestic antlers intertwine above his head, sprouting from his forehead.


    Guards patrol behind her, with each step the small scales pulse as they pass ignoring her, even as her eyes remain on their backs, gleaming with worry. When they disappeared in the crowd, she turned back onto the rail, basking in the beautiful scenery. At least until the long awaited words reach her pointy ears.


    ¡°Sorry, I hope you haven¡¯t waited for long.¡± The boy in much more tattered, clothes with faded colors said. Each of his words broke as he gasped for air, his youthful face covered in sweat and dirt.


    ¡°No need for an apology. Also told you if you¡¯re late, don¡¯t rush.¡± She said jumping down, with each pat on his back, his breathing regulated and he felt rejuvenated.


    ¡°I know. I just hate to make people wait. Especially friends.¡± He said with a smirk on his face before he coughed aggressively. ¡°Did they overwork you again?¡± She asked as her gaze curved into somber.


    ¡°Nah, this time it was me. I thought if I lift more Lucoril I may get some bonus.¡± He added. ¡°Lucioriil¡­ it doesn¡¯t matter. Be careful okay, don¡¯t stretch beyond your limits.¡± She was about to correct him, but quickly changed course and flicked his forehead protected by his rustled fringe.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am!¡± He added with an imperial salute, holding his right hand up with the palm facing the direction of the sun¡¯s rays. A smile curved onto her face. ¡°So where to go today?¡± She asked while leaning on the pristine, alabaster rails.


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    ¡°Well, for today I actually planned to introduce you to him. Or to be precise he wants to meet you.¡± The Boy leaned beside her, staring up as he looked around, his stare serious and inspecting before he spoke. ¡°After all these years it was nigh time of it.¡±


    ¡°Hey, can¡¯t just introduced you to him. He is an important figure to us.¡± He added calmly, in a low whisper.


    ¡°I know, it¡¯s just I thought I already proved myself that time.¡±  She said with a melting glance.


    ¡°And my family, and I of course are grateful for that. So do the others. But¡­¡± He started while pulling his dirty fingers through his hairs, loosening the snarls in the dark bush. ¡°They don¡¯t trust elven folk. In their eyes you could be a spy of the Inquistoril.¡± He finished while his attention once again wandered around their surroundings.


    ¡°Inquisithrir. And you know I came from overseas.¡± She reached into his hair as he started scratching it. Water flowed out from her palms, forming into tendrils that tenderly cuddle between the roots.


    ¡°I know, yet you somehow knew about them already. Even I was suspicious of you for a while, and I¡¯m just a no name kid.¡± He continued while relief descended upon his complexion slowly as the hand-hot conjured water cleaned his hair, even his face was now spotless.


    ¡°Anyway best to leave now. His schedule is usually filled, and he is only willing to meet with you today to examine personally.¡± Then as he realized where they were, he pushed his head away, his cheeks reddened in slight embarrassment.


    ¡°Lead the way.¡± She said brimming with enthusiasm.


    **


    ¡°This way.¡± He led her through a dark alley between two elongated buildings with meticulous edges. The stench of poverty hit her dainty nose as she followed after him. A long line of people lied on the ground, their heads leaned onto the walls as they dreamt of better days. With soft steps they tiptoed in front of them, arriving at their destination. A seamless wall of alabaster covered in dirt.


    She waited silently while he drawn his hands across the wall, his eyes following their movement. ¡°Gotcha.¡± He softly exclaimed as a square outline appeared on it, and pushed further in by his short fingers. After moments of silence, the shape of a door formed on the wall, sliding into it.


    ¡°Come.¡± The Boy beckoned her as her eyes and face gleamed with wonder as she first experienced seeing such use of arkhaine.


    The two traversed through a long, labyrinthine system of corridors. At first, she wondered how many times he must have travelled through it, then she became aware of a warm, tingent feeling as the knowledge of the correct direction was woven into her mind.


    ¡°Is it her?¡± At their destination, a towering pale Orkh stood. His body robust, half exposed showing his scars accumulated through his long years. A savage, skeletal face on top of his muscled neck with only the mark of the collar burnt in to his flesh, a head stripped of hair with a long scar starting from his right eye, going all the way back. His arms fleshy logs adorned with primeval patterns etched into them with glowing bluish ink.


    ¡°I, Isocrates vow on my honor that it is her!¡± He coughed before straightening his posture, his right hand curled into a fist as it landed with a loud thud on his chest.


    ¡°Then let her in.¡± The Orkh said as he growled. His massive left arm knocked two times on the empty wall before it opened up.


    ¡°Just her.¡± As Isocrates started entering, the Orkh stopped him with his immense hand while his deep, aggressively toned voice sent chills down his spine. ¡°Remember, be respectful to him.¡± He whispered as she passed by. Just as she was about to enter, she turned back slightly and winked with a reassuring smile.


    Stepping in the large room lit only by the calm flames facing the door in the hearth with two cushioned chairs of modest quality prepared. A table between them with two kegs, one smaller clearly left there for her.


    In the left chair sat a solemn Nielf, an elf of the far-east. His alabaster body draped in a murky garment of dull silk with graceful folds, fashioned after eastern designs with hints of golden lines. His contrasting dark hair cascaded down at the back, while the center parted to the back, knotted into a small bun. The shoulder pads¡¯ scales resonated as he slowly stood up, his sleeves hidden behind similarly scaled vambrace.


    His onyx eyes with slit pupils gleamed with calmness at her, before the lids slowly descend halfway down. ¡°Come in.¡± His voice exuded tranquility, calmness in her. As she inspected him with her eyes, she noticed the onyx claws glinting in the flame¡¯s lights, black scales scarcely decorated his hand, peeking under from his sleeves.


    She lightly bowed, eliciting a faint smile from him, then walked with careful steps towards him. She froze at the next set of words. ¡°Take a seat, your Highness.¡±

 Chapter 5: In Her Eyes, Hope Lies

    ¡°How?¡± She asked, her indigo eyes gleamed with suspicion after overcoming the initial shock. With small steps she walked towards Mirayroth, the enigmatic leader of the New Dawn. He walked towards the cabinet, opened it with a swiftly while looking for something.


    ¡°Do you prefer something sweet or a bitter one?¡± He asked nonchalantly, his voice seemingly calming to her pointy ears hidden under the layers of clothing wrapped around her lush hair. Aurelithae remained silent, wary still as no answers came from the eastern elf eerily possessing scales and eyes similar to her families and kins.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that silence as a sweet. I prefer that too.¡± He added taking out a bottle with vibrant mauve liquid inside, a beverage made from a grape native to the island. He popped the bottle off, letting the cork fell into the flames, feeding it. He waited for her to lift her small keg up, then when she remained standing at her chair, he poured it almost to the brim.


    As her eyes wandered onto the drink for a moment, its scent slithering through the air, into her small nostrils beckoning her to take a sip. For a while she resisted the urge before finally taking a seat and sipped, still keeping her eyes focused on Mirayroth.


    ¡°No need for wariness or worry. Your secret is well kept between me and my agents. For now.¡± A gentle, kind smile formed on his alabaster face highlighted by the flames, mildly hissing inside the ornate frame of the hearth.


    ¡°But how?¡± She asked as her indigo eyes took their true, slit pupiled shape, a shifting, prismatic pearl in a lake of whiteness.


    ¡°These are experienced eyes your Excellency. Besides the other reasons including never seeing you step off a ship.¡± He added after filling his own keg to the brim with the sweet beverage.


    ¡°Or being aware of everyone on the lower levels of the city, whether they saw the light of day within the streets.¡± He continued after wrapping his fingers around the wooden keg, his onyx claws tapped with a certain rhythm that seems oddly familiar to Aurelithae. One hard tap, followed by three quick ones, then another hard with four softer after, and then rinse and repeat.


    ¡°Should have gone with the other idea.¡± She noted to herself with a sigh as her attention focused on the calming flames.


    ¡°Lastly, that you¡¯re not the first royal to venture hidden amongst the lowest-folks.¡± After a bit of while, he added with a nostalgic smile.


    ¡°You knew her, right?¡± She asked, her previous resolute tone exchanged to one of somber and empathy as she reached towards her pocket under the layers of her robes.


    ¡°What is your aim, your Excellency?¡±  He turned to her and asked with a questioning look aimed at her. She took a long sip, contemplating whether to answer, or not. For a very simple reason of.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ I myself am not sure about the answer. When I first sneaked down to the lower levels, I just wanted answers why she did, to see what fascinated her about the folks living down here.¡± After a soft sigh, she started, her voice broke as she thought how stupid she may look in his eyes.


    ¡°Then as the weeks and months passed, and the fact that one day I may inherit the throne entered my life, my thoughts, at the same time I met him, my sense of curiosity grew. I believe that this way I could guide the future of the Empire to a better path than staying on the Upper Levels only aware of the toils of nobles and priests. Even if I don¡¯t become the Empress.¡±  As she continued on, her voice evened out, the thoughts of appearing foolish left her mind, then at the end her cheeks reddened as she became aware of her words.


    ¡°But what is your aim? I mean your kin is rare even amongst the upper levels.¡± Aurelithae¡¯s soft cough echoed in the small room as she pushed the awkwardness away and turned at him with a piercing gaze.


    He turned to the flames, taking a small sip while his eyes turned somber for a mere moment. ¡°It may seem like that, but you would be surprised how many of us are amongst the Orders.¡±


    ¡°My aim. It is similar to yours, to hers. A better future, for all within the Empire.¡± After a little break, he answered with a faint smile.


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    ¡°But that is all I can say for now. Our time is up I¡¯m afraid.¡± He added while turning to face the dial slowly shifting.


    ¡°Miss Luelia, you have satisfied my curiosity about yourself. The secret of yours will be kept tightly.¡± He said when the light from the corridor entered the room, revealing his hulking orc bodyguard and Isocrates with worry-worn look. With a smile, she eased him as she walked towards the exit.


    ¡°Even more so after your initiation.¡± He added at the end, to which she lightly nodded her head with a respectful look.


    ¡°My friend Naghig, escort them out.¡± Naghig gently bowed as Auerlithae walked out, their steps muffled the sound of the door disappearing.


    **


    ¡°Aurelithae my dear, are you with us?¡± Her attention wandered away from the vast royal garden as his father¡¯s calm voice resonated within her long ears peeking out from the ashen red waterfall seamlessly cascading down onto her shoulders.


    ¡°Sorry Father, I was just enjoying the view a bit too much.¡± She stood up, lightly bowing as she stated calmly.


    ¡°You know, when we¡¯re alone you can forego with the etiquettes.¡± He said with a tender smile as he stood up from his chair behind the large oaken desk. The light beautifully reflected from his silken robes of gold and silver perfectly draping his slender body, as well as his myriad colored scales adorning his face.


    ¡°How was your day?¡± He asked as he sat down carefully beside her on the long divan facing the vast bookshelf on the right.


    ¡°It was the usual. Magistratiyr Prisceirith lectured me about the dangers of Maghia once again after I lost control over my golden fames.¡± She added while subconsciously leaning her small head onto his honed right arm.


    ¡°Just like your mother and two of your sisters.¡± He added with a light chuckle while gently caressing the top of her head. ¡°Well, at least this time he was amazed at first as the flames appeared golden.¡± She added, to which he looked at her with pride gleaming in his eyes.


    ¡°We see. That is definitely a good sign.¡± He said, for a moment she noticed the dull look in his draconic eyes of myriad swirling hues. His right arm slowly rose up, a tray with a large ornate golden jug and two small glasses adorned with amethysts and rubies slowly hovered up in the air. As if possessing a mind of their own, they levitated without a single quiver towards the two stopping in the air before the jug hovered above one then the other as the sweet golden liquid poured into them.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± She watched with her eyes sparkling with awe. ¡°To your promising future.¡± Their glasses resonated with a sweet note reminiscent of birds¡¯ soothing chirp.


    ¡°How was your day, Father?¡± She let out a long sigh as the sweetness refreshed her, a warm resonating navigated through Aurelithae from top to bottom.


    ¡°It was the usual boring bureaucracy.¡± He tried to evade the topic. ¡°What about the Chosen? Do the Magistralua still searching for them?¡± At her next question, his body shook delicately, barely perceptible.


    ¡°How do you know about that?¡± He asked as his left, sharp brow rose. ¡°I have ears too.¡± She answered bouncily with a half-witted look. ¡°The servants.¡± At these two words, she made a playful, sour grimace.


    ¡°Yes, but don¡¯t punish them please. It was me listening on while pretending to sleep.¡± She said with a rapid speed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we promise. Only a little reminder for them to have their small talks in their private rooms.¡± He spoke while gently stroking her hair, his smooth lips curved into a soothing smile. ¡°Regarding the chosen, no not a single one has been found yet.¡± He said with a stoic demeanor while taking a sip from his glass with the ruby decoration.


    ¡°Will they live with us?¡± She asked as her eyes went wide, her face leaning closer while he remained stoic, resistant to the childish charms of her daughter. He let out a defeated sigh after taking one more sip from his drink.


    ¡°Most definitely. This is the safest place in our Empire after all.¡± He walked to the bookshelves in front as he decided to give her this piece of information. Then as if the Deos heard his silent prayer, a knock resonated through the door.


    ¡°We¡¯re afraid, but that will be all for now.¡± He said with a somber look on his divine face while turning back to her.


    She walked up to him and the two embraced each other before the door opened up as the words poured out from his mouth. An elegantly dressed drachelf walked in with lustrous ebon hair, perfectly smooth, fair skin with scales swirling from the sides framing his face, curving under the cheeks like the tentacles of krakens often depicted on navigational charts. His slit dark pupils gleamed, possessing an ethereal luster as the light reflected off of them similar to his attire¡¯s.


    He gently bowed, first to Aurelithae¡¯s father, then to her before she left after reciprocating it. For a while she tried to listen beyond the door, her hearing sharpening, picking up on the rhythmic chirping of the birds in the garden, and the soothing voice of his father inquiring about the chosen at the continent. Before she could learn anything more, his voice completely faded.


    After a few more tries, she gave up and decided to prepare for tomorrow. The day of her imitation filled her with hope, a hope for a better dawn¡­

 Chapter 6: In Her Eyes Hope Lies

    Her legs dangled back and forth, hitting the cold, golden alabaster walls of the rail, while her indigo eyes focused on the depths below. Even from this high, the Flaurdrenn¡¯s pearly, smooth waters were visible cascading towards the east in gentle waves. The vast forest had framed it in red and golden beautifully as it said that the Deos of Creativity himself shaped it himself. The same Dracobark and Dawnwillows decorate the plethora of plateaus, half-circle like enormous balconies on all levels of the capital, offering a breathtaking view both down and towards the flat landscape beyond the valley.


    ¡°Miss Luelia.¡± A rough voice from behind sent a jolt of chill through her body. ¡°Yes?¡± She swiftly turned around, jumping down facing an androgynous looking man covered in thin layers of murky grayish sheets. Only half his face exposed, revealing his hairless brows and serpentine jade eyes. Eyes that darted from left to right, from down to top gleaming with uncertainty.


    ¡°Follow me.¡± He said before swiftly turning around, slithering into the crowd. Aurelithae followed after him without a word, as she eloquently skirted through the myriad crowd. After leaving behind the Augusdul Bridge that connected the entertainment district with the living quarters of the common-folk, they arrived at the Sleeping Dragon Tavern.


    Just like its name tells, the building has been constructed, shaped like a dragon¡¯s head with the windows themselves being the eyes. Its windows enchanted with certain spells that replicated the appearance of a dragon¡¯s lids in a closed state. The head itself was placed horizontally. The jaw itself was painted in a wooden color, to let the entrance door somewhat blend in from the distance as its wooden surface had been carefully shaped to resemble myriad scales.


    ¡°Keep close.¡± The Serpentine-Eyed Man said as the two entered the inn, Aurelithae grabbed onto his dangling parts of his robe. The tavern¡¯s interior buzzed with symphony of drunkards singing, conversing and fiercely debating at every corner of the vast establishment. Their laughter and chatter mingled constantly with the clinking of their glasses, the clashing of metallic kegs and the clatter of dishes.


    The aroma of hearty food wafted through the space, tempting even Aurelithae herself as she navigated through the labyrinthine feeling main hall behind the Changed-Kin. As they reached closer to their destination, her elven ears tucked under heavy layers, picked up on the quite, not so rhythmic singing of a bard, followed by the crowd booing, even throwing their wooden plates and metallic kegs at him with high velocity and power behind it.


    ¡°Come in.¡± They passed through a large group of orkhs with Aurelithae spotting Naghig amongst them silently drinking from his keg, his murky eyes following her, sending chills down her spine. Then the Changed-Kin knocked thrice on the door, a feminine, deep commandeering voice seamlessly rang through, both the door and the noise of the tavern.


    As the door opened, the rough obsidian figure belonging to the voice, towering over even the Changed-Kin, entered her gaze as she beckoned them further inside. The small room too appeared quite hearty, filled with tables, food steaming still and jugs filled to the brim with sweet and bitter scented beverages. ¡°Welcome, your Majesty!¡±


    The women bowed deeply, her long, auburn hair kept in a high tail cascaded down her back as the door closed behind them. ¡°You can all forego the pleasantries, the honor is mine.¡± She added kindly before bowing back at her and the rest in the spacious room.


    Besides the Yhanubj maiden and the Changed-Kin, there was a man in his prime with long dark mane with the sides shaved, covered in tribalistic tattoos with murky ink contrasting his fair skin. And the only one besides Mirayroth to be lightly armored.


    ¡°We¡¯ll do so then.¡± Mirayroth said with a tender smile as half his face was highlighted by the cracking fires of the hearth. ¡°So when will the initiation start?¡± She inquired as respectfully as she could while her face told of impatience.


    ¡°Before we discuss that, let¡¯s indulge in the food prepared for us my friends.¡± Miyaroth elegantly stood up from the red velvety sofa, pointing his arms at the food laid out on the tables in the corners. Everyone except him and Aurelithae converged to the tables, quickly taking out large quantities onto their plates. Miyaroth watched them with the eyes of a proud father.


    ¡°Come on, don¡¯t be shy. While you¡¯re down here, you are one of us. You said so yourself.¡± He spoke while stroking her hair before taking a seat at the table near the door. Aurelithae followed, as she held her hand out, one of the plates rose up in the air, and sailed towards the sweet scented cold fruit soup.


    ¡°Oh, almost forgot these are Ivor, Asatyra the kind lady, our s Changed-Kin friend, Ohtia.¡± As the oaken ladle followed suit with the plate, dipping into the soup by itself filling her plate to the brim, Mirayroth introduces the three. ¡°Are you sure about her?¡± Ohtia asked as he noticed the childish wonder as her eyes focused on the smooth pinkish texture of the soup before she dug as if she hadn¡¯t been fed for days.


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    ¡°For what her role is for tonight, she will do. Just don¡¯t let her be seen by the High Inquisitoriirs.¡± Mirayroth added calmly as his gaze remained on the young princess.


    The others followed suit, the room filled with the hearty, and grizzly sound of grilled and roasted ricske meat being torn, a fowl type beast from the southern colonies of the Elhyrissian Empire. It is domesticated mostly by the nomads, feeding them with various seeds processed in alchemical concoctions that make its meat extra tender, adding a somewhat sweet and spicy flavor to it.


    ¡°Now before we initiate you in our little order, first you will have to prove your mettle and your loyalty to our cause.¡± Asatyra tore a large drum stick for Mirayroth and gave it to him as he started after he beckoned her closer.


    ¡°You see, one of ours got taken during his mission by the Magistralua. We need him back before they do¡­ damage him further.¡± He continued tearing into the meat with the elegance of a white dragon of the East.


    ¡°What¡¯s my role in all this? Besides the proving part.¡± Aurelithae asked while taking a spoonful of the soup into her mouth, a soft moan followed as the sweet flavor of the fruits assaulted her tasting buds.


    ¡°You have a better understanding of the teleportation circles on the upper levels, don¡¯t you?¡± Her eyes focused on his calm, smiling visage. For a moment she stopped in her devouring the soup, thinking what should be her answer. Thanks to those circles she could easily slip from the highest level of the capital to the lowest without anyone noticing. But she was only one person, with an amulet erasing her presence completely, even from the eyes of the well-learnt.


    Then after noticing a hint of worry in Asatyra¡¯s eyes, she came to an answer. ¡°I do. I¡¯ll lead you towards the circle into the prison.¡± She stated with absolute confidence.


    **


    In the well lit path, part of the vast sewer system, Asatyra, Ohtia and Ivor followed after Aurelithae. All four of them were draped in form-fitting dark attires, appearing as four silhouettes in the golden alabaster marble path. Obsidian metal slithered, looped around their wrists and ankles, inscriptions engraved into their polished surfaces silencing their steps completely. The light coming from the flames between the jaws of the golden dragon heads on the walls bent around their body completely, swallowed by the space. While they could see each other, the patrolling legionariers couldn¡¯t.


    ¡°Here.¡± Aurelithae whispered, her voice slightly muffled thanks to the cloth wrapped around her head under the large hood, hiding most of her complexion except for the prismatic draconic eyes of hers veiled in shadows. She carefully opened up the intricate door with a blazing inferno grafted onto it, crafted from golden metal.


    As she stepped in last, the door closed silently as the footsteps of the nearby guards got closer. Through a short, straight passage they arrived into a circular room lit only by the moon through the ceiling. It travelled through a long, twisting twice tunnel in the eastern side of the mountain. Arkhaine runes carved at certain intervals took care that the light reached down there.


    ¡°So what is this place actually?¡± Ivor asked as he placed his longbow over his right shoulder while inspecting the intricate silvery walls with six draconic elven maidens sculpted, all facing the center of the room where the teleportation circle rose from the ground.


    ¡°It is a hidden path for escape in case the city, and father would fall.¡± Aurelithae answered as she walked over to the northern side of the circle.


    She stooped down and placed her right palm on the edge, closed her eyes as a warm feeling filled both her body and soul as mana flowed through her arkhaine points. Her mind jumped out from her body, into the astral passageway connecting the vast teleportation system built all over the city. The feeling made her body smile for a moment as the feeling of flying with high velocity coursed through her while searching for the right circle.


    ¡°Has it ever been used?¡± Asatyra asked while leaning on the wall. ¡°Not to my memory.¡± The answer came from Ohtia to their surprise, as he already had at least four centuries under his belt.


    ¡°According to father, the most likely scenario we will use it in, is if the Nightscale decides to end us.¡± She said as she managed to connect their side to the one directly under the Magistralue Prison.


    ¡°Guess that makes sense.¡± Ivor said while his blue eyes were fixated on the beautiful visage of the statues. Their haunting faces seemingly looked back at him, even their empty eyes followed his movement around the circle.


    ¡°Be careful, those are enchanted with illusory effects.¡± Aurelithae yanked his arm, forcing him out from under the spell.


    She stepped closer to the circle, then Asatyra grabbed her¡¯s this time. ¡°No, your part here is done.¡±


    ¡°Trust me you¡¯ll need me to return. And I can already cast spell like a novice.¡± She said as she pulls down her hood, determination burning in her prismatic eyes.


    ¡°Please, let me prove myself to you.¡± Then She asked while their attention was slowly drawn to her mesmerizing eyes.


    ¡°Fine, but if you get caught, I¡¯ll end you myself your highness if you sell us out.¡± Asatyra added as she released her grip.


    ¡°That is natural. Just do it in the garden at least.¡± She added as Ivor and Ohtia stepped in with smiles hidden under their masks.


    ¡°I like your spirit kid.¡± Asatyra added as her body evaporates in blue ethereal glow, a faint sigh accompanied those words.


    ¡°Technically I¡¯m an adult by your age standards.¡± She muttered before stepping on the circle, her body disappeared in the same way, a hollow gaze watched from the shadows¡­

 Chapter 7: In Her Eyes Hope Lies

    ¡°I must add, while the first performed as we expected, the rest are not a guarantee yet.¡± Emperor Terrianis attention focused on the large painting on the wall, depicting the Foundation of the Elhyrissian Empire. The First Emperor¡¯s figure standing in the center invited his myriad colored, vertically slit pupils possessing elven and draconic beauty parallel to his. A refined face, long velvety ashen black hair, eyes gleaming with perfection and determination.


    ¡°Your Highness?¡± The voice carrying subtle hisses called out to him, bringing his attention away from the equally bright and gloomy fresco.


    ¡°Excuse us. It has been a long week.¡± He turned around facing the owner of the sibilant voice. Sectarch Magistratua Anguraa Terrisitae Elhyrissiar, a Drachelven a head shorter than Emperor Terrianis himself, his long dark hair cascaded down naturally with dreaded ends decorated, encased in a dozen silvery rings on each. His handsome, menacing face adorned by vibrant azure scales at his jaws, reaching down and covering his throat hidden in his robe¡¯s high, gaudy collar. His draconic eyes burning with coldness and respect as they gazed upon Terrianis himself.


    ¡°Understood, your Majesty. We can return later.¡± He bowed down lightly, the tall armored figure besides him following suit.


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary. We¡¯re now refreshened.¡± The wind picked up, blowing gently into their fine attires, soft hairs as Terrianis took a deep breath, closing his eyes.


    ¡°We were just simply meandering through our thoughts. Old memories of better, yet at the same time, also harder times.¡± He turned back to the fresco, his gaze moving from his grandfather¡¯s depiction to the seven figures, each depicted with perfection as they were clad in their shiny alabaster armors. Their weapons drawn, but not in preparation for battle but to defend their liege, the first Chosen of the Maker. Behind the group itself, an enormous dragon with scales of myriad shifting hues casted its luminous shadow onto them while its enormous six wings spread out in protection as menacing shadows, skeletal shapes of shifting darkness reached to snuff out the radiance surrounding and filling the first heroes, each handpicked by the ten Deos themselves.


    ¡°See that one, with more feminine contours? That was our grandmother. We heard they met when they were children back in our home plane.¡± A pang of melancholy stirred within him as he glimpsed their forms, his right slender arm reaching towards them, as it slowly turned into envy.


    ¡°I heard many tales of our old world. The sweet scent of the trees in the summers and springs, the pearly, seamless rivers and the eternal light that kept the darkness and all that lurks in it away.¡± Anguraa walked beside him while reminiscing of the old tales told to them by the elders that saw the First Dawn in their ethereal realm.


    ¡°Well, some of those are a bit exaggerated as our father used to tell us.¡± Terrianis chuckled as he remembered his father watering down some of the tales his grandfather told him in his twilight years. ¡°In the end, this world is as much as His perfect creation, as our previous once was.¡± He added with a sullen tone.


    ¡°But anyway, this¡­ new invention of yours seems promising so far. Are there anymore in production?¡± Terrianis slowly turned around, circling with curiosity around the imposing armored figure standing in complete stillness, and silence.


    ¡°We have a few more on the way. But at the moment, I cannot guarantee a similar result. We will do our best of course your majesty!¡± Anguraa added while rotating his body slowly, his wide lips curving faintly on the left, feeling rather satisfied with his work.


    ¡°If there is need for more, let us know, the Draennith Praetoriar has enough to provide materials for you.¡± Terrianis added while stopping at the stairs, basking in the large garden spanning for three kilometers into the distance. ¡°Speaking of them, any news on your end about the chosen?¡± He turned back, his smooth colorful eyes gleamed with cold anticipation.


    ¡°Well there is one, but regretfully are not what your majesty would like to hear.¡± Anguraa said with a tinge of tension in his voice. ¡°The one in the south perished in a spectacular fashion, a victim of Consumption.¡± He pointed out while his gaze remained on Terrianis gaze, even when all his being screamed at him to look away to the ground.


    ¡°We see. Regretful it is.¡± Terrianis said with a somber tone as he turned back to the garden. He masked slight relief by facing the garden where his 99<sup>th</sup> and 100<sup>th</sup> daughters played.


    ¡°The remaining four elude us, but we have an inkling feeling that they live somewhere in the North.¡± For a while Angaraa remained silent, not sure whether to utter these words. But in the end, he gave in as always, a weakness of his that his predecessor warned him numerous times.


    ¡°A strange choice. But the ways of the Almodo are beyond our comprehension that much we¡¯re sure of.¡± He said while caressing his right palm with his index finger. ¡°We have to find the rest with haste, before the Shadow moves again.¡±


    ¡°We will double our effort.¡± Angaraa bowed down then with a snap of his finger, disappeared in a burst of arcane lights with the armored figure, leaving the pondering Emperor under the light of the pale moon light.


    **


    ¡°Do not fiddle, better if you don¡¯t see it your Majesty!¡± Asatyra said while blocking Aurelithae¡¯s eyes with her hands. While her sight was blocked, she clearly heard as Ohtia¡¯s jaw expanded beyond its natural length and width, turning into a gaping hole fit for even larger animals. Even while standing on all fours, his chin, jaw touches the floor while slowly pushing the unfortunate inquistorier into himself.


    Aurelithae recoiled softly as his jaws shrunk slightly while the corpse slid into him, his bones, flesh and even the organs made space to the fully uniformed high elf. ¡°I¡¯m done, you can lift your hands from her eyes.¡± Then as he stood up, his belly inflated for a few moments before mana flowed through the acid inside it. Waves formed all over his body, moving constantly as they reconstruct his appearance into the elf¡¯s.


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    His dark attire then followed in suite, taking the appearance of the Inquisitorir Magistralua. A long blackish robe reached deep down the feet, ending in overly high collars that remained stiff even in harsher climates. A cloak part of the shoulders, extended into a large hood and a mask resembling the beautiful elvish visage of the Alluring Weaver crafted from a silver alloy.


    ¡°Is everything okay girl?¡± Ivor asked while touching her shoulders, with slight concern.


    ¡°Yeah¡­ yeah it was just my first time seeing someone¡­ well dying.¡± She said while forcing a smile on her face, hidden under her face mask.


    ¡°The sooner you get used to it, the better.¡± Ivor said with a mellowing tone. ¡°It won¡¯t be the last time sadly.¡± Then he added, trying to correct the first part.


    ¡°While what Ivor said is a bit morbid, he is correct. Better you get used to this. But for now keep silent until I return.¡± Ohtia said in the high elves, haughty voice before he left. ¡°Wait how will we know he returned?¡± She asked to shift her focus from the recent memory of the muffled death wails of the elven inquistirier, his blue eyes pleading for her help, for mercy.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that. We have our code to recognize each other.¡± Asatyra softly whispered while pushing herself onto the wall besides the door, her serrated daggers in hand. ¡°I say it for your sake, but if it¡¯s not him, do not look away.¡± She stated coldly.


    Minutes pass by in the small, dimly lit room as they waited for Ohtia. Aurelithae prayed to all the Deos, the Almodo and the Seven Elder Dragons that it was him, and not someone else. Then after what felt like hours, in reality, close to half an hour, soft, periodic knocks reverberated through the thick ornamented door.


    ¡°The way is clear.¡± Without saying a word, Asatyra and Ivor lowered their weapons as Ohtia¡¯s voice resounds within their minds leading to the former to open the door.


    After passing this to Aurelithae, they followed after him sticking to the crisp shadows. They stopped at every now and then, the space around them bending slightly as their forms became completely transparent. Ohtia bowed tenderly to the inquistoriers passing by, at each Aurelithae froze in fear, the thought of being discovered terrified her.


    At each one she imagined the disappointed gaze of his father, the punishment that this may bring with itself. But then the image of Isocrates, his family and friends and all the others she had seen amongst the common and serf-folks helped her hush the fear away.


    Then Ivor raised his index finger, signaling to her that they found the cell their fellow, a dwarf called Vidnol had been kept by the Inquistorir after he got caught prying around their headquarters. They remained still, even their breath was unheard by the sharpest of elven ears as they watched a patrolling pair of Custodiers pass by. Aurelithae went blind for a short moment as the light from the torches reflected from their shiny, smooth breastplates that thrummed with each step.


    ¡°Okay now.¡± Ivor whispered to her, and they all entered through the door, a carving of a frame lit up before the alabaster marble slid into the wall, closing the door as soon as both of their feet were inside the damp residence.


    ¡°What in the Maker¡¯s name they did to him?¡± Asatyra whispered after rushing to the dwarf laying in the corner, his gaze empty, his pupils completely widened as they stared at the soft shadows occupying the opposing corner.


    ¡°He seems to be still alive.¡± Aurelithae drew her right hand all across his body while Ivor kept him in a sitting position. A bluish white glow emanated from her palms, highlighting the rough fair face of the unresponsive Vidnol. ¡°Even his soul is still in there.¡± She added sparking hope in the other three.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Asatyra asked after calming herself, hoping for the best, but knowing most often reality is much crueler.


    ¡°Yes, there is something¡­ It¡¯s like a sack that appears to be full of rocks¡­ or potatoes but when you open it, the illusion fades, revealing only air condensed inside¡­. if that makes sense.¡± She circumscribed it as best as she could, for a while the three looked at her trying to decipher what she meant.


    ¡°Wait.. there is something more.¡± Then the feeling changed, at first a bit repulsive, chilling before it becomes tender, beckoning. His empty, faded pupils gazed into hers with a tinge of disappointment.


    ¡°What is the meaning of this!!¡± Unseen tendrils start crawling onto her arms, wrapping around it, coldly cuddling just as the loud yell of an inquisitorier filled the damp cell. A swirling sphere of flames bathed the four of them in its warm light, while also threatening with raging consumption while hovering above his left palm. His mask that otherwise would appear mesmerizing, menacingly stared at them as it bathed in the light, turning the fiery tone into a silvery.


    But before he could incinerate any one of them, his emerald green bloody flowed straight onto his robe, reached the floor not long after its appearance. The same emerald blood dripped onto the floor from one of Asatyra¡¯s daggers.


    ¡°Time to move. Grab him.¡± Aurelithae remained frozen, her eyes locked onto the corpse while the bells ranging filled the halls and long corridors.


    ¡°Come on girl.¡± Ohtia noticing this grabbed her by the arm and they rushed over the corpse, leaving behind emerald footprints unknowingly as they ran the way they came from.


    ¡°Wait no, we have to use another route.¡± Aurelithae coming out from her semi trance yelled as the approaching footsteps signaled the guards catching up.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Asatyra asked.


    ¡°They probably already altered the inscription.¡± Ivor yelled before she could. ¡°Shit, right.¡± Asatyra cursed as they changed their trajectory mid rush.


    ¡°Run, I¡¯ll buy us some time.¡± Ivor said as he immediately stopped, drawing his long bow with a wide smile under his face mask. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about him kid, he will catch up to us in no time.¡± Ohtia noticing her worry, said in a mellowing tone that broke every now and then as the heavy body of Vidnol took its toll.


    After reaching the great hall, a dime a dozen custodiers surrounded them, their golden spears pointed at them.


    ¡°Luathia leave and do not wait for us.¡± Asatyra slowly assumed a battle stance, her eyes glinting as she swung one of them at the wall on the right, blowing a large hole into the neighboring. Ohtia dropped Vidnol down while transforming back. His fingers elongate, nails turn to claws tearing the fabric of his gloves while he walked beside her.


    Then as the tension thickened to the point, one could bite it, an ear-piercing wail reverberated through the whole hall. Those who couldn¡¯t cover their ears in time, fell like puppets whose strings have been cut. The three of them barely managed to react, only thanks to Aurelithae¡¯s quick notice.


    ¡°What in the¡­¡± Asatyra said as he gazed upon Vidnol standing. His hair darkened like volcanic ash, exuding flame and shadow that swallowed the little light inside, his skin pale as a corpse¡¯s. Both his eyes empty dark abysses gleaming with ceaseless anger¡­

 Chapter 8: In Her Eyes Hope Lies

    The bones shifted in a gruesome symphony, bulging out from under his ivory pale skin. Further grew out from the previous as his torso elongated. In a macabre fashion it swinged in all directions of the compass before it stiffened in an instant. Then the sound of flesh tearing followed as his abdomen opened up like a book, revealing the putrid flesh, burnt chunks dropped onto the floor, blood tainting its radiant surface.


    His jaw expanded while also additional grew in its sickly embrace, stacking inside the original. A vertical hole slit open in the center of his forehead, darkness filled it before an orange, wet pearl formed in its center, brimming with infernal light while dark roots spread down his mangled, grotesque visage that no longer resembled Vidnol.


    Within seconds, the short, bulky Vidnol that lied motionless on the ground now stood taller than the highest drachelven. His arms elongated, his smoking, shadow claws scraped the ground as It groaned in a distorted, bellowing voice while It slowly approached towards Aurelithae, Asatyra and Ohtia.


    His single pupiled eye darted around, its infernal glow lightly scorching those it passed through before it stopped staring at Aurelithae clearly.


    ¡°I have finally found you, little chosen.¡± The jaws moved in a dissonance as it spoke, slowly and gleefully trampling towards Aurelithae whom froze with fear. Thanks to Ohtia¡¯s quick reaction, he pulled her away just as It¡¯s left hand struck the floor, leaving infernal claw marks in it, spreading its sizzling vile.


    ¡°No point in running. Give her to me, and I gift you the rest of your miserable life.¡± It said in an agitated tone, fixating Its eyes at the two. Then as It rushed towards them, a spear flew besides Its gruesome, hellish head.


    ¡°Kill them.¡± Another shriek left the jaws. Groaning and screaming followed as the dead sprung up, attacking their former comrades. Some dug into their throats, their unnaturally strengthened jaws and teeth tearing pieces of the armor like flesh and weak bones.


    ¡°Come on.¡± Asatyra grabbed her arm and yanked Aurelithae away as they started sprinting towards the entrance door, an intricate wooden work with nine slender figures grafted onto its oak surface, separated by stripes of scales.


    ¡°Down.¡± Ohtia yelled, and in that moment, they fell flat on their face in a coordinated manner, as hellish flames went past them, catching on to both the living and the undead. In a matter of seconds, the flames consumed them, only giving them a few second to emit their tortured wails.


    Asatyra looped her right arm around her waist and lifted her up as they continued sprinting, It followed after them, the ground trembling under their feet while his soul shaking laughter filled the air.


    ¡°There is no point in running.¡± Ohtia turned around, venom gushing forth from his jaws right into Its ethereal eyes. It screamed in anger while breaking through the door closed on it. Its upper body seemingly swung around, all those meeting Its gaze fell burning. The infernal flames entered into their bodies, tainted their soul and raised them into an unholy service.


    After rotating around three times, It sensed her fear, following after the sweet scent right into the sewer under the courtyard. ¡°There you are. Would you be kind enough to die now?¡± It asked with a wide, chilling smile on Its grotesque visage. With what remains of Vidnol¡¯s beard, turned into molten shadows creeping towards the trio. Then they wrapped around her right foot, pulling her closer as his jaws extended.


    Before she would disappear in Its mouth, golden flames came forth from her leg, swirling into its jaws. Its distorted scream travelled through the whole sewer system. The flames expanded even more as Ohtia spewed black tar into Its burning orifice. It tore off Its own head, completely engulfed and burnt beyond its grotesque recognition.


    Aurelithae screamed up next when in retaliation It swinged its clawed left hand at her abdomen. Ohtia tried to block the next one, while Asatyra sprang into action.


    She ran towards It, her mana coursing through her Arkhaine points, muffling her steps while also conjuring reddish white flames around her arms through which they engulf her dagger¡¯s blades. Her muscles tense, mana enhancing her leg¡¯s capabilities, when she reached only three steps from It, she leapt high in the air. For a moment she tasted victory, then wicked crimson flames burst forth its gaping wound where Vidnol¡¯s mutated head once was. They formed into a laughing, infernal skull that swallowed her whole.


    Aurelithae watched in horror, almost screaming her name out but her dread stifled her words. Meanwhile Ohtia evaded the two more tendrils that joined the other, all aimed at him. With slithering movements, he dodged from their way as they tore through the air with clear aim being his head and heart.


    With his claws, he severed them while funneling his mana through his Arkhaine points. He started chanting, the water flowing in the center started rising, shaping into a twirling tendril that wrapped around Its legs.


    It crashed loudly on to the floor, though before It could get up, the water froze keeping It in place as it covered its lower body. Ohtia aimed for the same place, sensing a wicked presence condensed in that point. A third twirling watery tendril attached itself around his right arm, quickly freezing into a lance.


    But before he could strike at It, the tendrils pierced through his body and hurl him onto the other side, crashing straight into the wall. In the same manner his blood poured out in an unhealthy amount while he laid motionless. ¡°How vexing.¡± The ice shattered to hundreds of pieces as It freed itself from its binding.


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    ¡°Now, just be a good girl and stay where and as you are.¡± It slowly walked towards her with Its gaping neck facing Aurelithae. Its disembodied voice tensed up her limbs, she stayed still while her eyes shot wide as It slowly walked towards her. The tendrils whirled, danced as It got closer and closer. She managed to overcome her fear just as tears started flowing down her sharp cheeks, the same golden flames lit up parting the shadows as they engulfed both her arms.


    But as fear remained within her, her attempts at controlling them failed. The ceiling caught on golden flames, bathing the whole area in radiance before it crumbles down on top of It. Yet it remained unfazed, the blocks of elven marble broke to pieces on impact.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll be quick and gentle.¡± It spoke with a cackle as Aurelithae tried to crawl further and further away while sobbing.


    With a clean swing, her right arm flew into the folk-made river flowing between the platforms, a luminous trail showed its path. Her scream echoed through the sewer as she passed out, her prismatic blood cascaded from the gaping wound. Its large hands wrapped around her body, lifting her closer to the gaping wound where a whirling array of teeth poke out from the flesh.


    ¡°Sweet, sweet tender elven meat.¡± The teeth danced around as Its vile voice came through the throat, murky saliva flowing out to the floor and onto the passed out Aurelithae.


    Then It screamed as her prismatic blood streamed onto Its enormous hand. She fell onto the floor with a loud thud drowned out by the distorted scream. It intensified as three arrows, their heads engulfed in a radiant aura tore into Its infernal flesh. Similar cracks gradually appeared on Its borrowed body, their light gradually escalating until It explodes into ethereal dust, Its¡¯ scream echoed through both sewer and the courtyard, escaping beyond its imposing walls.


    Ivor landed on his feet and rushed towards Aurelithae. His right hand hovered above her mouth, letting out a sigh when her hot breath hit his palm. With somber eyes he looked at Ohtia¡¯s cadaver before lifting her over his shoulder. He quickly tore off his left sleeve, tying it around the gaping wound of hers to stem the bleeding. The soft, dark fabric stiffened as her prismatic blood pervaded into a sphere.


    As the footsteps increased above, he started sprinting into the dark, not looking back as metal clinging echoed through the path.


    **


    ¡°Easy there lass.¡± Aurelithae jolted up from the bed screaming. Her prismatic eyes darted around the small room of the Sleeping Dragon Tavern. The sound of the busy crowd entered through the closed window. The deep, mellowing voice of Naghig calmed her down as her muscles gave in and lays onto her back once more.


    ¡°What happened? How I got out?¡± She asked in her tired voice as she noticed the masked figure, quickly recognizing Mirayroth thanks to his contrasting attire.


    ¡°You have been out for half a day. Which is a miracle all things considered.¡± His voice came clean through the mask, slightly distorted to sound a bit more feminine as the ivory masks bore a striking resemblance to the Lady of Night and Secrets, a minor deos serving under the Silent Shepherd.


    ¡°Thanks to Naghig your wounds have been healed, for now rest, and think of some lie to your father.¡± He slowly raised up, moved across the room like a ghost, spoke each word with a caring tone.


    ¡°Ivor brought me out. Is he fine?¡± As the last of her memories started flowing back, she asked in a weak, broken voice as she stared at her shaking hands.


    ¡°Yes, he explained mostly what happened, or at least what he thinks may have happened.¡± Mirayroth answered while Naghig walked to the table and poured out a fruity flavored drink which scent reached her, easing her mind a bit.


    ¡°I..¡± Aurelithae started speaking but before she could finish, Mirayroth shushed her. For a while she remained silent, recalling how It targeted her, how Asatyra and Ohtia died because of her. While confusion also clouded her mind.


    ¡°Do you know what was that?¡± She asked after deciding to keep this to herself. To a day when she can accept the truth.


    ¡°Infaerni.¡± Mirayroth said in an unnerving tone as his eyes veiled in shadows stared at her uttering the word. A shock run through her spine as she recalled reading about Infaerni, malevolent spirits that dwell in the in the Seven Hidden Infernos, their namesake. Realms each carved by the darkest desires of the Almodo he cut out from himself at the dawn of creation.


    Like other similar wicked beings, they can¡¯t enter the world through their being, a curse of theirs cast upon them by their unloving father. Their only way is through the weak, whom they make pacts with to just step foot and taint the His world in their unending resentment for their fate.


    ¡°With Vidnol being drained of his mind, seems like one saw a chance to enter our world. Pretty unlucky to enter into a Magistralua prison, but if not for you and the others, it may have wrought great misery upon the capital.¡±  He said noticing her understanding of the word, his voice slowly decreasing in volume as his attention focused away from her, to outside the window.


    ¡°The people, your family may not know it. But you did a great service.¡± At those words, her pain eased for a bit, a weak, smile curved onto her trembling lips.


    ¡°Still feels strange that it chose to enter straight into their¡­ our territory.¡± She said with a pondering gaze, trying to push the guilt away.


    ¡°It is as you say. My only explanation would be at this moment is that it sensed you. Your family, your father has a deeper connection to the Almodo in this world, one that is only toppled by His Chosen only.¡± Mirayroth added while staring up at the ceiling as he dwells in his thoughts.


    ¡°But well, it doesn¡¯t matter now. Here drink this.¡± He said while looking at Naghig. The pale, imposing orkh nodded and brought out a small vial with a snow silvery hued liquid inside. The thick fluid slowly cascaded into a wooden cup on the table and he slowly brought to them.


    ¡°What is this?¡± She asked as she took the cup, its metallic stench burning her nostrils and even mouth.


    ¡°Your initiation. Welcome to the New Dawn your Highness.¡± Mirayroth answered in an eerily kind, welcoming tone.


    After a bit of hesitation thanks to its metallic scent reminding her of a certain living flower her father once had ordered to their garden, she gulped it down in one go. She grabbed her belly as it started burning along with her throat and head. The world around her started spinning, blurring for a few moments before it stopped. A tender coldness followed, dark veins appeared under her perfectly smooth, fair skin for no more than a millisecond.

 Side Story: Metamorphosis

    10<sup>th</sup> of the 6<sup>th</sup> Month of the 710<sup>th</sup> Epoch.


    Orhadin stood at silently right at front of the bridge built over the moot leading to the main temple of Ormslyk. The capital of the Host of the Dusk he visited many times in his unnatural life ¨C built into the dragon foot crater created by the Nightscale when he rested here between razing cities of the Virdr Kingdom. Which itself was the reason for the Host of the Dusk to establish their capital in this holy site.


    He stared at the imposing temple rising high ¨C almost to the top of the icy walls reflecting the phantom reflection of the capital itself. Like most structures of the Host, this was following the Eptirriagh style that featured blunt edges structures ¨C in some cases they even spiraled ¨C of murky textures and surfaces as most of the stones were brought by their deep dwarven allies from the depths of Dhaugruz itself.


    The main tower of the temple itself rises from the center of the building eerily resembling a skull without eyeholes with silver ornated crown circling around the tower itself. Orhadin recalled the first time he saw it ¨C when his mother brought him to the construction site. Back then he already watched the raised dead working tirelessly as they dragged the large slobs of dark stone while the dwarves and both hoelves and smyrelves used their magics to lift those stones and have shaped them.


    For a moment he looked down and noticed his withered arms ¨C wrapped under his dark sleeves with bracelet made of transmuted bones to fit his slender wrists ¨C shook. His legs similarly were shaking faintly even though they haven¡¯t felt a thing in two centuries at least. ¡°Your legacy will start here my son.¡± His mother¡¯s words ringed through his mind ¨C acting as a guiding force that impelled his legs to finally move.


    The gates howled as revealing the path of dirt cleared of snow and ice with two lines of yew trees blooming with vibrant red leaves. ¡°Took you long enough.¡± And in the center stood his old friend ¨C and second in command of the Dhau¡¯Issz clan ¨C Vinraugh Skadbrokh with arms crossed and his mouth in a welcoming smile veiled under his trick greying beard. He was dressed in the common kyrtill of a black kind with pale silver trims and a thick, sleeveless leathery coat over it.


    He was similar in age to him ¨C already well in beyond his four hundreds ¨C with slight creases appearing on his expressive face. His slit pupils bore an intense indigo hue while his head was sheared completely ¨C with some scars hidden under the complex tattoo etched into his thick skin.


    The two embraced each other in a brotherly hug. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you again old friend.¡± Orhadin said in his fading, once high pitched voice.


    ¡°You too my stinking friend. For a moment I thought I¡¯ll have to fetch you.¡± Vinraugh said as he stared into his faded eyes.


    ¡°Excuse me for this delay. It¡¯s just hasn¡¯t set in yet.¡±  Orhadin said as the two stopped for a moment. ¡°But I¡¯m prepared. Even if this all feels a bit early if I¡¯m being honest Vinr.¡±


    ¡°I know what you mean. But I don¡¯t agree with you. Your talent is much needed.¡± As he Vinraugh said that he lurched right arm above his head, stretched it towards the sky with his index finger unfolded from the rest. ¡°Feel it?¡±


    ¡°Is that a joke?¡± Orhadin said in his cold joking manner and Vinraugh chuckled like a muffled boar.


    ¡°No. Feel the winds of change blowing. The time to gain glories are coming. And you my friend had been chosen by the Nightscale and Grismlaukh themselves to be their herald.¡± Hearing those words his putrid heart began to beat once again in a quick, rhythmic manner ¨C while a sensation of soft needles poking his limbs from the inside numbed them.


    ¡°Yet I still far from commanding armies of the revered dead.¡± Orhadin counted as doubts roared silently in his mind and heart.


    ¡°We have a hundreds who can command legions, but only a few like you. Time for you to fully realize your talent my friend. Not many can control Sveinnaurs.¡± As he listened to his friend, the voice of her mother appeared in his mind ¨C matching word by word.


    Sveinnaurs were undead whom evolved through consumption of necrotic matter that granted them new, stronger forms and powers. Most of the Sveinnaurs were revenants whom amassed on necrotic matter for five centuries at least and slowly evolved into a state of divine undeath as the scholars of the Empire prefer to refer to it. In a way, they were considered the step between the living dead and the Aydvroegh ¨C former entities, deossos of finality.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. Time for me to ascend like you.¡± The edges of his crumbling lips under the skeletal mask bent upwards as he faintly inhaled the cold air.


    ¡°That is the Orhadin I grew up with. Now let us enter so that we can exit as equals finally.¡± Orhadin nodded and stepped under the shadow of the temple¡¯s upper jaw where the ornate door lead to his promised legacy.


    **


    ¡°Do not fear this cold. Embrace it, control it.¡± As he sat alone, naked in on a cold bench of chiseled stone, his mother¡¯s voice ringed through his mind. His dry lids closed over his eyes and he recalled the chilling touch of his mother.


    She was slowly raising Orhadin¡¯s frail, childish arm over a decayed and frozen corpse. ¡°Do you feel it now?¡± She asked in her caring, husky voice. He had felt it ¨C the chilling that felt eerily pleasant, the final thoughts of the dead still imprinted in his corpse. Orhadin clasped onto that and without knowing his lips moved, his throat produced his voice slightly distorted as mana flowed into his arkhaine point.


    ¡°That¡¯s it. Take in their resentment, their regrets, and give them your will.¡± Following the words he experienced a variety of feeling before the dust and snow trembled. He focused and the corpse slowly raised its torso up ¨C dust and powdered ice and snow fell from it as it emitted an ear-pleasing scream. He felt the anger that was the link fade as the enforced calmness filled the dead. Necrotic matter slowly filled his eyes and jaw with a light reminding him of the ice that covered the lakes during the long winters.


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    ¡°Almost ready.¡± The howl of the door leading into the ritual chamber brought Orhadin back from the old memory.


    Vinraugh placed his firm hand over his shoulder. ¡°Still anxious?¡±


    ¡°No, not really. Truth be told, a strange calmness settled in my heart.¡± Orhadin said as he gazed at the ceiling while scratching his withered legs.


    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± Vinraugh said ¨C which Orhadin found strange at the moment. Not a joke, not some boldening words that may turn this simple nothingness into excitement.


    Where once his sharp brow rested ¨C thin flesh exposed ¨C moved slightly as he looked at Vinraugh curiously. ¡°Do you think so?¡±


    ¡°Yes, you see when I went into the Sepulcher of Dusk, I almost collapsed as excitement and anxiousness tore into me like a pack of wild dogs. It didn¡¯t help that while the world spin in my eyes, I started thinking what a bad omen it would be for the soon-to-be High Exarch collapsing before receiving a timeless gift from the Nightscale himself.¡± Vinraugh smiled as he recounted the day of his ascension ¨C lightly laughing at the fear and joy that made him almost lose his consciousness.


    ¡°Truly it is good then.¡± Orhadin said as he forced little air out from his crumbling nostrils while his cheek started to tear faintly as he smirked.


    The hewn door howled once more. He stood there ¨C still nothing which he found strange ¨C then shook his weak shoulder and slowly walked inside. ¡°I¡¯ll wait here ¨C for the new friend.¡±


    **


    As soon as he stepped in the rounded room ¨C a chilling sensation that burnt his senses in an eerie way made him sweat for the first time in his life. At the center of the room four pillars surrounded a circle made of rough stone the hue of dried blood. Runes were etched into its surface ¨C unknown runes that drawn his attention.


    And at the edge facing him he saw the pale feet peeking out from under the jet black hem. ¡°Welcome Child of Gerdur and Hakon, Orhadin of the Dhau¡¯Issz!¡± Amongst a myriad whispers the deepest ¨C the recognition ¨C filled him with joy to the point that for the first time in two centuries, tears formed in his droopy eyes.


    ¡°Look at me child!¡± Yet he couldn¡¯t move his gaze further then his pale legs with jet black nails oozing with misty shadows.


    ¡°Excuse my impudence ¨C but I¡¯m incapable of gazing upon your form!¡± Orhadin said ¨C his voice oozed with confidence and respect.


    ¡°And why is that? Is it because of deep respect or because of uncertainty?¡± Even as Grimslaukh appeared right in front of him, his attention remained on the hem and his feet.


    ¡°It certainly is foolish of me to say this ¨C but both. Ever since I heard the tales about you slaying dozens of imperial dragon knights with a snap of your fingers, raising an ancient wyrm dreaming under the ice of Djuprol Lake I dreamt of meeting you. But only when I accumulated feats such as yours.¡± He breathed in the scentless air inside and said confidently.


    Grimslaukh reached out to him and put his left hand on his shoulder. ¡°That is most commendable. But do not worry, both me and the Nightscale agreed that it is time for your ascension. Through which you can create your own legacy.¡±


    Orhadin softly exhaled hearing those words. ¡°Are you prepared to step on the path?¡±


    He straightened his body ¨C kept his head still hunched down as he prepared his answer. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Come.¡± Grimslauk once again appeared on the other side. The center of the circle descended further into the floor with a silent howl. From three holes a dark liquid filled the small hole almost to the brim.


    Candles appeared out of nowhere emitting cold smoke that permeated the air with the sweet scent of the final change. Grimslauk started a whispery chant that bent and blurred Orhadin¡¯s reality while also awakening a desire to step on the dark, pristine surface in the center. Yet when he looked down to stare at his own reflection, only the gaping abyss greeted him.


    When he looked back up ¨C he found himself in an endless, featureless darkness. He felt calmness like never before while slowly turning around, searching for something, anything to guide him. The slow dance continued on and on, with each spin he expected something to appear finally.


    And it did after the seventh spin ¨C he found himself facing the head of a colossal serpent. The hulking serpent''s twisting and turning body was like a river of shadows and white necrotic flesh, undulating and weaving through the darkness with a sinuous grace. Orhadin¡¯s small child form reflected in its enormous pupilless eyes.


    Its jaw slowly opened revealing an even darker nothingness that swirled towards him. A pleasant chill wrapped around his being as the darkness seeped into him. Old sensations of vigor and a surge of power put a smile on his face while his flesh contorted, his bones cracked without causing pain as they rearranged into his new form.


    ¡°Magnificent.¡± Orhadin withered, dry skin resembled the phenomenon of desert wurms moving under the sand as his bones restructured themselves in a cacophony of loud cracks. His thin skin gained new layers and became even paler with obsidian veins swirling in a sinuous dance as they formed various deathly runes on his reformed body. While his paler skin gained new layers as it changed from mortal coil to necrotic. Spine protruded, twisting and turning as a serpent approaching its prey with excitement.


    Once neatly round head became gaunt and triangular with more prominent skull structure while his head itself elongated, his forehead sloped. His neatly lined features remained in position, but gained a blend of serpentine and undead characteristics. His faded pupils turned obsidian and bled into the white, the sockets themselves became all the more sunken. Nose disintegrated and in its place two slit holes remained while his shaggy, straggling hair fell out and small horns with obsidian tips protruded out from his skin.


    His cheeks opened up, held together by collections of dark sinew. Lips darkened and rotted away as his jaw pushed forward while his teeth elongated itself into an array of razor sharp needles. The tip of his tongue severed itself in two ¨C each moving on its own as he growled in joy.


    ¡°How does it feel?¡± Grimslaukh slowly moved towards Orhadin ¨C his steps gave no sound as they touched the cold floor of the ritual chamber.


    ¡°Wonderful. I thank you, oh great Grismlaukh, I won¡¯t waste this gift.¡± Orhading gazed upon his new deathly form with his glinting dark eyes. While his mouth could no longer smile ¨C joy filled his being and the edges of his mouth still tried to bend.


    ¡°I am sure you won¡¯t. Now play around with your new gift, experience the gifts of your new form. Then we¡¯ll talk about your task.¡± Grimslaukh snapped his fingers and out of nowhere, a dark robe sewn from shadows, draped around Orhadin¡¯s body like a shroud woven from the darkness itself. With a silent bow he excused himself and left to experiment with his newfound gift.

 Chapter 9: In The Throat of Death

    13<sup>th</sup> of the Fifth Month, 707<sup>th</sup> Epoch.


    ¡°So, what do you think lies at the end of Dhaugh¡¯Ostrh?¡± Uld asked, trying to yell over the strident cacophony of the Chilled Giant Inn. His tail coming out from between his thick white pants and tunic, wiggled under the old bench while his small hands with sharp claws scratched the kegs¡¯ wooden surface.


    As usual when his friend Bjartur started thinking, his thick brows pressed against each other, his large forehead creased. ¡°Not sure.¡± He answered as he turned to his gobokh friend, his dim-witted, intense blue eyes stared right up at the ceiling beams decorated with bones and skulls of various beasts, including some mammoth tusks, lupine skulls twice the size of his head - once belonged to a varaugh.


    ¡°I do heard tales of various kinds, including an ancient relic left behind by some long-forgotten seidrhaur, the remains of a large dragon, a kin of the Nightscale himself.¡± Bjartur added while leaning back in his chair, gulped down his mead instantly to moisten his throat. His thick beard rustled as the door of the inn opened, his and Uld¡¯s attention turned instantly towards it.


    Bjartur jolted up almost crashing the beam high above with his thick bald head covered in runic tattoos and waved to the two, a Skaeze maiden no older than twenty with still smooth, fair complexion lacking in scars. Long braided fair hair almost blending in with her skin and intense blue eyes like his. The other, a man in the same age range with just as fair long hair shaved on both sides, coming down his thick white furred coat in a natural dreaded tail. A beard knotted long swung east and west as he noticed Bjartur and waved back before the two ¨C twin siblings headed towards them.


    ¡°Two of the same for these two dolls.¡± Bjartur yelled to the attendant, a fine smyrelf lady not looking more than thirty with smooth skin as dark as the ebony that decorated the walls of the deep roads. Crimson red eyes that were like fiery rubies, long white hair braided once that danced as she turned around and frowned at Bjartur ¨C which made him smile like a dumb lover.


    ¡°Is it truly a good idea to drink before the trials?¡± Fridr asked in her deep voice as her eyes showed uncertainty about the idea of drinking themselves under the not just the table, but even the dead buried under frozen ground as they tended to usually.


    ¡°Well, father and mother did the same so why shouldn¡¯t we?¡± Fram added with a tone brimming with certainty. The wickedly gorgeous server appeared seemingly out of nowhere placing the two large kegs in front of them, Bjartur slapped her bottom as she left, prompting a loud slap leaving behind a palm mark that was visible even through his thick bush of a beard.


    ¡°Children, if they are not all about following the faults of their parents.¡± Uld, the second oldest of the group said in a cheeky, quarter drunken tone.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean we should.¡± Fridr said quite hypocritically as she grabbed her keg and consumed at least half of the rich in flavors and color mead. A wide smile curved onto his brother¡¯s handsome face as he reached for his.


    ¡°Anyway, seems like those two are late once again.¡± Then he added while taking a quick peek at the door he has entered through a few moments ago.


    ¡°I wonder if they are fucking this time, or actually sparring.¡± Uld slapped Bjartur in the back of his head as soon as he uttered those quite overt words. Then he stood up and went to relieve himself. ¡°Does it matter to you? Or are you just envious of him?¡± Then he added while shaking his small hand as it hurt more for him then for Bjartur.


    ¡°A little bit. But I am working on it.¡± He looked at the smyrelven server with longing eyes as her dark lips moved, six kegs flew into the air while water flowed from behind the counter and into the kegs as she cleaned them.


    ¡°Well, maybe if you would slap her ass less, and maybe bring her some bauble you would fuck more than currently.¡± Then as Uld finished giving advice to his friend, he rushed out as he could not hold back the flow of tenderly burning bodily fluids.


    ¡°Finally.¡± Joy settled on his crude, skeletal apish face covered in thick, white fur extending into a large mane surrounding his neck blown by the rare, gentle wind of the northern night. Steam rose as the heavy snow building up at the wall melted down, escaping towards the starless night sky.


    ¡°Once again melting precious snow.¡± A not too deep familiar voice scared Uld for a moment, leading to the warm painting of the wall.


    ¡°Then next time I¡¯ll direct it to you.¡± Uld said with a smirk on his face before the two hugged each other, with Yun¡¯Ghahk lifting the much shorter gobokh up. Beside him, Geirhyrien watched with a mild smile that still could mellow the heart of those witnessing it. Her long snow white hair seamlessly cascaded down onto her equally white robe melding in with her skin, made of Saelvan silk. An elvish fabric possessing ethereal sheen and a crystal clear surface that appeared as soft as the snow in the southern regions of the Dhaugruz Basin. A furred cloak sat atop her delicate elven shoulders, offering warmth to every part of her body as it reached down to the snow blanketed ground.


    ¡°If you do so, aim for his mouth at least.¡± She added as she leaned down to embrace her friend. His tail danced passionately in the back as the sweet vanillian scent of her reached his flat, small nose.


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    ¡°Come in, the others have been waiting.¡± He led the two inside and at the table the same greetings took another round before they sat down.


    ¡°So are you all prepared for the week?¡± Yun¡¯Ghahk asked as they got their kegs full of mead accompanied by grilled Sleipnir. ¡°Of course, we were even talking about what could be found at the end of trial.¡± Bjartur spoke up while tearing off the second largest leg in the middle, chunks of spiced meat flying onto his beard.


    ¡°Probably just some pebbles left behind by some ancient seidrhaur or something.¡± Fram added while tearing off the bottom, placing it onto his plate barely. ¡°At least when our grandparents made it out, they did so with shiny gems in their pockets.¡±


    ¡°It is true there are treasures, but not at the end, instead along the way. But I think there are still some forgotten, hidden vaults housing powerful weapons or armor left behind by our ancestors. Yun¡¯Ghahk recalled his mother¡¯s tales when it was her time to prove her mettle.


    ¡°Could be. But then again, she did the test to gain your father¡¯s heart.¡± Uld added as being the one knowing him for the second most time besides Geirhyrien, he heard the tale recounted numerous times by Yun¡¯s mother, the second Battle-Mate of Vro¡¯Ghahk.


    ¡°No it is true. My parents did find some along the way in and even out.¡± Geirhyrien added as she herself tears off two pieces quite brutishly, an image not too befitting for an elven maiden destined to become the Volva of the Nhilna¡¯Skholbul clan. Like an eloquent elk, she dug into the meat with an unearthly grace, her pristine teeth tainted by the grilled carcass of the Sleipnir. Her eyes blue as the pristine ice on the lakes of the frozen north stared innocently at Uld then the twins.


    ¡°Well they undertook the trial five hundred years ago. So I¡¯m not sure much left of the treasure. Maybe on some of the corpses. But it seems like our aim is going to be finding those hidden vaults.¡± Fridr added as Geirhyrien gave her the last leg of the Sleipnir with a heart mellowing look on her face.


    ¡°And most of those are probably guarded by some evolved undead or monster.¡± Uld said not so enthusiastically while tearing a part of the Sleipnir into pieces before eating one at a time, then washed them down with his mead in between two pieces.


    ¡°I hope so.¡± Bjartur added, meat spraying out from his mouth as he chewed and spoke with a smile that could only be produced by him, that made everyone beside Uld chuckle a bit at the sight.


    ¡°I remember mother telling once about The Lutlatana Alfrurs haunting the lower levels close to the Bottom Stratum.¡± Geirhyrien face lit up as she recalled a memory from a few decades ago when she was smaller. Her mother as punishment for staying out late has told her about the Lutlatana Alfrurs, a hoelven shade haunting the ancient tomb. She recounted how it usually appeared as an androgynous hoelf, draped in equally white, translucent robes and hood.


    But the closer one gets to it, its features gradually became more frightening. Eyes lacking of color and love, sunken deep into the skull. A wide smile ¨C the result of two deep cuts curving up through the cheeks, towards the eyes of blackened crimson.


    ¡°It is said that he was one of the first of the exiles that wandered the north aimlessly, trying to find a safe haven where our kind could live and prosper in the harsh north. But he never returned, disappeared around this region two thousand years ago.¡± She continued, her serene, mesmerizing voice lending itself perfectly for the tale, even Danira the service girl listened on the tale with a slight fear in her red eyes.


    ¡°It is only a conjecture, but it is possible he got lost in the Dhaugh¡¯Ostrh, dying of hunger or worse, claimed by the horrors stalking inside with an insatiable hunger.¡± She continued after moistening her dried up throat, her eyes wide open, darting from one to another of her friends.


    ¡°These horrors filled him with unending hatred one way or another. In his tirelessness he stalks the lower corridors, hunting for the living to wear their cadavers to escape the binding of his vile masters.¡± Then she quickly finished the story after Yun poked her in the side with his large index finger as the wind started picking up inside the inn, carrying an eerie coldness.


    He noticed how her voice became faintly echoing as she softly whispered. Maghia infused with her voice conjuring a tender gale that chilled the backs of anyone listening onto her tale.


    ¡°How intriguing.¡± Uld said slowly with his usual sneering tone as his keg hit the table. A burp followed not long after.


    ¡°It is. This tale makes me wonder if we get some additional points if we hunt it down.¡± As Bjartur stated, his eyes wandered once more into the distance. Fridr started coughing as she gulped quite wrongly as the words poured out from him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± She uttered hoping to not meet with the wraith of a hoelf. She heard quite a few tales as their grandmother was a firm lover of such tales and stories. She often recounted her own adventures into dilapidated ruins, where the dead never rests. Wraiths and specters often like to stalk their prey ¨C a trait they inherited from their progenitor deity, the one who once filled the hearts of folk with the fear of finality.


    ¡°She is right. Sadly even if we subjugate the wraith of this Lulu, that won¡¯t result in anything more than maybe a pat on our shoulders. A feast awaits us no matter if we return alive or not.¡± Yun added as his elder brothers and sisters already underwent this trial. Few of them ran into some creatures that were close in fame to the Lutlatana Alfrurs. Yet for their heroics, all they got was a few praising words ¨C at least that¡¯s what they told him.


    ¡°Shame. We should still try to find it if possible. We should not avoid a chance for glory and the thrill of fighting a formidable foe.¡± Bjartur added with a dejected look as he gulped down the rest of his mead. Not long after that, his right arm quickly raised in the air, signaling Danira to bring another round of the sweetened mead that warms not just the body, but the soul too.


    The group continued their hearty chatter for a few more hours as the other patrons decrease. Then when there was only a few dozen left behind in the quite large establishment, they too decide to leave. Bjartur went to say goodbye to Danira, asking her like a knight that is about to enter a battle that he may not return from to wait for him. The group laughed, with only Geirhyrien noticing the smyrelves¡¯ momentary change in expression ¨C one filled with a tingent of worry and care.


    Their laughter filled the streets of the renovated city of Hvitta-Aurrogh. The snow caved in under their steps, as Shadows hardened even in this starless night¡­

 Chapter 10: In The Throat of Death

    Finally, I was getting tired of the constant whiteness.¡± Uld let out a sigh as they arrived at the ruins known as the Dhaugh¡¯Osthr in the language of Dusk. A ruin that once used as a burial mound for the Arch- Seidrhaurs of the fallen kingdom of Virdr. Built during the Mythical Age, as a small burial crypt, it gradually increased in size reaching into the Mount Dhaugruz.


    While at first it was just on the surface level at the foot of the mountain, it now descended deep towards the Middle Stratum. While originally it was the final resting place of the Arch- Seidrhaurs, northern wizards and witches in service of the now nameless, forgotten royal family. After the arrival of the Host of Dusk, it retained its function as a burial site for the Nhilna¡¯Skholbul, in the common Elhyrissian Tongue, Pale Wraiths.


    ¡°So, how does it feel to be this close to your ancestors?¡± Uld asked as Yun¡¯Ghahk walked up to him, leaving behind a trail of footsteps in the thick high snow blanketing the surroundings. After their settlement in the nearby regions, this place was closest to the clans¡¯ capital now served as the crypt to the upper echelons of the clan.


    When the Smyrelves and the Dhaugroons ¨C dwarves of the Dhaugruz Mountain range, mutated by the necrotic energies after centuries, helped in digging it deeper and expanded the crypts that now reach down to the lowest stratum of the mountain. Which led to the clashing of architectural styles of the once pristine Virdr style, as they used claruoth marble from the south. And the dhogrioth the Dhaugroons and Smyrelves deep in the Middle and Upper Stratum use, a dark stone with harsh surface.


    ¡°Strange, somewhat nostalgic even.¡±  A mist escaped towards the entrance as he spoke.


    ¡°Do you have any idea what are those?¡± Fridr asked as she walked besides them, her longbow crafted from the bones of gryphons rested on her right shoulder. Its strong ivory string blended in with her thick, furred coat under the heavy plates.


    ¡°A Garmogr if my memory serves me right.¡± Her twin answered as he stopped behind them, looking over Uld as he recognized the size of the ribcage protruding from under the heavy snow ¨C ice and snow ornamenting the large bones.


    Garmogrs were large, rare beasts of the north, resembling wolfs with fur made of shadows, making them easier to spot in these parts of the world. For the most part, they are domesticated beasts of the Jottnar, Giants of the North who use them as guards of their flocks and their homes.


    She raised her eyebrow while turning to his brother. ¡°What would one have done here?¡±


    ¡°Who knows. Probably it was a wild one put down either by our ancestors, or by the Virdrions.¡± Fram speculated while he inspected the bones sprouting high, then curving inwards forming an eerie path that blends in with the landscape. ¡°Could also been the case of our ancestors placing the bones here while the slaying itself happened far from here.¡±


    ¡°We can ask about that later, for now let¡¯s just head inside guys.¡± Geirhyrien said while gracefully circling around them, the snow parting ways in front of her as the frost hued hem of her pristine white robe slid on the frozen ground beneath.


    ¡°Come now.¡± Fram remained still, his eyes gleamed with excitement as they were focused on the seemingly smooth bones, withstanding the cruel passage of time. Then he let out a grunt as his sister grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards the entrance of the aging crypt. A curving, arched structure of pure whiteness contrasting the murky, jagged walls of the mountain side.


    ¡°Here we go.¡± Yun took a deep breath, then pushed the gates twice his size open. The vile stench of death hit their noses within moments. They all quickly took a deep breath, to swiftly get used to the stench in which they¡¯ll spend a week or more. By pairs they stepped inside and let the hardened shadows swallow their armored forms. Each with differing expression, varied between thrilled to dreaded.


    **


    ¡°Bjartur, on your right!¡± Yun dislodged his right axe from the draugrs¡¯ head, kicking it into the chamber they poured out from. Then he turned around noticing two charging at Bjartur in a staring contest with another. As he warned him, Bjartur raised his muscled arms holding his ivory hammer. With a clean swing, the draugrs¡¯ head exploded into hundreds of pieces on impact. It moved for a few more moments before Bjartur swung his hammer into its chest. Necrotic dust blew into his face as the dried and frozen, decayed chest of the draugr caved in and fell onto its back moving no more.


    Two more charged at him, and with a clean horizontal swing he practically broke the two into two. Yun sent his blade into the head of one while Bjartur finished the other by crushing that one¡¯s head too into a hundred or thousand decayed pieces.


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    ¡°Thanks!¡± A wide grin curved onto his dimwitted face, as he destroyed two more draugrs, then continues further away from the group.


    ¡°And there he goes again.¡± Fridr said as she released another of her arrows. As it tore through the air, between the others, a bluish swirling glow of arkhaine energy appeared around its tip, emitting a chilling aura. As it found its way into its target, the draugr¡¯s body was enveloped in ice, becoming a center piece of the wide corridor. Framr crashed through it with his shield, shattering the draugr into frozen pieces.


    ¡°Do not worry about him. My enchantments will protect him. Well as long as he doesn¡¯t run into something stronger than these.¡± Geirhyrien added while her eyes focused on Yun wrestling with a draugr bearing orcish features. Her hand raised slightly, then went back to hanging position as she witnessed as he pulverized its head with his hardened right fist.


    ¡°How can there be this many Draugr just in this section?¡± Fram asked as his back clashed with Yun¡¯s, both inhaled a bit intensely while their eyes were kept on the dim shadows that occupied the crypts on both sides.


    ¡°Well, many who fought in the Conquest of the Basin fell were buried here. Then you have to add on the ones whom failed the trials and the remnants of the kingdom also tend to find their way inside only to end up as part of the trial.¡± Two more draugr in mismatched ancient Virdrian armor charged from the shadows. They quickly met their second end, their heads rolled away,  their bodies were frozen in place as Fridrs¡¯ arrows stuck out from their chests. ¡°And there are a few foolish bandits who think they can loot this place.¡±


    ¡°But this much?¡± Fram pointed at the dozen or more corpses with his long sword with runes engraved in its dark, metallic gray blade, lit up in a warm orange glow. ¡°Something doesn¡¯t add up here.¡± Fridr added while holding her arm out. The arrows lodged in the no longer moving corpses started vibrating, slowly backing out from the putrid, dry flesh encased in ice. Then as if possessing a serene mind of their own, gently flew back to her hand.


    Geirhyrien stared at the dark for several moments. Then her eyes lit up as realization dawned on her. ¡°Follow me.¡±. She called out to Yun and Fram while already heading towards the crypt on the right side. The two without uttering a word, followed after her, Yun hurrying to the front as draugrs charged at them.


    ¡°Knew it.¡± Her mana flowed like a river within her body, starting from her abdomen. It coursed through the various arkhaine points on the upper part of her body, where she shaped them into a spell. Now her eyes, enchanted seen through a veil of illusion, in the center above the large marble coffin still in pristine condition, she spotted a dark bluish orb with runes dancing around it.


    ¡°What?¡± Fram asked as the draugr started pouring forth from the walls, revealing hidden tunnels of pitch black darkness. ¡°Just give me a few moments.¡± She yelled while lifting her arms slowly, palms facing the bright ceilings with wicked shadows dancing over their heads. Runes formed under her soft sleeves, glowing through the gleaming white fabric. Her eyes filled with a similar frosty glow. A warmness filled all of their beings as her spell tore through the air unseen, into the orb.


    For a moment the draugr seemingly seized any and all motion, as if they were frozen in time. ¡°Nice.¡± Fridr added after letting out a sigh, noticing the draugr behind her swinging its axe diagonally down towards her head. Then with a high pitched sound reminiscent of certain avians monsters screeching, the orb shattered, a transparent wave erased most of the draugrs.


    ¡°Hey, are you okay?¡± Yun rushed at her, quickly grabbing her arms firmly her silvery white blood flows out from her nose in a straight line.


    ¡°Yeah, I may have reached my limit. That illusion spell was a bit stronger than I first believed.¡± She said with a faint smile as she felt her head about to split open, her thoughts like a crazed hive of ants, disorganized, thoughts rushing all over.


    ¡°Let¡¯s take a break here. Fram, Uld I leave the camp to you two. Fridr fetch Bjartur and the two of you start keeping watch.¡± As Yun¡¯s ordered reach their ears, a disappointed groan echoed through the corridor as Bjartur was quite thrilled to continue on. They all chuckled a little hearing it.


    **


    The vile stench of death permeated the air so thickly one could bite it combined with the stomach churning sound of meat and bone being grinded, broken. The shadows swallowed every little detail of the large chamber, its walls veiled in dried blood and chunks of blood. Eye balls rested not far from their owners¡¯ corpses ¨C torn from their sockets as It played with Its prey.


    Feral appearing, small creatures with grayish white, thick fur and long tails rested eternally on the ground. Deep, festering wounds ornamented their corpses in gruesome manners, intestines exposed, thorn at various points, their ends chewed on. Brain matter splattered on the statues depicting brave warriors of the Nhilna¡¯Skholbul mixed with their vile greenish blood.


    And in the center, the source of the vile noises reverberating in the chamber, a slender figure kneeled over a larger feral creature, tearing its still fresh and warm flesh with its long, clawed hands. Its lidless eyes glowed with lightless emptiness focused on its food. Its wide mouth in eternal grin drenched in green blood, pieces of meat and bone stuck in its razor sharp teeth.


    Then It suddenly stopped, as if time froze. Its head jerked up, staring at the ceiling, slowly tilting, moving as it followed movement on the levels above. Then with the same sudden movements It stood up, and moved towards the enormous, elongated entrance with a single goal bestowed upon him by his creator, father. The pale figure watched as It moved by his will, a sour look on his veiled visage as he hoped that it isn¡¯t too late yet.

 Chapter 11: In The Throat of Death

    After Geirhyrien took care of the illusion, the group decided to take a rest in the very same crypt. The fire in center crackled with its own calmly raging hymn, its warm light cast on the alabaster floor, ceiling and walls bathed them in a homely light. Even though the tomb in the center told otherwise.


    ¡°How is she?¡± At first, Geirhyrien felt nothing more than the usual headache, and her smooth blood flowing down towards her soft lips. Then after minutes passed by, the world started to spring as if it threw a party for her success. She quickly lost her consciousness, Yun swiftly rushed and caught her before she would have hit the hard floor.


    ¡°Nothing serious, she just needs a bit of rest before we continue on.¡± He answered while his large, muscled hands caressed her long, silky hair. In this moment, she appeared to be a magnificent doll that once belonged to a noble, who wanted to share their final resting place with them.


    ¡°Hope so. Can I be honest with you all?¡± Fridr said with a long sigh escaping her. A piece of Heten meat skewered onto one of her arrows roasted slowly above the flames, fat slowly dripped from the rich, red meat while its sweet scent permeated slowly the crypt.


    ¡°Sure.¡± Yun said while he gently cradled Geirhyrien.


    ¡°I know it is bad luck to say things like these, but I don¡¯t want any of you to fail this trial. I just can¡¯t imagine our band without any of you.¡± Fridr mustered her strength before she spoke those words.


    ¡°So, it may be early, but what will be your choice when we return?¡± Fram swiftly changed the subject as he felt awkward a little, surprising the others a little. While this whole dungeon delving was a rite of passage for the Nhilna¡¯Skholbul, besides being recognized as a full grown adult, it also comes with the prize of an augmentation. The first augmentation out of the three to be precise warriors went through in the Host of the Dusk.


    ¡°Probably only for an Oghre arm.¡± Bjartur spoke up first with sharp conviction plastered on his face. Then his eyes diverted a little as he envisioned himself with even more muscular arms that were as durable as the precious metals of the Dhaugroon clan.


    ¡°The heart of a Jotunn. Or maybe the legs of a Varhaug.¡± Fram said swiftly after the last words left Bjartur. The others, including her sister looked at her with worried expressions. The procedure itself was the less fatal part, usually the one doing it shares their lifeforce constantly with recipient. It was the recuperation phase where the body had to get used to a giant, crystalline like organ, that has been downsized to fit into its place, where problems may come. In most cases the strings keeping it in place, pop like the strings of a faulty, overused lute. While healers made sure that it doesn¡¯t happen, if the body decided it doesn¡¯t want it, the recipient is as good as dead.


    ¡°I guess you haven¡¯t spoken to Ma and Da about this?¡± Fridr asked in strict, interrogative tone.


    ¡°I did spoke with father. He was reluctant at first, but then said if I return, and survive that, the Nightscale truly smiled upon me then.¡± Fram answered, his voice broke once as he recalled his father¡¯s words. ¡°Well, mother will be a different beast all together.¡± Then he added with an awkward chuckle.


    ¡°Can¡¯t imagine you taller than your sis or dad.¡± Uld chimed in as his eyes wandered into the dark, imagining the young man no taller than 175 centimeters while his sister and dad shot above him at least with three heads.


    ¡°Or bluer.¡± Yun added with a chuckle that spread to the others.


    ¡°But enough of me. What about you sis?¡± Then to direct the conversation, he asked her staring right into her eyes, deep down knowing the answer.


    ¡°Probably the eyes of Selesatal.¡± She answered plainly, as they are all aware of the creature famously known for its extraordinary sight, granting perfect visibility even in total darkness, the ability to see further than the eyes of the intelligent races can see. And helps with the arkhaine strains on the eyes after numerous inscriptions pouring into them.


    ¡°What about you two?¡± Then she turned toward them, her head slightly tilted as she asked.


    ¡°As weird as it may sound, I¡¯m probably going to ask for a better spear rather than augmentation.¡± Uld answered as he lifted his somewhat crude appearing weapon. A long wooden stick with a rock fused to its end. Literally, the wood and harsh grayish stone melded together into one.


    ¡°Similar to Bjartur for me. Except I plan to augment mine with those of an Aydrvoegh.¡± Yun answered while lifting both his arms up, looking at them with gloom as he already felt missing them.


    Aydrvoegh ¨C in the language of the Dusk ¨C were those deities and spirits whom allied with the Solemn King in his war against his brethren in the Dawn Age. Many of them remained in opposition with the Designs of the Almodo and with the inclusion of mortal races within the Host of the Dusk, they found new worshippers. A few of them though did return under the service of the Silent Shepherd and the Monarch of Finality.


    ¡°Why not your leg?¡± Bjartur inquired quite out of the blue as he tended to.


    ¡°Honestly. I¡¯m not sure. I just thought going for the arms first before anything else.¡± Yun said softly even though he knew the reason being that he may lose less of himself that way.


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    ¡°Plus I have more trust in Grimslaukh. I had the pleasure to see his handiwork with those necromancers of the Dhau¡¯Issz.¡± He added as he recalled the eerily graceful necromancers whom converged into the famous liches of the Host.


    ¡°Feel like now I should go that route too.¡± Fridr said while her body shook for a moment.


    ¡°Well, it has its dangers from what I heard. If the aydrvoegh deems you unfit for their blessing, your soul may get lost within the Beyond.¡± Yun added as he felt a little bad for the old shaman of theirs.


    ¡°What about our little sleeping sorceress?¡± Bjartur asked while scratching his chin under the thick beard of his.


    ¡°She decided to remain pure. At best, may seek a blessing from the Nightscale himself is what she told me.¡± Yun answered while caressing her cheeks to which she moaned softly. A smile curved onto her lips, as she subconsciously knew whose hand it was.


    ¡°Well, it is time to rest. I¡¯ll start first.¡± Then as they finished eating their dinner, Yun spoke up offering to be the next on the lookout.


    **


    As I walked towards the gate, the snow blanketing the cold marble felt strangely softer than usual. Before I rushed to him, I looked down at my own hands, both strangely appeared smaller and even softer than I remembered them. With each step closer towards the gate guarded by Skoti the Elderly whose creases were prominent even under the layers of alabaster paint. And Ivothaer a fellow kin of mine with a stern look. They were both clad in our clan¡¯s armor that compromised of white furred kirtills with red lining around the neck and hem. Over it large, sharpened plates of contrasting, deep black and red hues.


    With each step closer, my heart beat faster while a gentle warmness spreads within me. With each step, the scenery shifted like waves, a meadow with grass caressed my exposed legs, painted in cold colors, a clearing in the forest with tender symphony of gracious animals stalking nearby. In each scenery, the only constant was my dear Yun holding his right arm out with a smile on his skeletal, almost malnourished appearing but eerily alluring face with his tusks poking out from under his lower lip.


    Their lips moved yet I heard no sound came forth from their mouths as we greeted each other. He held out his muscled arm, that was still far from what it was presently. For a miniscule moment, I hesitated but then grabbed onto it and the we headed out into the blinding whiteness that surrounds the capital.


    Along the straight path, the others popped up one by one. First Fridr and Fram appeared from the same side, with teasing smiles that made my white sharp cheeks blush in a cold, in a soft frost hue. Then our dimwitted but kind friend, Bjartur appeared with a wide smile as if he was in anticipation. And then lastly our little Gobokh friend, Uld slowly walked with an expression that told us to slow down so he could catch up as usual.


    Our destination. The woodland surrounding the snow blanketed plains. Tall white trees lined up, circled around with their ethereally glowing leaves emanating a beautiful, mesmerizing color reminding me of the tender frost covering the lakes during the warmer summers of the North where we hunted wild beasts and the remnants of the kingdom in our youth.


    As my right foot stepped over the boundary between the forest and the plains, the shadows started dancing around on the snow, taking shapes varying from humanoid to¡­ hard to describe ones, but ones that creeped my heart. With each step further in, the shadows hardened devouring the light entering between the branches. The leaves themselves withered, fell onto the shadow that devoured them like a hungering beast.


    As fear grappled onto my heart, I started looking around frenetically, noticing the others missing including my dear Yun. Whose harsh hands¡¯ lingered as my last bastion against the fear that paralyzed me. As I opens my eyes slowly, a figure the same size as my beloved stood at the end of the road.


    But whatever he or it was ¨C it was wrong. It was a festering wound upon the reality of me, and the dream. A shadow shaped like a human or elf carved haphazardly. No cold or warmness around him or it, just a sensation of loss, of unrelenting, hopeless finality. And as it or he raised his left arm, I felt my heart stopping, but not cause of death, but because it became devoid of feelings.


    A part of me, felt curious. I wanted to take it and witness whatever may lie beyond the end of the path I knew he wanted to lead me on. But my reasonable part knew it was a path not to be taken as it may cost me more than my life. It may cost me him, and there may have been years of my life in which I could imagine a path of loneliness, now that I felt the touch of his lips, the warm touch of his hands, I could not take their hand.


    I tried to turn my head away, to speak words of rejection I could not. I could only watch as the darkness swallowed my world. My eyes teared up as I saw my sister laid down, unmoving. Her frail body desecrated with festering wounds. I saw Yun crawling towards me, his silent words calling out to me while hundreds of arrows stuck in his bleeding back. I watched as all the others were struck down by unseen enemies in a thousand gruesome manners. And I could do nothing, just watch and ache.


    Then she woke up, her body drenched in cold sweat. Her arms looped around the familiar waist that belongs to Yun, calming her heart down as she laid back, lids closed in a dreamless darkness.


    **


    The revolting sounds of small steps on blood and gut echoed through the long and dark corridor. A pack of goblins marched towards the scent of death that permeated from the darkness that filled the end of the path.


    Dried, centuries old blood and decayed flesh decorated the tiled floor. The walls that depicted the glories of the fallen, the dreamers of the beyond. A battle in which an imposing orkh clad in primitive armor fought against sinister elven figures clad in radiant vile segmented armor.


    Another with a tiny human that stood its ground against a dozen Jottnar towering over him like mountains, their pack of garmogrs bore their fangs drenched in their murky saliva. All these and the others stood the test of time, and even the goblins and various other primitive monsters that stalked the cold wastes of the basin let them be as they understood the consequences of desecration.


    ¡°Garabakh gha okha rakh!¡± The tallest of the pack ¨C the one that could pass as their evolved cousins, the Gobokhs ¨C spoke in their primitive language lacking in letters. The two shortest and frailest looked at each other with dread in their yellow, slit pupiled eyes. With a few groan noises they accepted their roles, fates and walked towards the darkness that chilled even their hunched spines. Their makeshift spears pointed towards as they made slow steps towards the unknown.


    Then a warped growl made them screech before an ethereal, light blue energy swept through them. Their upper bodies slid down as they rotted away in mere seconds. The rest including their cowardly leader froze in fear as It walked towards them with Its jaw open, ready to satiate Its ceaseless hunger until It finds them.

 Chapter 12: In The Throat of Death

    ¡°Fucking Six Abysses.¡± Uld cursed as he lunged his spear into the undead troll¡¯s frozen and decayed right ankle. The sharp rock end of it dented the dry skin a little. The towering undead ignored it for a moment, the thick, dark grayish fur, hard as the finest of metals, that protected Its back from the cruel frost of the north stood up for a moment.


    Then he dove a few meters backwards as the ankle headed towards him with great velocity and an unhealthful dose of necrotic matter. He slid a few meters beyond the intended, thanks to the thin veiled ice covering the murky ground. Yet It focus remained on the trio in front of it, Fram, Yun and Bjartur each swinging their weapons at It.


    Their aim was Its joints and limbs. Their hope was to sever Its large limbs from the body, and then finish It on the ground helpless. Yet their efforts proved futile as the undead accumulated quite the amount of necrotic energies through the centuries It had been placed as part of the trial. Thanks to that, it managed to evade the strikes while also mount Its counter against the three. Fram took the most of it, as his absent shield shattered to pieces on the ground showed.


    ¡°Let me help a bit.¡± Then Geirhyrien who stood a few meters away at the entrance to the large hall said. Lifted her right arm, engulfed in swirling arkhaine energies, his spears end lit up in a similar glow.


    ¡°Thanks.¡± He yelled while rushing towards the undead troll towering over him. Its attention focused on Yun and Bjartur who engaged with It. First, they swung their weapons at the relatively swift undead, then when it swung back with Its massive, partially decayed arms they dodged away. In their places, cracks appeared where they stood, while a few times they almost lost their balance thanks to the shakes.


    His spear this time found its way into the putrid flesh and bone engulfed in the eerie necrotic energies. Said energies parted as if giving way, burned up as the tip of the spear tore its way through it. It let out an ear piercing distorted scream that reverberated through the hall and the corridors now filled with lesser undead¡¯s unmoving cadavers.


    ¡°Now!¡± Geirhyrien screamed as ethereal chains raised from the ground, looping around swiftly Its arms and massive shoulder, pulling It down to towards the ground. Arrows sent by Fridr flew into Its rotten chest, tearing through thanks to the pure energies engulfing the tips. Fram swung down his blade, severing one of the arms, twice his size, from the body. Bjartur aimed his hammer at its once crude, now half-decayed head, skull exposed, while Yun¡¯s axes cut through the mass of rotten flesh and bone at Its waist. As Bjartur¡¯s hammer found its way, Its head exploded to thousand rotten pieces, some murky chunks adorned his beard.


    ¡°Oh shit, some in my mouth.¡± Bjartur said while leaning towards the ground as he stood in front of It. The last parts were dampened a bit as Its upper body slid down to the right.


    ¡°Euww.¡± Geirhyrien let out a weird noise as she quickly turned around to not witness as her friend forcefully vomited onto the exposed lower part of the undead troll.


    ¡°There there. Good work everyone!¡± Yun complimented the group with a faint smile while he patted her back gently, or as gently as he could with his massive arms.


    ¡°Rest well good old friend.¡± Fram said with a weakened tone as he crouched down and touched the remains of his shield. A shield that served him and his family for centuries, since the Host of Dusk formed and raised against their slave masters.


    ¡°It served our family well, but it was only a matter of time till this happened.¡± Fridr said as she stood beside him, placing her hand on his shoulders.


    ¡°I know. Yet it still hurts a bit.¡± Fram said after he took a deep breath while standing up.


    ¡°Hey Yun, isn¡¯t that your grandfather?¡± Meanwhile Bjartur stared at the statue in the center. A still pristine depiction of a mighty orkish figure standing proudly, one arm held out with an axe towards the sky.


    ¡°Yeah. And this troll was the one that brought him down decades ago.¡± Yun pointed at what remained of the undead troll after his beloved stopped making noises unbecoming of her.


    ¡°So in a sense we avenged him?¡± Bjartur asked with a smile.


    ¡°You could say. But with the spells of the Nightscale, this troll will stand like nothing happened in a few years. Maybe even less than a decade.¡± Yun said while poking the rotten lower part of the troll with his toe wrapped in layers of clothing and armor.


    ¡°Now, if everyone feels refreshed, let¡¯s move on before setting camp up.¡± After he took a look at everyone he said and they continued on straight towards the wide gate behind the statue. With slow, careful steps, made their way down the steps.


    **


    The sweet scent of the river always felt nice to me. Just like on that day. I watched my little self, crouching in front of a snow blanketed bush, picking off luminous berries into the basket mother gave me. A sweet tune escaped my lips in sweet tones and rhythms as I released the berries locked between my small, frail fingers. Yet I could remember I was much older even back then.


    I found my attention fixated on beyond the boundaries of trees and bushes. My fists curled up, and I could feel spells forming in my head subconsciously as the leaves started rustling gently, yet carrying a hidden menace. The whistling stopped abruptly, my little head jolted up in the same direction as hers. With small steps I got further and further away from the bush while carrying the basket with eloquent design made by mother. Yet I don¡¯t remember holding it, or even being sent out to collect berries.


    A stench of death started permeating the air, both of my faces contorted slightly. Footsteps reached my ears from both the direction of the deep and from beyond the forest whence home lied.


    Two figures, smaller than me but also taller stepped out from the snow covered flora. Their dark figures contrasted the surroundings. Muinonnians, avian monsters that evolved from ravens. They are native to our lands, as they are necrotic beings whom similar to the undead, crave for death and to send souls to the Carrier of Not Ever, a former deos who chose the side of the maddened Solemn King as mother told me centuries ago. A former deos whose role was to be a messenger, the first thing the great saw before they met their end, telling them their impending doom could never be halted ¨C even for a moment.


    Their long heads covered in something between fur and feather, reminiscent of the sky at the darkest hour of the night. Beaked heads that appeared to be of murky bone, eyes dark and red as dried blood. Hands ended in unnaturally sharp claws clenching crudely crafted spears, and their small yet muscular body draped in the skin of some furred beast.


    You should have taken it! Two high pitched voices left their mouths as soon as they opened them. Their clawed hands tightened around the uneven surface of the spears before they charged at me. Yet I remember them being dead in the snow, an imperfect ice spear impaled through their chest.


    As the voice reached all our ears, fear set in freezing my legs in place. The spells that flowed into my mind moments ago, no more. My hands curled into fists and shook as fear slithered up my spines, spreading an unbearable coldness within me. Yet I could never feel such cold in all my life.


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    Just as they reached within jabbing distance, I swung my small arm in front of myself, water poured out from my own palms. As soon as the water hit the ground it froze with unnatural swiftness, and the two Muinonnians fell on their bellies, screaming in anger. Using that short moment, I turned around and starts sprinting. Branches low enough scraped my delicate, soft alabaster face as I jolted between thorny maze of the forest.


    I felt as my muscles started burning, yet I continued on as the two creatures followed after me, quickly catching up as they gracefully navigated the thick forest. The snow swallowed my small legs with each rushed step, then the fear intensified as the sound of water flowing reached my ears. The realization of wrong direction set in, my hair cascading down onto my frail shoulders danced as I searched for a way to leave those two behind.


    Her mind tries to navigate her to one of those directions, but her legs decide to continue forward. Then they halt when she reaches the river with sharp rocks acting as natural boundary between snow and water.


    Swirling tendrils arose slowly behind me, silently hissing as I waited for the two muinonnian to show up. Just as I thought I lost them, the two avian creatures burst forth from the bushes and trees, snow and pines flown everywhere. And then my dear old Yun appeared as a small orkhish figure with a human child twice my size. Their arms looped around the thick necks of the muinons while they let out high-pitched screams.


    As they fell to the ground, the two kids let go and slid at her feet. The young human, namely Bjartur after I recognized him ¨C offered a smile before he jolted back up, preparing his fists then charged at the far left muinon slowly rising back up to its ivory avian feet. I felt happy, even though those two weren¡¯t even thoughts back then.


    ¡°You know any spells Sharp-Ears?¡± Yun got up and turned at me asking while cleaning snow off from the fur of his thick attire.


    ¡°Yes. And don¡¯t call me that!¡± I replied, my young childish and present voice merged into one with the same haughty tone.


    ¡°Good, then let¡¯s take down that one.¡± Yun said while pointing his eyes at the muinon on the right already on its feet. Anger plastered on its face as it bellowed a high pitch scream.


    I nodded with both my heads, then I took a weak step backwards while leading the dancing tendrils of frosty water behind myself. They separated swiftly from the river, shaped into sharp javelins as they flew overhead Yun and me at the creature.


    They multiplied into four while tearing through the air, one ripped through its right arm, another scratched its long beaked head. The other two missed while Yun reached into a close enough distance to land his right fist into its right arm.


    It screamed once more as the hole bent, the force from the hit damaged the weakened flesh. His fist easily went through the weak bones of the creature, and reached its vile heart pumping dark blood and tore it out with a force not befit even for orkhish children.


    A headache started taking over me, as I formed a snow serpent. It quickly lost its mass and fell down into three mounds of snow, burying the muinonnian¡¯s corpse and Yun almost. ¡°That was awesome.¡± He said while panting on the ground as the arms of tiredness slowly wrapped around his head. Those words felt nostalgic, as the first time we met, he said the very same thing to me while I was showing off my accumulated maghia knowledge to his father.


    Blood spurred out from Bjartur¡¯s head as he kept the remaining muinon¡¯s spear down. The aggravated creature then seeing its fellow kin passed on to greener pastures bit onto Bjartur¡¯s shoulder, leading to another source of blood tainting his thick, white attire. With a knee to the gut, the creature managed to wrestle itself free from Bjartur¡¯s hold, and with the blunt end knocked the kid out cold with a hit to the head.


    ¡°Shit¡± Yun cursed as the creature charged at me with a newfound vigor. My mind rushed through the few spells my parents thought me at the time I was at that age. In the end, my muscles grew slightly as mana surrounding me flew into them, and I grabbed onto the spear. Its hard, sharp end cuts my soft palm open, my white blood gushed onto the crude tip refining its sharp surface. The same blood that started pouring from my small nostril as I pulled the creature closer to the river¡¯s edge where we stumbled towards it near the edge.


    Knowing the seconds, I exerted all my enhanced strength, swept the creature¡¯s frail yet sturdy legs and tried to push it into the river. In a violent embrace, I managed to push the creature and myself towards the pristine surface reflecting our rolling figures.


    ¡°Not on my watch!¡± In the last minute, Yun locked his already muscled arms around my waist and yanked me back while the Muinonnian fell screeching into the waters.


    ¡°You okay Sharp-Ears?¡± Yun asked while I struggled staying awake at the midst of the deep aching that assaulted my minds.


    ¡°Yeah, just need a bit of rest. And I told you don¡¯t call me that.¡± Both of my voices came through differently this time. My past voice clearly weak and soft, as even speaking felt like a chore. My mature one with an air of nostalgia. Yet I don¡¯t remember where he rescued me from certain doom.


    ¡°Make me. Or at least introduce yourself.¡± Yun said as he let me rest in his already muscled arms. Like always, it felt nice akin to sleeping on thick pillows under the head.


    ¡°Geirhyrien. You two?¡± I asked once again in the same tones, while my child self forced her eyes to remain open as I met his strong, not-yet mature gaze.


    ¡°Shit my head.¡± Bjartur pat his head gently as he slowly got up. For a minute his eyes clearly reflected terror as he stared down at his clothes drenched in his blood. ¡°Shit, mom will skin me alive.¡± As he said those words, we all chuckled a little before worry set in our hearts looking at his blood covered body.


    ¡°That dumbass is Bjartur. Me I¡¯m just Yun.¡± He replied with a kind smile I never seen on any of his fellow kin.


    **


    The hollow steps of the draugr echoed through the vast corridor spreading into hundreds of directions like the roots of a tree under the ground. Their numbers lessened as the four of them quickly swathed through the hordes, Fridr¡¯s arrows finding way each time she released them. Geirhyrien conjured, spread water under the putrid dead while also enhancing the sight of her friend, atop enchanting those arrows so that they honed in on negative matter leaking from the living dead.


    ¡°Watch out!¡± Fram yelled as an undead clad in heavy armor, seemingly moving with the nimbleness of elves, charged at the two maidens.


    Fridr released her next arrow swiftly aimed at the helmeted head of the dead. But its seemingly quick reflex saved it from its third or fourth demise as the arrow found its way into its thick shield, piercing through metal with ease.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got this.¡± Yun shouted as he turned back after kicking over another draugr, starting a short chain reaction. He charged after the one loose, while the others quickly closed the gap where he stood, cutting down the fallen draugr.


    Water appeared from the crevices of the murky ground of dhauguun style, quickly freezing. The clash of stacked, necrotic infused plates hitting against the dhauguun processed stone floor reverberated through this line of corridor as the draugr fell. One last distorted scream left its rotten mouth filled with light bluish necrotic matter before Yun¡¯s axes severed its head from its rotten body.


    ¡°We¡¯re finished too.¡± Bjartur yelled between two breaths as he sat upon a pile of putrid corpses with a wide smile across his bearded face.


    ¡°We can continue on.¡± Geirhyrien said with a warm smile as Yun turned towards her with a questioning look on his face.


    Their steps echoed as they continued forward. After an hour of walking, they decided to take a break before turning back as they arrived to the end of this line. As they traversed the vast system built by the deep dwarves of the mountain, a certain thought appeared in their mind and turned to Geirhyrien for confirmation.


    She shook her head, conveying that no illusion magic is in place. Or if there is it is beyond her capabilities to break. What felt like days passed as they searched for the correct path, frost left by Geirhyrien marked where they were already, which they often met more then once while they searched for the way.


    Then, finally they found themselves on the correct path as the sweet serenade of river flowing cuddled their ears. Yet unease lingered over them at the signs of battle. A few draugr rested once more at the center of the path, torn to pieces with claw marks decorating their decayed plates. The same claw marks that destroyed the portraits of the lost and fallen on the walls.


    At Yun orders, they prepared themselves to whatever creature lied at the end. With slow steps, they marched through the vast, immense gates leading to the final resting place of Yun¡¯s Great-Grandfather who has fallen in the final battle for the North. Where It awaited for them already, hungering for more¡­

 Chapter 13: In The Throat of Death

    ¡°What is that thing?¡± Uld eyes focused on the strange undead feasting upon the cadaver of a Denevair, a bat like monster associated with death, native to the mountain¡¯s all stratums, layers. Upon entering, they were greeted by the unnatural arkhaine light erected by skohdriens bathing the immense crypt in a white light. The crypt itself built in a ring shape, consisted of a center platform with the grave itself built into it. A bridge connected to where they currently stood, slightly elevated or as Bjartur thought, maybe the platform itself was built deeper. In the gap, they heard the icy river flowing with great vigor towards the lower stratums of the mountain.


    Its slender figure hunched down, continued on with munching on the thick, hard flesh of the denevair. It ignored the group as they slowly took up position, forming plans while also trying to identify the undead.


    ¡°I have no clue.¡± Geirhyrien whispered as their gazed at her one by one. Thanks to her parents¡¯ teachings, she had been well versed in the various forms of undead passed onto them. The one currently still feasting matched none of the undead she had learnt about. She did conclude that it was not a simple raised undead, but one constructed through necrotic rituals.


    It appeared way taller even from the high vantage point they stood. Its hands ended in long clawed fingers, matching the marks left by it on the felled undead and the murals. Decay passed to a point where it could be deduced that whoever or whatever it once was died centuries ago. If not for the necrotic matter, it would have crumbled to dust already as per her assumptions at least.


    What truly set it apart from the constructed though was not necessarily its height, it could have been a tall elf deducing from its slenderness, but that necrotic energies swirling inside appeared much darker in hue. It was as if the night sky itself descended into, blessed it so to speak. And it exuded an aura just as cold and empty as the starless night sky ready to swallow the world in its unending darkness.


    ¡°Those razors in its back, they seem familiar.¡± Fram said as he focused his vision on the undead¡¯s back, noticing the sharp spikes neatly running down in its hunched back, moving as if it still breath.


    ¡°Reminds me of what maturing basilisk tend to posses before they loose their legs.¡± He recalled the anatomy book he once found in the library of their home-city, detailing how basilisk legs rot away as they amass necrotic energies during their maturing. At least those who took up residence in places where necrotic matter is abundant.


    ¡°For now, let¡¯s just focus on defeating that. We can learn more after its¡­ well dead once again.¡± Yun said as silently as he could. Everyone nodded in silence then they decided to go for their usual tactic. Leaving Fridr and Geirhyrien on the high vantage point, slightly away from the entrance on the left and right.


    The four of them slowly walked down towards the platform, stepping over the putrid remains of the draugr that once guarded this crypt.


    ¡°Ready?¡± Yun asked carefully amidst the gory sounds of hard flesh being grinded between the razors within the undead¡¯s jaws. With slight tilt, the others nodded, their grips and muscles tightened while Geirhyrien¡¯s spell coursed through them. Uld and Bjartur charged first, swiftly halting midway through as the undead jolted back up, a warped deep howl filled the two with dread they had never felt before. Their hearts beating so fast they almost burst forth their chests, their shaking even spreading into the ground and corpses while their previous stances broke apart in seconds.


    ¡°Watch out.¡± Fram yelled at the two frozen in time, the undead lurched at them with four arms, two additional grown from its armpits. Bjartur¡¯s scream echoed within the chamber as one of the hands left their mark on his face. A dark light lit up on his right eye, passed on from one of the claws, it swiftly devoured his eye, and if not for Geirhyrien, Bjartur himself would have been lost to the vile spell. Putrid flesh framed the empty hole where his eye was once before.


    And if not for Fram¡¯s timely pull, he would have been cut in two the next moment when the slit, reptilian eyes glowed with a jet black hue that swallowed all light around them. Behind him far, the section crumbled to pieces within seconds, swallowed by the now raging waters below.


    ¡°That was close.¡± Geirhyrien took a momentary look as the platform crumbled a few steps from her. She focused once more, condensing her mana into her where her heart lies, shaping, forming it while her arms started to rise upwards. Spears and arrows of clear water rose from the raging waters, up to the platform. Their sharp tips looked at the undead that kept its distance from the four.


    ¡°Stay your distance.¡± Fridr yelled while drawing an arrow herself, her eyes squinting as she took aim at the undead¡¯s head. Her ears waited for the voice of Geirhyrien to reach her in gentle, echoing whispers. Now. The command arrived and the spears and arrows made of water assaulted the undead with Geirhyrien¡¯s gentle fury. Each missile aimed at the joints and limbs, to pin it in place so Fridr or the four can finish it off.


    But instead of being finding their way, they dissipate, even the arrow rots to nothing a few meters from the undead¡¯s head. It¡¯s gaze now focused on Geirhyrien as it recognized the threat the mage possess. And the one it wants dead.


    The ceiling shook, the four fell on their knees while Geirhyrien swift protection failed to reach them in time as the undead let out a distorted bellow. A dread carried by pain stuck their nerves and muscles like hundreds of needles inserted, yet Yun and Bjartur pushed through the pain, one because of his nature, the other because of worry born from love as he noticed the undead turned its attention to Geirhyrien.


    They charged at the living dead, Fram not far behind as he managed to overcome the pain and fear. The runes engraved onto his blade lit up with warm light, sparks turned to flames engulfing blinding silver as he leapt above the two. His blade aimed at the undead¡¯s neck, hoping to sever it in one go, or at least to bring its attention away from their aid.


    Yet the blade only touched the air in front of its decayed skin, stopped by a dark aura that snuffed the magical flames out altogether. The light of the runes too lost their fervor, only smothering smoke inhabiting the runic space. Fear frozen on his face as he stared into the undead¡¯s eyes, blood flowed from his libs as the claws pierced through his thick furred armor and flesh.


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    Fridr¡¯s scream still reached her ears, before he passed onto the next life, gifted by the Nightscale to all who followed and believed in his cause. Then in his place, dust flew into the air leaving only his memory living on within his now saddened, enraged friends unleashing their fury on the undead.


    Uld spear through the air accompanied by his high pitched scream, even passing through the layers of negative matter draping over the undead. Bjartur¡¯s hammer stroke down at the back, shattering the negative aura. Yun¡¯s axe reached its destination, severing its lesser arm on the right, landed in the side of the undead.


    Even all this hurt the undead little. It emitted a great wave of deathly energies that swept all three away, and if not for Geirhyrien¡¯s timely protection, they may have met their friend sooner than later. With weapons in hand, they charged once more at the undead, but a few steps from striking at it, their weapons decayed away into nothingness. And two rotten sickle appeared from its back, striking at them with unnatural vigor.


    The ground shook and cracked as the two rotten apparatus buried deep in the ground. Yun and Bjartur were looking for weapons on the few draugr laid motionless, the two grabbed a long blade and a spear that was thrown towards Uld. The Gobokh warrior gulped as he mustered his bravery and calmed the raging flames of anger that burned his heart and soul.


    Before the tip of the spear, or the sword¡¯s held by Yun could reach the stuck undead, it disappeared. With a swift movement, after getting used to the two sickles, the undead leaped high in the air, leaving ancient dust and frost.


    Transparent darkness formed into a thin layer similar to ones found on the wings of insects as it turned its attention once more at Geirhyrien. For a moment as they gazed upon the undead, the words winged horror flashed in their minds as an appropriate name. Arrows flew past its wings, some scraped rotten flesh, others scraped the thin layer of negative matter helping its flight, before they rotted away.


    Once more Geirhyrien felt a cold presence slithering its way through her body, and soul while the winged horror approached her with hollow resentment in its eyes. The main four fingers on her right hand glued together while her thumb pushed onto the plump palm on her left hand held out. Her left hand stretched to the abyss gesturing waves as her will called out the element of water.


    As a whirlpool formed in the raging river, a blue glow enveloped both her arms while the winged horror slammed down to where she stood, all four of its arms turned to as dark as the starless night sky, stuck in the platform. A serpentine hiss escaped its jaw, unbecoming to its figure as it may have experienced frustration for the first time.


    Snowflakes fell onto it as Geirhyrien stood in the same position with the smile of a victor. In the next moment the river slithered above their level in the shape of a dancing serpent, bared its fangs at the trapped winged horror as water droplets freeze its arms to place.


    Swallowed by the serpent¡¯s head, the winged horror emits a shriek bled her ears before the water froze solid. Her friends¡¯ footsteps dampened thrums as she collapsed down the ground while gasping. Water freezing her teeth poured out from her while an indescribable pain danced within her veins. The fear of being on the verge of death by consumption made her shake like never before.


    She quickly pushed the fear away and reached for her belt on which her pouch rested. Reaching in, as calmly as she could, pulled out a small bottle filled with a bluish liquid possessing an ethereal glow. Barely managed to open it with her shaky fingers, some poured onto her scaled and white furred armor but as it went down, the pain subsided slowly.


    Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath out of relief, then as she opened them fear once again assaulted her being. Dark energies condensed within the ice, followed by cracks appearing all over the ground and ice. ¡°Rhy!¡± Then just as his voice reached her ears, the roar of breaking stone and ice muted it and she found herself falling into the depths. The winged horror followed to make sure of her imminent death.


    Her arms reached out, one that got grabbed by Yun, the other condensing mana for one last spell, willing even in the face of possible death. Arrows pierce the head of it, while the spell slowly took the shape of a tear with a sharp end.


    ¡°Just a bit more.¡± She said while shakingly aimed at the chest of the winged horror half-stuck in ice still somehow flying up towards her.


    ¡°Let it go. Give me your other hand!¡± Yun yelled with an aching voice as a bad feeling rooted itself within his heart.


    Then as her spell fired, the winged horror swung its arm. For a moment it was once again pitch black, as a blade flew out from it, seemingly aimed at Geirhyrien¡¯s head. But instead it severed Yun¡¯s arm, that remained locked as a sudden terror filled her while she fell towards the raging waters. The winged horror fully frozen once more, by Fridr¡¯s arrow fell after her.


    Yun¡¯s bloody scream trailed after the two as they were swallowed whole by the waters, carried to the depths of death¡­


    **


    ¡­Down by the river laid the bright alabaster cadaver on the dark grounds of the lowest stratum of Mount Dhaugruz. Her face frozen in a calmness riddled with open scars through which her ivory blood poured out, forming a pool around her, making her resemble a grotesque, discarded doll.


    Her hair dances as the cavernous air blew onto it, while her eyes remained closed as she found her peace while toiling in the raging waters that dragged her to the lower stratums of the mountain. From afar one could deduce that a lone maiden was sleeping in a bed of snow surrounded by a dark, luminous landscape. Rocks shooting high up resembling wicked jaws in the process of closing on their captured prey. Howls and crackles filled the dark distance belonging to the varied, deathly denizens of the mountain.


    But their cowardice kept them from approaching beyond the natural boundary of rocks. They felt it, him in the air and even in deeper layers of reality. His cold presence was a forewarning to leave the corpse alone.


    Minutes, hours and days passed as she laid there with the air frozen around her at her final resting place before a towering dark figure appeared clad in tattered robes made up of numerous layers, each with a black hue akin to the feathers of ravens, red as blood lining and stole. Strange, outlandish runes engraved into the soft and dry fabric.


    His visage hidden under his large hood that cast hard shadows over them, except for the two mauve slit contours that appeared ¨C their light devoured by the darkness.


    ¡°Should have taken it.¡± He spoke with a deep, guttural voice full of faux regret and hollow sorrow while myriad whispers followed, each with their own differing, forced emotions. His eerily long arms that reached down to where his knees may lie, moved closer.


    ¡°Our dreams were the same.¡± He continued while his body hunched down towards her, his hands caressed her damaged face, now a haunting beauty after life faded from her. Then he stopped as he noticed her right hand clutching onto something. With a gentle wave of one of his hand, her palm opened revealing an amulet of a peculiar dried heart shape bleeding as two daggers penetrated from top and bottom, a strange symbol of love between two.


    ¡°I¡¯ll promise... this time around, he will live his life to the fullest. Present with joy and sorrow, peace and anger. Before he dreams of you again.¡± He slowly sat beside her, the empty darkness stared far into the distance. As he made his vow, his voice felt heavier for a moment before the end, before he started enjoying the silence¡­

 Chapter 14: Bravery of the Ordinary

    2<sup>nd</sup> of Obhitraum, 1253 of the First Age.


    ¡°Eadwald, go fetch your brother!¡± His mother¡¯s voice reverberated through the spacious homestead their family were gifted with after the retirement of his great-grandfather.


    ¡°Yes mother!¡± He replied while separating his palms from the lock as he prayed to the little shrine of the previous Emperor, Julianis. A draconic aevhe with sharp features, a long, but neatly trimmed beard that scraped way down to the stacked rock it stood on. Hair similarly long, tangled into an impossible high knot.  Eyes elongated, crafted with a sharp gaze carved carefully into the obsidian.


    Eadwald¡¯s golden eyes returned the stare before he wiped off the dirt covering his soft, fair complexion. He grabbed a pair of slim, short ropes, using them to tie his ruffled dark mane to the back before he left his room. Walking towards the door leading outside, the cold of early season of remembrance and journey hit him. He reached out towards the right where the furred coats hanged slightly above his head. Slowly tucked himself into it, then finally stepped through the boundaries of their home.


    ¡°He and Azugh¡¯s group went towards the forest.¡± As his feet buried deep into the thick layer of mud and snow, a gently soft voice informed him from the right. There on a weak wooden bench sat her little sister, Amiriniel. While he showed signs of his aevhen blood, an ear with a slightly sharper tip, sharp cheeks, his sister enjoyed the full benefits of her own aevhen heritage.


    A triangular face blessed with perfect proportions, straight small nose, symmetrical lips already possessing an ethereal luster and high, sharp cheekbones. Perfectly smooth, fair skin, soft almond shaped azure eyes. Long ever-moist like hair cascading down to her frail shoulders in perfect straightness, with a deep raven black hue.


    ¡°Great. Won¡¯t you help?¡± He asked while his mana flowed into his palms. Inscriptions formed in his arkhaine point ¨C a very rudimentary one ¨C that spread a gentle heat into his hands as the two cuddled each other in the cold.


    ¡°I fetched him yesterday. Now it is your turn.¡± She said while her gaze remained focused on the old book.


    ¡°Please Ami. I will fetch some new books next time the caravan comes.¡± He sat beside her then gently poked her sides with his elbow.


    ¡°You are old enough brother to not be afraid of that forest anymore.¡± Her words landed like sharp, cold daggers that dug into his body. ¡°But fine. Also I expect more than the books in payment.¡± She added while closing the book filled with arkhaine runes.


    The Vesgeriath Woodland spreads for hundreds if not thousands of kilometers not far from the southern range of Mount Dhaugruz. The nekrotic energies seeping from the mountain downwards like a river tainted the forest ever since the last great battle against the Host of Dusk seven hundred years ago.


    Many of the local fauna had been mutated into deathly monstrosities, the dead rise up as revenants hungering for the vitae and flesh of the living, and even Umvraoths found their way into this world from the Shadows of the World Tree.


    Autharsovath in the same way to other villages in the region has originally started out as a fortress to serve as a first line of defense against the remnants of the Solemn Kings¡¯ host prowling the North.


    But the building of the fortress was impeded by the constant raids from the remants, the wandering revenants and as time passed the Host of the Dusk that migrated through the myriad and vast tunnels of the mountains. So in the end, only the walls reached full completion, while instead of a fort, smaller huts and homesteads had been built by the settlers, who were the brave legionaries and their families.


    ¡°Why does he always venture into that forest. We should really tell mother and father about this.¡± Eadwald said while keeping his voice low as they passed by the other villagers and the patrolling guards. Each guard wore the shiny armor their fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers wore centuries ago.


    ¡°The same reason we all did. The boundaries of the village get boring rather fast.¡± Amiriniel stated coldly while her eyes focused on the road ahead.


    A simple haellonic style cuirass with a metallic pristine white surface that blended in with the snow blanketed surroundings beyond the village. The contours followed a faint outline of a muscled abdomen while at the center of the chest, a roaring dragon head gazed into the distance.


    On the head, an open face aurinthian helmet sat, shoulders hidden under large segmented plates that only reached the elbow, the forearm protected by a simple vambrace on each, the legs wrapped in tight clothing of red hues clad in hoplitir overlapping greaves. And each of them had their round, large aspil shield engraved with the crest of the empire, an ouroboros bathed in the light of the red sun.


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    The two changed their direction and walked into small, barely alley area¡¯s between two homestead nearest to the wall as the two members of the village watch passed by them. Eadwald looked back one last time to the back of the two as they slowly descended down the stairs the two of them came from.


    ¡°You know, that wasn¡¯t necessary.¡± Eadwald said as he followed after his little sister. Unaware yet on her intentions to get them out from the village¡¯s high walls.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± She apologized to Old Muriel who was sitting in her small garden. Amiriniel started running gracefully towards the north-eastern section of the wall, jumping from fence to fence. For a few moments he watched her baffled then quickly started picking up the pace and slowed down when he passed her as she struggled a little with leaping over fences.


    While the sun was still in its state of bathing the world in warm light, the hour of dusk was approaching quickly. Usually the gates closed an hour before the darkness blanketed the land, meaning that the enchantments woven into the walls activated, not letting a soul in or out.


    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious right? We should at least tell uncle Gna.¡± Eadwald said as he swiftly regained his breath amidst panting. Cold sweat flowed down his spine under his thick kyrtill.


    ¡°Shh. If we can fetch Sigi before they notice, I think that is a better outcome. Or do you want to condone him to decades of being trapped behind these walls?¡± She shushed him while her eyes closed, and she took deep breaths to calm her body.


    For a moment the cruel cold assaulted her senses, then like a spark lit up, a warmness filled not just her body but her soul too as she took control over the flow of her mana. The bluish grey stones stacked, kept tightly together by mud that appears to be completely frozen, turned completely transparent.


    Eadwald watched proudly as his little sister made the wall transparent and walk through able for the two of them before he became anxious. His legs frozen in place and at the silent nagging of Amiriniel, he walked out of the protection of the village. While the two were far from them and blended into the snowy surroundings ¨C Amiriniel knew it was only a matter of minutes before the guards at the gates notice the two.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hurry before they notice us.¡± The two started sprinting down the hill towards the small river separating the dreadful forest.


    ¡°When did you learnt that?¡± Eadwald asked as he collapsed behind the large stone to evade the guard¡¯s gaze as they noticed the two for a mere moment in the edge of their vision.


    ¡°Just a few hours ago.¡± She said between two deep breaths as she leant onto the harsh, snow and ice covered surface of the rock.


    ¡°I would give you my congratulating pat, but I¡¯m about to be snuffed out by the Taker of Breaths.¡± Eadwald said with a cheeky smile while his chest puffed out as he took deep breaths to calm his pounding heart from bursting out.


    ¡°This once I¡¯m glad you reached your limit brother.¡± Amiriniel said between breaths while also trying to look over the stone, her frail small hands grasping the top edges of the stone. ¡°I think we¡¯re good.¡± She added after noticing the guards once again indulging in some banter.


    ¡°Ready?¡± As the two slowly regained their strength, Amiriniel looked over their hiding spot once more. Then they looked at each other and Eadwald nodded before they rushed down to the banks. It was mostly a collection of wet, partly frozen rocks slightly above the flowing water, covered in snow here and there.


    Their destination, a large tree fallen over acting as a natural bridge between the two sides. First Amiriniel jumped onto it and charged to the other side maintaining her balance. Behind her Eadwald¡¯s pace slowed considerably as they got closer and closer to the forest. On the other side, she continued on while Eadwald froze down for moments felt like an eternity for him.


    It was as if an icy hand gripped his heart when dread settled in completely. Memories flowed into his mind, while from the edge of his vision, he saw the same slender figure draped in torn clothes, disheveled dark hair and a torn face. A disjointed maw and gaping mouth forever moaning, crackling like the old doors at home. Eyes wide open, with only empty whiteness in them.


    With slow steps, the figure got closer, his head twitched as his morbid curiosity, and fear wrestled. Part of him wanted to face the source of his dread, to finally win and to avenge them. Yet he could not and in his shame, his golden eyes started tearing up as tremors shook his arms and legs.


    He closed his eyes, hoping for the embrace of the dark to save him from this reality, but instead he was greeted by flashes of his friends, their faces filled with the dread of that day. The image of his once best friend ¨C Rhima being torn to pieces amidst the slow moans filled with a grudge aimed at the living. His soft pale face stared at Eadwald with justified anger as he became a slave of it.


    ¡°Eadwald, come we have to hurry before anyone notice us.¡± Just as he felt the stench of putridness assaulting his nostrils once again, Amiriniel¡¯s voice brought him out as she grabbed his shoulders.


    ¡°Sorry, sorry, sorry. I can¡¯t do it. I can¡¯t enter.¡± He said frantically. Tears flowed from his eyes, snot converged over his lips.


    Amiriniel looked at him and pondered for a while. ¡°Stay here. Count to fifteen like dad though and call for aid if I don¡¯t return by then.¡± She said with a reassuring smile.


    Eadwald took a deep breath while staring at the dark trees looming over them, their hollow branches spread out, reaching like skeletal hands.


    ¡°A dragon knight faces all the horrors of life with a brace smile.¡± Eadwald took a deep breath, once again closing his eyes, this time only empty darkness greeted him as he spoke and forced his legs to move forward.

 Chapter 15: Bravery of the Ordinary

    ¡°How far is it?¡± Azugh asked in his deep, yet childish voice as he kicked up snow and fallen branches as they trailed across the silent forest. The only thing besides them that emitted any noise was the wind softly howling between the trees.


    Azugh was a young orc, already much taller and mature appearing than his best friend. His rugged, furred attire already pressed onto his not yet developed muscles. Complexion wise he shared an alabaster hue with the snow blanketing the ground under their feet. Tusks barely peeking out from under his lower lip, while his black mane already scrapes the round collar of his thick coat. His face rough, already ornamented with scar tattoos, small animal bones pierced through his ears and nose.


    ¡°Just a little bit more.¡±  Sigiwaer said while his intense blue eyes in an almond frame darted left to right, a hint of fear visible in them. His dark hair, short and clumsily trimmed with a single long braid cascading down from the right side of his innocent face, exposing his sharp aevhen ears to the elements. His sharp chin was cuddled by the soft fur of his coat¡¯s collar, similarly looping around his neck.


    ¡°Are you sure we¡¯ll get back before sundown?¡± Azugh asked noticing the slight dread in his friend¡¯s eyes as he looked down at him.


    ¡°Yeah, don¡¯t worry. The old wanderer said it is only half an hour into the forest.¡± Sigiwaer said as he recounted the disheveled old lady in thick, furred hide armor with a cloak casting soft shadows onto her dirty and creased gaunt face. While the northern settlements were rarely visited, occasionally adventurers seeking prestige, legionaries from the nearby fortresses came to trade.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t really talk to strangers like her. She could have easily been a Nokken.¡± Azugh said as he let out a sigh, a small cloud floated towards the ivory sky from his mouth. For a moment he felt a chill ran up his spine.


    ¡°She was fine. I mean she was kind of weird, but I guess it comes with the age and all. But a long time ago she was one of us.¡± Sigiwaer added in his soft, silky voice while recalling the moment the woman called out to her. At first, he was scared, but then the strange adventurer shared some of her bread with him while telling about an old cottage left behind by her parents several decades ago.


    ¡°Are you sure? I feel like pa or ma would have mentioned someone like her. And anyone could tell you that. That doesn¡¯t make it the truth.¡± Azugh said while scraping his prominent chin after climbing over a fallen tree that blocked their way.


    ¡°Maybe they forgot about her. It has been a long time since she left.¡± Sigiwaer noted while being lifted down to the ground by Azugh.


    ¡°Could be. But still we have been walking for an hour now, I think. And still no sign of that old shack she told you about.¡± Azugh stated while looking at him.


    ¡°Wait, it is there.¡± Sigiwaer then yelled as he noticed the decrepit remains of what once was the home of a small family. He quickly rushed while Azugh let out a sigh then followed after him with slow steps, staring at the ground to not trip.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it cool? This could be our new secret hideout. Venture out, strike down vile monsters and bandits.¡± Sigiwaer¡¯s eyes gleamed with wonder, excitement as he stopped in front of the collapsing entrance.


    ¡°Sure, but this definitely needs some repairing.¡± Azugh noted as he caught up, a faint smile curved onto his face while he inspected the old, abandoned structure.


    ¡°Hey look here. Must had been hers.¡± Amongst the heap of snow that fallen through the ruined roof, Sigiwaer found a small handmade doll of a feminine figure. It was even dressed up in a long robe with collars that concealed its puffed, rotting cheeks.


    ¡°Eugh, it smells pretty bad.¡± Azugh pinched his large nose as he walked near. The waste meat used to fill out these dolls while frozen, still managed to reach a level of decay that resulted in a foul smell. ¡°Pretty old, like the hag. Throw it out the window.¡± Azugh added while feeling annoyed as he pointed at the window directly opposite to them.


    ¡°Just give me a minute.¡± For a moment, his eyes lit up in a soft bluish glow as his inner mana flowed into his eyes, slowly shaped into the proper runes, inscription.


    ¡°Prepare vile monster, I will defeat you and save the empire!¡± Then as if mimicking the voice of a wizened wizard, he lifted the doll towards Azugh who stumbled back a bit. Holding its arms, Sigiwaer swinged them around as if it was casting spells.


    ¡°Ouch, agh.¡± Azugh slapped his hands onto his torso just as though he had been hit by spells. With an unconvincing slow movements, he fell onto a mound of snow on the other side of the entrance. His tongue playfully rolled out while he stared at a hole through which a large branch of a tree entered. Its pale white leaves rustled as the cold wind blew in, spreading the foul stench of the doll even more.


    Sigiwaer laughed a bit while he reached one of his hand out and helped Azugh stand back up. While he cleaned his back from the snow and frozen dirt, Sigiwaer threw the doll out the window on the right. The two kids looked around after that.


    ¡°Hey, take a look at this.¡± Sigiwaer yelled as he noticed a hatch in the floor under a rug that was pretty much decayed, torn completely. ¡°Help me.¡± The two grabbed the ring with both their hands, then after much toil managed to lift it up slowly.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going down there.¡± Azugh said while staring at the pitch blackness that gazed right back at them.


    ¡°Come on. There is nothing down there probably.¡± Sigiwaer tried to encourage him, while already one leg on the creaking old steps.


    ¡°It smells horrible. I think something definitely died down there.¡± Azugh stood at right edge while once again covering his nose. A smell emanated from the darkness that burned his nose from the inside concurrently making him dizzy. It was as if a family got butchered, and their putrid bodies were left there for decades, still in a state of decomposition.


    ¡°I think we should really leave Sig.¡± He added as sense of dread followed. While he already saw cadavers in his ten years, for the most part they were fresh, and died of natural causes.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll only take a peek.¡± Just as those words left Sigiwaer¡¯s mouth, Azugh let out a sigh, then after hearing something from the outside, crawling around with heavy steps, he followed after him.


    **


    ¡°They must be close.¡± Amiriniel pointed at the pair of footsteps in the snow converging, then diverging at random intervals.


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    ¡°Good.¡± That¡¯s all Eadwald could muster out while his attention constantly darted around, watching the surroundings, listening to every little sound the forest made.


    A dreaded nostalgia filled him, recalling how he had ventured into the forest when he was the same age as Sigiwaer. He felt the same excitement, recalled the playful expressions of his friends made. Then their pale faces staring emptily at him, the sound of flesh and bone tearing and breaking, blood flowing from their little pale bodies draped in torn tunics and coats.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Those sounds muffled at the loud howl of wood breaking not far from them. Eadwald asked while rushing in the direction, even passing his sister as mana flowed into his legs from the surrounding and from within him.


    ¡°Whatever it is, nothing good.¡± Amiriniel said between two heavy breaths as she picked up the pace. As they approached the wooden shack, or what little remains of it, they froze in fear. Standing at its center was an undead monstrosity, made of bones and putrid flesh stacked together on all fours. Ribcages flipped and served as its back facing the sky, nekrotic energies flown within. Its head a malformed skull with hollow eyes and a grin that emitted a warped rattling as it noticed the two new preys.


    The mishmash of rotting muscles ¨C with tortured faces bulging out and flowing like in a river ¨C moved on their own down to its four skeletal limbs, wrapping themselves around the pristine bones. Then they stiffened as it leapt high in the air, its frontal arms or legs moving in a position to swing at Amirinel.


    ¡°Ami!¡± Eadwald yelled as he came out from the momentary trance, pushing the similarly scared sister of hers out from the way of the unnaturally long and sharp bony fingers. His scream echoed through the forest as the tips ran across his shoulder. The wounds rapidly decayed, his flesh at the edges turned almost black while emitting the putrid smell of death.


    ¡°Not today.¡± He said as he bit his lips and leapt from the next swing aimed to take his head. Amidst the landing, he lost his footing as the ground ran down like a smaller hill, he rolled a few times that saved his life as the undead monstrosity charged at him. He shielded his face from the oncoming pieces of the tree that it tore apart in his place.


    As he slowly stood back up, he started looking around for anything to use as a weapon. Noticing a large torn of branch not far from the destroyed wall of the shack, he rushed in that direction while fear gripped his heart as it followed him not far behind. He grabbed the fallen piece of the nearby tree, poured his mana hastily into it, and with equal haste forged it into inscriptions that increased the durability of the fallen branch. He held it over his head, stopping the attack coming to tear him in two down from his head.


    ¡°Amiriniel? Are you up? Need a bit of help?¡± He yelled to his sister while the undead monstrosity exerted more of its unnatural strength, pushing its sharp fingers towards his face. Suddenly, pushing back the creature felt easier, while the aching in his muscles disappeared as inscriptions formed within them. He felt the same gentle, empowering warmness form in his legs, and he lifted them up, kicking the large undead away like kicking a small sack of cotton.


    ¡°Thanks. Now leave this to me.¡± Eadwald slowly got up to his feet while ordering his sister. His eyes kept on the undead, while his grip around the fallen, thick branch tightened.


    ¡°Okay. But as soon as I find them, we run.¡± Amiriniel said while her breathing intensified, her azure blood flowing in straight line down from her nose as she wrestled with a gradually growing headache. Ignoring it, and the slight weakness of her limbs, she got up and force walked towards the remains after spotting Azugh laying in the snow face down.


    She collapsed onto her knees just from his head, and continued searching for her little brother. After not noticing him, she rolled Azugh onto his sides, and noticed clawed marks left on his chest, the clothing around it completely decayed away. She took a deep breath, then held her palms over the wound, a warm white and rouge light emitted from them. The black flesh gradually gained back its previous alabaster hue, while his crude, skeletal childish ork face grimaced.


    ¡°Amiii!¡± Eadwald¡¯s voice reached her ears, just as the sounds of heavy, rattling steps as it slowly approached him. It prepared to end his short life with one swoop of its right arm. As he stared into its eternally grinning head, he felt its mocking as the asymmetrical upper and lower jaw hurtled into each other repeatedly.


    She closed her eyes while her chest puffed out as cold air entered her smaller, triple lungs. For a moment, darkness filled her vision, then the surroundings including Azugh, the undead monstrosity and Eadwald appeared as pale azure contours. Followed them were the outlines of the earth below the snow, the roots of the trees twisting onto each other as they spread all over. She felt their thick, cold essence and tapped into it, but as she did the warmness that she felt while channeling, spreading her mana turned into a cold scorch that tenderly tore into her being, a final cautioning.


    The howling of earth followed as roots burst forth under the snow and frozen mud, aiming for the limbs, joints of the undead. Its rattling howl reverberated through the forest, as if it screamed for help while restrained by mother nature.


    ¡°Nice.¡± Was the only word Eadwald could mutter with a smile as his eyes slowly closed shut. For a moment he saw the figure of a tall and lean figure with a shaggy head of dark hair, skin as pale as his. In his hand a long sword which¡¯s blade enveloped in radiant flames, swept through the body of the undead like butter.


    ¡°You did well!¡± As he finally fell into the worlds of dreams, his father¡¯s deep, mellowing voice slowly dissipated, bringing calmness to his beating heart.


    **


    ¡°How are they faring?¡± Gna¡¯Yrg asked with a drab complexion.


    ¡°Amiriniel fares the best, only exhausted a bit. Eadwald¡¯s infection almost claimed his life, but he is in a better condition. Sigi still haven¡¯t woken up.¡± Ulrich said while forcing a smile onto his stubbly face, while his eyes were still red with worry, teary from dread.


    ¡°He is a tough little fellow. Azugh said he was the one who helped him over the wall.¡± Gna said while patting his friend¡¯s right shoulder.


    ¡°I know. It¡¯s just first Ead, now Sigi. I¡¯m doing a horrible job as a father.¡± Ulrich said forcing the words out as his throat tightened. He slumped down to the ground while forcing himself not to cry in front of Gna.


    ¡°You are not a bad one. The Deossos watch over him, and he will learn from this, just like Ead did, and just like we did.¡± Gna sat down beside him as he took out a flask of Hmara Mead and offered it to him. For a few moments he locked his eyes onto the flask, pondering. With a swift sweep, he took the flask and gulped a quarter from it.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. But still, after this I¡¯ll spend more time with them.¡± He chuckled a bit as the mead burned while heading down within.


    ¡°Eadwald and Amiriniel are already approaching the age to be trained by you and Mirdbruil.¡± Gna said after he drank a quarter of a quarter from the flask.


    ¡°I¡¯m proud of them.¡± Ulrich muttered as he leaned his head onto the wooden frame of the entrance. The two slowly stared upwards, basking in the stars ornamenting the dark sky. They sat there in silence before Gna¡¯Yrg bid him farewell and returned home, before he too returned beside his wife to watch over their littlest child, toiling to survive.


    **


    The wind serenely howled, a soft darkness settled at the shack, parted here and there by the graceful light of the moon, shining through the leaf covered branches of the trees. Hungering crows descended down, picked what little scorched, rotten flesh remained on the remains of the undead. Then as if a predator showed itself, they flew away cawing.


    A slender, feminine figure wrapped in shadows stood on the decrepit, snow covered floors of the shack. A doll in her right crinkled hand, a black braid in her left. For a moment the moon¡¯s light shone on her pale, emotionless elderly fa?ade under the hood with her graying black hair. Her pupils, black as the starless night sky, devoid of love, hate and all. The lunar light moved away terrified as she looked up, gazed into the white and silvery disk that halted the darkness from swallowing the world.


    Then she dropped both on the ground, her hands reached towards Sigiwaer¡¯s half bandaged head that moved around, his expression anguished. The pain of decay scorched his flesh and his being away.


    Yet, when her skeletal hands stretched closer and closer, a calmness settled onto him. Pitch blackness leaked out from her palms, into the bandages. Calm settled onto him ¨C even a small grateful smile ¨C as a coldness washed the pain away.


    ¡°Use it well. See the path.¡± She leaned close to his left ear, whispered in a low, innocent tone with half a smile.

 Chapter 16: Gifts Ungiven

    His eyes slowly opened up as the endless darkness dissipated, and the world, the room Sigiwaer slept peacefully for the past week. The bloody bandage soaked to blackness pressured onto his skin and hair, while a hint of dread risen within him in tandem. He cried from the top of his lungs, the sheets and his soft white clothes soiled as he lunged up, wanting to be rid of the bandages.


    ¡°Sigi!¡± A familiar, calming voice shouted at the same time heavy thuds upon the wooden floor permeated their home. As he turned sobbing at the door, arms held out to embrace, his mother, his beautiful mother rushed and locked her tender arms around his frail body as he wept in no pain over her shoulders. Her worried face changing calmed him a little as relief settled down her beating heart ¨C expressed now on her enchanting aevhen visage.


    ¡°MOM? I¡¯m sorry mom!¡± His voice broke as snot and pearly tears converged on his soft, damaged face. Her raven black hair touched his left cheek like a tender brush, expelling the dreadful memories of the undead charging at him with graven shriek.


    ¡°I know. I was too my Little Prince.¡±  Mirdbruil said as her soft palms gently caressed his dark hair not under the restraints of bandages. Pearly tears started streaming forth once more from her azure eyes in a gentle almond shape, while her lips trembled in a smile as worry slowly shifted into joy and relief.


    ¡°Do not weep my Little Prince, here nothing can hurt you ever more I promise you.¡± Their forehead touched as she whispered to him while sobbing.


    ¡°Now, let¡¯s get some water to clean your clothes.¡± She said while gently freeing him from her embrace. He sobbed for a bit while, then his hands moved onto the bandage as the absence of his one eye registered. Yet his vision wasn¡¯t for the worse, it was even better, sharper. He now saw the unseen floating like silent wisps in the air, floating playfully left and right, up and down, towards and away from him in all colors one could imagine.


    Seeing these pushed the preceding negative emotions, memories away, replaced them with a joy which source evaded his thought. ¡°Reach out!¡± A tender whisper entered his mind, beckoning him. And as told he lifted his small hands, palm out and unknowingly forced those wisps, those particles to follow his simple will. In unity, they converged into his palms, filling him with soothing cold feeling, like a cure to the heated body.


    ¡°Sigi?¡± As the particles of many hues each turned to a darker hue, so dark they swallowed the light around them, Mirdbruil returned with a look of surprise plastered onto her alluring kind face.


    ¡°What are those floating flakes mom?¡± At that moment, his voice, his tone was eerily calm as reality blurred in front of his palm while pointing forward. She rushed to him and at that moment the blur disappeared as quickly as it came to be.


    ¡°The Almodo has blessed you.¡± She whispered with wonder mingled with pride in her eyes. ¡°That is mana my Little Prince. Mana that permeates the air all around us.¡±


    ¡°Mom, can you teach me too?¡± He asked with an innocent tone while his attention remained on the particles floating all around them.


    ¡°We will talk about that once your Father and siblings return.¡± She said while once again clutching him in her embrace. Then she snapped her fingers and a bucket of water hovered into the air as if invisible hands lifted it high in the air. The truth did not lie far, as Sigi watched as the particles of myriad hues danced into the shape of hands and grabbed the wooden bucket and effortlessly raised it in the air and brought it to his beautiful mother¡¯s arms.


    **


    ¡°Hey I thought you wanted to visit the market?¡±  Ulrich spoke while they walked down the muddy steps. He noticed the gloomy expression on Eadwald¡¯s face.


    ¡°I did, but¡­¡± Eadwald¡¯s words drowned at the end as they stopped for a moment.


    ¡°Hey, Sigi will be fine. All the Deossos and the Almodo will make sure of that.¡± Ulrich got down on to one of his knees and offered a hopeful smile as he touched his right shoulder.


    He always knew what ailed Eadwald ever since he too ventured beyond the boundaries of the village with his friends. The dread filled teary eyes of his first son burned into his mind, his small frail body covered in scars and torn clothing, with his flesh blackened around the claw marks. And just like Eadwald right now, Ulrich was drenched in guilt and terror for once again watching one of his child on the brink of death.


    ¡°How do you know that?¡± Eadwald asked, forcing those words out as his throat turned heavy.


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    ¡°Well, because they have always looked after our family. They protected my father when he ventured into the forest, they did so with me one too many times, and you and your brother too.¡± Their eyes met as he spoke to him in tandem with offering a prayer to all of them to protect and save Sigi.


    With that Eadwald showed him a smile as he noticed his sister trying to uplift his mood too. ¡°Say father, will they also help us in taking care of Aunt Muriel?¡±


    ¡°Well, there are things they can¡¯t help with. Kids with penalties sadly fall into this category. And on the other hand, if not for her blessed, vigilant eyes, we may had been a moment late.¡± Ulrich said as the two put their growing hands into his and walked towards the market brimming with people as the symphony of bustling reached their ears as they approached slowly.


    This week it had been different. While usually the market was quite a busy place on the weekends, when caravans from the nearby fortresses arrived to trade, now it seemed like more had arrived. According to Gna¡¯Yrg a wandering caravan consisted of central and far southern wandering peddlers.


    And true to his words, their eyes gleamed with wonder as soon as they witnessed the deep mahogany carts lined up in the center. On both sides, lines of tents with deep pomegranate and amber hued tents. Dwarves with skin tones tanned by the flames of the forge offered strange copper automatons shaped like spiders, flies and even some smaller animals, mauve and indigo gems embedded in their various sockets.


    ¡°Oh greetings there!¡± A haebrian man greeted them as soon as he noticed them from the edge of his vision. His azure scaled body draped in layers of robes and shawls glinted under the white northern light, a smile on his fish-like face with dreads flowing out from his bright red veils, colored like the corals ornamenting the southern shores. His wares, various sea treasures, both natural and folk-made lost to time and depth, repaired to an extent.


    The two rushed, their eyes wandering from a necklace made of pure white pearls, ancient aevhen runes engraved in their pristine surface. A wooden toy, partly covered in sea-moss carved to resemble a fierce dragon knight of the Empire atop his winged mount. A long handled axe, its blade made from the hardened bones of a scylla, a monster with numerous lupine head stalking straits where merchant ships pass by. Its pristine bone surface reflected a vile luster right into Ulrich¡¯s eye for a moment.


    ¡°Dad, can I get this?¡± Eadwald asked as he lifted the toy up with puppy eyes.


    ¡°Sure.¡± Then he threw down the large sack he carried to here and offered a view to the merchant. For a while his eyes, a large dark pupils encircled by the hue of southern dusk looked in with great interest.


    His eyes lit up with wonder as he noticed a sculpted figure of a Vharolgian, carved from a transparent, pristine stone that resembles hardened ice almost. The face peeking from the gap of the helmet, every strand of the long, thick beard converging with the figure¡¯s hair flowing out from under it.


    Eyes that gleamed with a fearlessness only one can express after a facing the Silent Shepherd numerous times. The plates and fur encompassing the arms, the torso, the shoulders, the legs in their perfect asymmetricities covering his well-honed body. The angles of the axe¡¯s blade, handle, even the runes must had been the result of tireless precision the merchant concluded within his mind, in the span of a few seconds.


    The two man then smiled at each other and shook hands concluding the transaction. Ulrich dropped the bag over his shoulders then led the two further into the market after confirming Amiriniel doesn¡¯t desired the necklace.


    ¡°Thank you, father! But won¡¯t you miss that?¡± Eadwald asked as he finally took his eyes off his new prized possession.


    ¡°Not necessarily. I will miss it for sure, but if it can bring a smile akin to yours to a child¡¯s than it was a worthy trade. And I did plan to gift it to Sigi, but well he aims to follow in your mother¡¯s steps too.¡± Ulrich said as they passed by the dwarven artificers, an aurevhen merchant dealing in baked goods native to his homeland.


    Then as they reached further into, the crowd grew in mass. People from the village, legionaries from the fort that accompanied the merchants, and the mercenaries they hired as protection while traversing the continent of Vhalleryon.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening here?¡± Ulrich asked Aelfsigior, an old aevhen friend of his standing at the back of the crowd, towering over the rest.


    Aelfsigior was a tall, slender aevhe whom lived in Autharsovath for at least four centuries. Like most of his kin, he was blessed with graceful features perfectly aligned with each other that included even a fine, thick beard that hid his sharp, symmetrical jawline and soft, fair cheeks.


    ¡°Oh just some artist accompanied the southern merchants this time around. From what I heard and seen he seems to be offering a free painting for each of us.¡± He said as their arms locked together in greetings. As he turned around, his crystal blue eyes noticed Eadwald and Amirinel. He lifted them each as his massive arms wrapped around their frail bodies.


    ¡°Really. Seems to good to be true.¡± Ulrich said while scraping his chin.


    ¡°Thought so too, but from what I can see here, he is making a portrait of the old man¡¯s grandson. And it looks like a fine piece of work.¡± He said as his aevhen eyes saw above the crowd, seeing every sharp detail. Including the grandson, a dwarf no older than fifteen with already a thick moustache adorning his rough face.


    And said artist itself, a bald man with ears with faint aevhen features, almost round eyes with the outer corners slightly sharper and both perfectly aligned, with bright silver pearls in them. Fine thick winter attire in vibrant hues of mauve and amber that filled anyone with a sense of warmth as they gazed upon them.


    ¡°Maybe then tomorrow we check him out. For now let¡¯s look around at the other stalls before we head home. The two of you still have to make amends for not calling us.¡± With that they left. Said artist stopped for a moment to stretch his tired arms out. In that moment he noticed Ulrich and the two leaving, and the thought, the desire to paint his figure nestled itself into his mind.

 Chapter 17: Gifts Ungiven

    ¡°We¡¯re home!¡± Amiriniel yelled as she opened the door letting in what little snow started to fall. Each of them cleared their boots on the thick, furred object laid at the entrance, resembling a smaller carpet.


    For a moment their little joy accumulated from visiting the market slowly evaporated. Then footsteps approached them. ¡°Welcome home.¡± Sigiwaer¡¯s and Mirdbruil¡¯s voice joint together as they greeted them back, with a weak smile on the former and a much more joyous, tender on the latter. Which then settle itself on the other three.


    ¡°Thank the Deossos and the Almodo!¡± The two exclaimed in unison as they threw themselves on their little sibling, tears flowing on their cheeks.


    While it was a joyous moment to all of them, Sigiwaer still had a hard time breathing in the embrace of his siblings. ¡°Give¡­ me a little space.¡± Sigiwaer said forcing those words out to the best of his ability.


    Ulrich and Mirdbruil watched this unfold with heartfelt smiles and as they looked into each other¡¯s eyes, decided to meter out punishment later for Sigi. ¡°Now, now let go of your brother, otherwise he may suffocate.¡± Ulrich said as he patted their heads gently.


    ¡°Look isn¡¯t this cool.¡± As the two released him, he let out a deep sigh while his bandaged face reddened from awkwardness. Eadwald reached raised the bag and loosened the rope around it. Sigi watched with anticipation as the finely carved dragon knight got revealed.


    ¡°So cool.¡± He muttered, their fantasies unbounded as they took in every single detail including the scales and the armor of the dragon.


    ¡°You can admire it later. For now let¡¯s eat something then, we talk about your punishments.¡± Ulrich said as fondled their hands with great care. The two looked at him with slight dejection, but did not utter a single word at the last part.


    ¡°There is also I want to talk to you about regarding Sigi darling.¡± Mirdbruil said as the two boys headed for their room. The two, especially Sigi replicated noises of raging dragon breaths.


    ¡°You too, go prepare for dinner.¡± Ulrich said as they noticed Amiriniel stood by waiting to hear what Mirdbruil wanted to speak about.


    ¡°Now.¡± Ulrich added a bit more sternly. ¡°Fine.¡± She finally relented and went after the two.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be quick. As the healer said, when Sigi woke up he had a bit of shocked reaction. I went for water, then when I returned, he appeared calm, collected like never before. What was even more surprising that he was in the middle of weaving.¡± Mirdbruil spoke in a low tone and a slightly worried tone.


    ¡°I see. That means the Almodo and the Deossos truly blessed him. There is nothing to worry about my love.¡± Ulrich said while his cold hand pressed against her soft cheek.


    ¡°I know. But I can¡¯t stop worrying.¡± Mirdbruil said as her eyes became teary.


    ¡°I promise, I will protect him. And Eadwald and Amiriniel too when the time comes, I¡¯m sure of that.¡± He said as he kissed her forehead, then as his arm wrapped around her waist, a deep bellow ringed through the small hall that made her chuckle.


    **


    ¡°Ulrich! Here.¡± As he entered the unusually crowded tavern, thanks to some divine help probably, Gna¡¯Yrg¡¯s voice reached his ears as his eyes slowly slid across the tavern. After a few more yells, he managed to notice the muscled pale greenish hand waving at him.


    ¡°No drinks for me?¡± Ulrich sat down a bit dejected between Gna and Aelfsigior.


    ¡°By the time we reached the counter, Gna forgot it.¡± Aelfsigior said in a cheeky tone as the warmed sweetened mead poured into his mouth.


    ¡°Hey do not look at me like that. You know my memory is not the best since our own little venture.¡± Gna held his arms up defensively.


    ¡°True I can only blame myself this time.¡± Ulrich added with a faked somber look as he laid back in the chair. He groaned like an elderly sitting up from a chair when he peeked at the direction of the counter brimming with people.


    As he stood up to take a better look, he noticed the artist from earlier thanking the owner, a half-dwarf whose primary heritage from his human parent was his height. Their gazes met for a moment as he turned back holding his large wooden mug of mead with foam cascading down on the sides. He smiled then turned back and spoke towards the half-dwarf and a few moments later another mug found its way to his remaining free hand.


    ¡°Seems the Deossos and the Almodo¡¯s both smile upon you friend. This is a night of celebrations.¡± Gna who stood up while gurgling, a sort of brutish ceremony in these regions, noticed the artist heading for them.


    ¡°Oh yeah, forgot but I invited him this afternoon. He seemed eager to meet you.¡± Aelfsigior said while hitting his own forehead.


    ¡°Ah excuse my manners.¡± The Artist said after stopping on the opposite side of the large round table, placed the two mugs with great care as he managed to transfer them across the crowd without spilling any.


    A feat that earned the trio¡¯s respect, a little. ¡°Priernuss of House Inriarnis!¡± The bald, slender built halfblooded aevhe said as he elegantly bowed down.


    ¡°Just Ulrich.¡± For a little while his eyes remained on his hand, focused on the muscles and scars then he swiftly locked his to his. He masked his faint grunt with a smile as the impact felt similar to hitting solid wooden surface ¨C a slight surprise as he expected after the momentary inspection.


    ¡°So Priernuss, what brings you to our little hamlet in this desolate land.¡± Before he brought up his question, a relaxed sigh escaped him as the warm, foamy beverage wormed its way into his mouth and down his throat where it left a scorching trail.


    ¡°It may be strange to hear, but I was always fascinated by the North as someone who grew up in the gentle climate of the south.¡± Priernuss said as he chugged a good amount of the mead down. His lids quivered in joy as the mead expelled the frost that claimed his being. ¡°Was one of the reasons I joined the legion in my youth.¡± As he said that he met Ulrich¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°I see. So how is our little old and cold north so far?¡± Gna spoke up before Ulrich could utter the very same question.


    ¡°Besides the frost. Not too bad if I¡¯m being honest. Folks are definitely kinder to strangers than us southerners. Especially when it comes to my craft.¡± At the end his previous affable attitude soured a bit.


    ¡°Guess not all parents let their children follow their own desired paths.¡± Aelfsigior said while patting his back. ¡°Speaking of which, I noticed your gaze on Ulrich morning.¡±


    ¡°Seems I still lack in the ways of subterfuge.¡± Priernuss scraped the back of his head as he chuckled like a hyena.


    ¡°Truth is, when I noticed you from the edge of my vision, the Spark of Creativity lit up in my soul. So I¡¯ll be brunt, but would you mind if say tomorrow, I painted you and as an extra maybe your family?¡± Then he continued clearing his throat with a cough to muster his strength to ask.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I mean nothing against you, and I¡¯d be more than happy, but this past week had been rough on my family. I¡¯m not even sure honestly what we could pay for it.¡±  Ulrich said with a smile as he gazed into his reflection in the murky golden mead occupying his mug.


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    ¡°I see. Maybe then another time when we return.¡± Priernuss said feeling a bit dejected at the lost opportunity. ¡°Also regarding payment, you don¡¯t have to worry about that. My policy regarding the common folk is that the first is always free for each.¡± He added, his words a bit jumbled together as the alcohol started exerting its influence over him.


    ¡°Excuse my question, but why? Wouldn¡¯t folk think that it is quite shady?¡± Gna asked as his face reddened by the alcohol, but could still articulate the words properly.


    ¡°Well, my usual answer is that The Great Sculptor, my patron and all desires for all art to spread, like joy or the likes.¡± Priernuss poured a bit of his drink over his thick, moderately gaudy coat as he spoke.


    ¡°And what is your not usual answer?¡± Ulrich inquired as he leaned a bit closer.


    ¡°The same if I¡¯m being honest. But it is a desire that born not from worship, but from loss. Even when I was in the legion, I practiced, but mostly with landscapes or with the fortress where I was stationed. For the most part the south is peaceful, there are still occasional raids from bands of scoundrels, freed slaves and monsters, so I lost a few friends whom I wanted to eternalize. Just never felt confident at the time in painting people.¡± Before he started, his chest puffed out as he inhaled deeply, then let the words flow in a quick pace.


    ¡°I see.¡± Ulrich said as regrets swell within him hearing those words.


    For a few moments he remained silent while the others spoke ¨C their speech starting to turn garbled as the alcohol took its effect ¨C and pondered for a moment. ¡°Regarding your desire, I¡¯ll have to speak with my wife and the kids.¡± Then he added at which Priernuss mood brightened a lot, but chose to remain silent.


    ¡°Oh, so he woke up finally?¡± Gna asked at hearing those last words. ¡°Who?¡± Priernuss reflexively asked


    ¡°My smallest child. He and Gna¡¯s son had a little incident when they sneaked past the wall and into the forest.¡± Ulrich answered his eyes shifting between the two as he leaned once again closer.


    ¡°Thank the Almodo and His Ten Children. Azuth will be glad to hear that.¡± Gna said as a sigh of relief escaped him.


    ¡°Praise the Almodo. Howearil will to be joyous about these news. Even though I must say, I had no doubts about it. He is his father¡¯s son after all.¡± Aelfsigior offered his gratulations with the latter on top.


    ¡°I imagine sometimes the lust for wander is just the same here as everywhere.¡± Priernuss said while scraping his chin.


    ¡°You could say that. I think that¡¯s one thing that definitely unites all of us. Besides the love of the Almodo that is.¡± Aelfsigior said trying to sound wise. At that point, the mead took its full toll on them and one by one they started laughing at those words like they were the greatest joke that grazed this world with its grace. The rest of the night became a blur to all of them.


    **


    Eadwald watched with amazement as the brush pressed against the canvas, the dark ink latching onto it ferociously. His eyes fixate on the center, where a young man with flowing dark hair clad in the scaled plate armor of the dragon knights contrasting the dark back drop of the mountain path. Their features perfectly match except for the age difference.


    ¡°Who is she?¡± He asked pointing at the aevhen sorceress depicted with his aged up self.


    On the right, behind him a fair aevhen maiden of unparalleled beauty draped in silken and leathery robe, hued red and prismatic stood with magic dancing around her scaled hands, ending in claws. Long ashen red hair cascaded down onto her cloak veiled shoulders, almost blending in with it. Her eyes just as fierce as his, brimming with an ever-shifting cavalcade of hues, while the pupils themselves were slit like a dragons.


    ¡°A bit of an artistic addition so to speak. What is a praetoriir without a fair maiden protecting their back, am I right?¡± Priernuss asked with his affable smile as he looked at Mirdbruil standing in the backdoor¡¯s frame.


    ¡°So that is how a dragon looks.¡± Eadwald muttered as his attention shifted to the two large scaled beasts. One, that had divinely feathered scales of prismatic kind were hidden mostly behind a large rock formation, its avian shaped head with numerous horns ¨C resembling thick antlers ¨C intertwining with each other roaring at the far more menacing dark one.


    The second occupied the dark space above them in the left corner, its scales dark as the starless midnight sky. Its wings spreading outwards, created an imposing feeling. Its eyes and horns pale as the fresh frozen corpse. The tail curved and charged at the aged up Eadwald like a serpent that strikes at its prey.


    ¡°So cool.¡± Sigi whispered as lowly as he could while his right eye brimmed with amazement as he grasped onto his mothers¡¯ skirt.


    ¡°Come, sit here. See if something is not to your taste or want a monster or maybe a friend added.¡± Priernuss stood up slowly and stretched his limbs as the arkhaine energies faded from his eyes and wrists. Eadwald sat down and watched with eyes gleaming, mouth agape.


    ¡°It is perfect.¡± He managed to utter after a few seconds, lost in his imagination.


    ¡°Take it then.¡± Priernuss said in a kind tone and a delighted expression. ¡°Just keep it close to a window until it completely dries. That takes about an hour or so.¡±


    ¡°Thank you!¡± Eadwald turned around and bowed before he took the painting and headed inside.


    ¡°So who¡¯s next? The fair lady or the little fellow there?¡± As Priernuss asked, Sigi¡¯s clutched tighter a bit while also averted his gaze.


    ¡°May I with Sigi?¡± Amiriniel leaned slightly out from the edge, and asked a bit meekly.


    ¡°If our little lass doesn¡¯t mind?¡± At that Sigi nodded like a shy wolf cub.


    Amiriniel held out her hand and he took it as they walked out to the small, walled off backgarden. ¡°Neat, isn¡¯t it?¡± Priernuss reached into his bag and pulled out another canvas from its seemingly endless inside. The two of them nodded with amazed looks.


    ¡°Now just keep still for a teeny tiny moment.¡± He said as he closed his left eye, right eye engulfed in arkhaine light as he leaned out. Then he repeated it once again in the reverse order. ¡°Excuse me.¡± Then as he sneezed, the air turned visible in the shape of a small birds that flew over the sibling¡¯s heads. They watched with amazed expressions and turned as the conjured apparitions flew away.


    ¡°Perfect. Now tell me, what interests the two of you?¡± As he refilled his ink, he asked the two in a playful tone.


    ¡°Maghia and the myriad secrets of it.¡± Amiriniel answered with her head held high proudly.


    ¡°Oh, a future great sorceress in the making here.¡± Priernuss dipped his brush into the light bluish ink as he spoke with a mellowing tone. ¡°Is there an aspect of it that interests you the most milady?¡± Then he asked.


    ¡°Hmmm. All of them interest me in many ways more than one. But if I had to choose, the aspect of nature interests me. Talking to animals, using the elements to protect or vanquish the evils of the north.¡± Her expression varied as she answered, but for the most part it was serious.


    ¡°And you little lass?¡± Then as he asked, Sigi felt a bit anxious.


    ¡°I¡­ me too. I like when Mom heats our sheets before sleep, or as Sis said talking to animals.¡± He answered a bit meekly, but as he Priernuss leaned out from the cover of canvas, at his smile words flowed a bit easier for Sigi.


    ¡°One day, I want to be a great sorcerer, so that I can protect my family, my friends.¡± While his tone was more confident, yet he still clutched onto his coat.


    ¡°A great sorcerer huh. I could see that. You know I knew a boy shy as you, with a good heart no doubt like you.¡± Priernuss added as he drawn the brush at the top with steady hands engulfed in light bluish and golden energies.


    ¡°Really?¡± Hearing those words, Sigi suddenly spoke up with a bit more confidence merged with surprise.


    ¡°Oh yes, he worked diligently and with great relentlessness until our local academy accepted him amongst their rank. He showed great promise and learnt to control mana both inside himself, and surrounding us unseen. He even saved my life a few times when I proved too complacent.¡± Priernuss said as the two walked over and watched him paint.


    ¡°Excuse me the question. But sir, were you a sorcerer yourself too?¡± Amiriniel asked as the two arrived behind him. She watched the energies flowing around his wrists and hands, dancing playfully as they guided and maintained his working hands.


    ¡°In a way yes. I did hone the craft of maghia, but I also trained with the blade and spear. Combining the two proved to be a worthwhile effort¡± Priernuss said as he finished painting the blue sky. ¡°Also do not be sorry for your curiosity. It is a wonderful thing to have.¡± He added with a smile as he turned towards them.


    Hearing those words, Amiriniel drawn her sharp eyebrows together. ¡°How so?¡± Then she asked.


    ¡°The greatest weapon of a magus is distance. But it is also a weakness that one can cover with martial knowledge.¡± Priernuss stopped for a bit to crack his wrists and to answer.


    ¡°How do you paint someone¡¯s future by just a few questions?¡± The next question came from Sigi, as it gnawed at him since he watched Eadwald¡¯s piece being made. He saw the particles of a deep blue hue flew into Priernuss¡¯s bald head.


    ¡°Regarding looks, that is the easier. I¡¯ve grown up with a few friends, and of course with a good memory. So I remembered how they changed through years. It¡¯s still not perfect, but what I paint is a rough estimation on my part.¡± He said as he continued painting the piece for the two siblings.


    Then he turned around when he noticed from the edge of his eyes the unsatisfied look on Sigi¡¯s face. ¡°In terms of the future, I rely on divination. I can do it minimally as its an aspect that is the hardest to master.¡±


    ¡°Sorry for the intrusion, but dinner is ready. Do you want to eat with us?¡± Mirdbruil walked out after disappearing as she shared the news, both in words and by the spicy, warm scent of heated meat and broth converging into their nostrils, making them drool a bit. For a bit he pondered to intrude himself or not, but the two sibling¡¯s gazes telling him they have a dozen more questions like that.


    ¡°Gladly, if in return I can offer a fine wine to those of age of course.¡± A smile curved onto his face as he stood up and entered with an offer of his own.

 Side Story: Silent, Eternal Choir

    3<sup>rd</sup> of Orbithraum, 1149 of the First Age.


    In the midst of the forest clearing where she stood gallantly with her company, in front of her lay an ancient, forgotten ruin. It¡¯s weathered walls and columns bore wailing faces, their lidless, empty eyes stared at them, warning them of the danger¡¯s lurking within. The once pristine white stones now greyed completely after eons passed without care.


    Surrounding them were imposing trees with white bark. Leaves of deep obsidian shades emitting smothering dark mist that swallowed the little light that entered the clearing. Their eerie shadows cast over the ruin¡¯s timeworn fa?ade.


    ¡°Had doubts found their way into your heart my dear niece?¡± Augermil a fine draevhen warrior of seven thousand years walked up to her stunning niece whom herself blended into the scenery with her haunting form. His shadow tenderly shrouded her well-honed petite frame clad in the finest of aevhen crafted armors.


    An aevhen face most beautiful even by their standards, long dark hair that never reflected the light, yet possessed an unparalleled luster. A tender, pale face perfectly fitted with graceful eyes adorned with dark slit pearls. Soft, marble like scales covered her sharp cheekbones and under her armor, took intricate patterns.


    Their armor, matching collection of draocryte plates with an unparalleled silver sheen. Each placed over where the arkhaine points positioned, namely at the abdomen, their muscled thighs, and feet in the form of greaves. Lastly at the hands, whence they ran upwards in seamless, metallic perfection. Reaching the shoulders, they were shaped to resemble the deathly sparks of the Silent Shepherds¡¯ Lantern she carried around to guide the dead to their Judgement at the Gray City of Asphodel.


    While for Augermil, the torso plate also engulfed his chest, for her it ended at her bountiful chest, in the shape of a shell protecting them. Above it, her seamless dark, leather tunic with white trims continued protecting her body. The neck of her tunic was fashioned into two arched folds, with the bottom tips touched the shoulder. Keeping those together, was a white silken cravat tightly knotted under the folds. The leather material itself ¨C aevhen made ¨C had a silken luster and smoothness, paired with the durability of metals while still flexible enough like the leather tunics.


    ¡°No, thank the Deossos and the Almodo, my resolve remains.¡± Moirstyria answered offering a heartfelt smile to her uncle. Her long, sharp ears softly quivered as if listening on to a hidden song, but there was only silence surrounding them. An eerie silence as the forest still possessed some form of life. Brows contorted as she looked up, took in the harsh warmness of the sun.


    ¡°Truly? Fear is not our enemy, but our savior in battles against the unknown, the unexperienced.¡± Augermil said while his eyes searched her visage, for proof that she just put up a front.


    ¡°Truly uncle. I did feel fear while we were traversing the forest. But now, strangely its as if fear and dread passed in my heart.¡± She reassured him with a smile.


    ¡°Then we should make our way inside sooner rather than before fear and dread revive within your heart.¡± Augermil approached the ruins with heavy steps, his body and armor¡¯s combined weight combined together shook the ground softly.


    ¡°I¡¯m with the old man. The sooner we are over with, the better.¡± Their Nievhen comrade Akamion said as he stopped beside her. His deep moon silver eyes fixated on the imposing ruins, a slight hint of fear in them.


    Akamion was a young warrior from the far east of the Elhyrissian Empire, clad in their lacquered, black segmented tanko with deep reddish frames with a shortened, thick kimono under it. At his side, his katana rested in its hilt, waiting for its master to unleash it against the wicked.


    ¡°And the sooner you can take a proper bath, isn¡¯t it?¡± Moirstyria poked his side with a cheeky smile.


    ¡°You lunars are quite strange. Thinking of baths instead of all the glory we will amass today.¡± Before he could retort, Dagbjartur stepped in while patting his back. Which almost sent him to the ground if not for his stench entering his nostrils as soon as he stepped a foot closer to him. His shabby chestnut hair and already graying beard still contained leaves and even some small pebbles from the ground.


    On the other end, his furred armor lacked of any of that thanks to certain enchantments he and Ba¡¯atz, a haebrian magus of the group woven into them secretly. That now made him wonder, why didn¡¯t they also enchant his beard and hair at the time.


    ¡°My skaeze friend, with a natural canopy like yours, how do you not desire a fresh lillyum bath?¡± Hearing those words, Djagbartur answered in a hearty laugh.


    ¡°Well, I just got used to it.¡± Then he answered plainly. ¡°Anyway, who stays out Isty?¡± Once again, before Akimion could speak, Djag turned to their Moirstyria and asked.


    ¡°You and Aki come with us. The rest stay and if we don¡¯t come out in half a day, return to the town.¡± For a while she remained silent while gazing at the ruins with Augermil.


    ¡°As if with two Chosen on our side anything bad could happen to us.¡± Djagbartur said loudly, his attitude brimming with confidence as he unsheathed his large battle axe resting at his back.


    ¡°As you wish Isty!¡± Ba¡¯atz said with half a bow, during which his silken robes remained seamless. ¡°And do not worry about this decision. I always wanted to see the famous Black Forest and its haunting wonders.¡± He added noticing the somber look on her.


    ¡°I¡¯ll lead the way.¡± Augermil said as he proudly looked at them while his large round Aspil shield appeared out of thin air, attached to his left arm already. His right hand with his long, straight blade in hand. As they arrived under the embrace of the soft shadows, the sound of their steps gradually died down the closer they got to the imposing entrance.


    Once an ornate black gate, mostly adorned with white skulls carved from crystalline, with a grin elicited strange feelings in all who looked upon them. Grief with a certain sense of joy, relief that the ones in the Beyond now can rest in the Eternal Dream. But now those very same skulls upon the black marble were tainted by wicked shadows eating light and more in His presence.


    **


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    A lunar sphere hovered high above the four, parting the thick shadows settled within the ruin. Within the darkness the light revealed seemingly endless corridors occupied by darkness and silence, crypts with praying statues all focused towards the center where a single large marble grave lied in each. Their heavy lids slid over to the sides, revealing their gaping emptiness, only small spiders and their homely webs occupied them along dust and air.


    ¡°Blasphemy.¡± Akamion muttered as he stood in front of a large mural, reshaped to glorify the Grimm Sovereign. Once the mural was a showcase for the benevolence of the Silent Sheperd guiding lost souls towards the Beyond. Now it bore the dreadful glory of Her treacherous father who went against the Dream of the Almodo, waging a war against his own Sisters and Brothers.


    ¡°Come on, the sooner we leave this crypt, the better.¡± Djag said, his words barely reached his ears in their proper forms.


    ¡°Ready yourselves, he must be close.¡± Moirstyria said, as she barely understood their decaying words. She could tell as their footsteps barely made any sound if at all.


    A chilling dread breezed through their being making them stop in their tracks. For several moments they waited. ¡°Undead.¡± Augermil shouted, yet only four letters managed to reach the others.


    Undead charged forth from the darkness, the light revealed their decayed husks clad in fine priestly garments that still remained in perfect condition, even after a thousand or more years. ¡°Behind too.¡± Djagbartur tried to warn everyone, but it only reached Akamion, and only in torn pieces.


    A rotten claw swung at Akamion¡¯s neck, yet it only reached his gleaming chest plate. The scratch marks sizzling with nekrotic matter slowly faded away, while his katana sliced the undead in two. Its mangled distorted scream filled him with unease, but pushed through it and crushed the dead¡¯s head to dry pieces.


    While his katana aimed for the next undead, lunar-runes appeared on its surface, blending in with the metallic hue. As its tip ran diagonally down the undead¡¯s torso, it lit up in a silvery flame that devoured its ages old rotten, moving carcass within three constant blinks of an eye.


    Djagbartur as expected of him, fared the same against the seemingly mindless undead filled with nothing but hatred and hunger. His heavy battleaxe cut through one of them, once a haunting beauty, a priestess of the Grimm Sovereign before his betrayal, severed into two from top to bottom.


    Another charged at him, its shrieks broke at every second primal syllable annoying the hulking northern man to no end. Lightning surrounded the blade of his battleaxe, then as he swung it into the air, a line passed through the shrieking dead. Its body blew to sizzling dark smithereens.


    Augermil fared even better unsurprisingly for someone with at least six thousand years of battle experience. Most of the undead charged from the front now lay dead, pale flames swallowing their afresh unmoving carcasses while vile smoke burnt their throats and nostrils. Gentle waves of the same pale flames engulfed his blade, with careful steps he cut more and more of the dead aimed at him.


    As the last of the walking dead fell back to their eternal slumber, a perfect, eerie silence settled. When they cleansed their blades of residual tainted blood and nekrotic matter, the usual sharp, wet sound was amiss. When Djagbartur opened his mouth to let out a victorious shout, no vibration, no positive, audible consonants. Just silence. A silence that creeped into their hearts slowly, piercing them with chilling unseen needles.


    Except for Moirstyria and Augermil whom both raised their hands, gesturing to continue on. Noticing their calmness, Akamion and Djag calmed themselves too as they took heavy, silent breaths while moving their legs forcibly.


    Augermil raised his left hand into a fist as they stopped at old steps covered in bones and webs. The two nodded and turned their backs in a defensive position, Djag¡¯s lips curved into a bloodthirsty smile as expectation of what may charge at them tingled his senses.


    His mana flew through his arkhaine veins between the two points in his left arm, then another silvery sphere appeared in his palm covered in metallic leather. The sphere rose into the air and stayed between him and his dear Moirstyria.


    Each of their steps sang of an empty, silent choir as the light¡¯s impacted the enormous mirror dome turning the silver to a pale white light revealing the circular hall. At the walls featureless statues prayed with their arms crossed over their chests, fists facing east and west while tightening onto their shoulders. A similarly glass river flowed into the center, where he rested down on his knees, under the last sculpture of The Grimm Sovereign.


    A fine sculpture of several hundreds of meters tall skeletal figure draped in dark robes. Small divine horns sprouting forth from its skull, forming into a circle, a crown while the hood remained resting behind the absent nape. Six decaying wings sprouted forth its back, surrounding His figure like blooming petals.


    Skeletal arms held out front, in the right an hourglass of obsidian hovering above, rotating till the end comes. In the left a shifting featureless figure made of dense fluid ¨C representing the life cycles of all blessed by Mortal Flesh.


    ¡°The seekers of the betrayers have finally arrived at Your altar my liege!¡± Vehelet¡¯s voice, a fading note in the passing wind, entered into their minds. A chilling dread wrapped around their throats and hearts, their hands now gripped their weapons even tighter as they approached the at least four meters tall pale figure.


    Flesh frozen in a half state of decay, nekrotic runes carved into the rough surface where alabaster black flesh hung on the last threads. A wicked grayish black metal waist piece from which hoarse pieces of cloth covered his frail appearing legs.


    ¡°These keen children of His will be a fine offering to you I¡¯m most sure of this.¡± His voice ringed through their minds as he turned around, the darkness blurred around him as his featureless visage focused on the two. Dreads made of bones dangled at the sides of his head where his ears should have been, sprouted forth the top of his bald head.


    As she looked at Augermil, he recalled his words while they headed through the dark forest. ¡°When facing a foe not of our world, best to end the battle in the least amount of steps, and the least amount of strikes.¡± At that moment she thought it was such a foolish thing to utter. But now, standing in the presence of Vehelet, she knew if they don¡¯t take him down swiftly, they were good as dead.


    Her eyes shot wide, her senses sharpened as a pleasant feeling, similar to one when someone steps inside a cooled shelter from the scorching rays of sun, coursed through her while mana flew within her body. The world felt slower, dust particles became even more visible while Vehelet remained still.


    Yet he remained as fast as before while raising his arm. The sudden rush of unease led the two jump at the far sides. A bit beyond them, one of the silent statues crumbled into dust, dust into nothing. His head tilted slightly like a surprised child¡¯s, then focused at her once more. The same unease charged her as she constantly leapt from one place to another while statues crumbled to nothing, the wall rotted like flesh.


    ¡°How vexing. Why escape your fate. Embrace it, for it brings the change wanted.¡± The whisper bit into her mind this time making her almost fell at a wrong step. Her shield once with an unparalleled sheen became a rusted piece that dissipated as the cavernous deathly air blew it. One step to the right, one leap to the far left, then as she fell towards his head, her blade pointed down and her mouth opened agape, no sound escaped as she screamed in silence.


    ¡°Foolish knight of the Pretender, begone your death won¡¯t matter to Him!¡± Augermil noticed his focus on Moirstyria and charged at Vehelet. His blade ran through his ethereal flesh, stopping at his abdomen. Vehelet¡¯s angered voice filled his mind as he quickly pulled out his sword, barely managing to evade the arm aimed at his head.


    ¡°I see your truth now my liege. There is much to be done before the veins diverge.¡± He remained eerily still as the blade ran through where his face would have been. Moments passed, her hands shook with dread as he remained still, then his imposing pale body dissipated into the darkness. Her laughter echoed through the darkness as tears flowed down her sharp cheeks.

 Chapter 18: An Apple and a Tree

    37<sup>th</sup> of Vytianuorth, 1257 of the First Age.


    Trees on the street started their blossoming in the last week of the month. Their leaves blanketed the alabaster and golden streets of Luth-Astaril in colorful shadows. Children¡¯s laughter filled the streets while parents worked at the stands selling baked goods and thin clothes in preparation of the warmer season. Custodiers in their shiny armors and refined tunics patrolled the streets, and maintained order while a few exchanged kind words with the friendly traders and citizens.


    Aurelithae watched from the top of the rooftop all this happening, her expression varied from mildly positive to covetous as she watched the children try to gift their toys to the custodiers. Every so often she peeked at her right, and stared at the emptiness as she waited patiently while the wind rustled the layers of veils on her head. She had been sitting there since the end of the lunar phase. She had watched the sky slowly painting itself into a deep shade of blue from the deep black for the first time in her seventy or so years with amazement.


    ¡°Finally.¡± She uttered as the towering, muscled figure of Naghig showed up in her vision, a few blocks away still whence she had been called the previous week. As usual, he was lightly dressed in a grayish black tunica with deep silver trims ornated with aevhen runes of willing servitude.


    Her lips curved up mildly at the edges, then her body sank into the burgundy red rooftop as she headed down to the cellar. As she rushed through the wide corridor of the pub where her meeting was elected by Mirayroth himself ¨C she passed by a few folks she got accustomed though the past few weeks. Kind and swift exchanges filled the corridors, muffled only by her footsteps against the wooden floor.


    ¡°Ah, Luelia he is almost here.¡± Deochaarn, a dwarf from the Hogstol Clan greeted her as soon as her bottom hit the top of the tall chair.


    ¡°Morning Chaarn, just the usual and thank you. Just saw him on the streets myself too.¡± She said as she maintained her usual calm demeanor while letting her faux dark wavy hair flow down to her red shawl.


    ¡°Comin right up!¡± Deochaarn said as he pulled up his creased, wet sleeves. His bronzish skin emitted a metallic sheen that invited Aurelithae¡¯s gaze ¨C even if it wasn¡¯t the first time. Then he grabbed one of the larger kegs and filled it with a seamless, cherry flavored beverage which scent made her gulp audibly.


    ¡°Did he mentioned anything on what my task may be?¡± A sigh escaped her as the sweet, silken beverage flowed down into her belly. Its sweetness a refreshing bliss made her break her calm act as the beverage elevated her mood.


    ¡°Not anything particular. But seems like a promotion maybe on the way.¡± Deochaarn said while cleaning another keg. ¡°But there is a possibility it is about the recent kidnappings.¡± Then he added as he noticed her dejected gaze reflected on the surface of her drink.


    ¡°Really?¡± Her head shot up, and she spoke with a calm look but a contrasting merry tone.


    ¡°I let the rest be said by himself.¡± He exhaled realizing he may have said too much as he noticed Naghig entering the place. His eyes motioned to Aurelithae that the orkh has arrived then went away to serve the other guests.


    ¡°Already spending your time here on this precious, warm day?¡± Naghig asked in his deep, gruff voice while the chair creaked under his weight, the counter tenderly trembled under his arms.


    ¡°One can never be too early.¡± She answered while taking measured sips from her drink. While at first, she found his skeletal like face a bit dreadful, now she felt calm, even happy in a sense.


    ¡°Yet you still drink sweetened pish water.¡± He said without a hint of hesitation in his voice. Yet she only chuckled at those words while he got a large keg of silken mead.


    ¡°I¡¯m still a child.¡± She said cheekily while gulping down her drink. ¡°So what is this week¡¯s task?¡± Her eyes looked at the aging orkh and her mouth uttered the question that poked at her since she had woken up.


    The old orkh sighed. ¡°A child still yet goes straight to business huh? Can¡¯t even take a little break.¡± Naghig muttered under his breath as the beverage burned throughout its way down to his stomach.


    ¡°What can I say. I¡¯m eager as the next one.¡± Bubbles in which her mesmerizing face reflected, raised from her beverage, danced in the air playfully before they fell back in to the confines of the wooden keg.


    ¡°Eager to correct their mistakes.¡± Those word penetrated her heart like sharp daggers, made her hunch down to her drink.


    ¡°Give her a bit of break. No one is perfect the first time.¡± Deochaarn jumped in as he passed by.


    ¡°True. But after the first mistake, its better to thread carefully. The Custodiers may have stopped looking for you, but that doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯ll get a job like that.¡± He said while shaking his empty keg.


    ¡°But for how long. It has already been almost a decade.¡± Aurelithae said with pearly, cold eyes staring at him.


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    ¡°Sometimes I feel like he overestimates you when it comes to your intelligence.¡± Naghig said as he let out another deep sigh.


    ¡°I do understand where I made a mistake, and what repercussions it had brought upon. But still, since than I try to better myself in every possible way.¡± Aurelithae said in a visibly calm manner, yet each of her words were thinly laced with her frustration.


    ¡°That part you got. But I doubt you fully understood the whole picture. Including your dear old Father.¡± Naghig for a moment seemed to entertain to just ignore her and dump the task on her. But he could not overcome his orkish temper.


    ¡°Then enlighten me.¡± She said while slowly turning towards him, piercing through him with her faux eyes.


    ¡°Well, may he be damned. All I will say is that we have deep rooted doubts that your father is unaware of your little tours.¡± As he spoke, his attention remained on the mirroring surface of the mead, that reflected his haunting visage adorned with a strange, but pondering expression.


    ¡°How would he? I mean all our childhood he would not allow us to leave the keep.¡± She asked as a faint chill coursed down her spine.


    ¡°Let me ask you this. What do you think the role of the Emperor is within the Empire¡¯s structure?¡± With a sigh, he asked her meeting her now less confident gaze.


    ¡°To guide the people, protect them through the laws and legions from the threats of the continent. That is why the deossos and the Dreamer have chosen him for this role.¡± After a bit of pondering, she stated her answer. An answer born of the books she read in the vast library of Radeions-Servarith, known in the common tongue as the Radiant Keep.


    ¡°Correct, in a small part.¡± Naghig said with his crude, dry lips moistened by the mead curved up into a faint smile of victory.


    ¡°What part did I miss?¡± Aurelithae asked in a as she felt the tingling scorching needles of the Agitated Lord.


    ¡°That, you will have to found out yourself. But not in your cozy little library, but in the House of Records.¡± He pondered whether to speak or not to, but in the end, he said those words while reaching into his pockets.


    ¡°Here, take this. Give it to the Recorder at the front counter. They will guide you where the last few parts of the answer lie.¡± He pulled out a small, grayish black coin with an all too familiar symbol engraved into its harsh, metallic surface. A single, mystique eye partially open, partially sewed closed by spider like thread that extend towards the edges in straight, sharp lines. The symbol of the Ever-Curious Seneschal, the Deos of ever-flowing fate and the thirst, desire for knowledge to better oneself.


    ¡°Now the task is simple assassination of a Captain of the Custodiers harassing one of our suppliers in the docks¡­¡±


    **


    ¡°Stand aside. Father, His Majesty is expecting me.¡± Albron stopped and stated to the two silent guards of the Royal Praetorians stationed at the Gate of Enlightenment, as his Father decided to rename it.


    The gate itself had been issued by Himself at the start of his reign, approximately a thousand years ago. Southern dwarves of the Aethgoorn Clan manufactured it from golden marble native to the Golden Deserts of the South. In its natural state, it is a rock with a blinding white hue, smooth surface in which one worthy of mining it could see their own reflection. Through arkhaine means they have enhanced its natural sheen why also altering the hue into golden with a hint of ruby red glow dependent on where the sun shines upon its surface.


    On said surface, the outlines of two figures, a feminine and masculine aevhen figure bulged out, the empty space filled up with azurite and rubirite crystal. Both figures were carved with an impeccable beauty, while through enchantments they reflect Terrianis meditating behind in the center.


    The gate opened in silence revealing the single path going straight to the center of the circular room. Surrounding the platform, was a lake of pristine nature and an unseeable depth. Above the center, an enormous white sphere hovered, swirled around blanketing the room in a colorless light and a pleasant warm.


    ¡°What news do you bring us today?¡± As soon as he stepped in, without making a single sound, Terrianis stood up halting him for a moment. A respectful dread coursed through his being, then with a sigh he continued on until he was only seven steps away from him.


    ¡°The search for the perpetrators is going on as you ordered my Majesty. We managed to found two of them, but there have been some complications.¡± Albron got down onto his knees after which he forced those words out.


    ¡°They killed themselves.¡± Terrianis said while he kept his focus on the lake. ¡°Hardly a surprise that I hoped you would have been prepared for.¡±


    ¡°We were, my Liege. But the maghia they used or were cursed with was something we haven¡¯t seen yet, not even from the worshippers of the Grimm Sovereign or the Nightscale.¡± Albron said, his gaze focused on the carpeted floor under his father¡¯s veiled feet.


    ¡°And? Did they erase their own mnemonic residue? Did your interrogators go mad or turned into rabid beasts hungering for fresh meat as soon as they peeked into their sorry lives? Or did they simply evaporated into nothingness, leaving nothing but a faint memory, a blur of what they might have looked like?¡± Terrianis approached him with slow steps, took a deliberate break between each question until he stood imposingly over Albron, with a cold yet mockingly kind glare aimed at his own child from a mother whose face he still remembered.


    ¡°The first two My Majesty. We found no residue, only a strange inscription that when inspected, altered my men into strange beasts straight out from a nightmare.¡± Albron took a deep breath and said, meeting his father¡¯s mocking gaze.


    ¡°We see. That was certainly unexpected. Seems the enemy truly prepared about our measures.¡± Terrianis suddenly disappeared only to reappear above the lake with his legs crossed. His eyes slowly closed as he inhaled a handful of the air and maghia particles floating unseen.


    ¡°Regarding the New Dawn infiltrators, we found the one who accompanied Sister. Do you wish us to apprehend him?¡± For a few moments, uncertainty gripped his heart then decided to voice it out.


    ¡°Not necessary. Two died, that is enough of a repayment for the small loss they incurred against the magisteriirs.¡± He answered while his lids remained closed, his eyes under them moved around constantly giving an eerie picture to Albron standing a few meters away.


    ¡°And what about Aurelithae? Shouldn¡¯t we stop her before anything happens to her?¡± Halfway through his bow, Albron stopped and sounded his question that pushed his heart.


    ¡°No.¡± As soon as he said that single word, the gate opened up. Albron¡¯s expression remained calm as he faced the floor. Without saying a word, he left the throne room feeling satisfied¡­

 Chapter 19: An Apple and a Tree

    ¡°As the Laws of the Weaver when one taps into the Unseen Lines, one doesn¡¯t ¨C for example create fire, but instead recreate what one knows of fire and supplement the rest with - imagination. I hope that satisfies your question Isocrates.¡± Magisteriur Eakhcriath said as he held out his palm, engulfed in flames that shifted between hues of red and blue. Even from this distance Isocrates could feel the flames heat reaching him directly while Eakhcriath had a warm smile on his smooth face hidden behind a refined beard.


    ¡°Yes, for the most part Magisteriur. If I may ask, in that case shouldn¡¯t fire hurt us when enveloping a body part?¡± Isocrates asked confidently, not holding back the urge that eternally gnawed at him since he first saw Luelia create an ethereal bird that dissipated the moment it flew up into the sky.


    ¡°Good question child. That is where the Law of Perception Control comes up. As you can imagine many new magusos fell into this trap when they first experiment with more complex spells. And that is why I expect all of you to keep this in mind during your practice classes.¡± Eakchriath said as he walked back and forth, the boards under his feet creaked with each word that left his mouth.


    ¡°Now where were we?¡± Then he went back into his usual pondering state, with one finger over his chin, the other hand grappled onto his sides clad in mundane brown robes. A shawl draped around his neck, swirled around like a sleeping serpent in hues of red and blue completely not fitting with the rest of his attire.


    ¡°Ah yes, turn your pages. No using your hands.¡± While he muttered those words, everyone ¨C including Isocrates ¨C focused their minds, shutting his voice out completely as they tapped into the arkhaine points in their right hands. With their index and middle fingers locked and pointed out, they drawn their hands over the open books. A soft bluish aura enveloped the edges of the pristine white paper scribbled with columns of carefully measured texts. Then the pages moved by themselves, stopped at the middle then fell gracefully on the left side.


    ¡°Good, good.¡± His lids closed down slowly, a featureless dark landscape replaced the classroom. Then as his mana flowed through his elderly elven body, his vision multiplied, with each clearly watching the students behind their elevated desks.


    ¡°Cicerath, leave the practice of those childish tricks back at home.¡± His previous soothing, kind tone changed to a more thundering as he noticed the half-blood Cicerath raising his left hand, noticing his mana flowing through his body into his hand.


    ¡°Pardon me Magisteriur.¡± His previous gleeful expression turned into one reminiscent of a disciplined, scared pups.


    ¡°And Isocrates, keep your tongue in your mouth. Such childish notions don¡¯t befit someone like your age.¡± Isocrates almost bit said tongue as the thundering voice of the professor made him almost fell off his chair.


    ¡°Now that peace has hopefully returned to this closed land of mine, let¡¯s continue on.¡± He let out a sigh that moved the air through the classroom, blowing gently the hair of all within as he sat down amongst soft chuckles that came from the female students.


    **


    The laughter of children echoed softly, carried by the air into her ears. Aurelithae walked slowly through the streets, merging in with the thin crowd while letting her face be warmed by the day¡¯s sun. Her eyes remained fixed on a young human child with lupine arms covered in thick grayish fur, his ears and eyes mismatched in hues and shape.


    Her thoughts on the other hand focused more on what Naghig said an hour or two ago. She was uncertain if he just tried to scare her as part of some lesson or if he actually told the truth. What if her Father knew truly of her trips down to the lower districts?


    Would he truly let her come down without protection? Why is he allowing it, if he knew? Especially weighting in that all her other sibling had been sheltered in the Radiant Keep until they were old and versed enough to be sent out to the colonies. If he knew, why was she different from the others? And did he know about Moirstyria making trips down here too when she was the same age centuries ago?


    All these questions rotated constantly within her mind, while a small part of her still focused on the kid, holding hands with her mother with more refined lupine features that included sharp ears covered in fur that melded in with her grayish brown hair, a mostly smooth hand that ended in sharp obsidian claws. And a furred tail peeked out from under her skirt, and large golden pupils that invited the gaze of passerby¡¯s.


    ¡°Oh what is this?¡± As soon as the two got stopped by some Custodiir patrolling the streets, she naturally diverted from her straight path and went for the nearest tent outside a clothing shop. With slight interest she asked while focusing her attention away from the pair, and onto the high ranked Custodier.


    The man clearly the child of an aevhen and a southern human with a slight tanned and creased complexion. Whether he was handsome or not, she could not tell because of the thick braided beard that flowed down onto his shining silvery segmented white plate with softer curves compared to the legionariir. His eyes in a somewhat graceful almond-frame ¨C orange wet pearls ¨C gleamed with malice thinly veiled by drilled in discipline.


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    The mother reached into her pocket, and pulled out coins bulging out from the confines of a small brown leathery sack. For a while Aurelithae watched as the Custodier counted the coins inside the sack and readied her mana by channeling it between the nine arkhaine points within her animus. The half-aevhen frowned but then let the two go before taking one last look at them, then turned his attention back as he laughed heartily with his fellows as they continued on with their patrol.


    **


    Her target stood now in his office in nothing more than the tunic and trouser of silken and velvety kind. A tingling pleasant sensation coursed in circles in her head, making her lips curve slightly at the edges. Left lid closed down, with her thumb pushed against it gently. The image of her target merged seamlessly with the scenery of the vast plains and colorful forest of the island unfolding beyond the boundaries of the night blanketed landscape.


    ¡°You can do it Luelia!¡± She murmured these words like a mantra, her soft voice carried away in the air to dissipate far from the edge of the mountain side. With legs crossed, she sat at the edge of the Custodiir Barracks¡¯ rooftop. Her small chest puffed out as the freshening mountainous air entered her small, dainty nose, then left through her mouth.


    The structure that served as the Custodiir¡¯s barracks sat on the opposite side, with a clear view of the hundreds of kilometers long plains and forest of myriad warm colors that ranged from red to green. The ethereal light that emanated from these trees and flora even reached Aurelithae¡¯s face mildly contorted as she struggled carrying out her task.


    Numerous thoughts intertwined within her mind, each an imagination on how to end his life. Incinerate him from the inside? No too much sound and the golden flames may have a tale tell sign. Freezing his heart than shatter it? Too complicated, and could easily backfire even for her. Create an orb of ever swirling air that deprives him of air? A bit less complicated and it could work, but it what if his struggling alerts the whole place. What about using his own flesh and bone against himself? As blasphemous that idea seemed to be, the amount she would have to use her own nekrotic matter would leave lasting marks on her.


    ¡°Let me help.¡±  A chilling, faint ethereal whisper tingled her ears and mind, making her let out a soft yelp as she instinctively looked behind herself. Yet there was no one there. At the same time, she felt a chilling power filling her to the brim like an overgenerous bartender, while an icy conviction nested into her mind.


    As he stretched his arms high in the air after counting the coins in his chair, he quickly stood up panicking. His mouth opened screaming as his mildly tanned skin started to liquify with blisters appearing on his face, under the richly hued azure blue tunica. Then suddenly his skin turned into a fluid state and tainted his fine ornated garment while revealing his amber hued flesh and pure white bone under. As he tried to scream for help ¨C tumbling towards the door ¨C his mouth opened, and his jaw dislocated and fell onto the carpet covered floor.


    Before he could reach the door, he himself collapsed into a gory. It started with his legs shattering with a small river of his amber blood cascading down onto the oaken floor, and slowly formed into a depthless lake, then the rest followed as the wind once again could be heard gently blowing. And she watched this through with one lid closed, the tip of her finger pressed against her soft, smooth skin with mana pouring into her eye. Disgust filled her ¨C for what she had done to him, and for what played out in her vision.


    For a few more moment, as the disgust passed, she felt proud herself for a moment before she stood up. A momentary dread followed as her legs trembled and almost made her fell to the depths that laid at the edge of the roof. She exhaled deeply, before her body exploded into a prismatic mist.


    **


    The door creaked open as Albron enjoyed a glass of Hogstrouth Beer while watching the capital dressed in the moon¡¯s mesmerizing silver light. He calmly turned around and waved to Celsushar, his right hand amongst the Imperial Order of Dragon Knights.


    ¡°Seems like Centurioth Domition met his end.¡± Celsushar was a tall aurelf native to the far south, blessed with a fair amber hued complexion, a thick line of dark beard and long mane sheared on the sides, braids falling down like curtains beset with golden ornaments.


    ¡°Ah the night couldn¡¯t get any better.¡± Albron said with an unusual wide smile as he lifted his ornated keg up.


    ¡°Now tell me, how did my little sister end him?¡± He rushed with a calm expression to his old friend and grabbed his shoulder.


    ¡°She melted him into a puddle of blood, marrow and linen. It had an awful stench I must say.¡± Celsushar said as Albron poured him one from the dwarven beer. ¡°For now they seemed to believe a worshipper of the Grimm Sovereign is responsible and plan to double their patrols during the nights.¡±


    ¡°I can imagine. I guess he did help her out in the end.¡± Albron sat down behind his desk with a slightly gloomy expression.


    ¡°Are you not happy? It is progress in the end.¡± Celsushar asked as the refreshingly sour beer flowed down to his belly.


    ¡°I am. But what can I say. I am my father¡¯s son.¡± He said as he lifted the keg up in the air with his index finger pointed at it, a hovered it into Celsushar¡¯s firm hands.


    ¡°I¡¯m not so sure of that. All I can say is ending the life of folks is different from beasts, and be thankful for the aid she received.¡± Celsushar said as he collapsed into the sofa amongst a symphony of metal and silken. ¡°Now the question is: what will your dear old dad will do?¡±


    ¡°If he didn¡¯t move a finger when she infiltrated the magistralua¡¯s prison, I doubt he¡¯ll do anything over the death of an unimportant custodiar.¡± Albron said with a faint sour look as he gazed out the window. ¡°Just as he intended.¡± He whispered to himself with a soft chuckle.

 Chapter 20: An Apple and a Tree

    A room built with deep and dark mahogany walls with slim golden ornated edges. A table full of sweetened beverages to calm the soul, sweet bakeries still steaming with warmth of freshness. Paintings of warm and vibrant hues of beautiful landscapes and fields that calmed the soul of the viewer with their vibrant hues.


    Yet Aurelithae sat near the hearth where the flames raged silently, her arms on the chair¡¯s, her legs stiff like a wooden log. Her gaze focused on the floor, where the carpet ended, and the wood began. In long periods, her chest puffed out while her breathing filled the silent room. Until the door slid into the wall across the right of her.


    ¡°Heard about you completed the task perfectly.¡± Naghig appeared lone in the long corridor of white and gold. His heavy steps made no sound as if his muscles weighted like feathers. ¡°Almost too perfectly.¡± He added the next part in a soft whisper as he approached Auerlithae.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Aurelithae said ¨C forcing that simple word out as she felt stones welling up in her throat. The image of the gory lake that was once the high ranking custodiar flashed in her mind. She could even sense the putrid scent that made her gag softly.


    ¡°I must say ¨C I heard and witnessed quite a few siblings of yours. But even the most brutal one just twisted and shaped the bones of his enemy to end their lives in a moment.¡± Naghig said as he poured the cherry flavored drink into a small wooden cup. He also lifted up a vial containing a dark greyish fluid and poured a little into the drink.


    ¡°What is this?¡± She asked ¨C already knowing the answer ¨C to hush away the gloom nested within her mind.


    ¡°A little concoction of mine made from the dark nectar of the innarith flower. Helps easing your mind, while also prevents others from seeing into it ¨C just in case.¡± Naghig said as she took the keg without hesitation. Aurelithae looked at the orkh with a surprised expression, but then took the keg and placed its cold edge against her softly trembling lips.


    ¡°Blergh. Could still work on improving it¡¯s taste. It ruins the cherry flavor with its extreme sourness.¡± Aurelithae¡¯s face contorted as soon as the mixed drink reached her tasting buds. Pearly tears with a little prismatic glow appeared at the corners of her gracefully sculpted eyes as faint acidic sensation spread from her throat, down to her stomach. She shook her head reflexively fighting to not vomit out the drink.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep it mind. But regardless, how do you feel?¡± Naghig asked noticing the coin she gave her clutched in her left fist, glued to her palm.


    ¡°Fine. Really. It just¡­ I¡¯m myself surprised at what I was capable of.¡± For a few moments she stared at the flames pondering before she spoke. Part of her wanted to divulge Naghig, ask if he may know who the voice belonged to. But in the end, she remained silent about that as there were a myriad and more deities in the world, even counting the vilest, darkest ones.


    ¡°That I can see. Your Sister was the same if not worst when it came to her first kill.¡± Naghig said as he rested his back against the corner of the hearth.


    ¡°Wow. You¡¯re that old?¡± Aurelithae said jokingly with a plain, cold expression.


    ¡°I see your humor still needs some refining. But let¡¯s just say I¡¯m older than you probably think.¡± Naghig said with half a smile.


    ¡°But I had met her two centuries ago, when she was in the middle of her young adult age. I still remember the gory image of her majestic and haunting body drenched in blood of her first kill ¨C that she fucked up by thrusting her blade too deep and struggled to pull it out as panic overtook her while being sprayed in blood. Thinking back, now I understand why Djagbartur laughed at her. An old rookie mistake that was ¨C but it is something that happens when you kill a person for the first time.¡±  His eyes turned to the one of the painting of slightly darker hues depicting a vast field of deep crimson red under the clear blue skies. A heartfelt smile appeared on his gravely visage followed by a solemn gaze that focused into the distant blue sky depicted on the largest center piece of the room.


    ¡°Was he there too?¡± She asked while following his gaze.


    ¡°Yeah. He was a bit more experienced and helped her with coping. He was now under the arms of the Silent Shepherd, under the judge of the Grim Scribe he said.¡± Naghig recalled his old friends relieving words. ¡°Well, he sucked at that.¡± Then he added that made Aurelithae chuckle a little.


    ¡°How did she got used to it?¡± Then she asked while after gulping down the last of her drink.


    ¡°She kept on killing. Started studying grimoires that contained spells that killed swiftly and as painlessly as possible. Or ones that made it easier to cut heads off, pierce hearts and so on so forth.¡± Naghig got up, his knees creaked and moaned as he stretched them. ¡°I¡¯d recommend you do the same. With each death, killing becomes easier.¡± He added with a solemn tone.


    ¡°I see. Thought that is the case. Just have to push on from now on.¡± Aurelithae said with a mild solemn look as she stared at the warm flames.


    ¡°Good. If you ever need me regarding coping just rings this.¡± Naghig said as he procured a little bell dark bell with runes engraved into its course surface similar to the ones etched onto his back. She nodded and took the bell without hesitation and stared at it for a few moments as he started leaving. ¡°Also, do not forget the House of Records. Just give that coin to the keeper as I told you.¡±


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    ¡°Thanks. I¡¯m glad I was also wrong about you Nagh.¡± Aurelithae said as she got up and coursed her mana through all her arkhaine points. The previous chill that permeated her being changed into the all too familiar pleasant warmth. The air around her blurred, then in an instant her body seemingly exploded once again into a prismatic mist as she teleported away.


    **


    As a soft, tender darkness blanketed the capital, the moon light reflected from the white walls lit up the streets and the bridges as the folks continued their busy lives. The Merry Bridge itself was one of the busiest of places as night settled. Long tents spread on both sides with conjured wooden counters, hundreds if not almost thousands of barrels filled with relieving beverages waited to be poured into heavy kegs and cups.


    Joyful screams spread into the night, both towards the darkened heavens and the abyssal chasm of the valley below. All kinds of folks converged on this bridge every night, ranging from the poorest of the echelons up towards the clergy and even some of the custodiir whom either patrol or part of the thirsty.


    ¡°Next time, make it sure she does the deed all by herself.¡± He strolled between the passing folks, his guttural deep voice laced with myriad whispers penetrated through the crowd¡¯s cacophony ¨C passed by their ears as the murmur of the wind.


    ¡°I assure you my friend ¨C I only gave her the tools. Nothing more, nothing less.¡± Those silent words moved from mouth to mouth, carrying a chilling undertone.  His devoid gaze followed their way as he coursed between the folks.


    ¡°Do not forget. Your duty is only to watch over her and end her life in case she strays from the path.¡± He stopped and walked through at the center of the bridge. His body draped in tattered robes with a large hood that cast the deepest of shadows over his visage. Within the crowd itself, he towered over all the folks that passed by him without even just taking a peek at the dark figure.


    ¡°Regarding the brave child of the Emperor. Can we trust him?¡± The chilling voice now came out of nowhere as He stood at the edge of the bridge. On the sides, faces ¨C one could describe as unsettling ¨C decorated the bridge, each with more than merrier expressions, sculpted from golden against the pristine white marble. His gaze focused on the bottom of the imposing rectangle platform which itself was the Radiant Keep.


    ¡°Yes.¡± The two prismatic slits deep within the dark embrace of the shadows that nested under his hood lit up as he slowly tilted his attention onto the bottom of the platform.


    ¡°Can we be sure of his loyalty? Won¡¯t he too, just betray us to court favor with his distant father?¡± The air became colder as the voice spoke, coating the unsettling faces thinly in frost. The loud cacophony of the crowd slowly became distant and muffled as his presence became heavier.


    ¡°There is no love or hope to be gained for him on that path. Only death awaits for him. Just like it awaited those Chosen to carve his path.¡± Then finally, silence smothered the last sparks of sound as he answered.


    His unnaturally long arms raised, the layered raven black robe rustled and the stole with eerie runes embroidered onto them dangled against his chest. Two hands revealed from under the cuffs, ending in sharp, draconic claws as reached towards the Radiant Keep. ¡°Dream, little ones.¡±


    **


    ¡°My Lady did something happen today that gnaws at you?¡± Akaerith, Aurelithae¡¯s personal attendant asked as she tucked her into the embrace of silken sheets. Her bed itself took up a quarter of the large room that looked out at the garden where the planted flora emanated a soothing glow that even reach and slithered its way into the second floor window.


    Akaerith was an elderly nievh with soft face, kissed by the pale glow of the moon, sculpted by the very hand of the Divine Artist himself. Her fiery cascading crimson hair, reminiscent of molten silken, called to the eye of even Aurelithae.


    Her eyes bored the hue of the cleanest sapphires, brimming with the wisdom of ages. They sparkled with a light akin to the stars in the midnight sky, parting despair to the lost. Her features were delicate, ethereal, yet exuded a strength that belied her fragile appearance.


    ¡°Nothing out of the ordinary. Just had a really long day.¡± Yet even her beauty that could make the greatest of liars spill out the truth, could not broke the dam that built up in Aurelithae¡¯s throat.


    ¡°I see. Regarding your Father, His Majesty I¡¯m not sure if she¡¯s aware of your little trips. Which is why I highly recommend in stopping them. The longer my lady waits, the deeper it will hurt your relationship with your father, his Majesty.¡± She offered those words before heading out from the vast room. Aurelithae gulped and waited until she closed the doors behind her.


    ¡°Think it is too late for that.¡± Aurelithae whispered ¨C her gaze focused up to the ceiling decorated with frescoes of radiant, almost divine like aevhen figures. Each one outwards were clad in gilded imperial armor while the inner ones draped in the finest of robes laced with a myriad hues of red, mauve and golden. Except for the center one who was outstandingly handsome even compared to the rest.


    He had long pure white hair that fell in a straight line onto his firm shoulders while one hand held up drawing the attention of the others. And just like her and Terrianis, he had mesmerizing prismatic scales and draconic pupils with a calm and stern look in them.


    Her eyes slowly closed, and the dim scenery above replaced by a featureless shadowscape which I found eerily calming in that moment. Suddenly I felt my body hurled through not just the empty dark waste, but through time, width and length. A surreal feeling, impossible to describe if I¡¯m being honest.


    Just as suddenly, I felt my body, or whatever I possess in the land of the Dreamer, impact the blindingly white, and chilling soft blanket over the hard ground. As I slowly got up onto my feet, I noticed the trees reaching high towards the endless darkness. Yet somehow, there were light as if the sun penetrated through the sky.


    I started walking in the hopes of finding something, anything in this vast sea of trees with ethereal leaves. The more I tracked, the more the ethereal chill tenderly embraced my legs and feet. The worry I felt through the day, the loneliness dissipated, swallowed as soon as I saw him. A young boy, afraid and covering behind one of the trees like if it were his mother¡¯s skirt.


    ¡°Hello!¡± I called out to him as gently as I could.

 Chapter 21: Lust of the Mind

    The bird¡¯s singing rang through the long pathway of radiant white marble columns and arches. Blossoming shrubs carefully planted and trimmed beyond the rails ¨C tenderly ornamented with vines ¨C where the bees gently hummed and thrummed in their demanding hours ¨C as they collected sweet honey from one flower and another.


    ¡°How was your day my little rose?¡± Through this the cold and soft sound of armored steps joined in ¨C paired eerily well with Terrianis¡¯s soft, whispery voice. He wore a torilis ¨C a one piece attire that flowed with natural creases, exposed his well-honed fair chest ¨C brimming with the hues of the late season of growth and renewal. A golden vambrace adorned his right arm with a sizeable gem of amber hue embedded into its center. The source of the metallic steps, a pair of ocrealabs ¨C aevhen crafted greaves that tenderly enfolded his feet, resembling the feet of dragons.


    ¡°Today we advanced into the Laws of Transmutation and Animation with Magistratiyr Prisceirith. Father.¡± Aurelithae followed beside him wearing a similar fitted piece of toriliae of bright luminous hues that fitted her combed up hair. Unlike her father she wore a pair of calciamentuls of fine leather kind that made little noise as she elegantly strode along. Yet occasionally it made a squealing sound thankfully drowned out by the movement of the Impirith Praetoriir behind them.


    ¡°Oh, tell us. What did you animate?¡± Terrianis inquired with a faint smile. He slowed his pace noticing Aurelithae as he noticed her daughter struggling a bit on keeping up with his long steps.


    ¡°Well Father¡­¡± She started a bit awkwardly. ¡°From metal that I transmuted from water I shaped and animated a raven. But only managed to hold up its form for a few seconds before it changed back to its fluid state.¡± Hearing those words, Terrianis¡¯s eyes flickered a little.


    ¡°Why a raven my little one? If you don¡¯t mind our question.¡± The entourage of his 17<sup>th</sup> daughter of his 9<sup>th</sup> mate passed by. She and the accompanying royal guard ¨C clad in their vibrant prismatic and finely segmented plate armor pieces with the finest of auvhen sewn silk tunica¡¯s under them ¨C bowed respectfully to the pair.


    ¡°In all honesty Father, I¡¯m not sure. As the pleasant feeling of my mana coursed through me, the image of Sister Moirstyria rushed into my vision.¡± Aurelithae said while gazing upon the serene garden with a calmed expression. Terrianis on the other end kept his gaze on her daughter ¨C his slit pupiled eyes faintly shimmered with pride.


    ¡°So an inspiration that came from the Lady of the Lost.¡± He muttered to himself as he stopped for a moment. The three praetoriir noticing this halted within a mere moment too and waited for him to continue on.


    ¡°Father, do you mind if I ask you about her? Just one thing that interested me reading about her feats.¡± The two changed their direction entering the garden. Then after a bit of hesitation ¨C faintly visible on her innocent appearing face ¨C she inquired while Terrianis leaned closer to a lotus flower, deeply inhaling its sweet, calming scent. For a moment his heart skipped a beat as the words entered his long, sharp ended ears.


    ¡°Of course you can ask us anything.¡± He said slightly turning back. ¡°But be specific. Your older sister had quite the many feats over her short life.¡± A faint frown appeared on his divinely picturesque visage for a mere moment.


    ¡°Why have you released her so young and alone, Father?¡± Her nostrils tenderly expanded as she inhaled deeply, mustering her strength to voice those words out.


    ¡°Because she understood our role in this world. Seeing her eyes ¨C the determination burning in them ¨C hearing her words ¨C laced with passion but not one of a na?ve idealist ¨C I knew she would garner the finest of folks to journey with her, to form her council unlike the others who just worked together with themselves.¡± His answer flowed naturally ¨C compared to what she expected when inquiring a little fearfully.


    ¡°Now that you mention it. She was a bit older than you if we remember correctly.¡± He added as he looked at her with mild pride in his eyes. For a moment he recalled facing Moistyria at the same age, inquiring about the possibility of being released from the educative confinement that was the Radiant Keep.


    ¡°Really Father?¡± She said as uneasiness washed over her. But her face never relented ¨C remained as stoic as if she just heard what will be her dinner be for the day. Worry creeped into her mind, as she lamented bringing up the topic.


    ¡°Yes, she was. Like you she excelled in her maghia studies, and had Brother Augermil as his martial teacher.¡± As he reminisced of those days ¨C his eyes moved towards the sky and shimmered softly as the sun¡¯s light graced them.


    ¡°Thanks to Brother Albron ¨C could I venture out earlier?¡± Against her senses, she inquired.


    ¡°Possibly. We¡¯ll see if you¡¯ll possess the same flames that burned in her eyes, melded her words.¡± He looked at her with a kind fatherly expression as he exhaled the fresh air. ¡°But for now ¨C keep to your studies. We must have to go now.¡± The two embraced each other and she felt his warmth fade as his perfect projection dissipated into prismatic particles that floated high towards the sky.


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    **


    ¡°Wow ¨C you look like one of those fancy aevhes now.¡± Euthymius said as he looked at his older brother with his gleaming blue eyes. Isocrates was in the middle of dressing up into his Academy uniform. Which itself consisted of a refined toga of alabaster and azure hues, the latter which was inspired by the realm of the Fateweaver, the Sea of Knowledge that shimmered with a deep azure hue. Under it a faint silvery tunic with a wide neck and a set of ornaments imbued with inscription that helped with the intake of knowledge.


    ¡°Will you repeat that each morning you can wake up to catch me while preparing?¡± Isocrates asked while he finished draping the toga over his tall, slender yet muscular body honed through work ¨C which also resulted in some scars hidden by them.


    ¡°Yes.¡± He said without a flutter and an innocent tone.


    ¡°Then I guess I¡¯ll have to wake up earlier so you won¡¯t be late.¡± Isocrates said as he grabbed his bag and lifted his brother ¨C who like a baby ape on his mother¡¯s arm, latched onto his brother¡¯s muscular right.


    ¡°Here Dad!¡± As soon as they stepped out into the short and tight corridor, they ran into their father ¨C a tall man in his prime with dark hair and a full beard. ¡°Thanks. Come Euth. Be well Isocrates.¡± With a bit of hesitation Euthymius climbed onto his father¡¯s back and the two disappeared leaving Isocrates alone before he continued onto the kitchen.


    ¡°Morning sweetheart.¡± His mother ¨C a fair lady with chestnut long hair and a few creases under her eyes ¨C greeted him with freshly baked bread.


    ¡°Morning Mother!¡± Isocrates reciprocated the greeting with a warm hug as he stole one of the largest of the baked breads filled with sweet peach jelly.


    ¡°Bring one to that Luelia dear.¡± Hearing those words Isocrates squirmed a little in tandem with his mood worsening.


    ¡°I will, but I have to hurry now or I will be late. Have to check out a few things in the House of Records so do not wait for me if I am not home by lunch time.¡± He released his muscular arms that wrapped and grabbed two more of the sweet bakeries before he excused himself through the home. For a short while he stood outside staring at the sky slowly turning into warmer hues that elevated his mood. He looked at the bakery and with a smile put both away and headed to the academy while whistling.


    **


    ¡°Doubts haunting your mind old friend?¡± Naghig¡¯s words resonated in his heart as Mirayroth watched the flames consuming the wood ¨C his obsidian scales glinted in the warm light.


    As he approached the elderly nievh sitting lonely in the dark room ¨C the door closed with the faint groan of stone grating against itself. But contrary to his words, his first destination was the table laid with roasted and seasoned carcass of a bovine creature native to the island. With his naked hand, he grabbed the still sizzling bony, thick meat drenched in its own fat.


    ¡°Could say so. But you know me ¨C I always had doubts when it came to them.¡± Mirayroth said as he watched his own reflection in the dark wine¡¯s seamless, soft surface before he gulped down the rest of it. The tearing of flesh that echoed within the room awakened a hunger he thought ceased hours ago and within moments, he approached the bovine¡¯s delicious carcass with starving calm eyes.


    ¡°Well, her latest kill was quite gruesome ¨C so I think we could say she¡¯s on the right path.¡± Naghig said ¨C his words muffled as he grinded the tender pinkish meat between his teeth. The various flavors of the meat converged in his mouth as the torn meat grinded between his sharpened teeth, and with a gulp headed down into a bottomless abyss down at his belly.


    ¡°That is not what casts the shadow of doubt upon me. And a part of me is relieved that she is on our side. But even Moirstyria was older when she took her first life.¡± Unlike Naghig, Mirayroth elegantly tore into the meat on his plate ¨C slicing pieces from the limb, then floated them into his mouth. He chewed for thirty-seven times before he started speaking while a faint smile surfaced on his alabaster face as the flavors of the meat filled him with heat.


    ¡°So now you feel bad that we¡¯re making a child into a murderer. Not like she is the first ¨C that either we or the world made to be one so early.¡± His deep belch echoed through the whole room followed by slight hiccups. To combat these Naghig reached for his keg filled with plentiful of Haugstier Beer he bought in the lowest levels of the city.


    ¡°I know. This feeling will pass no doubt. Still I wonder what would she think of us if she would still be here.¡± As he sat down, he looked at his clawed hands with obsidian nails ¨C tainted by grease and small chunks of meat that remained from the tearing of roasted flesh.


    ¡°No doubt she would hate us. Not just for what we¡¯re doing with her own kin ¨C but for the deal we made.¡± Naghig said as his eyes glinted in the flames. ¡°But no doubt she would understand us when it will all go down and becomes another piece on the wall of the world.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes I forgot that you can be philosophical my friend.¡± Mirayroth said as he blankly stared at him.


    ¡°It comes with the age.¡± His smile while considered eerie by others, to Mirayroth it was strangely soothing. ¡°Oh before I forget once again. I gave her the coin, but she hasn¡¯t visited the place yet as far as my agents know.¡± He softly exhaled while lurching down to continue feeding on the meat ¨C then recalled giving Aurelithae the coin.


    ¡°I see. I still believe it may be early for her to find the diary.¡± Mirayroth swinged his index finger pointed at the roasted limb, and severed a hefty slice that hovered between his tongue and teeth.


    ¡°Then maybe, you should be there when she finds it. Talk with her a bit. It may fasten the healing of your mind¡¯s ailments.¡± Naghig said while he chewed on meat, gulped some beer.


    ¡°Hmm. Maybe I will.¡± He said then the two enjoyed the rest of the roasted bovine meat while watching the flames cracking softly.

 Chapter 22: Lust of the Mind

    ¡°Almost there.¡± Isocrates said between deep breaths as he reached the seven hundred and thirty fifth step out of the seven hundred and fifty steps leading up to the House of Records. His uniform that was just cleaned the day before drenched in his sweat as he collapsed down to take a little break. The only thing cooled his body a little were the necklace¡¯s that were made of a metal that stayed relatively cool even in warmer temperatures.


    He concluded silently ¨C within his thoughts ¨C that at least it was worth it for the view. His eyes glinted with wonder as he watched the capital dressed in hues of amber and mauve as the sun slowly shifted into its lunar phase, painting the sky in these spectacular hues before the darkness enveloped the whole world.


    With his hands locked besides each other ¨C palm facing the sky ¨C a faint smile curved onto his face as the pleasant feeling of mana coursed into them. A small puddle of water ¨C which tasted sweet, fruity ¨C appeared in his palms. After refreshened thanks to the conjured water, he stood up and continued the long climb he started an hour and a half ago.


    ¡°Luelia?¡± As he reached the top, he exclaimed noticing Aurelithae standing still ¨C frozen in a moment ¨C before turning around with a surprised look. His heart started beating a little faster and he felt like collapsing.


    ¡°Iso?¡± She said softly ¨C her expression remained blank while she felt anxious in that moment.


    A kind smile slowly formed on his face. ¡°It¡¯s been a while.¡±


    ¡°Truly been a long time.¡± Aurelithae said in a low tone as she looked up to the now matured boy who towered over her.


    ¡°So how is the academy?¡± She asked awkwardly when she noticed the sweaty garments on him as the shadows converged onto her youthful form. Cold seeped into the layers of her attire and she subconsciously walked to the edge of the stairs to seek the warmth of the sun.


    ¡°Well, at first, I was really anxious. What would the folks think of me, the son of a miner being amongst them. But the teachers so far had been kind, the other¡¯s kind of a mixed bag if I¡¯m being honest.¡± Isocrates sat down beside her and enjoyed the escaping sun¡¯s light warming him after the mountainous wind¡¯s dried him.


    ¡°And you? How are things with them?¡± He carefully looked around before asking. He only noticed the two guards of the House of Records clad in their silver armor with a tingent of azure glow with helmets that followed the lines of their heads, their faces mimicking the Fateweaver¡¯s visage lacking ears, mouth sewn together, lightless eyes which¡¯s lids were eternally locked.


    ¡°You know I can¡¯t really talk about that. At least not right now.¡± She said to him while focusing on the buzzling city laid out before her.


    ¡°True. But then again, I guess you have business here. Better I don¡¯t hold you up here any longer.¡± Isocrates¡¯s knees creaked like an old mans as he slowly got up and straightened his outfit. Aurelithae held her soft palms close to his garments and as just as he felt a heat, the sweat evaporated from his clothes.


    ¡°How is Euthy?¡± As she finished the spell she asked timidly while he stood up and thanked her with a heartfelt smile.


    He felt a weight fell from his heart hearing her question. ¡°He misses you a bit. If you¡¯re free sometime could visit. Dad and Ma would like that too probably.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll catch up soon, so till then take care and be careful!¡± Isocrates stopped and hesitated to continue on ¨C then turned around and said that made her smile faintly. Awkwardly, he reached into his bag and threw the sweet bakery to Aurelithae. ¡°Mother made it for you.¡± He said as he turned back one last time, not noticing the wide smile on her face.


    **


    ¡°Come on Aur. You just have to step through those doors.¡± After Isocrates entered the House of Records ¨C the oldest structure in the capital ¨C Aurelithae waited for a few minutes before she decided to head in. But as soon as she stepped five feet closer, her legs froze and doubts filled her heart and mind.


    Trying to hush the seeds of doubt ¨C that already sprouted ¨C she gazed upon and inspected every detail of the building built into the side of the western mountain itself. The two statues depicting the Stitcher of Fates ¨C a bald figure without ears, sewn mouth, eyes closed shut. Six long arms ¨C adding to the eerie feeling his figure creates ¨C with threads sprouting from his six nails on each, while the center ones were inscribed with aelvish runes akin to the writing¡¯s in grimoires and books.


    On the far sides and framing the ornated door ¨C resembling an open book in shape and frame ¨C were columns meticulously sculpted and shaped to resemble masses of uncurled threads heading from floor to ceiling. Each hued in all color spectrums. She recalled the building itself wasn¡¯t built by her grandfather or great-grandfather but by an ancient sect of Septurrion whom found their way onto this plane earlier than the races.


    As she recalled all of these, in her curiosity to touch the renovated ¨C through transmutation and stonework ¨C she got closer and closer to her destination, the doubts lingering within her faded slowly. She sighed then placed her hand on the knob, and pushed with all her little natural might.


    ¡°Welcome to the House of Records! How may I help you little lady?¡± An elderly man ¨C blessed with gentle creases and slight aevish features including mildly long ears and graceful wise eyes ¨C greeted her standing on the right sitting behind the oaken counter.


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    Aurelithae reached into her pocket and held out the coin. ¡°Ah, another one of you majesties.¡± With gentle motions, he stroked his long, bluntly flowing chin beard. ¡°Come. This way.¡±


    A gap appeared in the counter that ran from wall to wall. Similarly, the ancient stone bricks moved, revealing a fluid mirror surface in which no reflection showed as the two faced it. ¡°Go, and follow the path of your heart to find solace or the path of your mind to sate your curiosity.¡±


    ¡°How will I know which is which?¡± Aurelithae asked while her eyes remained on the portal.


    ¡°The Fate-Weaver will help you. Which in this case means you will feel it.¡± The elderly man said with a chuckle before he returned to his post silently. Her chest puffed out then she closed her eyes while her legs moved. For a moment she felt a sensation similar to her skin and hair getting moistened as she stepped through. Then as he said, she stood in a path that diverged into two, seven steps away whence she stood alone.


    As she stepped closer to the right path, her heart slowed in its pace ¨C a serene sensation filled her being. Then when she approached the left ¨C her mind calmed down, all the thoughts that pervaded it the past hour silenced and while at the same time she could focus on all of them.


    ¡°Now which way?¡± She closed her eyes for a moment, then as she opened them ¨C a figure in white robes glided between two doors like a phantom.


    ¡°Mirayroth!¡± Aurelithae yelled as she rushed after the figure deep in her mind knowing she stepped on the right path ¨C the path of answers. As she turned, her eyes caught the white robe disappearing in another. Turn after turn she rushed until she reached a mundane appearing door with a gloomy knocker in its rough surface. Moving her right arm proved harder than she thought after reaching this location. As she touched the cold metal, runes appeared on its surface and a pleasant feeling filled her as if it wanted to signal its recognition of her.


    The door slowly creaked open, revealing a small room with two bookshelves on each side, and a table in the center. On top of it, a pristine covered book rested with a gilded spine. Aurelithae stood there frozen and gulped while unaware of him watching from afar with hollow eyes with the abyss settled within them.


    **


    ¡°Another night, another pale moon.¡± Terrianis said as he stood over the pond. Two koi fishes swam in harmonious circles.


    The two were gifts from his hundred and seventh wives father ¨C the consul of the Tsuormo Archipelago in the far north-east.


    ¡°Ah brother didn¡¯t know you were here.¡± Augermil said as he just stepped down the stairs noticing the haunting figure of his younger brother.


    ¡°We know. There was no other way for us to catch you.¡± Hearing those words Augermil¡¯s hulking figure shook ¨C his gaudy, ceremonial armor plates clinked even.


    Augermil mustered his strength. Walked slowly towards Terrianis and watched the two fish stopping in their dance ¨C seemingly locking their eyes on the two handsome giants.  ¡°You know I won¡¯t change my mind about going through with the ritual.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re aware. All we ask is delay it. At least until we got a better grasp on who truly is behind the attack, and how would the greatest of dragon kin disappeared.¡± Terrianis¡¯s warm touch to his shoulders brought a sense of solace and calmness. Both which were needed for him as this failure gnawed at him for years now.


    ¡°I¡¯ll wait. I¡¯ll take one more look at the island. Maybe we missed something there.¡± Hearing those words weights fell from Terrianis¡¯s shoulders and his lips curved into a perfect faint smile.


    ¡°Good. We hope your search will bring results. But for now let¡¯s rest, this is a beautiful night.¡± He inhaled a handful of the night air as his head gracefully tilted upwards. His features, touched by the moon''s ethereal light, were akin to the chiseled marvels carved by celestial hands upon the night sky.


    **


    Her eyes slowly followed the syllables carefully ¨C and gracefully ¨C inked on the pages. The gleam in them shifted constantly. First confusion as she read the lines all too familiar, yet unexpected. Then understanding showed in her eyes. This cycle repeated seemingly endless as her soft hands flipped pages to pages.


    As she was deep in the contents of the ornate covered book, her ears became deaf to the steps that slowly approached her ¨C belonging to the enigmatic figure of Mirayroth draped in alabaster and obsidian. His usual mask worn when strolling outside his hideouts veiling his handsome nievhen visage. He stood silently in the door, watching her with his doubts still poking his heart as he looked at her with nostalgic eyes.


    Then he knocked on the door.  ¡°Ah, Mirayroth! Have you found what you searched for?¡± She asked after her head swiftly jolted up from the contents of the book.


    ¡°You could say so.¡± He said misunderstanding the question as he slowly walked to her and sat onto the table. ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°In a way ¨C yes. Just never expected any of this if I am being honest.¡± The book that contained the handwriting of his father now rested closed in her hands ¨C sundry feelings danced within her head as she slowly processed of what she just read.


    ¡°Moirstyria was just as confused as you are now. But it makes sense to know the needs of those you rule over, to walk in their steps I think she said when she mentioned it to me. Which is why she chosen the path she walked on.¡± Mirayroth recalled the day when Moirstyria revealed her reasons to mingle amongst the common folk, the reason of why she chose to continue pursuing a path of an adventurer, a warrior instead of a consul.


    ¡°Are you doing this for her?¡± Picking up on the faint affection in his voice, she asked set on the answer already within her mind.


    A mild curve appeared on his alabaster face under the mask. ¡°How perceptive. It started out as a promise to her when she was dying, but I¡¯m also doing it for the future of the people. A future they are all too oblivious to.¡± His eyes glinted with a ting of solemnity as her even paler face flashed in his mind.


    ¡°And you are not? I mean why not just rise in the hierarchy then do all this through father?¡± Silence filled the room as both averted their gazes. But in the end, she gave voice to her doubts regarding Mirayroth¡¯s path which she had little clue where would end.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, that is one path I could take even now. But it is a path that is sweet along the way, but leads to¡­ bad things. But that is all I can tell you now.¡± He said ¨C his gaze pierced into her questioning eyes.


    ¡°How typical. Even here I have to find answers to myself.¡± She felt annoyed hearing those words. Words she had been bombarded with all her life so far. Both by her father and her siblings.


    ¡°That is our way. Now rest, there are still a few tasks I¡¯ll have for you this week.¡± Mirayroth slowly rose up and said with a soothing tone before he disappeared in a blink of an eye ¨C leaving nothing behind just some shadowy particles that slowly dissipated. And uncertainty in her heart.

 Side Story: The Wakening of the Youth

    26<sup>th</sup> of Fiorerarith, 1194<sup>th</sup> of the First Age.


    As the Young Hoplite of the small regiment of a few hundred legionaries walked through the camp with his aspil shield on his back, excitement brimmed in his golden eyes. The camp near the capital city of the northern colony was loud enough that even the animals that usually approached the developed fields ¨C where the cinnamon tasting plant used for teas beloved by the Imperial Family grown ¨C kept their distance with fearful eyes.


    Smoke rose high up towards the sky, twirling and dancing to the tunes of the legionaries dancing around with kegs filled to the brim with mead. That was the Young Hoplite¡¯s destination where he strode towards with a great inevitability, as not even the mud that swallowed his greave clad foot with each step.


    ¡°Hey! You the smiling one! Come here and help!¡± Except for the towering aevhe that stood out amongst the lower rankings ¨C besides his golden garments he was wearing. A shorter chiton with a diagonal golden and red framing with aevhen runes sewn into the silken material. Under it an aevhen tunic with the luster of metals, the softness of silk with a slit neck that wrapped itself around his slender, yet also muscled neck.


    A handsome face with dark beard following his perfect, sharp jawline and long dark hair with half let out, half bundled into a short tail with thin braids. Graceful, almond contoured eyes with bright mauve and silver pupils that invited the Young Hoplites¡¯ gaze. ¡°What is your name boy?¡± His voice silken and deep that soothed the awfully beating heart of the Young Hoplite as it was the first time in his years of service to be asked about his name by a Polemarchiir, a high ranking officer ¨C usually an aevhe, dwarf or human ¨C of the Impure Legions.


    For a moment his face contorted as he pondered. ¡°Just Ulrich, Your Honor!¡± He answered.


    ¡°Drop the honorifics Just Ulrich. Call me Aelfsigior.¡± As Ulrich looked at his face, he noticed his lips faintly bend upwards at the corners. Without hesitation, he rushed to the two fellow Hoplites in their snow silver chitons carrying large wooden chests. For a moment he looked questioningly at their grimaced faces and muscles that were ripping with veins.


    Then understanding flooded his mind when he bravely wrapped his fingers around the bottom of the chest and upon lifting, he felt his arms and chest burning. ¡°Careful Just Ulrich, while my armor can survive a little mud, I wouldn¡¯t mind if the chests would remain in their natural rectangle state.¡± Aelfsigior said jokingly as he helped Ulrich.


    ¡°Actually its just Ulrich.¡± He said as the two carried it into the tent. ¡°I know. I am just jesting you boy.¡± Aelfsigior said as his lips once again tried to curve into a smile upon witnessing the amazed look on Ulrich¡¯s. As they stepped into the small tent ¨C from the outside ¨C Ulrich witnessed for the first time in his forty years of life the capabilities of space enchantments as the tent¡¯s interior was clearly twice or thrice the size.


    Even the floors were different, instead of stepping into mud, he felt the strong wood akin to the square pillars that kept the roof from falling onto their heads. Like the outer walls and roof, the interior was hued in warm tones of amber and red with intricate draconic and divine patterns sewn onto them.


    Aelfsigior snapped his fingers after he released his right grip from the bottom corner of the chest. ¡°There. Lift it down carefully. I do not need an aethereal hole in my tent.¡±


    ¡°Ah excuse me. Just my first time experiencing the marvels of the imperial magusos.¡± Ulrich said as they began to lower it down.


    ¡°Do not ask for pardon for such things. Now come let us drink and eat. There is a long way ahead of us.¡± Aelfsigior said as he grabbed Ulrich with his elbow joint and dragged him with himself.


    **


    After seven days of grueling march, the small regiment of the 19<sup>th</sup> Impure Legion finally stopped to take a rest. Thanks to the enchantments woven into their pieces, the legionaries were capable of marching for days without exhaustion leading to troops collapsing. Even their hunger and thirst was satiated to a point, they still needed to at least eat one warm meal a day but it greatly helped in rationing food.


    They just reached the southern most part of the Vesgeriath Woodland which trees ominously bathed the camp in wicked shadows. A small group of magusos clad in their ornated indigo robes with large hood suffocated in the embrace of their helmets raised large slabs of stone walls around. They were even gracious and well-versed enough to create sets of stairs for the scouts patrolling through the rectangle line.


    ¡°It was quite spectacular, wasn¡¯t it?¡± Gna asked Ulrich as they still stared at the walls while warming at their hands at the campfire set up at their tents.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Ulrich answered while munching on roasted goat leg that was rich in meat and fat. While the two served in the 19<sup>th</sup> Legion for a decade now ¨C if not a few years on top ¨C it was still their first time witnessing the collected effort of magusos. Especially this small amount coordinating their intent so far from each other.


    ¡°Do you think they are telepaths?¡± Gna asked as he finished chewing the last of his own goat limb seasoned a bit spicier.


    ¡°They are not. They are just lucky enough to marshal out in the same regiment the twelfth time.¡± As Aelfsigior entered the corner of their vision, the two quickly stood up and saluted with their fists crossed across their chest and their heads hunched down.


    ¡°Rest and give me a stool.¡± As he said that, Aelfsigior raised his right hand holding the ornated flask. ¡°One of the finest wines from the south.¡± He added as he opened the flask, its fragrant scent reached the two, awakening desires they never knew about within a span of a moment.


    ¡°What¡¯s the occasion?¡± When Ulrich said those words, Gna poked him quite violently in the side.


    ¡°The two of you are new here. I believe in bettering relationships between me and my lesser.¡± Aelfsigior said with the smile of a fox while Ulrich groaned and massaged his sides through the soft silken tunica that felt like brushing soft petals of roses. Yet a part of him knew that it was more than just that as poking sensation irked his mind, he was all too familiar with. ¡°Now tell me, is this your first battle?¡±


    ¡°It is our first battle involving disciplined warriors.¡± Ulrich said after he drank deeply from the seemingly bottomless flask.


    ¡°He is right. We did experienced fighting with the undead in our home village. But other than that not much when it comes to the clashing of armies.¡± Gna added with an apologetic look as he hastily took the flask from his friend¡¯s hands.


    Aelfsigior laughed a little. ¡°Sorry. This small skirmish won¡¯t come near the glory of armies clashing on vast plains as you two may imagine it.¡± Aelfsigior said as the flask found its way back to his hands.


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    ¡°What do you mean by that sir?¡± Before Ulrich could speak, Gna asked with a calmer tone.


    ¡°Most of these battles start as staring contests between the two sides. It may sound boring at first, but the two of you will see the spells and arrows flung between our and their side most definitely.¡± Aelsigior explained as he recalled his first skirmish against a smaller force of the savages down at the south. He felt the heat of conjured flames on his face as he stared into the small fire warming the trio.


    ¡°And it is much different fighting the Host¡¯s warriors who fear not death.¡± He added with a stern stare.


    For a few moments they listened to the crackling of the burning wood and Aelfsigior inhaled the woody smoke. ¡°I understand you two fought against revenants. But what about the living? Have you two ever extinguished the life of a folk?¡± He turned while offering the flask to Ulrich who took it without hesitation.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t yet sir!¡± Gna replied dutifully, took the opportunity of speaking up first as Ulrich gulped down the silken wine.


    ¡°So you haven¡¯t stared into the dread filled eyes of the dying yet.¡± He stared into the flames with moist eyes and said with a grim expression. In the flames he saw his first kill, a young mrokevh. Her crimson eyes reflecting a sense of pride, her cold, dark lips curved into a final satisfied smile as mauve blood dried at the corners.


    ¡°Is it that different from witnessing a friend¡¯s demise?¡± Ulrich asked once again receiving a hit from Gna¡¯s elbow. This time he was prepared as he held his palm in the way.


    ¡°When you see a friend die in front of you it hurts the heart, that time heals as they say. When you kill the first time, it stays with you forever. From the dreams beyond, they haunt you forever.¡± Aelfsigior closed his eyes while speaking, faces besides the mrokevh¡¯s flashed before him, each contorted by anger and resentment.


    He chuckled a little as he offered the flask to Ulrich. ¡°Well, at least if you are as soft as me. But enough of such somber notes. Where the two of you hail from?¡±


    **


    The two small forces lined facing each other at the sloped terrain. On the lower end, where the embrace of the forest started stood the raiders of the Host surrounded by the various undead that included their recent victims freshly raised. On the other end, high up on the snowy hill stood the small force sent to pursue them made up mostly of hoplites.


    As promised by Aelfsigior the night before, Ulrich and Gna stood at the forefront of their force under his command. They waited with great anticipation for the first arrows to be loosened, for the first spells to be hurled above their heads. To their surprise, instead of only a few, myriads of spells that lit up even the day¡¯s light flew past above them and towards the enemy. Aelfsigior took a look at them for a moment and smiled as the two gazed at spheres of flames and various other elements explode upon impact on the enemies wards.


    Worry followed by when the enemy started answering by hurling their own spells at them. Light blue swirling spheres flew, carrying the chill of death. They splashed across the ward of the imperial magusos, and the first stage of the battle begun. The two readied themselves to stand for hours that Aelfsigior mentioned to all of them during the feast the night before.


    It was customary to an extent for legionaries to hold one last feast before the battle to fill their bellies so they won¡¯t starve before the battle, but also to meet the Silent Shepherd with a good final taste beside the battle-earned death and the wealth they carry with themselves on their belts.


    Although they had the high ground, the two and their fellow comrades maintained their discipline and vigilance as the enemy forces consisted not just of the living. It was well known that the Host¡¯s raiding parties often bolstered a dozen necromancers at least. And even one mediocre necromancer could raise and control at least ten or fifteen undead.


    Even from this distance, they all could sense the rotten stench of cold undeath. The two of them were already used to it, but Ulrich could notice the disgust showing on the exposed faces of the others to his right. The darkness of the night slowly slipped closer from the east as the spells started dying down.


    First the wards started showing cracks upon their transparent light blue surface, then the number of the spells and arrows lessened hour by hour as the magusos started reaching their limits. A few of those who were tempted enough by the pleasant sensation of maghia screamed that was carried into the ears of Ulrich and Gna who were in the vanguard.


    Their muscles tensed, their shields dug deeper into the frozen ground and snow that blanketed it except the area between the two forces. ¡°Ready your spears!¡± Aelfsigior¡¯s disembodied voice echoed within all their minds and in perfect unison, they got down on their knees, rotated their shields and their spears poked through the gaps as the ground started to tremble under the charge of the hundreds of undead.


    Ulrich tightened his grip around the long handle of his spear as the first of the raised threw them onto its sharp end and started pushing themselves closer to the shield wall lining atop the now muddy hillside. Following them came the first line of the living, humans, orkhin and he even noticed a few hoevhes gracefully evading the arrows aimed at their alabaster forms wrapped in dark furred armor.


    The moment his spear broke, Ulrich reached for his forward-curving, single edged sword and swung it diagonally at the half-rotten undead of a bulky man in a similar armor to his. The blade cut through the rusted plate and as he poured a little of his aethervyne matter into the blade, the tainted soul let out a sigh as it passed into the dream while the corpse fell between him and Gna whom also reached for his kopis sword.


    The earth trembled with the rage of the dead. For a moment Ulrich lost his footing and a wicked blade¡¯s tip found its way into his shoulder. ¡°Beneath the feet!¡± He heard the yell just as the skeletal, decayed hands burst forth the frozen dirt and clamped over his face. Tears flowed from his eyes as a chill frozen his muscles while he gazed upon his would be executioner ¨C an undead orkh whose decayed body was painted in white and faded runes of crimson.


    ¡°On your feet Ulrich. Not your time yet.¡± Just as he accepted his fate ¨C and envisioned his grandfather¡¯s worn face ¨C Gna yelled at him as his blade stopped the undead orkh¡¯s, then his fist shattered its half-rotten head to a thousand pieces.


    He grabbed his lug of an arm and got up onto his feet while grabbing his blade and ignoring the pain of his wound. ¡°Back slowly.¡± This time he recognized Aelfsigior¡¯s voice who jumped into the battle in his golden armor. He swung his spear with graceful efficiency while transmuting its sharp end to one much preferable to cut through swathes of enemies.


    With each step backwards, he swung his blade and cut down a ravenous undead. His heart beat faster than ever in his life as he noticed the pale figure appearing at the edge of the hill now swarmed by the undead. Long ashen red hair, a handsome face drowned of color with a calm expression with a hint of madness in the pale red eyes.


    ¡°Back away! Timeomancer!¡± Aelfsigior yelled as he felt the chill of fear forming in his heart as his mind screamed at him. Just like it did with Ulrich and all the other Hoplites and legionaries fighting for their lives with an unnatural dread in their heart. The dry lips cracked into a smile on the vampyr as his glistening hair turned dark as the night and widened into eerie length and width with misshapen eyes bewitching all. His flesh contorted as his arms elongated, reached down to the snow blanketed ground.


    His legs similarly heightened his form, his chest split open into a vertical maw in which deformed monstrosities reached out and showered his enemies in deathly spells that relieved them of their lives in a blink of an eye. He got down onto all fours like a maddened beast as his face split open like the petal head of a carnivorous flower set with wriggling soft teeth.


    Ulrich fixated his stance as he inhaled deeply. Time felt slowed down as the Vampyr Timeomancer lunged at him on all fours with a deep, distorted bellow of a hundred beasts. As Timeomancers were masters of flesh and fear maghia, which they practiced by hunting wild beasts and absorbing them into themselves with their twisted maghia.


    ¡°Fool! When I order you follow it to the latter!¡± Just as he stopped caring whether he survived or not, Aelfsigior leapt and severed the grotesque head of the timeomancer off with a single swing. Its darkened blood spilt onto the snow and tainted Ulrich¡¯s greaves as the fear within dissipated.


    ¡°It is not the hour of heroics.¡± Aelfsigior said before he signaled the legionaries free of fear to follow as they pulled back the dead and charged at the enemy who just began their own charge. Moments passed by as Ulrich watched the backs of his brothers and sisters march against the enemy before he too sighed and tightened his grip, and moved his legs forward with a battle cry.

 Chapter 23: Until They Are Gone

    6<sup>th</sup> of Sanctrosanct, 1255<sup>th</sup> of the First Age.


    ¡°Hello there!¡± As I peeked out from behind the coverage of the imposing tree with ethereal leaves, there she stood with a visage that I still have a hard time describing when it comes to its beauty. Graceful calm eyes of myriad hues constantly shifted with pupils akin to what dragon¡¯s possess as I heard from the tales of mother and father back then. Sharp long and thin brows in a straight line above them gave her an air of weightiness. A small, dainty nose that puffed out even though neither of us needed to breathe in this place.


    Long ashen red hair that filled me with warmness as I noticed how each strand flowed naturally even as they bonded together and twisted at her frail appearing shoulders. Her neck encased in a dance of similarly prismatic scales that shifted in all the hues as she moved closer to me akin to a new owner of a frightened pet.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t bite.¡± She said as her wide lips curved into a faint smile, their luster even then drew my eyes, my gaze to them.


    ¡°I¡¯m Luelia. What is your name?¡± I quivered a little as she got closer and her beauty both terrified and enamored me at the same time. At the time I didn¡¯t know why my heart beat so quick and strong, but now I know that was me felling for her.


    ¡°Sigiwaer.¡± I inhaled twice, my small, adorable fists ¨C as mother used to refer to them when I got angry ¨C curled up and tightened as I practically yelled at her. That made her stop in her tracks and while at the time I couldn¡¯t decipher her seemingly stark expression, now I know she got scared a little realizing that this was more than a simple dream. She recently told me that a part of her knew it wasn¡¯t just a dream, but that it was the Fateweaver¡¯s doing for a yet unknown reason. How wrong she was, but neither of us could have known the truth back then.


    ¡°But my friends, just call me Sigi.¡± I told her as I seemingly felt the tingent of fear and confusion. I didn¡¯t want to let her go. I knew then and there that this dream won¡¯t be like the others that just fade from my memory.


    ¡°Well then Sigi, do you know where we are?¡± She asked me while staying in place and with her warm smile that to this day soothes my soul.


    ¡°In a dream.¡± I said. I felt that none of this was real ¨C the surroundings, the soft snow that tickled my barefoot, the harsh yet smooth surface of the trees and the ethereal leaves adorning the maze like branches intertwining endlessly above our heads, bathing us in their hollow lights.


    And I noticed the slight shift in her expression ¨C a shift towards surprise. ¡°I can see it.¡± I mustered my strength after I recalled father¡¯s drunken but kind words as he reminisced once about how he and mother met when he visited one of his injured fellow¡¯s in the healing tent.


    Another mild shift happened on her visage as I bravely stepped out. At the time I wasn¡¯t aware, but the bandages that covered a quarter of my head were absent from the dreams, exposing my left eye that He gifted upon me. Before I could realize this though, the world around us faded and I woke up in the warm embrace of my bed as the white sunlight entered my eyes.


    **


    Eadwald followed after his father ¨C now only a forehead shorter as he entered his young adult years. Both of them were clad in thick, studded leather jerkin with a layered blue and white tunic under it with silvery trims and hem. Their hands rested in a similarly thick leather gauntlet extending into a vambrace while on the lower part the jerkin continued in scaled kilt with woolen pants and muddied leather boots on their feet and legs.


    Eadwald couldn¡¯t utter a word in his excitement as they took a sharp turn and then entered a larger structure of stacked grayish blue stones with a wooden rooftop covered in an extra layer of collected pelts. Smoke risen from its center in which a hole was cut precisely, while the insides was like walking through the Six Abysses as the scorching heat of the forge filled the back.


    ¡°Ah right on time.¡± The grizzled looking hogstol dwarf greeted the two. His fair complexion with a hint of metallic silver hue appeared to be a fusion of skin and mithrarh with its refined luster poignant their eyes. Yudmout sat over his heightened chair behind the desk that connected from one end of the wall to the other.


    Weapon racks were nailed to the walls, each slotted with swords, maces, axes and long spears. Metallic plates needing to be fitted together, hilts and pommels rested beside the nails and hammer on the desk that separated Yudmout from the two. Above them numerous wooden plates engraved with schematics of armor and weapon designs.


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    ¡°Still pretty good at relieving those beasts of their fur.¡± Without saying a word Ulrich placed the pelt onto the desk. It belonged to a leshy that stalked the nearby woodland southwards of the village. Its fine greenish fur that finely tangled together, under it a bark like skin that was rough as one drawn their hands across it.


    ¡°This one was a headache. Telling apart its flesh from its skin proved difficult.¡± Ulrich said as his frustration resurfaced when he relived the moments of skinning.


    From his eye sockets, two brass rings appeared rotating around and above each other as orange runes appeared between them. ¡°I get you friend. In my youth we tended to skin Elemanteiros.¡±


    ¡°Elemanteiros?¡± Eadwald asked as he leaned on the desk with an interested look on his stubbly handsome face.


    ¡°Creatures mostly native to my motherland. They vary in form and size as they range from wild beasts that got changed by the heart of the Hogstark Mountain to fools who thought they could control its powers by standing in its radiating energy.¡± Yudmout continued his inspection of the pelt before he put it away, then snapped his finger loudly. A bit to their right the wooden retreated into the desk, creating a pathway through and as he jumped down from his chair, he waved his fingers at them to follow.


    ¡°Have you fought many of these¡­ Elemanteiros?¡± Eadwald asked as he was often interested in such tales of valor.


    ¡°Quite a lot. One of them even left their mark on me.¡± He said while pulling back his grayish sleeve revealing his arm that creased even more so than his elderly visage. It was similar to when metal melted a little by heat than suddenly froze leaving behind prominent waves crumpled on top and beside of each other.


    ¡°But first, let me show you what your father commissioned for you.¡± As they entered breathing became hard for Eadwald as the strong heat contained to the back hit Eadwald upon entering. Yudmout walked to the table directly on their right with a woven sheet draped over it. Even through it Eadwald could see the bulging of numerous crafted weapons resting under it akin to a group of children sleeping in a single bed cuddled together.


    ¡°Now before I reveal it. Let me ask you a question or two. Just for the sake of my curiosity.¡± As Eadwald walked towards the table, Yudmout stood in his way and looked up at him with a serious expression.


    ¡°What are your aspirations after becoming a famed dragon knight of the Empire? Do you wish to be one to establish your own fame in the annals of history, or is it like your father¡¯s and famed heroes of old tales, to have the power to protect those you hold dearest in your heart?¡± At those words Eadwald looked at his father who veiled his slight embarrassment by inspecting the blades waiting to be melded together with hilts.


    Eadwald exhaled deeply as he mustered his strength to answer as he too felt awkward. Meeting Ulrich¡¯s gaze helped him lessen this poking sensation that obliterated his first words. ¡°In a way yes. But truth be told, my true aim is not just to became a legend children aspire to be, but to be an icon of peace and protector of those in need. It may sound arrogant of me to say this, but, if possible, I¡¯d like to reach a high that is peace on all the lands where good or bad folk live.¡±


    Hearing those words Yudmout snorted while Ulrich felt pride to the point that his eyes became teary a little, while his dry lips bent into a smile. ¡°It is never bad to dream of such things. And deep down I hope you may reach that high in your life boy. But for now focus on the first two besides the present.¡±


    ¡°I will old man.¡± Eadwald chuckled a little then went silent in awe as he Yudmout revealed the sword he made.


    ¡°You see the reason I asked because I got a feeling the Forge-Mother and the Fateweaver guided my hand and dreams through all the processes of making this sword, while I also got an inkling feeling that the Dawn-Father guided your father to those precious metals he bought to me. So excuse me for questioning you like this, but I had to know if all this wasn¡¯t just my delusions. The rest is on you to not waste their gifts.¡± Yudmout said as he watched proudly as Eadwald tenderly wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the long sword that even he could lift with a single arm¡¯s strength. ¡°Also, don¡¯t call me an old man yet, I¡¯m only a century older than your father.¡±


    While he could hear those words, his mind drifted into two realities. One that was the present as his eyes focused on the masterfully crafted blade in front of his golden eyes. A sword that was sculpted according to the schematics of Xiphos blades of the Impure Legions, yet still had a more brilliant and laxer curve, while even with his untrained eyes, he could see its unnatural sharpness.


    The second was his future. Or at least what he envisioned to achieve with mastering the arts of blades with his loyal winged mount he based upon the painting he received from Priernuss a few years ago.


    ¡°How is it?¡± Ulrich asked as Eadwald looked at his own reflection on the seamless surface of the sword¡¯s blade. As his other hand gripped around its long golden handle of scaled leather ¨C radiant runes appeared on its surface, only visible to him.


    ¡°Perfect. Thank you Yudmout, thank you Father!¡± For a mere moment he felt anxious as the realization hit him where he was in life, and how much was before him. But before he could reach the despair that boggles the mind into myriads of uncertainties, he felt relieved and joyous as his smile reinforced itself.

 Chapter 24: Until They Are Gone

    Soft snow particles fell as Sigi and Amiriniel rested on their knees in the frozen mud outside. The cold wind of the early morning gently caressed their soft faces with perfectly aligned features ¨C thanks to their aevhen blood. Their nostrils expanded slowly as they took in the air and entered a trance after constantly moving their mana around their arkhaine points.


    ¡°Good. Now release a little in the air, try to form it into a different shape for each of you.¡± Hearing her affectionate voice, the two followed her instructions and while channeling their mana outside their body and merged it with the surrounding. Their minds entered into a trance as a light euphoric sensation filled them.


    First Amiriniel formed it into a floating leaf of ethereal silver. The falling snowflakes converged around it and joined its dance before they melted away against the arkhaine heat the leaf emitted.


    Sigiwaer followed by forming his own expelled mana into the shape of a raven¡¯s feather ¨C as the image of one appeared in his mind for a momentary flash. The feather itself was much darker than the real ones ¨C so much so that it appeared to be puncturing the dim reality of the early morning of the season of the end and a new foundation. Even the snowflakes falling around it turned black and devoured the little light that fell or passed through them.


    ¡°Great work, both of you!¡± Yet after seeing that Mirdbruil waters of pride filled her up looking at the two. Still she did not want to voice it out completely, and held back from rushing at the two and reward them with her warm, motherly hug.


    With a soft inhale, she calmed herself from bursting out in joyous words as the two waited patiently. ¡°Now let¡¯s commence to the last part of today¡¯s study. Line up and face each other.¡±


    The two slowly stood up and cleaned their thick furred pants before walking a few meters away from the back entrance of their household. Their discipline lessened a little as they looked at each other, and for some unknown reason just chuckled a little. ¡°Now, now. With both of you proving yourselves as excellent pupils of mine now, let¡¯s dive into a more serious practice that will come in handy in battles or duels.¡± Maybe they laughed as a veiled premonition washed over them. But as Mirdbruil started speaking in a calmed and serious manner, they smothered their chuckles and listened onto her words.


    ¡°Now, first Sigi flow your mana inside yourself, will it into improper inscriptions.¡± At those words, Sigi closed both his eyes and breathed slowly while a chilling pleasant sensation tickled his being on the lower side. His mana coursed from his feet up to almost his waist as he envisioned a protective ward around it, but before it could fully finish, he forced his mind to go blank in a sense.


    As he looked at her, Mirdbruil gave her a rewarding smile then turned to Amirinel. ¡°Good. Now Amiriniel, tell me have you felt anything while he controlled his mana?¡±


    ¡°Faintly yes. I think he was about to enhance his leg¡¯s muscle strength?¡± She finished a bit uncertain.


    ¡°Were you Sigi?¡± Mirdbruil then turned back to him and asked.


    Sigiwaer hesitated a bit. ¡°Not exactly. I was thinking of a ward around it.¡± Then decided that honesty was the correct way.


    ¡°Good. That was a close one my dear.¡± Mirdbruil said as she praised Amiriniel¡¯s deduction. She smiled a little before a more serious look appeared on her already beautiful elven visage while her mind went through various ideas.


    Mirdbruil nodded at him then turned to Amirinel who nodded after deciding what spell to create. ¡°Then, let¡¯s repeat it with you this time.¡± Amiriniel exhaled deeply as her mana flowed from the arkhaine point in her animus right where her chest was for her mortal shell. A sweet taste filled her mouth akin to the sweet bakeries Mirdbruil tends to make for breakfast accompanied by a warming pleasant sensation. Thin lines of silken mana formed within her body and flowed into her eyes, allowing her to see even with closed eyes. Before a proper spell that would simply make her eyes glow like a torch could form, she stopped.


    Mirdbruil turned at Sigi whom focused both his eyes at his sister who was the same height as he was at that time. ¡°Have you felt it?¡± She asked eager to hear his answer.


    For a while he focused both his eyes ¨C even the one hidden under a leathery eyepatch. As his attention focused on her, the world lost all its detail in his sight and became a featureless darkness ¨C except for the ethereal silhouette of Amiriniel filled with her bright snow silvery mana. Then he noticed two serene, almond-shaped fine contours formed at the top of her face.


    ¡°Yes mother. She was about to light her eyes similar to the sun or torches.¡± He added the first part to exaggerate it a little. Mirdbruil turned her attention to Amiriniel who nodded diligently.


    ¡°Excellent.¡± Forcing herself to not over praise him, Mirdbruil said in a collected manner akin to a noble. ¡°You both are proceeding quite exceptionally. So as a reward, I¡¯ll make your favorite bakeries tonight.¡± Then she said with a proud face as she could no longer stop her feeling from bursting out like a river that freed itself from the binding of a dam.


    ¡°Really?¡± And just as she said those words out loud, Eadwald stepped out after waking up ¨C with those words brought him out from his morning torpor.


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    ¡°Well, for you I will once you finally cut that tree down.¡± She said ¨C her voice drawn out by Sigi¡¯s loud voice as he ran to his older brother. The two laughed as Eadwald lifted him up and the two span a little. ¡°I will after I return with father.¡± He said while his little brother¡¯s frail arms wrapped around his neck as he hanged on him like an ape.


    ¡°Fine. Amiriniel, do you want to come with me to the market?¡± Amiriniel nodded and they all headed inside for breakfast as the day truly began.


    **


    ¡°That is a nice grip on your sword.¡± Ulrich said with a mocking smile as he faced his own son. Surrounding them ¨C Gna and Azugh, Aelfsigior and a few others watched as father and son continued their practice in the village watch¡¯s training grounds in the north eastern part of the village.


    As their leg muscles tensed, their leathery boots sunk deeper and deeper into the melded mud. Eadwald¡¯s golden eyes stared at his father, analyzed every joint of his, every small move he made. ¡°Let¡¯s not make their wait worthless.¡± Then Ulrich flowed his mana into his legs and shaped them into proper inscriptions that enhanced their strength, increasing his speed a little bit more. Just enough to scare his son for a little as he changed his stance into a more defensive one.


    ¡°Good.¡± His voice was stifled a little by the clashing of blades that created sparks. A few found their way into Eadwald¡¯s eyes blinding him momentarily. Just enough that his father swung his fist into his abdomen and sent him gliding back into mud. He collapsed down onto his knees as he gasped for air.


    ¡°Good enough for a green-ear.¡± Gna interjected as he watched Eadwald stood back up. The throbbing pain that made it hard for him to breathe was almost unbearable, but not as much as the pain created by the revenant that left a deep scar not just in his body, but his soul.


    Ulrich loosened his stance after pondering for a while. ¡°Did you feel it?¡±


    ¡°Yes. But wasn¡¯t fully sure on what spell would it form into.¡± Eadwald asked as he managed to regulate his breathing while the pain still remained.


    ¡°Then what would be the proper move to counter it?¡± Ulrich scraped his sharp chin as he recalled how his father taught him the ways of the warrior.


    ¡°My first idea would be to strengthen my stance by using a body hardening spell. The second would be to enhance my sight so that I could deduct where you would strike.¡± Eadwald lowered his newly forged sword and stuck it into the mud as he leaned onto it while thinking back.


    Ulrich felt proud once again after hearing those words from his son. ¡°The first would be the safest option in my opinion. The second, a bit more complex but a good idea nonetheless. The best though would be combining the two, but I won¡¯t expect that for now.¡± Then the two regained their stances as Eadwald implied that the pain was now bearable to continue on as he raised the silver blade in line with his head. The mud quickly flowed down on its pristine surface in which his shaggy long dark hair reflected.


    The second time when Ulrich repeated the same motions, forming the same spell in his legs ¨C Eadwald followed his advice and swiftly spread his own mana through his body. He ignored the pleasant sensation that made the edge of his lips quiver a little, and this time their blades met once more. Unlike the first time, he blinked swiftly to save his eyes from the created sparks, while pulled his palm in the way of his father¡¯s fist.


    He groaned as the force of the hit sent him gliding back a few meters, but this time he raised his own blade to meet with his father¡¯s. This time he forced his arm to rotate down the two swords and dislocate it from Ulrich¡¯s hand. But in his surprise, Ulrich swept his footing and he found himself lying on the sides facing the sharp tip of the long silvery white sword.


    ¡°Come.¡± He grabbed his father¡¯s hand and they repeated this process till the sun started shifting into its next phase painting the sky into bright, luminous hues.


    **


    Silence was palpable to the point the four men clad in a mixture of leather and metal could feel its chilling hands wrapping around tightly their necks. If not for the crunching of the snow below their feet, the silken cascade of the nearby river, they may have been driven mad by this points as they ventured towards the heart of the forest.


    ¡°So what reason do you have to paint this faiyon tree Priernuss?¡± Gna was the first to break the silence after it swallowed even the soothing loud sounds that came from the village.


    ¡°In all honesty, I have more than one reasons for this. But truth be told what really awakened this desire within me was the ancient tales an old aetherkiin friend of mine regaled to me when I was posted a bit of west here.¡± Priernuss stopped in his tracks for a moment as he remembered his friend¡¯s softly echoing voice that was akin to a tender whisper inside an empty wine bottle.


    ¡°What makes them special?¡± Aelfsigior asked. While he was seven centuries old by this point, and once served in the 7<sup>th</sup> legion as a scout, he had very little knowledge on the flora of the northern regions ¨C or any region¡¯s flora at all.


    ¡°You see, these trees are not your average trees that the fey and spirits plant to spread the beauty of Earthen Mother. Reality is when high fey pass back to the Aether Between Worlds, they leave behind their husk and that husk transforms into feiyon giving it the otherworldly look.¡± Priernuss said in his silky deep voice as they marched through nature¡¯s bridge ¨C a fallen tree over the calmly raging river.


    ¡°My father used to tell me these trees were grown by druids and gwe¡¯evhes.¡± Ulrich added as he recalled listening to his father¡¯s tales when he was just as young as Sigi was two years ago.


    ¡°Well, he wasn¡¯t necessarily wrong. They do try to mimic but those are actually called the siobhrag oaks. Those grow from the cooperation between them and the fey.¡± Priernuss said as he offered his hand to Ulrich.


    After tracking for another hour ¨C just as the sun started shifting into its lunar phase painting the sky into darker luminous hues ¨C the group gazed upon the faiyon tree that stood proudly in the embrace of others. It towered above all of them, with bark of an unnatural and eye inviting luster. Branches that finely curved and twisted gracefully evading a fate of interwinding while blooming ethereal leaves of transparent kind. Light luminous veins sprouted within the transparent confines akin to the wings of a firefly.


    The four of them watched with Gna, Ulrich and Aelfsigior¡¯s faces plastered with admiration. So much so that the creaking sounds that were gently carried to their way went unheard as the pale, cloaked figure that silently hovered above the ground while it watched as Priernuss took in every little detail of the tree and engraved the memory of the path into his own mind.


    The pale specter turned around and silently hovered into the thick distance of the forest. Its hunger kept constrained for this day.

 Chapter 25: Coming of Age

    10<sup>th</sup> of Martzea, 1258<sup>th</sup> of the First Age.


    Warmer winds blew in the wide streets of Autharsovath as the second week of the of season of growth and fertility started. The month during which the Divine Mother of aevhen kin, the Gentle Weaver of Maghia blesses the folks of Elhyrissian. During this month their spells manifested even more powerful, while their limits were pushed a little by Her will.


    ¡°Hey Sigi, what are you doing there?¡± Priernuss who just finished buying his breakfast in the village market noticed Sigiwaer in between his homestead and their neighbors. The slightly warmer slow at his small feet condensed into spheres and flew into his tiny hands before he threw them at the wall of their¡¯ homestead.


    ¡°Just practicing uncle Priernuss.¡± He said quite innocently as he focused both his eyes on the twig grabbed by two hands grown from the stacked stones that made up their home. The thick stick was covered in dripping, mashed snow that fell back to the ground. Then once again it collected itself into a sphere and flew into his hands before he threw it against the stick.


    ¡°How¡¯s it going?¡± Priernuss asked as he stepped a bit closer.


    ¡°Well, I just hit it with the thirty-sixth snow ball at the same point.¡± Sigi said with a bored expression.


    ¡°Then let me make it a bit more exciting.¡± Priernuss leaned onto his head while his right index finger moved in the air as his mana flowed into and out from its tip. From the mud a small featureless golem rose and waved at the chuckling Sigi. ¡°Better to practice with a moving target.¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± Sigi yelled after it as the golem ran away just as snow from the ground condensed into a sphere hovering above his small palms. Priernuss watched his back disappear as Sigi turned towards their garden with his arm prepared to launch the snowball.


    ¡°Oh shit.¡± He said to himself as he looked at the sky with a wave of amber running across the sea of white clouds and endless blueness.


    **


    ¡°Are you sure I am ready for this?¡± Eadwald asked as he stepped inside.


    ¡°There is no point delaying the inevitable my dear old son.¡± Ulrich said as he stalwartly patted Eadwald on his now well-honed shoulders.


    ¡°I still feel like this is early.¡± Eadwald resisted the little push his father exerted upon him as the floor creaked under their heavy, yet soft steps.


    ¡°This is our free day before your rite. And it is never too early for a keg of good mead.¡± Ulrich stretched his left arm out and grabbed onto Eadwald¡¯s shoulder as he dragged his resistant son further into the belly of the beast.


    ¡°Just the usual.¡± The bartender said as he looked at the two as soon as they stepped within five meter range.


    Ulrich placed a sack full of minerals that grew under the snow during the final weeks of the previous season. ¡°And add a bottle of Yearium to it.¡± Yearium was a dark alcoholic beverage best consumed in small dosages with a break between each being half an hour ¨C otherwise it would cause varying hallucinations. It was essentially made from local plants that were often used as ingredients to restorative potions. But one time the bartender¡¯s dwarven father accidentally mixed them into one of his mead barrels and the result was this drink that was spread far and wide in the northern provinces of the Empire.


    ¡°Ulrich, Eadwald come here.¡± As their faces contorted extremely ¨C a hundred creases appeared on each their visages ¨C Priernuss stood up and called them to the largest of the tables in the far right corner. There Gna and Azugh, Aelfsigior, Yudmout sat beside him and greeted the pair with kegs clashed against kegs.


    ¡°So how does the alcohol taste for you the first time?¡± Aelfsigior asked while he gently created a wave of chill that kept his own mead cold.


    ¡°Bitter like certain days.¡± He said while the taste remained in his mouth, creeping at the corners like certain accursed spirits tend to haunt their victims.


    Gna snorted. ¡°Seems like a little artistry attached onto your son.¡± His muscled arms with which he poked Ulrich side felt like being poked by blunt ended spear that tickled a little.


    Eadwald turned to Azugh who sat right beside him. ¡°How was it for you Azu?¡± While Azugh was a few years younger than Eadwald, he looked the same age as him. His outer tusks were more prominent while he also gained two smaller inner bulging tenderly from behind his lower lip. His thick, greasy dark brownish hair ran along his back in a singly thick braid.


    ¡°The mead is so far good. But that, I¡¯ll make our maker in all honesty.¡± Azugh said as his eyes focused onto the bottle of dark liquid that was Yearium.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s poor one for everyone. And listen to the valiant tales of the elders on how they tackled their first major trial in life.¡± Priernuss said in an enthusiastic tone as the bottle popped open by itself and flew into his firm grip.


    Eadwald looked at Azugh and said with his eyes to brace himself, then turned back to Priernuss happily pouring one for everyone. Unlike them, their elders all had excited looks on their faces. ¡°Say Priernuss, we already listened a dozen hundred times to the tales of our old man¡¯s. Why not start with you, we¡¯re interested what are the customs of the south.¡±


    ¡°Well since the new age, the customary trials have been merged in with the legions. Or to be precise ¨C became the trials of the legion.¡± Priernuss stopped for a moment and then spoke after filling one to Azugh and Gna.


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    ¡°Remember one of my brothers mention that.¡± Ulrich jumped in as he recalled meeting with a few auxiliaries from the south.


    ¡°I must mention ¨C but this is a long tale from centuries ago. Are you two fine with listening to it?¡± Priernuss asked as he located the cork back into its place. The two looked at each other and everyone at the table nodded with gleaming eyes.


    Priernuss mouth bent slightly. ¡°Then where should I start? Ah yes, it was the eight day of the week in the year 356<sup>th</sup> of the First Age of the very same month.¡± He drank a quarter of his mead to moisten his throat, then started.


    He chuckled a little as he recalled how he met with his fellow auxiliaries at a tavern in the colonial town of Potamyrn ¨C named after the river it was built around a thousand year before the Dawn Age ended. ¡°Those were fine lads I tell you. Muzzulda who was a fine dwarven woman of the Hogstol clan with the finest of braided chin beards. Makthym a four century old aurevh from the golden deserts of the far south with an expressionless handsome face and long, gleaming dark hair that went nicely with his radiant complexion. Ollognus, a changed-kin that came from a parents augmented with parts of Uzrhum. He was as tall and massive as the mountains, covered in thick fur that had an earthly quality, appearance to it. And his face, scary and monstrous.


    Then he stopped for a moment and his eyes were filled with nostalgic sorrow before he continued. ¡°And we were all like enough to be led by none another than Moistyria Terrisitae Elhyrrisiar herself. Even though she just set out prove herself worthy of being the thousandth upon thousandth child of the Emperor himself.¡±


    ¡°What was she like?¡± Aelfsigior spoke up first as he went silent for a moment.


    Priernuss tittered softly with teary eyes. ¡°I would lie ¨C but I can¡¯t. Her haunting beauty ¨C a clear sign of the Silent Shepherd¡¯s blessed kiss upon her animus ¨C etched into my mind. Even to this day I can see her cold smile, her haunting chuckle that fills you with a calm. And a kindness never seen before by any of her kin. She was a rare onyx grafted once in an eon by the Deossos and the Almodo I¡¯m most sure of it.¡±


    Priernuss stared at his reflection in the mead. ¡°Is she someone dearest to your heart?¡± Eadwald asked.


    ¡°Akin to a lass who just witnessed a mermaid for the first time in their short life.¡± Priernuss answered after he exhaled. ¡°Her beauty enamors me even now when I just think about it, but I think we of the elderly can safely say we all experienced this sensation.¡±


    ¡°What sensation?¡± Azugh asked this time around.


    ¡°It differs slightly. For me it never bloomed into proper love, just respect when I learnt of her ideals that in the end doomed her to join the endless dream before her two thousandth winter.¡± His smile became bitter while the others after a bit of pondering nodded their heads and added in their experience ¨C surprising Eadwald too when he looked at Ulrich.


    ¡°Love comes in many forms son. My first was a dwarven adventurer who passed by here when I was a small child. To me, it was her strength and bravery that led to a premature love.¡± He said while his dry, creased hands ran across Eadwald¡¯s thick, black hair that made the two look almost the same.


    ¡°Now where was I? Oh yes, the five of us met up in this homely tavern reeking of fish, sweet water and the stench of the previous night where we each took an oath to watch out for each other, as we were all equals at the moment ¨C even if there was Makthym whom thought otherwise.¡± As he continued on with his tale, the stomach-churning smell, the loud noises of the early customers and the faces of his former comrades all returned in his mind and sight.


    Before he continued the tale of his trial ¨C he closed down his eyes and inhaled deeply while he collected mana in the surroundings, and manifested miniature humanoid shapes on the table. Everyone ¨C and even some passerby¡¯s ¨C watched with clear amazement in their eyes and with their jaws wide open.


    First the faint arkhaine silhouette of Muzzulda appeared holding a battleaxe twice her size, then the tall and regal Makthym and hulking Ollognus manifested. Then lastly him and Moistyria appeared with the latter enveloped in a dark yet divine aura. Just like he said they sat on unseen chairs around an unseen table lifting their hands ¨C and axe ¨C in the air.


    ¡°I must add, but while it is a trial of performance and measure, in fact it is a small task overseen by a senior member of the legion. And in our case, it was the total elimination of the savages hiding out in the local forest whom terrorized the province and the caravans passing through.¡± As he continued the shapes of the five shifted into a standing posture and they all started walking without moving. Now they all held their weapons in hand.


    ¡°Why not monsters or undead?¡± Eadwald questioned naively.


    ¡°To prove you are a capable warrior or sorcerer. We all can drive our blades through the undead or beasts. But ending the life of the living is a different matter altogether.¡± Priernuss said as additional shapes surrounded the five. Gwe¡¯elves whom sported varying antlers, hair with a fine grass like texture and sharp animalistic claws appeared alongside savage humans, orkh, gobokhs and large wild beasts clearly altered by maghia aspect of nature itself.


    ¡°And to prove that you can stand your ground against enemies driven not only by instinct. That are intelligent enough for the most basic tactics of outnumbering you and your fellows.¡± Priernuss continued while the five shapes tightened the space between each. Moistyria¡¯s shape held its frail arm up and a ward grown around the group as a hail of arrows rained upon them.


    Roots converged out from the table and slithered onto the ward, cracks formed slowly as nature¡¯s tendrils gained the weight of the largest of dragons. ¡°To see if you can handle the direst of circumstances.¡± The five stood valiantly even as certain death seemed to loom over them. Yet death didn¡¯t smile upon them in a wicked manner, but offered a smile akin to a protective mother¡¯s.


    First the shape of Priernuss raised its hand and in the next moment, flames of myriad hues lit up the roots and devoured them within a blink of an eye. Then Ollognus and Muzzulda rushed out from under the ward as the second hail of arrows stopped. With unnatural speed they rushed at the enemies hiding in the veil of bushes and trees. Their spear and axe swung and thrusted and the number of the enemies lessened by the second.


    Moistyria, Priernuss and Makthym remained under the ward each supporting the two from long range. Priernuss by hurling lesser spells onto the enemies hoping to gain distance from the two warriors or just simply fleeing. Makthym who in appearance was a master of close range combat with blades, supported Muzzulda by replenishing her stamina or by conjuring smaller wards in the way of arrows and spells.


    Moirstyria in a similar vein wrapped Ollognus¡¯s form in a ward that also supplied him with stamina to keep on going. While some shapes simply fell as her deathly spells empowered by her blessing snuffed the life from the enemies in a mere moment.


    ¡°That was awesome!¡± As Eadwald uttered those words, the other¡¯s started slowly clapping followed by everyone inside who converged around the table to watch the maghia trick. ¡°Thank you.¡± Priernuss stood up and bowed deeply.


    ¡°Now I know, you two said you heard their tales a thousand times. But let me hear the tales of valor of this table.¡± As the crowd started returning to the counter or to their tables, Priernuss sat down and asked for the meager payment of tale told and shown.

 Chapter 26: Coming of Age

    ¡°Got afraid?¡± Azugh asked with a cheeky smile as he noticed Eadwald standing in front of the open doorway to the armory of the village watch. It was one of the few buildings that were built with large marbles the shade of the luminous night. The only building from the days when their ancestors were still building a fortress in this area.


    Eadwald looked at his friend and his dry, smooth lips trembled as he the corners bent upwards. ¡°In a way yes. But also excited as strange as it may sound.¡±


    ¡°Not strange at all. Just chose the wrong time to feel like this.¡± Azugh said as he patted Eadwald on his shoulders that made him hiss as it felt more like being tenderly hit by a log.


    ¡°So you went through this too?¡± Eadwald asked as the slight pain quickly subsided.


    ¡°Yeah, but let¡¯s not stay idle anymore. Or you may plant the seeds of doubt in the old men¡¯s hearts.¡± Azugh¡¯s large hand spread out on his back and easily pushed Eadwald into the soft shadows of the building. Strangely as soon as he crossed the boundary, Eadwald felt his leg muscles loosen up one after the other and could continue on as they walked through the straight corridor with two turns at the end.


    **


    ¡°Isn¡¯t Uncle Priernuss coming too?¡± Eadwald asked as he relieved himself from the thick tunic with a high collar that wrapped around his neck.


    ¡°Will come. Just probably had a rough morning. He did drink the most from out of all of us.¡± Ulrich said as Aelfsigior finished strapping the segmented, angular shoulder plates and handed the Phalarea to Ulrich. Phalarea were nine thick disk with each having the symbol of the Deossos and the Almodo engraved in their deep silver surface held together by chains.


    He thanked the aevhe and walked to his son to help him dress up into the armor as he just finished slipping into the snow silvery thick chatonic tunic with a shawl like neck to protect against the harsh cold of the north ¨C and against the blade of an assassin. ¡°Now turn around.¡±


    ¡°Oh morning sunshine!¡± Ashnan, the Szeakrin member of the group greeted Priernuss who just arrived still carried the suffocating stench of a heartfelt night.


    Szeakrin¡¯s were the native merfolks of the northern seas and waters with a history similar to the orkhin. Many of them served in the legions of the Solemn King, and after His banishment were punished to serve for twenty centuries before they could walk freely and sinful amongst the other races.


    Unlike their southern kin, Szeakrins had less glamorous appearance thanks to their eons long service and devotion to the Solemn King and his fallen ilk. Their scales were faded, dry but also strong like bones of the undead, with hues ranging from pale white to a cold hue akin to the frost covering the lakes, or floating above water on rivers. Elongated, slit contoured eyes with shades of white and blue except the center, a large black hole that was ready to swallow all.


    The back of his head covered in bone like extension that took the shape of northern coral ¨C sharp, serrated edges from which long wet-appearing dreads fallen onto his muscled back with various ring ornaments of ivory kind.


    ¡°Do not speak of sunshine. On these mornings I wish for eternal night.¡± Priernuss said as he snapped his finger. Water appeared from under his pores and swiftly engulfed his body ¨C the stench that permeated from him vanished and his tired expression turned to a freshened.


    ¡°Neat trick. Can you teach it to me one day?¡± Eadwald asked after smelling his own armpits that made his handsome face contort.


    ¡°Maybe one day. This one needs a lot of practice, otherwise you may end up scaring your mother and father.¡± Priernuss said as he started stripping himself of his vibrant attire ¨C and recalled his first try of this spell. Which resulted in his fellow legionaries bringing him to the nearest healer as his whole body resembled an almost mummified husk that reeked of the late stages of death.


    ¡°Speaking of practice ¨C I also made a golem for Sigi to train his aim on.¡± As he remembered he turned to Ulrich as he spoke.


    ¡°Do you have to practice your aim for spells?¡± Eadwald asked as he turned to his father than to Priernuss while the chest piece got fastened to his body.


    ¡°Yes. You see monsters, undead and such beings can sense when a magus is aiming for them. In a similar vein, a proper magus can also sense when they are targeted.¡± Ulrich said as he checked if the plate was in its proper place.


    ¡°And there are those master magussos who veil their spells. But that is a rare thing to experience in these peaceful times.¡± Priernuss added as he slipped into his chatonic tunic.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Azugh asked as he watched Eadwald put on a necklace made from chiseled stone that vaguely resembled a dragon¡¯s head.


    Before he answered he reached into his discarded breeches and pulled out another. This one resembled a quite misshapen wolf and handed it to Azugh. ¡°Sigi made them as good luck charms for us.¡±


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    Azugh watched the corners of his mouth curved up while a weird sensation burnt his belly. ¡°You should talk to him. He still feels responsible and thinks that you hate him.¡± He added as Azugh took the necklace and put it over before he fitted his helmet onto his head.


    ¡°I know. Its just weird that he is¡­¡± He started speaking then stopped.


    ¡°Still a child?¡± Ulrich interjected with a warming expression. ¡°It is weird, but better will get better once they catch up.¡±


    ¡°Did you have such a friend too?¡± Azugh asked.


    ¡°I had quite a few in fact. There was Gudrail who started out as our big brother we asked constantly about the forest, fights and such stuff, then as time passed, we left him behind in more than many ways.¡± Ulrich said with a nostalgic tone and expression while he looked at his aevhen friend fastening the vambrace onto his right arm.


    ¡°What? Being better with a blade doesn¡¯t count when I never intended to use on.¡± Aelfsigior said as he grabbed his long spear with a dry groan as he misunderstood the gaze directed at him.


    ¡°Why a spear?¡± Azugh asked as he held his double edged axe in one, exceedingly muscled arm of his.


    Aelfsigior raised his sharp line of a right eyebrow. ¡°Because I aspire to live exceptionally long life just like the Mourning Blade of the Empire.¡±


    ¡°And distance is the most important factor for any who aims to gain glory and survive.¡± Priernuss answered much more plainly.


    **


    ¡°What are you practicing?¡± Amiriniel asked as she approached Sigiwaer kneeling down in the mud and snow with a serious expression as he was in deep thoughts before she interrupted them.


    ¡°Uncle Priernuss said that practicing on a target that can move and even shoot back at m...¡± Sigiwaer said but before he could finish the miniature featureless golem shot a mud ball that hit his left cheek. It exploded and covered the left side of his soft face starting to show faint, but sharp aevhen cheekbones. The mud then started condensing back into its spherical form and flew right back into its handless arm and rejoined the rest of the animated mud.


    ¡°What kind of maghia is that?¡± Amiriniel asked as she scraped her chin pondering and leaned a bit closer.


    ¡°He said it is categorized as false life. A rare type atop some further inscription that veil the flow of mana.¡± Sigiwaer said as he massaged his own cheek that ached slightly from the hit.


    False Life was an art of maghia that belonged to the aspect of will and creativity merged with the aspect of mind by combining parcium matter and psiorn energy from the arkhaine points. By combining these two essential existential energies found in all living beings ¨C and to an extent in the undead ¨C magusos place them into puppets and sever the unseen string of forced will, resulting in the creation of a golem.


    ¡°I see. Can I try?¡± Amiriniel asked after Sigiwaer finished his explanation Priernuss said to himself before he rushed to the armory.


    ¡°Sure. I think.¡± Sigi nodded a bit uncertain. But the golem seemed to recognize her and bowed to her just like to him.


    Her eyes fixated onto the small mud golem and she cracked her delicate fingers in preparation as her mana started flowing like a river within her animus¡¯s veins, between each of the nine arkhaine points. As her eyes lit up in an ethereal light, she raised palm over her face while a yelp followed as a mud ball hit her cheeks just like with Sigi.


    ¡°You felt something?¡± Sigi asked while leaning against the cold walls of their homestead.


    ¡°Just a faint presence. But I¡¯m not sure if that was it casting the spell or just Priernuss¡¯s will. Have you tried with your eye?¡± She turned to him and asked.


    Sigi shook his head slowly. ¡°Don¡¯t really want to rely on this for now. At least until the vicar confirms the source of it.¡±


    ¡°Good. Even if it is a gift of one of the Deossos, better to learn these things by yourselves.¡± At Mirdbruil¡¯s words the two turned to her and Sigi cleaned of his thick robe.


    ¡°Is it time already mother?¡± Amiriniel asked as she searched for the sun up in the sky. Her left cheek puffed out as she looked at her nodding head.


    ¡°The golem will await you.¡± As she said those words, the mud golem jumped onto Sigi¡¯s shoulder that made the little boy chuckle a little before he walked up and grabbed Mirdbruil¡¯s soft, warm hand.


    **


    A small crowd assembled at Autharsovath¡¯s northern square ¨C buildings lined in an uneven circle around the well with an Vizstone embedded in its bottom that generated water for the village. Folk of all kinds and ages lined up to bid good luck to the small group set out to with the youth to prove themselves.


    ¡°Can¡¯t wait to see my little boar in armor.¡± Shad¡¯Yrg ¨C the mate of Gna and rough yet gentle mother of Azugh ¨C said with excitement and pride plastered onto her grim orkhish visage. Her braided thick dark hair fell onto her well-honed shoulders draped in layers of thick fur pelt and linen robe reaching down to her ankles.


    ¡°We¡¯re the same. Am I right kids?¡± Mirdbruil said with Sigi now locking his arms around her neck as he hanged onto her shoulders to see through the crowd. Amiriniel whom reached up to her mother¡¯s waist stood on her right while leaning out as she searched for the group to appear at the stairs leading down the small hill the village was built upon. Both nodded as their expressions were overflown with anticipation.


    Then finally the crowd went silent for a moment at the approaching sound of the armor clanking, wet steps as the greaves clad feet sunk into the melted mud and still thick snow. Sigi¡¯s eyes lit up even more as he saw the armored figures of Aelfsigior and Ashnan leading in the front appear.


    Behind them, were Gna who felt a bit awkward when his dearest wife yelled up in heat seeing him all armored up, beside him Ulrich who met the gaze of his children first then his beautiful aevhen wives¡¯ whose smile increased his confidence even more. Right behind them followed Azugh and Eadwald whom appeared like meek animals when realization hit them regarding the march from the village.


    The two met Sigi¡¯s excited gaze and his smiled widened, his eyes became a little teary as he saw the haphazardly made ¨C with the help of Ulrich and Mirbruil ¨C dangle, clank against the alabaster angular plates of their chest piece. ¡°See I told you. He is not angry at you.¡± Mirdbruil words calmed his little heart even more as he started waving as they reached closer.


    As the two passed by them, they waved back at them before they focused back to matching the pace of the small company before they marched out the gates. ¡°May the Warweaver guide us through! May our ancestors shield us! May the Almodo grant his mercy upon us! Forward my proud warriors!¡± Aelfsigior¡¯s voice echoed through the village and the vast snow covered scenery in front of the forest where the party stood still. They all shouted the same words before their march began anew towards the eerie forest.

 Chapter 27: Coming of Age

    Two days passed by since the party set out to hunt down revenants ¨C and for Eadwald and Azugh¡¯Yrg to prove their mettle ¨C in the vast woodland that was known as Vesgeriath. Leaves of myriad luminous hues bloomed, offering a gentle veil against the cold rays of the spring¡¯s sun.


    The thick snow and mud muffled their steps while their plates clanked together as they moved eastward. Other than the eight trampling through snow and mud, nothing could be heard. Not the menacing groans of bears, the howls of starving wolves, the foreboding melody of crows could be heard for several hundreds of meters. Not even the revenants creaking movements echoed between the trees and bushes to reach their ears to give at least a destination to traverse towards.


    The Impure Legions were the bulk of the imperial forces protecting the peace of the colonies, while also preparing for the inevitable war with the Host of the Dusk. The name itself formed after some of the kins, like the Szeakrin merfolks, orkhin were pardoned and allowed to pursue martial professions which resulted in the taint of certain legions in the eyes of the Patricii and the magistratoros.


    ¡°This is a lot less exciting, isn¡¯t it?¡± As the party stopped to take a break Priernuss and Ulrich walked to the youth. The two nodded firmly, still in high spirits after two days of almost endless traversal that made their legs ache like they never experienced before. The enchantments in their plates lessened the pain a bit, but deep down they were hoping to reach the next camping point.


    ¡°Is it always like this?¡± Eadwald then asked while reaching for his flask that hanged onto his belt.


    ¡°For the most part, yes.¡± Ulrich answered as he wiped the water off of his mouth.


    ¡°The scenery though at least makes it worthwhile. Though it is strange that not even a single beast showed itself.¡± Priernuss added in as he cast a gaze around the snow blanketed surroundings bathed in the warm light of the season of growth and fertility.


    As this was the season of the Deos who refined the maghia of the mortal realms, it was also the season during which the various elements that made up the world thrived. That included nauel energies that weren¡¯t just used to cast nature or hedge magic, but also were responsible for the blooming of flora. That included certain northern flowers that grown under the snow and during this season bloomed white petals and vibrant green stems. Or in this area¡¯s case, tainted green stems and petals of nekrotic blue and midnight black hues that made them easy to spot.


    ¡°It is normal here to an extent Priernuss.¡± Lioba, a maiden with long fiery hair that cascaded down her shoulders from under her helmet of the group and a refined gaunt visage leapt in to the small conversion.


    ¡°She is right. The revenants, nekrossok and other horrors scare them away. Better to keep a vigilant eye on our surroundings from this point on.¡± Ashnan said as he stared into the distance with an uncomfortable, but calm look.


    ¡°Break is over. Let¡¯s reach the next blessed tree before the shift of night traps us in the darkness.¡± Aelfsigior shouted and everyone stood back into their position before they continued their march. The two took a deep breath, and exhaled mist as they took up the pace.


    **


    As the party continued their track through the woods, the sky slowly painted itself into darker hues. Thanks to Aelfsigior¡¯s experience navigating through the woodland for centuries now, they managed to reach the blessed tree not long before the darkness reached the group. Night itself begun at the center of the world, slowly spreading to all corners within hours.


    The Blessed Trees were tall coniferous trees planted by the clergy of the Dawn Father in these parts of the world as a safe haven to the lost and adventurers against the elements and most importantly against the terrors that lurk in the dark. The soft, needle leaves of the tree besides emitting a radiant aura that repels the vile children of the Solemn King also generate a warm light that kept everyone in its vicinity heated during the cold of night.


    Ulrich and Priernuss were on duty to set up camp over the grass the blossomed in the tender shadow of the tree all times of the year. The rest were either on watch duty, as one can never be too sure if there is a revenant that could break through the radiant protection of the tree.


    Aelfsigior and Lioba were on cook duty, preparing a lamb stew with a spicy paprika seasoning kept the warm body for at least twelve hours. As the two prepared the meal, the others recounted various stories to Eadwald and Azugh whom watched interested ¨C especially when it came to their fathers¡¯ stories.


    First, they listened to the tale of Ashnan who recounted the day when his regiment set out to hunt down a lone scylla that nested in the lake Pirofundo located a few hundred kilometers west of Autharsovath. He finished proudly how he pierced the heart of the monster ¨C often found in the north¡¯s waters ¨C that was located in the mesmerizing part resembling the torso of a bountiful naked maiden with long, dark wet hair and dark alluring eyes sprouting forth from the scaled, rotten-scented body.


    Gna followed next, recounting how he fought against a war band of the Host that were raiding the settlements. The fiercest battle it was he said as he fought against the leader of the band, a vampyr timeomancer ¨C maguses specialized in fear maghia ¨C whom was capable of sculpting his own pale flesh into indescribably, monstrous shapes that planted the seeds of fear even into his orkhish heart. Yet it was still not enough as Gna¡¯s battle axe severed his head off Gna said proudly.


    Ulrich chimed in cheekily mentioning that when Gna returned, he was trembling for three days and nights after the fight as the residual energies remained on him. Then he started his own proudest valorous moment when he faced against a waendiir ¨C an intelligent nekrossok ¨C and as he went into great detail describing its large, bony body and disfigured humanoid like visage, Azugh and Eadwald felt a chill run up their spine as they envisioned the deathly creature.


    Aelfsigior noticing the two twinge a little urged Ulrich to quickly divert the story to its end. After Ulrich finished by describing how his blade ran through the creature, its radiant flames evaporated its at least three meters tall body.


    Lastly as they started handing out the bowls filled with steaming hot stew with still fresh bread thanks to the enchanted bag carried by Ashnan ¨C Aelfsigior started his own tale of valor. A tale rooted in sadness as he was part of a small company set out to hunt down a possessed boy not older than Eadwald or Azugh themselves.


    To save the two from the sorrow, he cut to the chase where his battle-brethren surrounded the boy ¨C or as he corrected the monstrosity. By the time they caught up to it in a small hamlet, the possession reached into its final stages. He described the foul smell of rotten flesh, the boy¡¯s body elongated and widened, his belly split open from top to bottom with large teeth and a collection of misshapen tongues bared at them. In the erect maw, the tortured visages, torn body parts of the villagers mixed together ¨C though he lightened on the details himself.


    ¡°So that¡¯s why the spear.¡± Ulrich chimed in as realized why Aelfsigior chose a spear to be his weapon as he listened to the old aevhe describing how five of his battle-brethren stepped too close for the tongues to wrap around them and pull them into the maw where they met their grizzly end. For a moment, he went silent as he recalled the grinding of armor and bone merged with the distorted, guttural laugh of the infaerni.


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    ¡°Could be. Or it was my master who taught me how to handle one.¡± Aelfsigior said as he laughed out heartily, masking the pain and disgust and cursing himself to recounting this tale just as he was about to eat his stew. But he still forced the steaming hot meat and broth filled with potato and various vegetables imported from the south.


    ¡°How did you defeat it Uncle?¡± As Eadwald asked with golden eyes clearly brimming with respect Aelfsigior continued by leaping to the end ¨C to save himself from further memories. He continued with him leaping at the infaerni who turned its back to him as it faced the praetiir that led them. In that moment, he felt the will of the Dawn Father course through him, and his sword¡¯s blade lit up in radiant runes and flames as blinding as the sun¡¯s light. Followed by the ear-bleeding deep scream as its body dissipated leaving only the mound of chewed and torn body parts behind.


    The overwhelming relief and joy that washed over him back then filled Aelfsigior in that moment as he continued eating his stew. After the warm meal he gave out his orders regarding watch duty and when will they set off in the earliest of the morning.


    **


    A few hours, and at least seven kilometers later, the party led by Aelfsigior ran into a dozen or more revenants feasting upon the cadaver of a large bear. Within seconds of them taking up position and battle stances ¨C their round shields in front, and swords or spears readied to thrust forward ¨C additional revenants numbering the same more or less burst forth from the snow blanketed ground as if they laid trap to them.


    They quickly formed into a circle as the revenants surrounded them like a pack of hungry wolves. Most of the revenants were folk-like with a few animals amongst them that they hunted down while searching for food.


    The moment between the revenants throwing themselves onto the shields in hopes of breaking through and them watching and waiting felt like hours to Eadwald as sweat flown down from his temples. His breathing was heavy, and he inhaled in short doses as he could not stand the stench of undeath oozing from the revenants.


    His eyes popped out and he felt his arms freezing when he noticed the two small revenants, two boys whom ventured far from their settlement. He gulped and closed his eyes at the absolute worst moment ¨C the moment when the revenants begun their relentless assault against the party.


    ¡°Athveryne in to your shields!¡± Aelfsigior yelled ¨C his deep, soothing voice calmed Eadwald ¨C and everyone¡¯s shields enveloped in a transparent golden aura. Revenants shrieked in pain as a few of them dropped to the ground unmoving. The stronger, older ones backed off and hissed like provoked felines in their warped voices.


    ¡°Those who can ¨C thrusts your blades forward.¡± Then followed the next command and a few of the revenant that remained close to the party quickly joined their fallen brethren into the eternal sleep. As the fear still mingled within him, Eadwald thrust his recently crafted sword deep through a large orkhin revenant and straight into the tree that was behind it.


    He pulled it back as swiftly as he could and waited for the next command. ¡°The bear.¡± Priernuss pointed at the bear the revenants feasted upon slowly rising. It emitted a deep, warped bellow before it charged at the party.


    ¡°Plant the feet!¡± At those words, Eadwald felt a bit confused but then he understood the meaning of them when he felt himself sinking a bit into the ground. He took a short peek around and noticed the faint flow of mana coming from Priernuss.


    Yet this still proved ineffective when the undead bear crushed into them and broke their line. Eadwald fell onto his back with his shield still in hand. Pain coursed through his limbs and panic set in moments later. He raised his shield over himself, while he thrusted his sword through the side opening and into the frozen, decayed chest of a revenant that was impossible to tell what kin it belonged to once.


    As he got up onto his feet, the ground trembled as a bony tendril wrapped around his wrist as he tried to free the tip from the earth and pulled him out from the group. ¡°Eadwald.¡± Ulrich seeing him being dragged further away from them broke the reforming circle and cut down any revenant that leapt in his path.


    ¡°Channel your athveryne matter into your wrist.¡± He yelled when three further revenant wolves leapt in his way. Followed by two more humanoid revenants behind him swinging their aged weapons down at him. Before they could lend their killing blow though, the two erupted in golden flames that devoured them in a blink of an eye.


    ¡°Thanks!¡± Ulrich thanked Priernuss as he finished off the last of the revenants front of him.


    ¡°Keep close to each other! Let¡¯s finish these then go after them!¡± Aelfsigior¡¯s voice echoed through the area while the sounds of battle became distant as Ulrich tracked after Eadwald.


    **


    By the time he managed to channel his athervyne infused mana into his wrist, the sounds of the party fighting with the remaining revenants were nothing more than a muffled noise smothered out by the high pitched warped scream. Before Eadwald could took a look at its source, he forced all his limb muscles to get on his own feet. His face draped in his own red blood with a tingent of ethereal hue when the sun shone on it. The cold air breezed his head as the wind started blowing while he looked for his helmet that got lost along the way.


    ¡°At least I still have you.¡± He said while clutching his blade and taking a short peek at the necklace made by Sigi. Then as he raised his shield, he felt something cold and fluid drop onto his scar adorning his left cheek. He groaned as the black fluid started burning his skin and flesh.


    As he tilted his head upwards slowly, the same high-pitched warped scream echoed through the thick woodland. The revenant ¨C a highly evolved one at that ¨C resembled a skeletal rodent the size of a great bear, with an elongated skull, two horns that resembled the ears of squirrels, the damaged tail that still sizzled in golden after the athveryne matter severed its segmented end. Ribcages that moved as if it was still breathing, between them a dark mass of rotten meat covered in an even blacker ooze that was the source of his corroding pain.


    Eadwald reflexively pumped mana into his legs¡¯ arkhaine points as he felt the Rodent Revenant leap at him while bearing its sharp array of teeth from which the spherical mass ejected towards him. The tree eroded within a blink of an eye, nothing but a memory left of it as the dark fluid evaporated into the air.


    He kept his eyes on the Rodent Revenant even when he heard the approaching footsteps coming from Ulrich, who also witnessed the swift end of the towering tree. Without saying a word the two stood on opposite ends. Eadwald felt his father¡¯s gaze from instinct and peeked at him for a short moment. Just enough to know what his father planned in the short time since his arrival.


    The two charged closer to the tree into which the Rodent Revenants¡¯ claws were dug into and swung their blades horizontally through the trunk. Both went through it like slightly melted butter, and it screeched loudly as it leapt down from the tumbling tree. It bared its fangs at them while on all fours, then lunged at Ulrich.


    His already muscled arms tensed even more and visibly gained muscle as he held his shield over his upper body, while his feet dug into the frozen ground. Eadwald ignored the pain of his ear after experiencing the heavy ivory body of the revenant clash against the strong, metal shield. His aim was towards the mass of flesh encased in the ribcage, while channeling athveryne infused mana into his sword and shield.


    The Rodent Revenant screamed as the shield glowed in a radiant light and it leapt away in fear. Ulrich pushed himself against it, while Eadwald followed with his sword¡¯s tip pointed at the belly of the revenant.


    The runes on it lit up, and as the it sunk into the putrid flesh and dark fluid, the Revenant screamed from the proverbial throat as the radiant energies poured into its macabre body and tainted being. Before its body lit up in warm, golden flames it swung its damaged tail at Eadwald and sent him through a thick three.


    ¡°Eadwald!¡± Ulrich yelled as his heart and throat became heavy with worry. He thrusted his blade into the skull of the Rodent Revenant that finished off the agonizing undead. Its exoskeleton part shattered into myriad pieces while the burning rotten flesh turned into dazzling ash.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Pain assaulted every fiber of his being as Ulrich reached Eadwald down on his back with arms spread out. ¡°Or at least alive.¡± He added as Ulrich collapsed down on to his bottom and leaned his back against the trunk of the destroyed tree.


    ¡°Good. Rest for now. I¡¯ll keep watch for now.¡± He said while watching the fleeing revenant children meeting their second end. One by a radiant sphere launched by Priernuss, the other pinned against the tree through its small head by Aelfsigior¡¯s spear before flames burnt its decayed corpse into ash. ¡°Priernuss will mend the pain.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel like that.¡± Eadwald added as he wrestled with taking breaths while the taste of blood permeated his mouth. Darkness creeped in the corners of his vision, as he watched the myriad luminous hued leaves disturbed by the wind.

 Side Chapter: The Wolf That Prayed

    11<sup>th</sup> of Vytiererth, 1154<sup>th</sup> of the First Age.


    The gentle winds carried the unseen gifted seed of nurturing as they blew the trees planted and grown around the small colonial town of Summylo located on the southern coast of the Therisim Peninsula not too far from the north. Trees long touched by these seeds blossomed in myriad different vibrant hues creating a picturesque frame around the small town only separated from the wilds beyond by a deep moat.


    Yet these winds carried more than the seeds of the Blooming Maiden, but an eerie chill too that made the usually taciturn, calm Moirstyria tremble not so visibly within the confines of her segmented, angular plate armor recently ¨C a gift from her elder uncle Augermil. Each platinum plate was embossed with intricate draconic designs paired expertly with symbols of the Final Guide.  The dark linen tunica under it nicely contrasted her armor and perfectly pale complexion as the slit open angular collars with silver edges nicely wrapped around her neck.


    A shadow draped over her alluring, grimly form. ¡°Are you fine?¡± In his deep, soothing voice and with a thoughtful expression, Augermil asked.


    She inhaled deeply while offering a reassuring smile before she spoke. ¡°Yes Uncle. Just felt the presence. This is definitely something more than an Infaerni or an Aydvroegh.¡±


    The two received a revelation from Obtryllia herself while both traversed towards the north as the incursions from beyond the jagged peaks of Dhaugruz increased the past few decades. Both received only faint words that guided towards Summylo, whispers about a wicked thing slipping through the Consecrated Divider erected by the Deossos after the Twilight War came to an end.


    ¡°Better to not waste anymore time then. Let¡¯s speak with the local magistratoros.¡± Augermil said as he turned his head away as his expression turned to sour. Moirstyria got down from her ivory stallion in tandem with him and both entered after their group as shadows grew denser by the moment.


    **


    Summylo was a small fishing town at the southern shore of the Peninsula. It was settled in the 1104<sup>th</sup> year of the First Age by a mixed group of humans, dwarves and merfolk at the time led by Magistratoros Agammaran ¨C a gwe¡¯evhen Patriciia of the Empire.


    ¡°We did not expect neither of you, our Highnesses!¡± The elderly aevh said with a deep bow and an apologetic tone on his calm, expressionless face blessed with perfectly aligned features. Experienced eyes with deep emerald pupils that gleamed with wisdom but also with fatigue. Regal antlers decorated with golden and silver ornaments fit for the upper class of the Empire. An oaken tone paired nicely with smooth skin that had a natural luster enhancing the angular visage of his ornated with mahogany beard that follows his sharp jawline.


    He and the rest of the folk living in the settlement condensed at the town square right at the center which served as the market as well. On the right the headquarters of the local militia cast its lawful shadow onto them with a long set of wooden stairs led up to its imposing door. Directly on its right the tavern was built where the fisherman and the guard all spent their free nights to relieve their stress in alcohol induced bliss.


    Facing them a bit lower in elevation, a large warehouse was built and emanated the rotten stench of fish waiting to be delivered to the nearest city to be sold or for a familiar merchant to arrive in the town for trade. On its left, the pier and the dozen boats that usually came with them was located still buzzling with guards and fisherman none the wiser of those who had just arrived to their little town.


    ¡°No need for such pleasantries. We came here on the command of the Silent Shepherd.¡± Hearing those words pour out from Augermil, Agammaran and the few townsfolk out to greet them started murmuring amongst each other.


    ¡°Blessed be her name!¡± Agammaran said as tears flowed down his cheeks and he sat down onto a nearby crate that creaked under his weight. He quickly covered his eyes and cheeks covered in fine bark as he prayed to Obtryllia silently.


    ¡°It may be foolish me to mention this, but we only received faint whispers of what this threat is. Could you explain everything you know about this to us?¡± When Akamion spoke up the group went silent for a moment then continued their murmuring. Then Agammaran stood up as he finished his prayer bursting with gratitude.


    ¡°Yes, yes of course. Just give me a few moments. I¡¯ll have to talk with our lokhagos. She knows more about¡­ about that thing.¡± Agammaran said as he called out the owner of the tavern to prepare rooms for their saviors ¨C as per his own words.


    ¡°Do you have any idea what may it be?¡± Akamion walked back to the small party of theirs and asked Augermil.


    ¡°An Umvraoth from their expressions. I have no doubt about that.¡± He said with a grim expression while clenching his fist.


    **


    ¡°Hope your rooms are to your taste.¡± After they settled into their rooms, Moirstyria and Augermil set out to meet the captain of the local militia. Inside the barracks that had only two floors with only two rooms for each and a cellar where drunkards were held most often ¨C the two met up with Agammaran at the ground floor.


    ¡°The beds are most comfortable. I doubt we will have any trouble find our way to The Blessed Plains of Demora.¡± Augermil said with a heart easing expression on his gaunt aevhen face.


    ¡°Let me introduce my daughter, Dimither.¡± The two turned towards the stairs and looked calmly at the young maiden with the lower half of a cervidae clad in leather plates of aevhen angular kind. Her upper body was lightly wrapped in in thick sheets around her chest and abdomen while multiple red and brownish layered robes draped over her.


    ¡°My greeting our Highnesses!¡± The hoofed legs bent as she bowed deeply to the two while her taut upper body faced the wooden floor with her arms spreading, her palms open and facing the ceiling.


    ¡°Thank you for your welcoming. You can call me Moirstyria or simply Styria.¡± Moirstyria offered her a smile and a bow that surprised the young gwe¡¯evh.


    ¡°Similarly, simply call me Augermil.¡± He followed up too with a bow and an easy smile that made the young maiden¡¯s heart skip a beat for a moment.


    ¡°I could not. I mean both of you deserve our outmost respect.¡± Dimither¡¯s words broke as she felt a bit awkward at the request of the two.


    ¡°We may be, but in the eyes of the Silent Shepherd, we¡¯re all equal.¡± Moirstyria said feeling confident. ¡°But let¡¯s not waste anymore time. Can you tell us about the beast that terrorizes the area.¡±


    Hearing those words, Dimither¡¯s previous staggered expression turned sour and grim. She tried to open her mouth, but each time she tried her lips turned heavy. Moirstyria noticing her unnatural dread walked up to her and placed her chilling palms onto her abdomen and a soothing sensation filled her being.


    Finally she started from the beginning when she and two other militia members did their rounds around the town in the woods. ¡°For the most part ¨C that day seemed as boring and calm just like the rest. But then Dhomnil noticed large lupine footprints in the ground with dark liquid as solid as molten alloys seeping into the earth. He mentioned at that moment hearing a faint singing. We followed the trail which led to the mines, but at the time as we were only three, decided to return the day after.¡±


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    Dimither went silent as dread returned forcing her voice to fade and Moirstyria procured a flask and a wooden cup. As she poured out the dark liquid from the flask, she noticed Augermil pondering. ¡°Here. Drink this, it will stiffen the fear.¡± She reached up and offered the drink to Dimither whose jade eyes stared into the distance before she looked at her in a momentary confusion before taking the cup.


    ¡°If you know where we can find it, that is enough.¡± Augermil interjected as he noticed that Dimither still struggled to speak.


    ¡°I¡¯m not fully sure ¨C but most likely at the cliffside at the end of the eastern tunnels of the mine.¡± Dimither met his strong gaze and spoke while straightening her posture. ¡°There will be animals tainted by it.¡±


    Augermil walked up to her and with a soothing expression, placed his firm hand over her shoulder. ¡°I know. Now rest and drink up the rest of that potion. It will help soothing your soul.¡±


    **


    ¡°This is the place.¡± Ba¡¯atz noted as the five of them stood at the shadow infested jaws of the mines.


    The mine itself laid under the spinal barrows that took the shape of draconic spines, knitted tightly together. Like many other places, this one served as the resting place of the Earthly Host, dragons with vibrant scales hued in the shades of nature. This particular formation brimmed with a pure alabaster hue and was one of the myriad places which mined the so called bone of the world or simply referred as marble.


    ¡°I say let¡¯s head inside. It would be rude of us to make it wait.¡± Djagbartur said in his usual aloof manner with his axe dropped over his shoulder.


    ¡°For once I am in agree with him. The sooner we finish the quicker this unease flees.¡± Akamion said as his gaze remained on the gaping darkness settled within the mine. A darkness that perfectly melded with the darkened earth under their feet ornated with the remains of the carts, the torn cadavers of the large cattle.


    ¡°Then as we planned keep watch while at the back. Umvraoths can travel in the Ilmundum. If you feel ¨C a certain cold, emptiness move and ward yourself.¡± As Augermil finished the other four nodded.


    Ilmundum, a separate layer of existence where the unseen threaded amongst the mortals. For the most part this included fey, deossos and even the deceased waiting for the Silent Shepherd to find them. But as he said ¨C horrors and wicked things lurked in there too, bidding their time to forcefully inject their being into a mortal¡¯s body and soul.


    Augermil stood still for a few moments while the others waited for his word. ¡°May the Nine and the First guide us!¡± At those words they all stepped into the shadows.


    **


    As soon as they stepped in, everyone except Augermil started panicking. The shadows grew so thick not even the aevhen eyes could see in it. To their luck, Augermil managed to stay calm and conjured a white sphere that parted that darkness while calming their senses ¨C allowing them to continue forward.


    With many twists and turns later following the path described by Agammaran ¨C suddenly their march came to a halt when Augermil clenched his fist and raised his right arm above his head. They all reached for their weapons and waited. The moment Djagbartur exhaled in displeasure, Augermil thrusted his blade right before his face ¨C its ivory blade engulfed in gray aura penetrated through the malformed head of a wolf. A head that was a grotesque torsion, a grafting of a wolf¡¯s head and a human¡¯s in cruel and haphazard way.


    With an elegant move, he dislodged the blade and let the creature fell onto the ground. The heavy body hit the ground that echoed through the cave. A momentary silence followed by the earth trembling under the weight of charging. Moirstyria and Akamion raised their blades while Ba¡¯atz erected a ward that grew from the ground up to the ceiling and the sides.


    The closer they got, the unease grew into a festering beast that gnawed at his whole being. He sensed these wounds in all the important laws of reality approach faster and slower at the same time, he felt the nothingness, entropy force its way through the ward he erected, a ward rarely ever broken by beasts like them.


    ¡°Behind!¡± Augermil yelled at him and Moirstyria and Akamion turned around too late.  A jaw pressed against all sides of his head and he got pulled into the watery earth before he appeared above an altar of most macabre design. Tortured faces screamed without their mouths, cried with their lids melded closed, their ears grown in by their own flesh and bone.


    ¡°Join us in our praise of Father!¡± A voice deep and warped as the abyss ringed in his mind as he stared into the open maw of the grotesque alteration of a werewolf that stood several meters tall with hulking arms that constantly shifted in their arrangements. Its bellowing head a grotesque kaleidoscope of lupine sculpture with the insides serrated walls decorated with desperate eyes glaring into his soul. A light indescribable and harrowing shone from its throat and filled Ba¡¯atz with a terror novel to him.  Even the cold breeze of the air could not calm his heart, could not dry his moistened scales.


    Then a scream of emptiness followed, merged with Djagbartur¡¯s battle scream he heard a hundred or more times. Its enormous clawed hand released him from its devoid grip and he fell onto his sides. He rolled away as the shadow of its foot appeared overhead and the earth cried out as It planted it deep within the darkened earth and withered grass.


    He found himself back at the spiraling maw of the mine down on his knees and palms planted into the blood soaked ground after he teleported away. The pain of scorching needles piercing his chest from the inside came over him and as he tried to look up when Moirstyria called out his name with a tone laced in worry. The pounding lessened as her cold hands touched his shoulders. ¡°Give me a moment or two.¡± He forced those words out with a smile.


    ¡°Take all the time you need.¡± He noticed Augermil too standing behind Moirstyria with his blade drawn, dripping blood darker than the midnight sky from its sharp tip. The two turned around and the further they got, their steps faded away as Ba¡¯atz collapsed onto the cold ground that for once felt comfortable, safe.


    Akamion and Djagbartur kept their gaze on the Umvraoth Wolf whose deep wound quickly healed. Contrary to their expectation, the being ignored them and got down onto its knees, palms locked, claws digging into its own flesh.


    ¡°May the First damn all these religious monsters and horrors of the world.¡± Djagbartur said forcing each word as even he felt dread by simply looking at It.


    ¡°How are you two holding up?¡± Augermil asked as he stepped between the two, shield and sword raised.


    ¡°Holding out for now.¡± Akamion answered with a nod only as his feet and lips trembled, his arm¡¯s muscles tensed.


    ¡°We have to be quick. Aim at its joints. I¡¯ll pierce its chest.¡± His sword lit up in dark and cerulean energies emitting the chill of the grave. He looked at Moirstyria who stood beside him with her blade raised and engulfed in the same deathly energies.


    Their fingers cracked as they wrapped tightly around their handles and their bodies hurled towards the hulking horror with weapons aimed. Yet impact only arrived into the darkened earth still bearing the shape of enlarged limbs.


    Without saying a word they all turned while stepping backwards towards the grotesque altar. The air, the light, everything in front of them blurred as Its claws swayed across scarring reality itself. Even the air felt twisted, hard to take in yet they all managed to push through the weird sensation.


    They leapt once more and aimed all their weapons at the beast from beyond. This time Augermil and Moirstyria succeeded in planting their blades into the eerie flesh. Blood sprayed onto the two, blacker than the night and sourer than Yearium. Then it vanished once more into the Ilmundum.


    ¡°Djag!¡± Akamion and Moirstyria cried out at the same time. He stepped back just in time, yet he could not escape the long tips that soon penetrated through his thick segmented chest plate and into his flesh and heart. Waves formed on his skin, his limbs spiraled before he was hurled away by an unseen force and landed on the dark ground with his head turned backwards, empty lightless eyes staring at the sky.


    With teary eyes and combined roaring the two lunged at It with their blades aimed at its spinning head drooling with fluid darkness. Augermil cursed himself as he felt the world slow down with each passing moment. He rushed towards the horror frozen in time with blade thrusted forward its devoid heart.


    His shield shattered into a thousand pieces as It swung the right claw that twisted reality. Augermil hissed as he felt the pain of his bone folding into itself just from the graze. A deep cry of pain and anger followed, travelled between the paths of the spinal barrows and for a moment he witnessed her haunting, alluring visage under her gray hood ¨C her lips motioned to him. ¡°Not yet my beloved child.¡±


    His blade ran across its bare fur covered chest and left a deep mark where the final darkness of the Great Beyond spread without control. The umvraoth shrieking shook the trees, their once brightly hued leaves fell with solemn certainty after Augermil pierced its wicked heart.


    Moirstyria¡¯s and Akamion¡¯s followed in tow, entering its joints and spreading radiant and deathly matter. Yet the It remained silent even when Its body was engulfed in dark cracks and shattered into a million pieces that dispersed into the nothingness.


    ¡°May he dream of a thousand battles, glories and feasts.¡± Augermil prayed as the three stood over their comrade¡¯s cadaver with greatly veiled solemn. One tear flowed from each of their eyes, as they prayed for his soul to find solace in the land of dreams. While the two noticed Ba¡¯atz awakening and rushed to help him. Augermil collapsed down on the ground, sitting with head faced up.


    He watched as the clouds swam across the sky and a sigh escaped his lips. The gaping emptiness in his heart expanded once more.

 Chapter 28: Things That Cannot Grow

    2<sup>nd</sup> of Aldurmh, 1259<sup>th</sup> of the First Age.


    Terrianis stood at the highest platform¡¯s edge overlooking the capital dressed in the second light of the year. The first season, the season of foundation and new life just begun the new year with the festivities down came slowly into their final stages.


    For the common folk these festivities include the usual theatrical festivities where bards and poets recount poems and plays of love while the various bakeries, taverns serve their best dishes and alcohol to the audience. Then as the night goes on, the more lecherous activities start when alcohol and warm food revitalize the pairs who retreat to nearest place ¨C be it their home or one of the myriad taverns of the capital. During the first three weeks of the season, it was said that the Almodo influence increased the nurturing seed¡¯s potency.


    Which was also why these days were used by Terrianis to spread his own seed in the most favored wives of his that still remain in the Radiant Keep. While decades before he would spend his time already with them, these past two decades he had always come to visit the Oracles, listening to their riddles with hope in his heart. Yet each year, his hope had been shaken with each word they spoke into his mind. Even now his prismatic draconic eyes slowly focused onto the horizon where the peaks of Vhalleryon were visible.


    Behind him at the entrance gate stood the two Impirith Praetoriir in their garish segmented armor with a prismatic luster unparalleled only by the personally handcrafted pieces of the Imperial Family¡¯s armors. Their visages hidden behind their helmets that perfectly followed the lines of their heads, with slit eye and mouth holes from which mist escaped as they stood in silence akin to two decorative superbly crafted sculptures.


    Hands hidden under layers of refined aevhen silken of dancing myriad colors and the clawed vambrace gauntlets trembled against the cold of the night as they grappled their long spears, their ends way above their helmet¡¯s graceful red plumes brazened by the cleansing wind.


    Their wordless order came when Terrianis turned to the side and walked towards the small, pristine alabaster structure of rectangle proportions. Azure edges hewn precisely, shaped by hands and minds well-versed in earth maghia, each corner was marble threads stretched and positioned closely to each other as they reached from ground to ceiling.


    **


    ¡°This is the one.¡± Ivor said as he and Aurelithae arrived at the dilapidated shack at the far end of the valley and near the port of the capital on the bottom level. The lowest level of the city where most of the common caste lived and worked still haven¡¯t moved beyond wooden structures built first by the clan of aevhes who settled her a thousand year ago.


    On the west bank most of the structures were the homes of the folk down here. Essentially homesteads of deep mahogany walls with the roof a thick woolen sheet nailed at the corners. Not even windows ornated the walls, including the ones that were built with numerous levels. Only the roads were paved with the same transmuted white marble that made up the upper levels.


    The east bank on the other hand were home to the mines that led into the belly of the mountain where precious metals grew infused with the mana that flowed from the nexus point deep under the capital. These metals were transferred either to the smithies on this level or brought to the higher where they were worked on by the dwarves and aevhen smiths for the legions.


    The smithies of the east bank were the only structures that were made of the same pristine alabaster marble. Circle holes were carved into them with a smoke gate built into them ¨C which were metallic disk that with pouring mana into them closed to keep the cold outside or open it during the busy hours.


    ¡°There two on the ground level, the rest with the captives on the top level.¡± Aurelithae stated after she placed her soft palm onto the old door that croaked silently while her mana formed into inscription flowed into the building. It encompassed the whole, and she sensed the pulsing vitae of the thugs who captured a family of merchants working with the New Dawn. The family was kidnapped during the late hours of the festivities when the mother and father were heading for a nearby in at the port, while their four kids were waiting back at another with their caretaker.


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    Without saying a word, Ivor looked around the deserted street and leapt high to the roof of the adjacent homestead. Amidst a glow of arkhaine energies with a curving shape ¨C his bow appeared in his right hand and his left already prepared an arrow with its tip slowly turned transparent.


    Aurelithae inhaled deeply, the cold air gently caressed her trained lungs before they left as quickly as they came. Her left hand swiped and the door silently opened followed by the two thugs ¨C one a larger, bulkier with a gruff voice, the other a higher pitched and slender body with feminine outlines shown by her dark velvet and leather attire. Before the two could alert their comrades, they collapsed to the ground. The orkh with a dry husk of a corpse, the other a Changed-Kin with arms of wet pale flesh riddled with a single arrow right in her heart.


    Without saying a word Aurelithae continued towards the stairs and as swiftly and silently as she could, climbed towards the top where a closed door greeted her. A yelp escaped her lips when she reached the top ¨C as the door swung open and a slender, yet muscled arm grabbed her by her collar and threw her across the room. She landed upside down with her frail body crashing the single furniture inside the room ¨C a large cabinet filled only with dust and webs.


    ¡°Get her!¡± The honeyed voice of the man came, but before any of his two comrades could get to Aurelithae, arrows penetrated the wooden walls without damaging the mahogany walls. One ended up in the cloak veiled head of a short statured dwarf whose thick silverish blood formed a puddle on the old floor. The other found its way into the neck of the haebrian evident from his throttling while his transparent azure blood tainted his cloak.


    ¡°Damn it. That wasn¡¯t part of the deal.¡± As the thug cursed his employer under his breath, Aurelithae leapt onto her feet. Her finger locked and with her right palm held out, light blue energies in a spherical shape ejected from it and flew towards the thug. The deathly spell exploded silently upon hitting the ward erected by the thug. ¡°And a death magus of all things is my opponent. Hey girl aren¡¯t you young to learn such spells?¡±


    Aurelithae remained silent as she turned her palm down and from the floor a piece came out and reshaped into a quarter staff that landed in her soft embrace of her closed fist. The moment she sensed her leg muscles lighten up, she sprung towards the thug swinging her makeshift weapon at the joint just at the base of his neck. The thug carefully evaded while backing towards the door, contemplating whether to bother with keeping the goods or run for his life.


    In the end he grabbed the upper end of the staff aimed at his head with his palm emitting a hiss upon impact. ¡°Huh?¡± Surprise was plastered across his veiled, aging face for a moment as no matter how much power he exerted, he could not move Aurelithae who used this opportunity. Her feet planted into his abdomen and he flew down the stairs and into the wall that stopped him from going further. His blood tainted the veil that masked his lower visage while pain spread all over his body while gasped for air.


    ¡°You will sorely regret this!¡± With every painful breath, he mustered those words out one by one as Aurelithae slowly approached her akin to the depiction of the Silent Shepherd approaching the fool who tried to escape their inevitable fate. The last thing he saw was the end of the quarterstaff before darkness swallowed all.


    ¡°Good work little one.¡± Ivor praised Aurelithae as he entered. The moment he witnessed the faint arkhaine outline of the thug flew down the stairs, he leapt down from the roof and entered just as the last hit echoed through the room. He poked the head of the groaning thug while keeping one hand over his dagger.


    ¡°Is he alive?¡± Aurelithae asked calmly as she towered over her former opponent.


    ¡°Yep. Will awake with a pretty bad case of a headache, but nothing more serious at least, I think. Go check on them, I¡¯ll secure him.¡± Ivor rolled the thug unceremoniously onto his back and crossed his wrists as he pointed with his eyes up to the second floor while he prepared his ropes enchanted to sap the stamina and mana of the unfortunate victim.


    Aurelithae pinched her nose veiled under a layer of illusion spell when she stepped back into the room where the other thug¡¯s corpses started emanating the pungent odor of early decay. She tiptoed between the corpses as she headed straight towards the closed door facing towards the west. It opened without the need of a key or spell, inside she could feel the unseen, swirling energies of mind maghia.


    In the soft shadows, she noticed all five members of the family sitting on the floor, their backs leaned against the walls while their heads unanimously hunched down. Their eyes lacked the light of intelligence, conscience. Even the colors of their blue and green eyes faded ever so slightly as they stared at their thighs unresponsive to the creaking of the old door.


    Aurelithae almost yelped when she felt the firm, cloth covered hand of Ivor touch her left shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s bring them back before anything finds their way into them.¡± He said with a sour expression as he looked at the family ¨C all with the same fair complexion as his.


    She nodded in agreement before a question surfaced within her. ¡°What about the thug?¡±


    ¡°Dead. Seems whoever hired them made sure they won¡¯t talk, no matter what.¡± Ivor said as he walked inside and inhaled deeply as he spread his mana encompassing the five. Aurelithae walked beside him and they all disappeared as reality contorted and fell into itself before it sprung back like a squashed rubber ball.

 Chapter 29: Things That Cannot Grow

    A bright alabaster cloud hovered above the whole garden district of the Radiant Keep. Pure snowflakes fell from it while the youngest of the Emperor¡¯s children watched with gleaming eyes, smiled when the snowflakes touched their soft faces adorned with various hues of draconic scales that matched their slit pupils. At every entrance pairs of Impirith Praetoriar stood in silence with their eyes behind the masks focused on the children and their caretakers.


    ¡°Do you remember the first time His Majesty conjured that for us?¡± Anguraa asked his Albron as the two passed by in the pathway acting as a boundary between the two sides of the enormous garden.


    ¡°I remember mother animating a golem from the snow. But I must say it is a surprise hearing you reminiscing of those days.¡± Albron said as he slightly diverted his gaze onto Anguraa.


    Anguraa held out his clawed right hand smiled softly like a serpent when a snowflake fell onto the tip of his index finger. ¡°Do you think of me as such a cold person. I miss those days when all we had to focus on were our studies and practices.¡±


    ¡°But this isn¡¯t why you came to me isn¡¯t it?¡± He swiftly pulled his arm back to his side and continued on his way with Albron following on the left.


    ¡°True it is not. I wish to enlist the help of your inquisitoriar as I am afraid to admit ¨C but my men reached their limits.¡± Albron stopped for a moment as he took one last look at their siblings raising the snow and forming it into sphere before bombarding each other.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t most of the captives died already?¡± Angura¡¯s eyes focused on his brother searching, inspecting every little contortion that may occur on his striking aevhen visage.


    ¡°Most certainly did. But there are still a few in a mindless state with their memories intact just shielded with spells beyond what my subordinates are used to.¡± Albron said with honeyed words as they reached the end where the statue of their grandfather stood in a proud stance, his gleaming figure frozen in time exuding power.


    ¡°What makes you think that my inquisitoriar have the capacity to solve this little problem of yours?¡± Anguraa asked while his attention remained on the mesmerizing sculpture¡¯s head with a stern visage.


    Albron pondered on his next few words for a moment. ¡°I¡¯m well aware of your little Talos endeavor. Who do you think father ordered to get your material for?¡±


    Anguraa¡¯s eyes lit up in surprise as he turned to his brother. ¡°Quite a surprise brother. I always thought you have the same idealistic thinking as our late-sister and uncle has.¡± He spoke those next words in a cold tone with half a smile.


    ¡°I once had them.¡± Albron said while containing the scorching desire within his fists.


    ¡°And not anymore?¡± Anguraa interjected before Albron could have continued.


    Albron inhaled deeply before he voiced his answer. ¡°After Sister¡¯s death born from following her ideals? No, I am not that foolish brother.¡±


    ¡°I can spare a few of my hypnomancers.¡± Without hesitation ¨C and to the surprise of Albron ¨C Anguraa spoke those words as he turned around and left not waiting for his gratitude laced words. Albron watched with a cold-eyed stare as his back became distant before his body evaporated in deep, indigo arkhaine particles.


    **


    After Aurelithae brought the merchant family to the hideout on the lower district, she returned to the Indomitrion Bridge at the center of the valley. Her attention focused on the sculptures each hewn to show off the perfected and exposed form of each kin.


    Each of these sculptures, beyond being carved from the purest marble unearthed in the heart of the continent, also harbored arkhanite stones. Stones that were inscribed with mind altering enchantments that called out to the viewer and increased their desires towards their loved ones. Which in a few cases led to the separation of mates.


    ¡°Good Day Miss Luelia!¡± Her body squirmed a little as the all too deep, and once again familiar voice of Isocrates reached her ears and brought her attention away from certain parts of the statues depicting humans and half-aevhens.


    ¡°Day to you too Iso. And still no need for honorifics. We¡¯re all equal in the New Dawn.¡± She forced her attention onto Isocrates and forced a faint smile onto her face while speaking.


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    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that will stick with me for a while. So what brings you to here?¡± Isocrates asked as he juggled the baskets between his arms when one got tired by their weight.


    ¡°Just like the view from here. Need help with those?¡± Aurelithae asked as she noticed his head and arms gradually matching in the same reddish hue while sweat poured down his round head.


    ¡°Oh these. These are not that heavy.¡± He said as his arms trembled while lifting the heavy baskets filled with chopped wood embedded with fire crystals that at a simple insertion of fothiila matter release flames that focus on the wood only, while also emanating heat that fills the homesteads of the capital.


    Against his humble wishes ¨C and with a click of her tongue paired with her slightly angered expression ¨C she grabbed one of the baskets while pouring her mana into her right arm¡¯s arkhaine points. ¡°Thanks!¡± With a slight pout the two went their way towards the streets of the western side where Isocrates and his family lived. Halfway off the bridge, bright alabaster clouds appeared above the city and soft snow started pouring. Children looked up to the sky with bright eyes as they flooded the streets with laughter.


    ¡°Was there snow where you lived before?¡± Isocrates broke the silence as they reached the boundary of the wide street decorated with trees on each side blooming with golden and red leaves. Each tree was carefully planted into a perfectly measured square plot barricaded with marble that contrasted the dark hues of the earth.


    ¡°No, it was actually not far from the western shores. Only heard about it from mother and how it tenderly blankets the north all year.¡± Aurelithae answered with half-truths as she stopped for a moment recalling the gentle stroke of her mother¡¯s hands while her soft, velvety voice tickled her ears.


    ¡°Always wanted to see what the basin looks within those gloomy peaks.¡± Isocrates said as he tilted his head up and let the snow grace his handsome face with sharp, manly features that included his prominent jaw, straight nose with a well-defined bridge and wide, dry lips surrounded by a dark bush.


    ¡°You know the Host would kill you and raise you into undeath as soon as you step one foot inside.¡± Aurelithae said with a serious tone, her eyes pierced through him.


    ¡°Do they? Or is that what the Temple wants¡¯ us to believe?¡± Isocrates said as he met her gaze.


    ¡°Regardless of what they say, they are definitely not too keen on letting anyone see what lies in their lands.¡± She spoke while walking up to him and the two continued onwards in awkward silence.


    As they headed in the direction of his home the two spotted Naghig at the corner of the Somber Horn tavern. A slightly smaller establishment compared to the Sleeping Dragon tavern that took up the space of at least three homes.


    ¡°Good, both of you are here. That saves me some time.¡± He said with a grumpy expression on his grim visage veiled under his gray hood.


    He led the two inside, with Aurelithae being the only one mildly surprised when she heard those words. ¡°Come they will need these.¡± Isocrates said pointing his eyes at the basket in his hand. Without saying a word, she entered the tavern after staring at the Radiant Keep hovering high in the paled sky.


    **


    The Domua Somna ¨C commonly known as the House of Rest ¨C was the final resting place of all the members of the Imperial Family built into the bottom layers of the Radiant Keep. It was a vast system of a necropolis where their pale, cadavers rested frozen in time.


    Metallic steps echoed through the north-eastern section¡¯s corridor as Albron walked through the alabaster lit corridor. A hundred and more plaques decorated the walls, each with familiar names he heard through his life carved into them, under numbers from which some even appeared distant for him. He looked at each with indifferent expression while his eyes darted constantly as he searched for the one.


    ¡°Finally.¡± He muttered in a tired tone as he placed his palm onto the marble plaque with a name all too familiar and painful to remember of. The scale patterned metal retreated like a scared horde of ants into his vambrace, exposing his onyx claws first, then his hand ¨C a fair hue with a slight tingent of the lunar phase of the sun. He inhaled deeply as he placed his perfectly smooth palm onto the cold surface of the plaque and felt the chilling sensation of his mana coursing through his anima veins and out into the plaque itself.


    He took a step back as he watched the name and the numbers disappear as if the marble regenerated itself like damaged skin and flesh. Then the whole corridor started rearranging itself as the ceiling grew in width and became even more distant. The wall grew in height and width as the plaques except the one in front of his handsome visage ¨C covered in intricate patterns of onyx scales ¨C remained in place while the rest retreated akin to a frightened herd.


    The marble of the plaque itself converged to the edges forming detailed frames with spatial runes carved into them slowly by disembodied hands that lit up with a deep bluish arkhaine hue. It also expanded in shape and size as it took the form of a door. Where once the marble laid, now a pristine mirror surface stared back at Albron without his reflection staring back at him with the same taciturn gaze.


    The air he inhaled moments ago left him in a slow and measured manner as he stepped through the mirror surface without disturbing its peace. On the other side he was greeted with the all too familiar sight of three silent figures resting atop their unspoiled marble beds facing the ceiling with a fresco of the Silent Shepherd guiding their tender, childish figures towards the Gray Gates of Asphodel.


    The room itself had no torches or even Lumides ¨C arkhaine stones imbued with the light similar of the suns ¨C yet there was light coming from an unseen source that parted the wicked shadows that would claim those three. Albron took small steps towards the center of the oval-shaped half room and got down onto his knees as he muttered a silent prayer.


    He raised back up with his torso strung, his elbow on his armor clad knee. Hot air breezed his upper lip as he mustered his voice. ¡°We have to talk.¡±

 Chapter 30: Things That Cannot Grow

    ¡°This way.¡± Naghig led the two through the narrow corridor of the top floor. At the far end, where light barely entered through thanks to the adjacent building, he touched the wall and disturbed its oaken surface akin to a lake¡¯s. The trio stepped through it one by one with Isocrates stopping for a moment as he inhaled deeply.


    On the other side a much wider corridor of earthly appearing walls bathed in the warm light of the torches welcomed them. Isocrates observed with glistening eyes of wonder before he followed after the two who were already used to this phenomenon. After taking many turns the trio arrived in front of a door and Naghig turned around while pulling his hood down.


    ¡°We¡¯ll need your assistance here for a bit. Isocrates go fetch some water from that room.¡± After he said his piece to Aurelithae, he turned to Isocrates and said in his usual assertive tone. Without saying a word, Isocrates nodded with his head and rushed to the door Naghig¡¯s eyes pointed at a bit far behind on the right.


    ¡°Are they in danger?¡± As they stepped in the room, Aurelithae immediately noticed the five beds with the family still in a deep dream like state on them. Luminous arkhaine rings with myriad different runes circling around them. Fading tendrils growing on the inside, slithering towards each of them, connecting into their temples.


    ¡°Besides not waking up, no they¡¯re fine. Seems like this time they made preparations to not invite any more infaerni or worse to their subjects.¡± Naghig said as they reached the third bed where the magusos sat in a bubble of arkhaine energy meditating with their hands clapped together. Their pupils beneath the lids, constantly wriggling.


    ¡°But it is only a matter of time.¡± Naghig added.


    ¡°What do you need of me?¡± Aurelithae asked as she looked at the five with an indifferent expression. At the same time Isocrates entered back with a bland pitcher filled with pristine clean water.


    Naghig snapped his fingers and signaled to him to bring the pitcher. ¡°You will have to enter their minds and lead them out in simpler terms.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that dangerous?¡± Isocrates asked with slight worry in his voice.


    ¡°That is why I will help her. We will merge their minds into one psychic place and bring them out at the same time.¡± Naghig said while he placed the pitcher down at the nearest table to the beds. With palms facing the ceiling, he slowly raised them upwards while they lit up in a cerulean ethereal glow. Akin to a mesmerized serpent, the water slithered out from the pitcher and expanded over the five while engulfed in the arkhaine energies of the rings. Then at the center above, it formed into a large sphere which reflected the pitch blackness of their blank minds.


    ¡°You speak like you done that before. But what is the guarantee that she will not end up like them.¡± Isocrates said as he stood before Aurelithae.


    ¡°Boy, my patient has its limits and if you did not notice it, she is prepared for it.¡± Naghig looked through him and said threateningly as slight anger welled up within him.


    ¡°Just leave Iso. I¡¯ll trust his abilities so don¡¯t worry.¡± Aurelithae swallowed her frustration and spoke those words with reassuring expression on her veiled face.


    Isocrates sighed then rushed out without saying a word. ¡°You should discipline that one.¡± Naghig said as he crossed his arms.


    ¡°I will, but for the moment, focus on them.¡± She said while sitting down with her legs crossed. She took small inhales and kept them in for minutes until her mind drifted away into the darkness. The cold touch of a hand wrapped around her body and gently flung her away.


    **


    The Evligmaeoroth Cathedralii ¨C commonly referred as The Grand Cathedral of the Blessed. A massive architectural marvel located on the central levels of the capital. Within the city it was the second largest building just after the Radiant Keep itself, and the largest place of worship erected to the Almodo and His eight children, the Ur-Deossos.


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    Each Deossos had their own building that connected to the main, where most of the ceremonies in the name of them were held. Each of these temples were built in a hexagonal shape, with outer pristine alabaster marble walls with frames of divergent hues and golden decorative patterns. For example, the House of Knowledge had glistening azure frames shaped like a myriad strained threads. The House of Challenges on the other hand flame patterns altered into a vibrant vermilion red hue inspired by the Forge-Mothers¡¯ long, naturally flowing hair.


    Each of these temples ¨C Houses ¨C were built with four floors. The top housed served as the work place of the head priest who was most versed in the ways of their respective Deos. The floor belove served as the living quarters for the clergy where they rested, dined and prayed together. The last two floors below served as where the common folk received their blessings, the rituals were arranged and the sick were attended to.


    The central building itself was designed in the very same manner, except it reached above the others, and the frames were altered into a radiant prismatic hue that danced around depending on the hour of the day or night. The floor below the top was where the High-Priests or Priestesses of the Deossos met in matters regarding the temple and the faith of the folk.


    ¡°Septarch Rhenathrohia. I ask for your forgiveness, but the letter from Exarch Ambrotos has arrived.¡± A deep, glistening ebony toned priestess tapped the gentle figure kneeling down at the shrine of the Almodo Himself. She was dressed in the Magistralua¡¯s common strola worn by the priestesses with a palla that nicely wrapped around her smooth neck and continued on with a soft hood that veiled her exotic visage in colorful shadows.


    ¡°No need to ask for your forgiveness. And thank you my child.¡± Septarch Rhenathorhia said in his soft as honey, deep voice with a bright, yet faint smile that calmed the yhanubj magistratior. For a moment her heart started pounding as she gazed into his orange golden, slit pupils with an infectious calmness that followed after as she inelegantly bowed then excused herself.


    ¡°What a fine face.¡± Rhenathorhia muttered to himself gazing into his own scorching golden eyes reflected upon the pristine alabaster floor. His faultlessly symmetrical warm lips curved into a fleeting smile as his towering form draped in the finest of togas raised up, casting his rough shadows behind himself.  His mesmerizing visage raised upwards focusing on the eight colorful mosaic windows depicting the Deossos.


    He offered a silent, short prayer to each starting with the Dawn Father, whose radiant aevhen form was depicted with his arms held out, the light and flame of the sun held and offered in them. Rhenathorhia prayed ¨C by arms above his head, palms turned towards the sky as he framed the sun ¨C for long and warm days to come.


    On his right with a welcoming expression on her captivating face, the Mother of Magic gestured, her hands followed by a rainbow of myriad hues. Rhenathorhia prayed ¨C with his hands curved, locked into a sphere in front of his heart ¨C for his beauty to last in the annals of history.


    On the left, each of the pair who took over after the banishment of The Grimm Sovereign stood with an eternal bliss on their pale visages, each of them dressed in modest, black robes with the Silent Shepherd holding her wickedly divine rod in her right, skeletal hand. Rhenathorhia prayed ¨C with his palms covering his closed eyes, touching his golden scale covered cheeks ¨C for danger to evade him.


    The Final Judge on the other hand were depicted with pale silverish ornaments and a crown atop his veiled head. In his left hand he held his scepter taking the shape of an hourglass filled with letters and numbers. Rhenathorhia prayed ¨C by crossing his arms and touching his shoulders ¨C for all the time to enjoy his life on the mortal plane.


    On their side was the Gardener of Creativity, who just like in this case was depicted with skin as perfect as the finest of marbles, hair as refined as the best of brushes, with each strands standing on its own, in all directions of the compass. A vivid expression on his harrowing, yet intriguing visage as he held out one arm, palm open with one of his Chaotica Seeds in them. Rhenathorhia prayed ¨C by his finger tips locked, his hand formed a triangle in front of his forehead ¨C for the inspiring chaos to fill the year ahead.


    Besides The Mother of Magic, Septurrion¡¯s depiction stared into the distance with all his dozen arms holding unsealed books of knowledge while from under his blunt nails, threads danced around the frame. Rhenathorhia prayed ¨C with his hands changing from covering his ears, mouth and eyes ¨C for the spark of revelations for the year ahead.


    Right to Septurrion, The Forge Mather swung her hammer down, lit by her vermilion flames spread from her chaotic hair while she was clad in the finest of segmented plates. Her mature, marred face beautiful, contorted with rage. Rhenathorhia prayed ¨C by clenching his fist and hitting his chest the moment his heart pounded ¨C for a year filled with challenges to improve himself.


    And lastly, The Mother of Nature sitting upon her furred oaken throne with mahogany laurel crown peeking out from the lush emerald river that was her dancing hair. Her alluring calm face riddled with wooden wrinkles. Rhenathorhia prayed ¨C by inhaling the fresh air blessed by the will of The Mother of Nature ¨C for a year plenty in the finest of wines and sweet, refreshing fruits to be born upon the trees of the island.


    At last he finished his prayers and bowed lightly before he turned around, and his soft steps echoed through the vast ceremonial hall.

 Chapter 31: Things That Cannot Grow

    After falling for what felt like days or weeks, I finally landed on solid ground. Thankfully in the land of Oneiroi landing was less deadly and impactful as I just found myself standing in an all too familiar place. A place in the underground section of the Radiant Keep where we practice the ways of maghia.


    Yet it felt distinctive enough as the walls were golden instead of the bright alabaster I remember. The statues of Mother Martyniarra and her divine entourage still stood at the corners with tranquil expressions. The ceiling still were made from vilcanic glass that showed the unseen maghia particles floating in the air.


    ¡°Is it really necessary father?¡± As I turned around looking for the exit, I noticed the little driaevhen boy who seemed all to familiar to me. Prismatic scales and eyes, long naturally cascading dark hair a soft, triangular face that was chiseled by the Deossos themselves. When my eyes locked onto him, I felt his scorching dissatisfaction.


    ¡°If you truly wish to be the greatest of us as you once said ¨C then it is most imperative to your growth our dear son.¡± Grandfather appeared towering over him out from the nothingness already stroking his perfectly silver beard that reached down to his chest, his words wounded my ego ¨C or as I realized it at that moment, father¡¯s ego. Instinctively I stood out of his way as he walked towards me with ever observant eyes which gaze sent chills down my spine.


    ¡°But we guess it may have been too soon for you.¡± His exhale felt delicate akin to the gentle breeze of the late seasons of growth and renewal. As he stopped and raised his hands slowly, an elderly, scraggy orkh appeared in tattered clothes. A blankness settled within his faded eyes, saliva flowed out from under his lower lip and onto the pristine floor where it changed into mist carried away by the arkhaine waft. His lean arms hung and dangled softly in the same powerlessness as his head.


    ¡°No I can do this father.¡± Father mustered his strength and said in a calmed manner as he straightened his posture and inhaled deeply with eyes closed.


    His frail right arm raised slowly and I felt the dance of unseen matter moving in the room. I felt their dance around the helpless orkh slave before they forced their way into his body and arkhaine points. For a moment nothing happened and grandfather coldly stared at the orkh, ready to voice his disappointment with a slight sigh.


    But then his expression changed when the orkh¡¯s body turned into a golden statue made of pure dust that managed to keep its form for a few moments before it collapsed into a pile devoured by the alabaster floor. Grandfather¡¯s claps echoed through the whole chamber as he calmly approached father straining himself to look calm. Then they both faded into swirling pristmatic mists before the whole scene I read about started playing out from the start.


    As I opened the door ¨C instead of being greeted by the corridor I knew all too well, a gaping darkness grabbed me and hurled me into itself.


    **


    Naghig clenched his jaws together as his forehead creased up. A single tear flowed down his dry, pale skin with grim edges as he forced more and more of his mana through his arkhaine points. His hands touched softly Aurelithae¡¯s temples as she laid on the floor close to them.


    ¡°Hang in there girl.¡± He muttered in the lowest possible volume as he felt her soul being washed away by the chaotic waves of Oneiro. ¡°Damn you Miray for forcing me on this.¡± A curse followed as his skeletal orkish face contorted into an even more horrific visage while he bit on his tongue to endure.


    ¡°Will the lass be fine?¡± Ivor who returned with a jug of water infused with athervyne matter asked.


    ¡°She will. Just spread the water along their faces and hands.¡± Ivor nodded calmly and drenched a rag in the hallowed water and started with the youngest whose visage started contorting while his veins started glowing with a sinister hue through his soft skin.


    The air became heavier, colder and fear crawled into their hearts freezing Ivor and the others for a moment. Naghig groaned greatly as he strengthened the protection around the room and a unified sigh reverberated through the room as Ivor continued coating the dreaming family.


    **


    ¡°Stay near me brother!¡± As I fell to the sea of grass trampled down by the march of an army ¨C Uncle Augermil¡¯s calming voice echoed within father¡¯s ears. The two stood on the large hill overseeing the battle that unfolded before their eyes. Our proud legionariar fought with their blood and sweat against a horde of savages including the treacherous gwe¡¯evhen and their enslaved elementals.


    ¡°Don¡¯t have to say it anymore. But we should bring an end to this farce.¡± Father said and I felt his impatience reaching his limit, while also the irking to unleash his spells upon the enemy and see uncle¡¯s blood drenched form once more. A shiver ran down my spine as I felt him looking at him with an admiration not born of familial love, but of towards a useful tool.


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    ¡°Maybe. But then what would that cost us brother?¡± Augermil¡¯s words pierced his heart from which molten anger flowed out as father clicked his tongues while focusing once more on the battle. But why was I here?


    I remembered, I have too look for the next warp. Time may flow differently here, but I am most likely not the only thing that was searching for them, that much I knew.


    As I gazed through the battlefield ¨C I slowly got accustomed to the shrieks and cries of metal and kin ¨C my eyes noticed the warp forming and destroying the shapes of legionariar and savages in one little circle. Their bodies faded like phantasms when you splashed their ethereal forms with hallowed water.


    Jumping down a weightlessness filled my being and landed without impact before I started rushing through the blood soaked grounds. In the heat of a moment I almost lost my animus¡¯s head as one savage swung their axe at my neck.


    ¡°They are ours.¡± He looked quite disheveled, body hair that almost counted as fur and beard thicker than Ivor¡¯s. Yet his voice belonged to something otherworldly ¨C warped and higher pitched than what the man it imitated. Chills ran down my spine as his hazelnut hued eyes turned darker than the night, a diagonal split ran across his head and joints and they all absconded before they started their eerie dance around the hovering torso.


    From the remaining holes black, fluid tendrils grew aimed at my graceful being. As they reached at me, the air and the reality of Oneiro distorted around them, creating cracks from which dark light poured forth. My wards though proved fruitless as they effortlessly penetrated through.


    ¡°Leave her alone!¡± Another familiar ¨C and unexpected ¨C voice reached through the cacophony of battle and its strange laughter as the earth turned into a prismatic hue under its torso and whirling detached legs. Worry still occupied my heart as Sigi¡¯s voice trembled a little as he conjured those spikes out from the ground that detached from themselves and followed after the weird entity as it hovered high into the sky.


    I felt relief and sourness as his little form cast its shadow onto me. ¡°Can you fight?¡± He turned around and I could hear him swallow his fear and reach out his hand to me. I grabbed it as the sourness faded ¨C leaving me uncertain if it was mine to begin with, or father¡¯s.


    ¡°Yeah. It took me by surprise.¡± I answered truthfully while I was pondering whether to engage in a battle with it, or leave Sigi to deal with it. He seemed to be capable enough for his age to take on such a being ¨C as expected of the northerners.


    In the end I chose to remain, for what reason I did not know. Maybe it was father¡¯s desire that came over me or maybe I just didn¡¯t want anything bad to happen to him because of me ¨C just like to them. Without knowing, our thought intertwined, our mana swirled into each while my left and his right arm raised towards the strange entity.


    **


    A knock echoed through the soft and thick oaken door ornated with elaborate golden designs. ¡°Come in!¡± Rhenathrohia spoke with honeyed words and immediately stood up from behind his large oaken desk that took up a considerable amount of space within his large office.


    ¡°How are things on your end?¡± Anguraa asked as he gracefully evaded Rhenathorhia with arms stretched out for a warm brotherly embrace. With a sullen look, he sighed and sat down facing the cold little brother of his.


    ¡°Always about business. Is that how you want to spend your eternity?¡± Rhenathorhia asked as he snapped his fingers and his prepared tea set hovered onto the small table between them.


    ¡°If that ensures the longevity of the Empire? Then yes. Now how is the next batch of subjects?¡±


    ¡°Rescued by the New Dawn. You will also have to look for new hired muscles as those ones got too careless.¡± Rhenathorhia said while sipping his teeth, his eyes ¨C two scorching pearls slit at the center, blessed with all the shades of gold ¨C focused onto the middling scowl that formed on his little brother¡¯s face.


    ¡°I guess I should introduce bonus payments.¡± Anguraa muttered to himself as he looked down at the tea poured for him. In a matter of second it turned into ice and broke apart the posh cup while he stood up to leave.


    ¡°Rude.¡± Rhenathorhia said with a wide mocking smile. He held his left palm out and rotated it around as dark golden arkhaine tendril wrapped around his long fingers. The pieces of the cup returned to this previous places, the cracks slowly disappeared and the frozen tea turned back to its warmed liquid state.


    ¡°Though it is a shame. I still don¡¯t comprehend what he sees in her.¡±


    **


    Clanks echoed through the vast network of lit corridors. A tall figure clad in segmented silver armor with golden accentuation that included draconic motives led the head shorter aevhen draped in indigo and ruby hued robes. A mask hid his refined visage resembling an androgynous driaevhen with eyes and mouth sewn graciously with sleek metallic threads and azure scales at the corners.


    ¡°How fascinating.¡± The aevhen inquisitor said as they entered the cell of the cultist who was collapsed onto the table with lightless eyes staring into the alabaster ceiling. As he placed his gloved palm over his forehead, a cerulean light emanated from it.


    As he anticipated from the multitude of reports conveyed by Angurra, the prisoner''s mind stood void of any discernible thoughts. Except for one thing that clung to him. A scream of terror echoed as he crumpled onto the frigid floor. His body twitched while veins moved beneath his smooth skin.


    ¡°Welcome among us brother!¡± The Praetoriir welcomed him, extending his right arm encased in the finest of metals, just as the darkness receded from his vision and mind. For the second time in his centuries long life, he felt true clarity, and purpose as he stood up proudly. ¡°For a new dawn brother!¡±

 Side Story: Every Breath You Take

    2<sup>nd</sup> of the 4<sup>th</sup> Month, 712 Epoch.


    Holryhien sat silently on her knees ¨C dressed lightly in alabaster elvish silken layered robes with crimson trims and frames matching her naturally flowing red hair. Even though the cold of the early months of the Epoch seeped through the thick gloomy pale walls of the chieftain¡¯s palace ¨C decorated with various embroidered mosaics depicting their clan members conversing with ancestral spirits.


    Her pretty emotionless face was ornamented with drying blood droplets of varying dark shades. Eyes blue as the thick ice blanketing rivers and lakes of the north with calmness preceded by disgust and hatred settled in them as she focused them onto Grimslaukh¡¯s pale chest. A chest framed between the pristine white robe of his with dark trims matching in hue with the wound like dark veins that ran like rivers across his chest. A darkness so deep that light actively evaded it because otherwise it would devour it like a craving varhaug devours its prey after weeks of hunting.


    Her small chest puffed out as she inhaled deeply and then released a small, cold gust of air as she tried to rule her feelings that gnawed at her. Tears wanted to flow from her eyes, yet each time they started forming a gentle heat evaporated them, and when she wanted to cry out in despair and sorrow, she suffocated her voice while her tender tongue already started bleeding as her sharp teeth dug in time and time again.


    ¡°Give me your hands child.¡± Grimslaukh¡¯s arms raised over the table between the two and placed them silently onto them. His deep unnatural voice accompanied by myriads of whispers quivered her body and soul. Yet she placed her small hands over his open palms similarly ornamented with the dark veins as she let out one last sigh.


    As soon as their skin touched ¨C a calmness washed over her, all previous feelings assaulted her mind scurried away not just to a segment of her mind, but out of her. Touching his soft palms felt strange ¨C it was neither cold like the corpses left to freeze in the snow, neither warm like the livings. At that moment she focused on them, a desire formed within her ¨C a desire to never let them go.


    ¡°Show me everything.¡± Then when he spoke their minds joint together and the feeling of thrown high in the air filled her with an ecstatic feeling.


    **


    ¡°Sure they went this way?¡± Bor¡¯Glaugh her fellow war band member, an aging orkh whom still was younger than her by two centuries asked. He stood at the edge of the Till-Kvammorn forest that surrounded the Nhilna¡¯Skholbul¡¯s capital in the eastern region of the Dhaugruz Basin. Like the rest of the war band his well-honed body was painted in a dry white with crimson runes that glow ethereally, enhancing his physical power while also extended his arkhaine limits.


    His painted body was clad in thick, white furred armor with dark plates of serrated edges, and a combination of helmet and horned helmet protected him from the elements. In his left hand a large round wooden shield with bone decorations, in his right his long battle axe rested between his tightened grip.


    Snow blanketed the vast plains spreading behind them and the forest in front of them ¨C so high that it reached the towering orkhs knees, while for Holryhien it reached her slender waistline. Her furred hood shivered as the cold wind blew relentlessly while she stared coldly into the forest.


    ¡°That is where they went. Do not doubt her eyes my friend.¡± Raud ¨C their Skaeze fellow ¨C said as he walked past Holryhien. A big boned young man well into his fifties with dark and wet long hair, a thick braided beard covered in snowflakes while it swinged left and right. The pelt of a large wolf rested upon his shoulders and head ¨C its empty red eyes stared forth into the forest.


    Skin under the thick layers of arkhaine paint - pink and blotchy while in height he was the shortest of the group of fifteen Nhilna¡¯Skholbul sent out to hunt down a small remnant of the Virdr Kingdom hiding deep in the forest, hunting caravans traversing from and to Hvitta-Aurrogh.


    ¡°Come on guys. The sooner we finish this, the faster we can drink and eat to our hearts.¡± A loud whistle rang through the howling wind and three large wolves of differing hues followed after him, then the rest of the party tracked into the forest.


    **


    Cold, sweet sweat formed on her pristine skin even though no warmness graced this part of the world. And even the little warm that rested within the small room departed, replaced by absence. Absence of both warmness and coldness. The source of the sweet sweat of hers was none other than the slowly surfacing fear that made her once gentle heart beat faster and stronger. The ecstasy she felt was no more ¨C dread took its place.


    With each deep breath she hoped to halt its velocity, to weaken its beating to a point where the sensation of thousand needles poking her chest from the inside would finally stop. Each time she got close to calming her heart, it relented and continued its fight for freedom from the tyranny of her body.


    Yet through all this she managed to keep a calm expression on her bloody yet enamoring visage that focused on their hands locked upon each other in a tender way. At least from the viewpoint of others it would seem tender, in reality even if she enhanced her own strength, she could not budge them apart. It was as if the two were symbiotic parts of one, two siblings born with one flesh and skeleton destined to live till the Nightscale claims one of them.


    ¡°There is nothing to be afraid of.¡± Grimslaukh emotionless deep voice resonated clearly within her mind. Each syllable soothed her harshly beating heart, turned her skin into a thirsty vampire that swallowed her sweat like it hasn¡¯t fed in centuries. Her eyes remained on his chest eerily lacking in nipples.


    Her thoughts averted, recalling the olden days of centuries past when she and her sister were still young, free of the cruelties of the world. She turned her attention towards the left corner ¨C whence their joint, soft chuckle came like a distant echo.


    She could not turn her head around completely, but she could still see her little sister. Her eyes white as the snow gleamed with her lost innocence, her long white hair with small braids swung as if the wind blew it. ¡°Why couldn¡¯t you?¡± She whispered into her ears in a solemn tone.


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    **


    ¡°Proceed only to the edge of the ward.¡± As Holryhien said that she waved at their dhaugoon and mrokevhen members equipped with large bows crafted from bone and wood. The snow that continuously fell on their track inside the forest towards the hideout of the Virdr Remnants stopped to their luck.


    The two as instructed by Holryhien stopped and drew their arrows. The string of strengthened sinew creaked rhythmically while their breathing slowed down so the small mist escaping their dark lips didn¡¯t escape beyond the boundary of the veil. The edges curved up slightly as their mana flowed through their arcane points from their chest right into their hands and the arrows themselves.


    When they released the arrows, they tore through the air silently and swiftly found their way into the throats of the two unassuming guards. Their tired expressions turned to one filled with despair and dread as rivers of blood sprouted from their throat and mouth. It cascaded down, dressing the snow in hues of deep red while empty cries followed as they tried to alert those inside. With gentle thuds they laid down into the slow, while it slowly turned to red in front of them.


    ¡°Go, before they realize their veil had failed.¡± At Bor¡¯s orders, everyone except Holryhien and him walked towards the small mound with a single narrow entrance filled with warm hued light and soft shadows. The two looked at each other silently and nodded before they followed after the two ¨C just as the sounds of struggle reached their ears.


    The moment they stepped inside the embrace of the enclave, the smell of death and blood assaulted her. She felt both refreshened and sick at the same time while stepping over the corpses. Corpses with torn throats, split open heads or sliced into two thanks to the lack of armor protecting their soft bodies.


    Gone were the days of the Virdr Kingdom and its army clad in pompous silver and white armor that blended in with the once beautiful, snow blanketed plains of the basin. The famous seidhrs of the north now dressed in dirty rags instead of gaudy robes dyed in the beautiful frost hues, with snow silvery hems and trims decorating the ornated robes. Once prideful visages now stared emptily at her feet stepping over them like they once did with those below them.


    A young boy leapt from the right with one last below before Bor¡¯s axe ran through from his left shoulder down to his right waist. The blade went through his sewn muddy attire and dirty soft flesh and bone like butter. Blood spewed forth and shaped a small lake under his feet while also spraying not just Bor but even her alluring face.


    Another saw that Bor¡¯s axe stuck in the cadaver and leapt from the other side with the hope that with a single thrust of his sword he could end the life of the hulking orc warrior. But his fate was the same ¨C except that his body got impaled by ice with the vibrant hue of crimson. ¡°Thanks.¡± Bor said as he heard the corpse hit the ground with the conjured ice shattering to thousand pieces on impact.


    ¡°Let¡¯s move to the deeper parts.¡± As they arrived to the conjunction of the hideout ¨C they heard the screams and wails coming from right and left. Facing them was a seemingly endless set of stairs leading further down where silence and shadow settled. Without saying a word, Bor nodded and the two headed down the myriad steps with a hurried yet careful pace.


    **


    ¡°What what are are you you afraid afraid of of sister sister?¡± Her sister cold whisper froze the tip of her sharp ears beset with dark rings. Her heart pumped akin to a maddened beast that chased its prey through a vast distance. Tears formed in her eyes as she focused at Grimslaukh¡¯ chest in which her face started forming.


    The pristine, almost porcelain like skin contorted unnaturally. Her lidless eyes filled with darkness stared into her, searching for the answer as she trembled without shakes, as she desired to answer without honesty.


    ¡°There there is is nothing nothing to to be be afraid afraid of of. Together together we we can can make make this this right. Just just like like before before.¡± Her hueless lips moved while their edges contorted into a conforming smile. Then she moved around and started stretching toward Holryhien. Two shapes at his abdomen formed resembling small, child like palms pressed against glass which followed after her fully formed head adorned with hair made of pale skin.


    Their touch was just as hollow as his, yet they calmed her heart and stopped the flow of her tears as a devoid sereneness settled in Holryhien. ¡°Let¡¯s fix this.¡± She said out loud as she stared into the empty abyss.


    **


    ¡°They mustn¡¯t be far.¡± Holryhien said as ethereal footsteps appeared in the blood blanketing the cold, harsh floor. They came to an end not far at the wall, with small uneven rounds of the same ethereal kind on the wall ¨C where the hidden inscription laid. Holryhien touched the cold wall, and her mana flowed into the enchantment. The earth howled as stone and dirt parted ways and collapsed into itself revealing a seemingly endless, dim path.


    ¡°Stay, I¡¯ll finish them off.¡± Bor offered as they stared at the darkness that occupied the revealed path.


    ¡°You stay. I have to do this.¡± Words of command poured out from her mouth not giving Bor the chance to refute them. ¡°Finish off the rest that may hide.¡± Holryhien turned back to the path and let the shadows devour her frail form as she walked the straight path.


    Not too far, the cold wind blew her calm face while the dim white light of the sun appeared. At the end two silhouettes hurried towards the light. One belonged to a small child dressed in warm clothes that gently twisted around his body. The other who fell first to a lady with already creased face, long braided hair with its colors already faded.


    A short, momentary wail escaped her wide, dry lips as crimson flames erupted within the confines of her flesh. Eyes melted while the edges burnt a little, her teeth turned to dust while the flames escaping her mouth made her akin to dragons as she fell face first into the snow.


    ¡°Please, show mercy.¡± The child cried as he fell into the harsh embrace of a tree. The wind gently blew his teary face, his long unkempt hair rustled, his blue eyes stared into hers.


    Meeting his gaze, Holryhien hesitated. Her arms stopped halfway through, in the same vein, her mana that flowed and formed into a killing spell halted and retreated back into her arkhaine points. Her heart ached, the hatred that drove each of her killing spells faded and doubts started forming in her heart.


    She realized that it was not this child who hunted her people. It was not this child who was responsible for the burning of her sisters and brothers. Those who were responsible suffered already, and paid for their sins with eternal service in His hosts. Just like her sister, Geirhyrien said killing these remnants was wrong. Letting him go would be more beneficial for the North. For the fight against the Empire that will come.


    ¡°Let me help.¡± And that may have happened in the prior past, but not in this past. He felt his empty presence appear behind her. His hollow touch that pressed his silken robe against his tender alabaster skin. For one last time she remembered these thoughts, then they faded into nothingness, just as single spike of transparent crimson ice impaled through his heart.


    His questioning blue eyes met hers as tears streamed down. He breathed his last, and a wave of relief enveloped her. She exhaled deeply, smiling as she gazed at his innocent corpse with streams of blood converging down his soft pale face.

 Chapter 32: Quiet Before The Tempest

    1st of Aldurmh, 1259<sup>th</sup> of the First Age.


    The Ilius long turned to its silvery phase at the center of the infinite sky. Large particles drifted in the endless sea of darkness and bathed the world in their guiding light in the perilous hours of the night. On the cold snow of the north, they reflected and lit the regions near the foot of the mountain¡¯s southern range.


    Except for the Vesgeriath woodland where darkness had a life of its own. Light that entered snuffed out, animals and beasts retreated to the openness spreading far south at these hours, allowing death and worse to stalk freely in the vast woodland. A lone and towering hooded stranger glided across the snow in a slow pace draped in tattered robes and a crimson stole bearing strange runes.


    The wicked revenants that stalked between the trees kept their unclosed eyes glowing with wicked blue lights. Their dry, frozen fingers gripped the trees, claws dug deep into the bark as they felt an uncanny fear they haven¡¯t felt since their demises. They watched and followed as He stopped at the edge of the woodland and kept His prismatic slit eyes on Autharsovath.


    The cacophony of festivities escaped its boundaries and the radiant ward that surrounded the small village at the edge of the hillside. Even the smells of roasted meat and the scent of various herbal mixtures used to amplify certain sensations wafted through the air and reached even their no longer existing nostrils.


    He raised His left arm and shadows converged onto the village, suffocating the whiteness of the snow strengthened by the particles high in the sky. ¡°How tiresome. They should learn not to meddle with my chosen.¡± The darkness crawled onto the walls and on the radiant ward it turned unseen as it entered within the boundaries of the village. A gravelly sigh escaped His unseen mouth before He vanished into the darkness, the revenants dispersed as dread seeped out from them and anger and envy filled them towards the living.


    **


    Sigiwaer twitched and rolled around beneath the warm embrace of furred sheets. While the festivities going still outside the confines of their homestead reached within the room, he shared with Amiriniel ¨C it was not the reason for his dreamlessness.


    ¡°Are you awake?¡± He whispered to Amiriniel resting near the window itself, and her silence was his answer. He continued rolling back and forth, his eyes then stopped on the ceiling as he started slowing his breathing down as once his father said to him. Yet even that could not bring him to the realms of Oneiro. His previous excitement turned into sour frustration as he was awaiting to meet with Aurelithae once again.


    While for the first few years since they met in the dream realm, they spent their time only exchanging questions. He knew that she lived in the capital of the Empire and he bombarded her with many questions about it. Mostly about the famed geometrical architecture, the bridges said to be built by artisans who were visited by the Deossos. And even about the dishes and bakeries that he only tasted once in his life when a small regiment of the 19<sup>th</sup> Legion stayed at their humble village.


    On the other end, she asked about who he was not believing that he was just some village boy from the north, at least until their tenth or fifteenth time. Specially because of his dark eye that glowed with the emptiness of the starless midnight sky. Which made him feel a bit bad to this day even though she got used to it after the seventh time.


    Around that time the feeling of her warming up to him started to plant its seeds within him that made going to bed a bit more bearable. Yet on this night, he could not fell into the deep abyss that acted as the boundary between the waking world and Oneiro.


    He lifted his larger cushion a bit upwards and decided to start counting the clouds, the bushes, the trees, every single detail on the painting Priernuss made for him and Amiriniel years ago. While he reached the fifth and sixth cloud in the indigo sky, his attention diverted onto his aged up depiction staring right above his head with a proud expression as he stood beside the similarly older depiction of Amiriniel on his right.


    Both were dressed in elegant, even almost regal appearing layered robes blown by the wind. For him the edges of the ebon robes were accented with snow silvery decorations most likely woven into the softly painted attire. His dark eye appeared even more prominent, the blackness of it penetrated through the fine velvety scarf that looped diagonally.


    Contrasting him, Amiriniel was painted with layers of pristine white robes softly whirling as if a gentle breeze passed through them. The trims around the edges similarly were seemed to be laced, and were a deep ebony shade. Her mature aevhen visage resembled her mother¡¯s if not even more regally striking with long hair sloping down onto her left shoulder with an alluring onyx luster.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    As his attention changed between the two of them, he continued counting and the already distant noises from outside dampened even more so. With lids unbearable heavy, his one remaining eye closed down as soft snuffles escaped his lump head in the embrace of dry, yet gentle cushions. He felt his body become weightless as it fell into the endless depths of Oneiro ¨C his small lips bent into a smile as he was filled with excitement once again.


    **


    To this day I think back fondly of the momentary experience of weightlessness as I fell in the infinite tunnels that connect all the realms together. Even on that night, my soft face curved into the largest smile that faded the moment I arrived amongst long forgotten legionaries and the brave natives of the south fighting for their sovereignty.


    Yet in that moment little old me went through a swathe of feelings in a mere blink of an eye ¨C maybe even shorter than that. I do recall father saying that it was quite common to feel fear when thrusted into battle for the first time. Although I was aware of the land of Oneiro ¨C thanks to his blessing ¨C chill shook my animus. Evident from my legs both in the dream and waking world trembled so much I could feel the sheets rustling over my sleeping body.


    But now I knew the danger didn¡¯t came from the phantasms of a distant past, but from what lurks in the lands of Oneiro, waiting to claim their way into the mortal realm. Thanks to facing death a few years prior, I managed to calm myself down within a few moments ¨C minutes if I recall it correctly. Deep in my heart I knew my Pale Orchid was the reason I arrived into the heart of the battle and like any foolish boy greatly in love ¨C followed the path set by my heart and shown by my blessed eye.


    To this day I thank the Nightscale and all the Envoys of Dusk for no one seeing as I moved between the legionaries and brave warriors of the south even as I experienced them passing through me like shackled spirits of the dead numerous time. As I felt her presence closer and closer, I wiped the ethereal snot and tears that welled up on my face and put on a brave expression the moment I noticed her down on the ground with mild fear in her once prismatic eyes.


    ¡°Leave her alone!¡± While my Pale Orchid reassured me numerous times that her pounding heart eased hearing my voice, seeing me rushing to stand between her and the Umvraoth ¨C to this day I feel shame a bit uttering those words. And that in the heat of the moment I simply tried to impale it with conjured earth shaped into spikes.


    ¡°Can you fight?¡± While I don¡¯t fully remember, according to her I did turn around and asked. I guess in that moment I accidentally fired off another spell while I kept my eyes on the weird amalgamation of writhing, spiraling mass of dark muscle collapsing into itself in the shape of a dancing star. What appeared to be deep mauve spheres casting their wicked eldritch light upon us seemed to be its eyes. A beak appeared at the center that opened akin to blossoming flowers and sang a weird tune.


    ¡°I can. Just took me by surprise.¡± Her soft voice freed me from whatever stupor that tune forced me into and without further communication we both raised our arms and channeled our mana and will into a joint spell as if we did this hundreds of times.


    I remember still the sourness of her anger seeping into me as the onyx golden flames filled the sky where it hovered showering the phantasms that blurred as the particles collided. Without saying ¨C we both turned our attention towards the east where it appeared, and I saw as the matter making up the reality of dreams moved according to its will.


    Where we stood moments before the impact, reality caved in and a gaping darkness started swallowing all around us. Yet we had no time to care about it as it relentlessly bombarded it us and destroyed more and more of the small plane of Oneiro. I sensed her thoughts, her desire to rush into the warp which she came here for in the first place ¨C or so I thought at the time.


    For the first time, her perfect mask drilled into her since her birth fell off and she looked at me with worry while also clearly pondering whether to leave me or take down the Umvraoth together. A short moment passed and, in the end, she decided to remain behind. Just when I erected a ward around myself as I felt uncertainty. The moment she touched my back was also the first time I felt the intense euphoria of teleportation. The tickle that permeated every fiber of my being made me focus on perfecting this piece of arkhaine art.


    I¡¯m uncertain of this too, but maybe because experiencing teleportation in the immaterial realm of dreams, my blessed eye showed me the notes of Gauress. I heard the disjointed song calling out to me, to master it. As I reached out to them, these notes flew into the particles surrounding us and devoured the incoming strikes of the Umvraoth.


    The phantasms around us dissipated into pure maghia matter of myriad different hues that turned into an ever swallowing darker shade of themselves. Its fear manifested in a cacophony of thrumming clamors while backing away further into the infinite sky. Yet no distance could have saved him as it dissipated and its shriek echoed through eternities while the world around us faded into the sea of nothingness with only the warp remaining.


    ¡°How did you do that?¡± To this day I am thankful for being raised as a child of the realms, because while she voiced that question in the calmest possible tone and expression ¨C her heart once again pounded with the madness born of utter dread.


    ¡°I¡­ am not sure.¡± I said as unlike with normal sorcery, I felt devoid of all feelings. Even the warmth of love died in my heart the moment the spell unraveled. And the connection we had up to that point faded as I looked at her with a face she doesn¡¯t want to see even after the end of time.

 Chapter 33: Quiet Before The Tempest

    ¡°I really should scale back on Yearnum.¡± Priernuss groaned as the light burning his eyes entering from the quite large window paired up with his head¡¯s desire to split open amidst harsh throbbing. His right hand with its tender palm swept through the myriad roots of his slowly regrowing hair as he slowly regained his full consciousness amidst the cascade of agonies.


    ¡°Now that is something new, I never heard here before.¡± Hustarra, a seasoned and stout dwarf of the Hogstool clan, remarked with a sly tone, the light revealing the sheen of secretion on her weathered skin. Her sizeable breasts dangled back and forth, left and right as she stretched her short, bulky arms to the sides while Priernuss struggled to stay on foot.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me northerners lie to themselves on these challenging mornings?¡± Priernuss asked as he started inhaling with eyes closed which he regretted only a few moments later.


    A deep burp escaped Hustarra¡¯s that made her smile as she felt the sour taste of Yearnum once again. ¡°You could say so. At least I know Igior has this habit when he forgets his limits.¡±


    As she slowly crawled out from the bed, she stopped and grabbed her stomach as an immense pain rushed through her. She felt as if a giant maggot burrowed itself into her and moved around, chewing her intestines and stomach.


    ¡°Everything fine? Please don¡¯t throw up or I get thrown out.¡± Priernuss asked worrying both about her and himself after he threw up at least three times in the room with the last became a part of the old wooden floor. As his words reached her ears ¨C all the pain within her suddenly stopped and she felt an unnatural relief.


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m famished.¡± Hustarra said as her stomach emitted a pulsing growl accompanied by a hunger bordering on ravenous, craving precisely for roasted and delicately seasoned meat.


    ¡°I feel the same.¡± Priernuss remarked, giving his exposed belly adorned with eight well-defined muscular sections a friendly pat.


    **


    ¡°Was everything alright yesternight?¡± Amiriniel asked Sigi the moment Mirdbruil headed into one of the few shops set up in the village near the eastern end of the small market. A larger structure of stacked stones held together by the strength of the mud slightly altered by maghia that gifted its adhesive quality. The trio were in preparation for heading out from the village to pluck some mushrooms natively growing in the forest.


    ¡°Had a hard time falling asleep.¡± Sigi said with a smile forced upon his face. Even at that moment any sensation that surfaced within got wrapped by tendrils and dragged in to a bottomless abyss leaving him, devoid. And the memories of his dreams while still occupied his mind, they were hazy, a piece of paper riddled with holes at important parts.


    ¡°Fine. Then I¡¯m going to do it the hard way.¡± Suddenly Amiriniel raised her fingers engulfed in swirling blue energies and touched his right temple. Yet she could not find answer when peering into his mind. She could only find the calmness bloomed from the seeds of desolation. And a coldness that lurked within her mind, merging with the all too familiar coldness that made her tremble a little.


    ¡°That is rude. Mom told you not to do that.¡± Sigi said trying to sound slightly annoyed.


    ¡°It is in normal circumstances. But right now, something clearly is not right with you Sigi.¡±


    ¡°Just a bad dream that is all. Hopefully the vicar can alleviate it.¡± Sigi said as his small back pressed against the harsh surface of the shop. He watched as the other, younger children played around as snow began its descent upon the village¡¯s market. A cloud of mist danced in front of his face as he sighed deeply and watched as it left to the white sky with the bright amber spiraling sphere still seen in the southern horizon.


    ¡°Fine, but tell me about this bad dream later.¡± Amiriniel¡¯s voice lowered as the old wooden door opened with Mirdbruil stepping out. As the two grabbed onto her hands, the snow began it¡¯s descent from the sky.


    **


    The scraping of chalk echoed through the small temple dedicated to the Deossos in the village. The decagon shaped building encompassed a good chunk of the village¡¯s south-eastern side with its walls just a hair breadth away from the protective wall.


    The interior itself seemed spacious to the four of them with columns numbering at nine in the center holding the roof from collapsing onto their heads. They watched as the aethgoorn priest¡¯s height remained the same even when kneeling on his own golden and white garment¡¯s lower end as he finished drawing the white circles and triangles surrounded by mystical runes.


    ¡°Come little Sigi.¡± The elderly dwarf with a golden visage hidden behind warm amber hued beard and receding hair exposing the glistening top of his head called out to him in a kindly tone fit for the elderly. Sigi remained still, unresponsive for a moment as he felt fear for a short moment before it faded then started walking forward after looking at Mirdbruil and Ulrich.


    ¡°Oh, we also brought some plants to help.¡± Then as Sigi arrived at the center Mirdbruil spoke up and handed the satchel to the dwarven vicar. As he opened it up slowly with shaking hands, peeking inside he noticed the bright mauve leaves of Alvarianus plants that help the mind sooth and slow the flowing of mana between the arkhaine points. There were also a few rheadil seeds brought from the south that can induce a waking dream like state to help in peeking into the recently gained memories of both the waking and dream world.


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    ¡°Thank you, my child. If you could it may be better for you three to wait outside while the ritual goes down.¡± The satchel closed itself and hovered towards the table with many other alchemical components prepared.


    ¡°Is it really necessary?¡± Amiriniel asked as the two bowed then led her out gently. ¡°Yes, rituals can be tricky to perform in smaller places even for the well-versed.¡±


    The door¡¯s closing intertwined with the cold stone rising and forming into a seat ¨C not the most comfortable one, but still a seat nonetheless. ¡°Just sit there. It will be over in the single beat of your kind heart little Sigi.¡± The vicar said in his deep gravelly voice with a wide, soothing smile under his thick beard.


    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid.¡± Sigi whispered in his meek voice as glared at the dwarven vicar and noticed the radiant particles dancing around his bulky stature, forming a halo behind his head.


    ¡°Good. I could tell from first glance that nothing is wrong with you, my son. His blessing radiates from your eye, from your heart.¡± As he said those words the halo shattered silently and formed into dancing pentagons that lit the gloomy room up with their unseen light glow. ¡°Now stay here for a bit. I¡¯ll make the necessary components in a few moments.¡±


    **


    The aroma of herbs wafted through the air inside the small chapel as the dwarven priest lit the herbs he and Mirdbruil brought inside a small, oval plate. It was a combination of sweet scent reminiscent of certain orange hued apples transported from the south. Apples that had strong sweet taste and a transparent flesh he recalled while closing his eyes, inhaling the mist like smoke emitted from the plate held under his soft face.


    ¡°Breathe in deeply. Ease your mind and let dream become one with reality.¡± His deep voice shattered the silence. Sigi found keeping his eyes fully open harder and harder with each passing word, with each passing moment.


    ¡°Sense his hallowed presence. His hallowed gift to all of his favored children.¡± He lifted his heavy arm and palm blocked Sigi from seeing his elderly dwarven visage. The brass hued palm lit up in a radiant golden glow and warmed his face with its sanctified light. Through his blessed eye, he saw and felt the channeling of the radiant matter formed and gifted by the Dawn Father upon all elevated kin of the planes.


    The particles light deepened within the room and reality blurred as Sigi felt the veins of mana within his animus slither about between his nine arkhaine points. He felt both dreamy and strength ¨C strength which he could force upon the laws and elements of the world.


    The dwarven vicar lifted his palm away from his face and exhaled deeply. The sensation faded as the lights grew darker and he noticed the dark shape towering over the dark vicar. A shape draped in tattered dark robes, a hood under which an all consuming shadow rested, only parted by two slits of prismatic hue that reminisced him of Aurelithae¡¯s fine scales adorning her mesmerizing face.


    He raised his long arms that almost reached beyond where his knees may lay. The long index finger on it with a perfect curve unfolded as a hundred silent shushes assaulted his ears and mind. A deep calmness washed over Sigi as the wind blew inside from the small windows carrying the aroma of herbs outside and far beyond the borders of the village.


    ¡°We are done my son.¡± The dwarf smiled as wide as he the corners of his lips allowed unaware of Him behind as he offered his hand to help Sigi down. For a moment Sigi remained frozen in serenity and with a blink he disappeared taking the emptiness with him. Sigi felt relief that turned into a strange but welcome joy as the door opened and the trio who waited not so patiently burst in with worried looks aimed at him.


    ¡°No need to worry. But before leaving, we should talk.¡± The dwarven vicar said as he gave an apple to Sigi and Amiriniel before turning to Mirdbruil and Ulrich. The two nodded and told them to wait outside.


    ¡°What happened in there?¡± As the door closed behind them after they stepped into the snow, Amiriniel asked brimming with curiosity.


    ¡°I¡¯m not fully sure. But I¡¯m relieved.¡± Sigi said as he bit into the apple and let its sweet taste spread within his mouth as he stared at her with his usual kind expression.


    **


    Sharp stalactites of gloomy kind decorated the ceiling of the long underground pathway. Luminous light lit the dark path and pulsed every so often. The usual silence of the underworld was broken by the soft steps created by the marching band of Virdr warriors and magusos.


    They were draped in various hides and pelts of the basin¡¯s fauna with long loincloths dangling between the warriors legs, the magusos ending in long kilts scraping the harsh ground. Furred collars surrounded their necks in varying hues of brown and white, the former to help them blend into the underworld surroundings, the latter for the overworld¡¯s snow covered vastness.


    Both groups were clad in ornated armor crafted by their own hands from the bones of the very same beasts, shaped and strengthened by maghia to be as effective as their once prided plates. So did their ivory weapons and shields were crafted with serrated edges that were protruding bony spikes. The center of their shields and the top of the staves bore the sigil of the fallen kingdom, a sharp edges snowflakes with the eye of the Twilight Father etched into its center.


    ¡°Thank the First and the Nine. We¡¯re here!¡± A young half-aevhen man with short scrubby hair with the vibrant hue of tree bark and avian eyes and claws waved at the approaching silent band.


    ¡°Silence idiot. It¡¯s not just the Host we have to fear down here.¡± An aged maiden in the very same armor and furred clothing said while slapping the back of her brother¡¯s head.


    ¡°They seem awfully silent.¡± A shorter Hogstol dwarf said with clothing made from the hide of a majestic stag. Head completely exposed, and a large beard that reached down to his waist. He noticed the uncanniness of them returning after holding back the enemy led by a dark magus draped in robes blacker than the night, wicked plates with a grayish tint in sharp angular shapes.


    ¡°Damn the...¡± The maiden tried to curse, her words smothered by the single arrow that found its way into her neck. Her deep crimson blood flowed out and tainted her ivory plates as she got down onto her knees. As soon as her face hit the ground, a cacophony of screams ¨C warped and dread filled ¨C echoed through the whole section.

 Chapter 34: Moving Shadows I.

    Isocrates watched as pitch black tendril spread darkness over the sky as day shifted to night slowly. From the ground of the streets, white marble obelisks with glass tips rose within moments and warm amber balls of arkhaine light appeared within their angular walls. Behind him the wall opened up with a soft hiss which prompted him to turn around.


    For a short moment, his muscles perched up as he wanted to rush to her. But in the end, he calmed himself and coughed once. ¡°Luelia? Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°Iso? I¡¯m fine. It was just more demanding than I thought ¨C we thought.¡± She said while turning back to the grim figure of Naghig who appeared in the opening while carrying a large basket over his left shoulder.


    ¡°Still here boy? Should have gone home.¡± He said with slight surprise while staring at him.


    ¡°I planned to. But wanted to be sure she was alright. And that the task was a success.¡± He said after placing the basket onto a nearby crate and leaned down closer to Aurelithae who offered a reassuring smile to him.


    ¡°It was. But she will be resting for a while. You on the other hand too should rest. Tomorrow will be a long one for you.¡± Naghig said as he firmly grabbed Isocrates¡¯s shoulder. From his finger tips, mana poured into Isocrates and his worry parted while a calm came in its place.


    ¡°Right. Please take care of her.¡± He said while glaring into Naghig¡¯s eyes before he disappeared at the turn.


    A short sigh escaped Aurelithae¡¯s lips as she pushed her head against the cold wall. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Always. That boy can be tiresome somedays. But he shows promise.¡± Naghig carefully placed the basket on his back down and collapsed into the snow on the opposite side. Aurelithae arched her brow hearing those words and her lips started moving, but before she could form words Naghig grabbed her and helped her up to her surprise.


    ¡°What, I¡¯m fine. I can linger down here for a few more days.¡± She said while not resisting the aid of the orkh getting her onto her feet while a rejuvenating sensation tickled her whole body.


    ¡°On the deossos names, I guess I should not have let you wander alone in Oneiron.¡± Naghig said with the tone of an irritable aevhen unfit for him. ¡°Have you forgot what great event will be held in the temple tomorrow?¡±


    Hearing those words, Aurelithae¡¯s tired eyes popped open, brimmed with anxiety. Without saying any further words, the two headed out from the valley. With each step she felt a warmness rejuvenate the tired muscles within her frail, delicate legs and just when they got passed by a patrol of Custodiir, the two parted ways like strangers.


    **


    ¡°Hurry, we don¡¯t have much time.¡± Ivor whispered as he stood in the at the ladder, gesturing to his comrades. Above the warm light of an arkhaine stone entered into the dim small room, lightning it up completely thanks to the marble. Above them he felt the dozen life essences of the captured mentioned by the merchant they rescued earlier.


    As he took one last look at the doorway they came from, Ivor froze and reached for his bow. A soft hand with golden claws that could easily cut through the thick wood appeared at the edge and he jumped back with his bow in hand, left arm reaching for an arrow. ¡°What do we have here? Rodents entering where they have no business to be.¡± The silken voice of Rhenathorhia echoed through the small underground room.


    Ivor slowly retreated while he retreated slowly to the back. His arms remained stiff as he kept his bow drawn, the tip of the arrow lit up in flames that caressed his rugged face with their strange warmth. Ivor watched as Rhenathorhia walked inside ¨C closing the door behind himself calmly ¨C with prideful delight on his divinely enchanting visage.


    ¡°You know you caused us a minor headache. Things have been progressing excellently and for that we¡¯re glad. So out of my good will and my love for my brother, I ask you to leave.¡± Rhenathorhia forced an affable smile that lit up the dim room.


    ¡°I am afraid that is not an option.¡± As soon as Ivor uttered those words with a quiet tone, his arrow was swallowed by divinely golden flames while the smirk of a starving predator settled on Rhenathorhia¡¯s face.


    ¡°Good.¡± With small steps he approached Ivor, his left arm slid out from under his layers of refined white and golden robe while his body was enveloped in a dark amber glow.


    **


    Harsh, metallic clasps echoed through the straight path leading towards the palace resting at the center of the Radiant Keep. An enormous alabaster marvel of aevhen architecture built eons ago by the First Emperor of Draevhen kin.


    ¡°Wait here.¡± Albron issued his command in tandem with raising his left fist. The four praetoriir stopped within a moment, their segmented ebony plates with draconic iconography clanked at the sudden motions as they lined up besides each other.


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    Unlike his fellow¡¯s, Albron donned a crimson toga that revealed the left side of his scar ridden torso with sharp and protuberant curves. The asymmetrically curving hem and the wide neck was laced in golden with draconic runes of arkhaine nature that kept him cold in warm weather and warm in cold. His feet similarly was in the embrace of a revealing sandal of intertwining straps crafted from the hide of manticoras further transmuted to blend with his warm skin tone.


    His chest puffed out, his abdomen caved in as he exhaled deeply while placing his hands on the cold surface of the gate. By pouring a small amount of his mana into the gate, it caved in with perfect precision making a squared pattern before the segments retracted into the wall while singing their soft metallic hymn.


    ¡°My Elhyrissiar! Brother!¡± As soon as he stepped inside, he made a polite bow towards Anguraa whose dark dreads fell measuredly onto his exposed back with golden rings decorating them. His body clad in layered robe of deep indigo paired almost perfectly with his scales. The slender frame of his bent lightly forward as he reciprocated his greetings.


    Not too far from him, on the other side of a large oaken desk sat their father, Terrianis with all his grace and beauty clad in a prismatic dress sewn from the finest of silken with a soft luster that massaged Albron¡¯s gaze. His hair let out, cascaded in perfect straightness while framing his triangular visage with delicate, perfectly aligned and chiseled features. He lightly nodded his head with an affable smile that made Albron feel uncertain in that moment.


    ¡°What is the reason for this nightly meeting my Elhyrissiar?¡± He pushed his doubt away and strode calmly towards the second chair left for him on the left side.


    ¡°With the recent developments made with his prisoners, and with Angura¡¯s success and failures in his long endeavor, We feel it is time to reveal our failure to the people.¡± Hearing those words Albron twitched a little but maintained his calmness while reaching for a golden cup filled with warm tea as he waited for his father to finish. ¡°For now we decided to reveal the Heavenly Monarch¡¯s taking during the ceremony tomorrow. Unless you have something against it.¡±


    ¡°I do no question your decision, but shouldn¡¯t we wait at least till we capture one of the perpetrators at least?¡± Albron spoke up after he moistened his throat with the sour beverage.


    ¡°In any other circumstance I would agree and advise you to hasten your efforts.¡± Anguraa¡¯s words hurt like poisoned, heated daggers seeding the heat for sweats. ¡°But strangely, the enemy did not live with their opportunity to use their knowledge to weaken our standing. For some strange reason yet.¡±


    Albron gulped as he pondered whether to voice the next words, but as he looked at his father and brother the words just poured out. ¡°Won¡¯t the enemy count on us doing this?¡±


    ¡°Possibly. Or they may plan their reveal for a later stage of their plan.¡± Anguraa said as he slowly sipped his steaming tea.


    ¡°Whichever is the case, our credibility shall be damaged. This way We may be able to lessen the laceration and with time enough on our hands shall mend those wounds.¡± Terrianis spoke up next. His eyes trembled a little as he veiled his mild frustration.


    ¡°And how shall we proceed for now?¡± With a pensive expression on his visage, Albron mused how much his Father shall ask of him in the coming days, weeks and decades.


    ¡°According to my Eyes, there is a second force moving in the shadows besides the pesky, impatient New Dawn seeding the sows of discord. Ones responsible for beckoning the accursed Infaerni into our peaceful realm.¡± Anguraa said as he recalled walking through the ash laden floor of one of the Inquisitoriir¡¯s headquarters a few years ago.


    Anguraa looked onto the nearest candle and in its light menacing, shadowy outlines appeared on his serpentine visage. ¡°But for now we count on our dear little sister wrapping them around her fingers and through her and the New Dawn restore our credibility after chaos ensues in the capital.¡±


    Before Albron could voice his next statement, Terrianis raised his palm and spoke. ¡°Do not worry about her my dear Albron. Our wards shall make sure no ill fate shall befell her.¡±


    ¡°What about the North? I heard from Sister Vesnyn that the Host began to Amass a great horde of living and dead.¡± Albron leaned back in his chair as the words of his beautiful, distant elder sister echoed in his mind strangely when he looked out the window staring at the faraway abyssal silhouette of Dhaugruz.


    Terrianis¡¯s stare followed Albron¡¯s in a cold manner while his mind wondered whether the Shadow and the Nightscale were one and the same. ¡°We heard her and her agents¡¯ alarming words. Which is why we decided on these things.¡±


    ¡°Which is why we¡¯ll expand the project to the colonies. Plenty of savages to conduct experiments on. And less likely to be used against us.¡± Anguraa spoke up next eliciting a surprised look from Albron.


    ¡°We still expect you to deliver the Temple some of the undesirable elements amongst your prisoners. But for the foreseeable future, leave the current targets be. We shall take care of them in another time.¡± Terrianis said as he circled his middle finger over his tea, an avian dragon raised from it following the tip of his prismatic claw.


    ¡°I will do so. Speaking of which, then won¡¯t it be time to bring Uncle out from his depression?¡± As those words reached his ears, the avian dragon made of tea collapsed back into the dark liquid as Terrianis turned his attention to Albron.


    He remained silent while his usually expressionless, calm visage contorted as he came to a conclusion. ¡°No need for that and do not speak of this to him. With the events that shall unfold, he shall free himself from his own shackles of misery.¡±


    Silence settled between the three as Albron nodded while he felt confliction rising within himself once more. He took a long and silent breath pushing it deep within. Albron slowly raised from his seating. ¡°If that is all I¡¯ll excuse myself my Elhyrissiar, brother. Tomorrow will be a long day.¡±


    Terrianis nodded lightly and Albron¡¯s fist clashed against his sturdy chest as he bowed his head to them before he left. ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can trust him.¡± Terrianis whispered as he rose from his chair and stared at his own shifting portrait


    Anguraa¡¯s gaze wandered the room, settling on the fresco painted onto the ceiling while he fiddled with a Coin of Septurrion between his slender fingers. ¡°If not, he shall be just as good of a specimen as Her.¡± Anguraa said with a callous tone and a serpentine smile as the ends of his dread caressed the marble floor.

 Chapter 35: Moving Shadows II.

    Aurelithae sat completely still while the combined warmth and luminous light of the Illius filtered through the window¡¯s enchanted glass. One aevhen servant carefully combed her silken hair in a careful pace while another prepared her dress of myriad different hues constantly shifting dependent on how and where the light fell onto it.


    ¡°Is everything alright My Lady?¡± Akaerith asked as she saw through the calm guise.


    For a short moment a pensive expression settled onto her alluring face adorned with prismatic scales. She let out a long and silent sigh before she spoke. ¡°I feel a little anxious.¡±


    ¡°There is nothing to be anxious about My Lady. The ceremony will be over before you could even recount the name of the One and the Eight.¡± Hearing those words, Aurelithae¡¯s glistening lips curled up into a smile and a soft chuckle escaped her. Yet the anxiousness lingered in her heart.


    It has been a decade since she first wandered down to the city and took the silent oath of the New Dawn even though she was still unsure what she wished to gain from these little tours. And the thought of her Father knowing about this floated in her mind like a dark cloud shrouding the radiance of reason for him allowing. Even the dreams of his past had to yield an answer to this question.


    One thing was sura as always with him. If she desired to have an answer, she had to sought it by herself be it through reality or through the visions of the past manifesting in the lands of Oneiron. For now all that mattered was to play her part of a calm princess in front of the top brass of the Empire gathering into the blessed house of the One and the Eight. A daunting task but not one impossible as long as Albron stood near her.


    ¡°Excuse me My Lady. Could you tilt it back once more?¡± For a moment she felt awkward as the servant doing her hair spoke to her in her soft, husky voice. Without saying a word she complied and focused on the sky, still dark over the capital, while further away the Illius started to paint it into a collection of red, orange and mauve as the day slowly began.


    **


    The streets of Luth-Astaril were picturesque during the early hours of the day as many artistic visitors tended to comment on it. The warm, luminous lights of the dawn beautifully painted the alabaster structures of sharp, arithmetic buildings while the shadows that nestled between them possessed only a tint. This was even more true during the early seasons of the year when on rare occasions a soft mist appeared in the valley, hiding the less refined lower districts of the capital.


    It was also the favored hour of Augermil who watched the light of the Ilius devour the darkness slowly as the Dawnfather ordered it eons ago. The imposing draevhe was already clad in his golden armor comprised of multiple angularly contoured, segmented plates decorated with carefully sculpted draconic motifs that included the head of a feathered dragon that spew flames towards his abdomen. Under it soft, matte linen clothing wrapped gently around his muscle bound body adorned with thousands of scars and small scales of crimson.


    ¡°I see sleep avoided you once more. Are you excited to see her?¡± Augermil turned around to the sound of his old friend¡¯s deep, melodious voice and offered the deep ebony toned man of the Yhanubj tribe a gracious, honest smile.


    Nawfal Salama was a man beyond his prime blessed with a face many envied through his life that gained a draconic majesty thanks to his decade long service to the Empire. Eyes with sharp contours, turned into flaming pearls with a slit at the center. A prominent forehead with sharp outlines converging towards the center where the chiseled nose of his started. A lush dark beard of tufts of spiky hair with golden scales adorning his narrowed chin with two spikes diverging from each other.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t seen her in decades. Just the thought pierces my heart with fear not unlike the spear of those undying legionnariir.¡± His deep voice echoed within the small room lit by the tender light of the dawn. Sorrow in his eyes as he recalled the warming smile of the innocent little princess that once was Aurelithae.


    ¡°Well as once a wise old friend said, if fear pierces your heart just leap above it or something¡± Nawfal said as his segmented epaulets ¨C each smaller than the other starting from the top piece ¨C clanked against the scarlet frame of the window that continued on towards the ceiling where it turned into elaborate swirls and circles with ancient aevhen runes within them.


    Augermil turned at him with one brow of his raised questioningly. ¡°You mean I should speak with her after the ceremony?¡± Nawfal answered silently, with a simple and calm bow of his head as he crossed his arms and clad his face in a prideful expression.


    ¡°Maybe. But we have a duty to fulfill today. Greeting and speaking can wait another day or year.¡± Augermil said as he met his friend¡¯s gaze. Their attention turned towards the streets once more as people flocked into groups and headed towards the temple. An eerie sight as the thickly mist rose from the valley and invaded the streets slowly while the rays of the Illius shone through it.


    ¡°But for now focus on the peace of today.¡± He added as the two grabbed their swords and with watchful eyes, monitored the various folks of the capital dressed in their finest clothing.


    **


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    ¡°Such a peaceful day it is.¡± Mirayroth noted softly as he stood at the edge of the building overlooking the blessed house of the One and the Eight. The wind gently blew his exotic eastern robes while the mask over his alabaster face kept it warm while also amplified his vision. So much so that he could easily make out his own agents within the crowd converging at the large square in front of the temple.


    A square that on the calmer days was lacking in presence except a few pious folk who wished to offer prayers to the Deossos in return for their blessings. Blacksmiths asked the Forge Mother for strength to strike appropriately or for focus to maintain the necessary heat in their forges. Scholars and students of the academies asked Septurrion to freshen them, clear their mind of unnecessary thoughts. Artists, sculptors and architects prayed for the spark of creativity at the altar of the Harmonic Artiste and so on so forth.


    Naghig stood in silence behind him with his hulking arms crossed and, in his impatience, he tapped his feet against the flat roof of the house. ¡°Would have been much more peaceful in the warm embrace of an inn. Do we really need to be here?¡± He asked no longer able to contain his unrest.


    ¡°Not necessary. But I wish to witness their reaction first hand rather than hearing about it. Easier to plan ahead that way you see.¡± He said as his veiled head slightly tilted towards Naghig who towered over on his left.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it makes that much difference from hearing things unfolding from the mouths of others. You just want to see things unfold yourself don¡¯t you?¡± Picking up on his mild lie, Naghig sighed as he sat beside Mirayroth at the edge and dangled his legs hundreds of meters above the crowd that grew in density.


    ¡°That you are not wrong about but I am also interested in the Elhyrissiar himself. Ever since my childhood, I was interested in the possibilities of maghia, and what better way to witness parts of these possibilities than witnessing the apex in action.¡± Mirayroth added as he noticed the movement of cloaked figures entering the Tower of Fate, the temple closest to them and the home of Septurrion¡¯s clergy.


    ¡°And here I thought that possibility was quenched ages ago. I have no doubts you shall witness less than on that day.¡± As he said that he held his pale palm out into which amidst a dark light a stone manifested which then began to take the shape of a pale draevhen maiden then not long before it lost its shape and he threw it across the chasm hitting one of the geometrical windows.


    ¡°Honestly, I know that too. But curiosity still won me over.¡± Mirayroth tore a piece out from the roof beneath and entered into a throwing contest as the urge overcame him witnessing Naghig miss the window a little.


    ¡°Well then let us hope they can put up a worthy final fight.¡± Naghig said a bit frustrated as he witnessed Mirayroth hitting the window straight at its center, scaring the single cloaked figure that just slit the throat of a temple guard. ¡°At least their senses are worthy of assassins.¡± He said chuckling childishly behind his mask as the hooded figure continued their advance down towards the main hall.


    **


    Aurelithae stood in front of the Greidor Gate, an oval structure proudly standing in its convex archly form at the center of the room, bathing in the filtered light which entered from all side in vastly different shades. Behind her, the servants girl who attended to every little need of hers stood silently, while on her right her dear father towered over her in all his gleaming glory with an affable smile on his gleaming lips. Not a word needed to leave them to calm her down, then the two¡¯s gazes were drawn onto the Greidor Gate¡¯s arch.


    Glowing glyphs painted themselves one by one, each stroke carefully and slowly appeared and with a gentle roar, a small standing lake of thin arkhaine energies filled the empty space within. The two and their entourage slowly made their way towards it and Terrianis stepped through with grace.


    Aurelithae stood, gazing onto the pristine surface that lit her pale, soft face covered in elaborate swirls of prismatic scales. Her equally mesmerizing slit eyes gleamed even stronger in the luster of the portal, and her chest puffed out not long before she forced her legs to move forward.


    A warm, wet sensation enveloped her body, seeped into her soul cuddling even while the sensation of weightless dive into the unknown, during which the concept of her feet touching ground became a distant memory, concept. Yet this freedom only lasted no more than a blink of an eye, a beat of her heart as she mildly tumbled as she arrived behind her father.


    There, in the small underground hall which spread far and wide compared to the Greidor Gate¡¯s room in the Radiant Keep, her gaze moved onto faces familiar and distant conversing before their glinting draconic eyes shifted onto them and their relaxed attitude stiffened into deep bows.


    Amongst the familiar, she recognized her elder brothers Albron and Anguraa whom both rushed towards them before they kneeled down onto the contrasting mosaic floor. Their long hairs gracefully cascaded towards, brushing it with great care akin to the method of artists. Their exquisite togas draped finely, gleaming golden dragons looped around their wrists, the tails slithered, looped around their arms.


    And amongst the unfamiliar, she glimpsed a hulking kin of hers with completely sheared head exposing deep scars which instead of ruined his image, it complimented his menacing looks while the gaudy mauve toga on his slender, muscle-bound body fitted him not.


    Another, whom appeared younger stood beside him with a leisurely attitude, graceful golden eyes which gleamed with drunkenness while his tousled hair fell onto his weak shoulders encased in iridescent, flamboyant garments with an equally lavish metallic neck piece resting on his shoulders beset with richly vibrant gems and a collar twisting around his neck in segmented layers.


    The rest, she paid not much attention to, instead she followed after her dear father with Albron walking beside her after they inaudibly greeted each other with warm smiles. ¡°Father! Sister!¡± The door to the ceremony hall opened, revealing the divinely enchanting form of Rhenathorhia who greeted them with a wide curve across his visage.


    It has been a few decades now since she last saw him, and she found his ethereal beauty both calming and eerie at the same time. As much as she tried, she could not take her eyes off of her older brother until he turned his attention to Albron, then their father. ¡°Shall we begin?¡± He bowed his head, and in that moment, she could see the light following his triangular heads¡¯ movement showing its devotion.


    As she looked past at the large crowd that condensed to the front, her heart started beating even faster until a calmness spread through her when Albron placed his massive hand over her shoulder. The two headed inside side by side as she steeled her nerves, muttering in her head to endure.

 Chapter 36: Moving Shadows III.

    Aurelithae let out a silent sigh as she stood at the far right edge of the podium listening to the seemingly endless speech of Rhenathorhia. Just like his dear old brother said, the first two hours were relatively interesting as he recounted the heroic tales of all those seeded at the start of past years. Then at the third or fourth hour when it has changed to be about the similarly heroic tales of statesman, less exciting as the tales were mostly about reforms and such instead of slaying vile beasts, corrupted gryphons or wicked practitioners of nekromancy.


    This boredom led to her gazing at the elegantly dressed crowd. Her eyes set upon first at the folks of the upper levels, the patricii of the capital whom mostly were comprised of various aevhelii that even included the eastern kin whose faultlessly smooth silver or alabaster skin glistened as the winter light shone through the windows. Yet unlike Mirayroth, they chose to wear the high collared, gaudy tunics, robes and dresses manufactured in the capital or in the western colonies.


    Humans of the Trauscian tribe who were native to the isles before the Empire established the capital on it also mingled amongst them on the refined benches of rich oaken kind. While she heard many tales about them fighting against the Undying Legions of the Grim Sovereign. When she first met Isocrates, she thought he too belonged to this tribe of humans, but now looking at their features, she realized how far she was from the truth. They were quite close to appearing aevhen thanks to their sharpened, angular features, prominent, chiseled noses, graceful eyes with an intense hue and silken hair that flowed naturally.


    Dwarves who would have remained unseen if not for their skin. As they remained still, she likened them in her mind to statues sculpted from the finest of metals with a luster that rivalled of the finest glass that decorated the windows of the temple and the Radiant Keep. Still she found them somewhat weird appearing as one of them with long scarlet beard opened his mouth and ripples, waves ran through his face rustling the beard.


    She also noticed the single pair of Haubrians, easily picked out as even amongst the nobility, their flamboyant attires that seemed to be sewn from the wings of fireflies highlighted their vibrant scales. Scales that differed from hers in shape as they possessed softer edges compared to the harsh draconic ones that she and her kin possessed.


    Then her eyes suddenly stopped on a lone figure amongst the crowd of commoners. A pale figure who stood out and she first thought was none other than Mirayroth. Anxiety gnawed at her like a hungry pack of serpents at the thought of him standing in clear sight of all his family. Yet no one seemed to notice his presence and as she sharpened her sight, she realized he was not Mirayroth.


    His visage was haunting, gaunt even yet it possessed alluring features like his wide lips frozen in an eerily calm smile. Eyes darker than the night sky lacking in the silvery particles of the Illius. Upon further notice she also realized the aevhen figure wore different robes from Mirayroth, that exposed his chest adorned with pitch black veins that converged onto his throat where they expanded, swallowed even while reaching up towards his chin.


    The more she looked at him, the more her anxiety turned into dread at the haunting figure that stood amongst the crowd like a phantom visible only to her. ¡°Everything¡¯s fine?¡± Without noticing it, her body started shaking and Albron¡¯s disembodied voice ringed in her mind. She gulped deeply as her gaze remained on the figure who raised his slender arms, revealing hands adorned by dark claws as sharp as hers¡¯. His unnaturally long index finger stretched out in front of his lips and he slightly opened them, revealing the gaping darkness that nestled within.


    Suddenly her body stopped and all feeling subsides, drained from within her. She felt completely devoid, not even calmness remained within. It felt awfully familiar as the very same sensation crawled its way into her the night before in the Land of Oneiro when Sigi banished the Umvraoth that was ready to kill both of them.


    Yet not long after this emptiness found its way into her, a clarity followed that forced the next words to leave her mind and enter Albron¡¯s. ¡°Yes, just wishing for brother¡¯s speech to end.¡±


    Her head perched towards the center of the podium where now his father stood proudly with all his majesty and grace bared against the onlookers whose gazes focused on him. ¡°That was a wonderful speech that we miss not hearing for the past decade. But we had been busy for the reason that you all could live your peaceful lives in our alabaster city without worry, without the need to scramble for food and drinks.¡± His voice echoed through the vast ceremony hall and even beyond the walls, reaching all the citizens near or far within the boundaries of the capital.


    His calm expression turned into a sour, even solemn as he stood there in silence for a few moments, contemplating his next words. ¡°These past few years, decade while were peaceful to you, even maybe serene, for us it was full of toiling, seeking answers where none may lie, seeking what had been stolen from right under our noses almost twelve years ago.¡±


    At those words, the crowd loosened their gazes and the silence was broken by the soft chatter as the first seeds of light dread slithered into their minds. Terrianis looked at them and as Rhenathorhia and Anguraa moved to silence the crowd, he raised his right hand and stopped them before they could make their second step to the edge.


    ¡°Before we indulge you on what we kept a secret from you for so long of your lives, let me preface it with this. There is nothing to be afraid. As long as we stand, our Empire shall stand proud, peace that you know will remain, so does your joy, your tranquility, and our order. This is not a promise, but a fact.¡± Terrianis¡¯s words were laced in his impenetrable conviction, his unwavering ego, and in his immense power all within the capital felt for a short moment.


    Myriad different sensation washed over all those who looked upon Terrianis who was bathed in the light filtering through the mosaic windows as he raised his arms. Even those on the streets, at their homes, work stifled by these sensations. It was like standing in the shadow of a mighty dragon with nothing but a useless tool or utensil that has no chance to penetrate the sturdy scales.


    ¡°We won¡¯t dance around anymore. The truth is the Heavenly Father of ours was taken by vile, wicked forces. Our brave praetoriar did their best on that fateful night, but the enemy was well-prepared and took Him from his resting place.¡± Terrianis who stood proudly moments ago now hunched down gracefully and offered an apologetic bow of his head to the crowd, to the citizens of the capital who could not be present also saw this image burn into their minds.


    Then he suddenly strung back into his previous position and his enchanting visage brimmed with confidence, with determination that melted away the fears and doubts of the crowd. ¡°But fear not, we know the enemy and to them We say. You may hide in the shadows, you may try to upend our peace, our order, but we shall not falter, we shall not be weak or foolish. We shall, we will root you out and save the Heavenly Father of ours and bring eternal order, peace and prosperity upon the world!¡± At those words all within the capital felt the warmth of the Ilius shine upon their soul, the chilling dread completely dissipated as Terrianis spoke with a fervent zeal.


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    And as Aurelithae watched, searching for the pale figure that haunted her moments ago, she noticed cloaked figures moving within the crowd at the back. For a moment he recognized one of them and fear and anxiousness took hold within her as a familiar birch bow engraved with northern runes appeared in their hands. Before Terrianis could start the last section of his speech, an arrow grazed past his cheeks, leaving behind a damning mark as it landed in the head of one of his children, one of the clergy of Septurrion clad in glistening azure robes.


    ¡°A moving speech Elhyrissiar. But I am afraid he only blessed you with his arrogance, pride.¡± Ivor¡¯s voice loudly echoed through the ceremonial hall as he stood on the open balcony over the entrance. Terrianis ignored his words as he reached towards the faint scratch that now tainted his once faultless visage.


    ¡°Tell me my brothers and sisters. What do you believe in more. Words laced in falsehoods or actions?¡± He asked and Aurelithae watched calmly while within her spine ached as if icy needles pierced it, her stomach scorching with cold flames. The rest of the cloaked figures moved around the now murmuring crowd frozen in uncertainty.


    ¡°I tell you the answer you all know within yourselves. Actions speak louder. And we proved ourselves plenty times while the Empire speaks nothing but lies and empty promises, unaware of their own imminent doom looming over them.¡± Ivor continued while Terrianis remained still as he felt his body scorching, jumbling his thoughts while his children watched silently from behind.


    ¡°Do not fear the change, the chaos that will follow as the new dawn rises over the horizon. The Empire their family built is at its twilight hour, and from its rotting carcass a better world shall bloom.¡± As he reached the end of his speech the guards finally reached the balcony and fight broke out between them and the cloaked figures.


    Wicked golden veins appeared on his body as an erratic laughter escaped his mouth. His eyes now brimmed with madness as the golden veins spread and twisted all over his body while numerous custodiir leapt at him. Yet he continued even as his face was planted into the floor.


    ¡°Do you believe we built his Empire on words alone wretch?¡± Then suddenly he found himself hovering above the now empty benches while facing the eerily calm Terrianis whose measured words were laced with his anger. Ivor¡¯s head turned purple while his own veins started popping out, yet a victorious look remained plastered on his face. But instead of delivering a killing blow, light shone onto Terrianis and an idea birthed itself in his mind.


    He raised his left hand and gestured to Aurelithae who quivered softly like a frightened pet who just got caught in the act. ¡°Finish him off.¡± Terrianis said with much indifference and Aurelithae¡¯s legs froze with a chilling burn.


    **


    Augermil and Nawfal hurried entered the wide street leading straight towards the temple. The two wrestled against the panicking horde of citizens covered in ash and blood of their own. Flames of wicked golden rose in the distance whence they ran, pairing with the all too familiar sound of metal clashing against metal.


    As soon as they were in the clear, far behind the dispersed crowd, the two drawn their golden ornated spathas and with graceful movements, cut two robed figures straight into two at their waist. Yet it mattered little to the figures who continued crawling towards them while warped hissing left the confines of their blood soaked mouths. Their end only came when the two penetrated their heads, upon which their bodies wrapped in dark, ragged robes shattered like diamonds.


    ¡°We¡¯ll finish them off here. Hurry inside!¡± Nawfal said while two more cloaked figures crawled forth from the mosaic floor that spread across the square. ¡°Aim for their heads!¡± Augermil shouted after his blade effortlessly cut horizontally through one of the cloaked figures head who then immediately burst into thousands of shattered, transparent gems.


    Four figures hoped to stop the unstoppable, each met their similar demise by careful, well-aimed strikes while Augermil also kept his distance from them upon their bodies exploding. The small diamonds, strange gems even proved sturdy enough to scrape his decorated, richly made segmented armors¡¯ plates. Even the silken with perfectly smooth surface ¨C without a single crease appearing on it as he moved gracefully, gallantly ¨C got torn by the flying pieces.


    After the last of them fell, he stood by at the door only for a moment that felt like an eternity to him as he mustered his strength. He did not underestimate his brother, but seeing a battle unfold on the streets of the capital filled him with doubt for the first time in thousands of years. Then at last, he pushed the door with so much might it almost fell out from its place, and the few nearby gasped in terror, but calmed down upon witnessing his darkly radiant form.


    Before he could speak though, the words stopped witnessing the crowd at the center. With fatherly worry, he cut through the crowd that remained eerily calm contrary to what events unfolded outside the boundaries of the temple, and even within as he noticed fresh corpses on the ground wearing the same dark ragged garments. Relief followed when his eyes focused on Aurelithae with a calm expression standing in front of the last assailant within, with Terianis behind her, watching with calm anger in his eyes.


    **


    Aurelithae stood there only for a moment, yet she felt it as if an eternity passed by. A calm expression rested upon her enchanting visage even as myriad different gazes pierced her at the center. Even the Illius¡¯s light now focused itself onto her small, frail form embroidered in the finest of silks produced through arkhaine means.


    While from the outside she seemed calm, even collected, on the inside she was in turmoil with herself. One part of her searched for a way to grant mercy to Ivor, to find a reason that outweighs his sins against her family, her father. The other part knew there were no way, no word that could reason with her father, the sins committed by Ivor were too heavy, the only thing she could do was to grant a swift and painless death to Ivor, whose visage was tainted by madness.


    ¡°Let me help little one.¡± The disembodied voice she heard a few years ago echoed within her mind once more, and time truly froze around her.  She felt the cold touch of invisible hands upon her arms and legs. Within a moment, she found herself in front of Ivor who seemed to not focus on her, but look beyond. As she touched his forehead with her thumb, she felt the unexpected smoothness of it.


    As she looked at him from close distance, she noticed how much more refined he looked compared to the day before. Almost enchanting unfit for a human as she took in every detail of his face starting from his eyes that now had a more almond shape, his nose appeared more symmetrical compared to before, the cracks on his lips were no more. And his pupils carried a tingent of gold that seemed familiar to her.


    ¡°Do not weep for him. In death he shall reborn in a more majestic form.¡± The voice now sounded directly from her right, and carried the stench of graves. She felt the cold nekrotic matter course through her arkhaine veins, her mind unconsciously molded the proper inscriptions she had no prior knowledge of while also combined them with the minor aspect of flame.


    She watched in calm horror as Ivor¡¯s body lit up in dark golden flames, his eyes melted and rotted at the same time while his blackened tooth fell out one by one while the eerie flames still clung to them. Even her tears evaporated, the mist dissipated as she watched Ivor¡¯s charred body collapse into a pile of dark, glistening ash.


    Beyond the final mark of Ivor¡¯s existence, she glared into Augermil¡¯s worried eyes and strangely found them calming as a storm began its rage in her heart and mind.

 Side Story: The Forgotten

    18<sup>th</sup> of Theneruo, 1155<sup>th</sup> of the First Age.


    In distant, deepened unhallowed halls He sat alone, His large desiccated eyes of the deepest black stared aimless as he dreamt awake. Each dream He lingering His mind were the very same set in a war-torn field bereft of life and warmth of the seasons of nurture.


    Bushes dried and gray, trees collapsing as the ravages of time gnawed at their once proud forms, the grass, foliage withered and pale as a corpse while the ground oozed with the stench of life¡¯s finality. And there was only He and Her. A beauty of aldraelhyn blood with epidermis white as the softest snow of His once homeland devoured by the will of His cruel king.


    Her face mesmerizing, adorned with a melodious expression of deep sadness as dark tears of blood flowed down Her chiseled cheeks. Hair darker than the empty night sky contrasting Her snow white skin, long and tousled as each collection of strands danced on their own as the wind gently blew.


    Yet as the more He stared at Her, the more He felt angrier, sadder as if the dagger piercing Her heart was plunged into his instead. He watched as life faded from Her, each night with increasing length. Once it was no longer than a few seconds, now it felt an eternity.


    And each time He awoke from the day dream, He felt ever more reduced. No longer could He recall His own name, His purpose, His punishment metered out by Himself. The thought dreaded Him each day and night yet in the end He continued on His accursed existence.


    Each day He stood from the slab of gloomy basalt column collapsed into the center of the spacious bedroom right beside the bed He felt no need for. Many times He wondered why He placed the bed but in the end no answer came and with a shrug continued on with His days.


    Each morning He commenced the day with long stroll in the silent halls fit for only one person. His mind wondered if He built it with loneliness in mind, knowing only the spiders sewing silently in the shadows would be His company for the eternity ahead.


    Yet in each room of this vast maze were bones telling otherwise, bones laid in their hewn beds covered by cold, stiff blankets with strange runes carved onto them. On certain days He wondered whether one of these was Her, yet He gave up on remembering as He could no longer recall even His own name.


    His long wandering always came to the same end, a bedroom He many times thought to be once His own room as He felt a strange calling to this spacious room cramped with towering, decaying shelves with legions of books. Some with hardened backs contained eerie runes, crude drawings of bodies bereft of garments like His own layered pieces revealing parts of His dry and rugged skin akin to centuries old parchment.


    Page after page, His bulging empty eyes flipped through each tome of esoteric knowledge penned so that even He could understand the contents. He knew these were parts of a spell to raise the dead, and He felt familiarity with each carefully drawn rune and piece of macabre artwork. Have I written it because of Her? He wondered each day and night.


    And like each and every day and night, He closed the tome and reached for the next. While half far from the entrance were of tomes of the same kind, the others contained tales of heroes filling His resting heart with a childish admiration, a book detailing receipts which felt strange to His mind and often He hovered His right hand growing elongated finger over His caved in abdomen.


    And the last section closest to the entrance contained tales penned down by those whose beds filled the other rooms, detailing long-forgotten tales about a lonely monarch and his silent entourage wandering the long-dead worlds to visit those in their hour finality to listen to their tales while escorting them on their final road.


    Will this monarch and his entourage come to me? He pondered each day and night, yet He felt no desire but dread at the thought as if He had still left some long-forgotten, most important matter to attend to.


    Was I not alone? The question rang in His head as the careful tremors bereft of steps vibrated through the dusty floor, quivered His slender desiccated form. From His seating He slowly rose and dusted off the end of His dark robes with an uneven hem.


    He turned and the two broken horns looping around His head like a crown scraped the edges of the doorway as He hastily exited the room, leaving the book of ancient tales on the empty open stony bed. Not long before, the source of the steps showed itself, a young man clad in leathery armor with a skirt of many straps.


    A terrified look on his face sword clutched in his right and shield in the left. His mouth opened and the young man¡¯s quivered mouth opened into a silent scream which trembled His body with coldness. Gloomy, dim nekrotic matter danced around his withered arm, gently wrapped his clawed fingers as it assembled into a ring in front of his vein decorated husk of a palm. A dart formed in its center within seconds, and flung towards the heart of the young man.


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    The young man raised his shield while backing away with fear mumbling empty words. In a lonely piece of bone, his footing failed and his smaller form hit the floor and dart flew by his head, graying his richly brown hair then disappeared in the yearning darkness occupying the endless hallway. A second followed the first and this time the young man frozen in fear, bawling tears fell motionless onto his back.


    He looked at the fresh corpse amongst the rest devoured already by time itself. The first thing He expected from Himself was disgust or guilt maybe both but instead He felt only joy, thrilled at the thought of extinguishing a life, releasing them from the accursed state of seemingly endless life.


    In the end this warm sensation thrilling Him came to an end, and wonder followed as He pondered where the young man came from. He felt the gentle breeze of warm air tickle His desiccated cheeks, wrinkle His robes and decided to follow the path without preparing His mind for the long trail ahead.


    Many turns and twists laid ahead, absent of the grim d¨¦cor laid all over whence He came and lived for the past encounterable years, decades, centuries or maybe eons. At the stairs seemingly endless with radiant whiteness at the end, the air turned warmer, cleaner carrying a floral scent He forgot about so long ago.


    With slow, yet careless steps He climbed the steps counting each as if those were the years He spent in the small section of His self-imposed prison. At the top, a hands-made aperture of crude proportions awaited, leading to a world beyond which He forgot, and which forgot Him.


    Through the crack He cautiously climbed through and found Himself in a small room decorated with strange statues of figures akin to Her. Sharp features, long ears with sharpened tips, gently contoured, carved eyes, long hair frozen in the chaotic yet also orderly state of waves and in armor segmented and with angularly geometrical curves.


    Each of the four statues looked inwards, each staring at the stone-hewn beds with rigid sheets pulled over them as they slept in eternity. Yet He felt the faint whispers, pleads for help as the sheets served as their shackles confining them into dampened, cold spaces.


    With His right hand raised, the sheets fell and mimics of the statues rose from the beds, tired expressions on their visages as they rose and silently thanked their savior while inquiring on His next set of wishes waiting to be fulfilled.


    At that moment, He only wished to see what laid beyond the forgotten cage and the small group wandered out to be welcomed by an ever colorful foliage of dozens of vibrant and warm colors. He stared at the picturesque surrounding, an illusory tear flowing down His desiccated cheeks while looking at the new, obedient entourage.


    Even His desiccated form could enjoy the soft caress of the colorful foliage as he strode across the vast field surrounding the small and dim structure leading down to His forgotten home. Beyond the field, a vast forest of just as many colors surrounded and offered cold and soft shadows from the harsh rays of the blinding Illius hovering high in the infinite sky.


    As they traversed the seemingly endless forest the light faded then returned many times while life avoided the group spewing suffocating miasma, fading the vibrant forest. As they passed strode along the foliage covered road, wonder filled His mind with myriad thoughts.


    What awaited Him beyond this natural border, will there be others wishing to join their entourage, should he had awoken the young man who met his end and one which teemed His silent heart with dread, why was He confined there.


    After two more cycles of darkening they arrived at elevating structure of fifteen or more wooden stakes closely forced together into an unnatural union at the top of a cautiously rising slope, He felt the sleeping heart wakening once more as He spotted Her standing in front of the arched structure.


    And She was not alone, four at least stood alongside Her including another of the same pale-white epidermis, a long well-kept mane of contrasting shade of the tinge of the great Beyond promised to all. A merkin on the other side of myriad oceanic shades, glinting scales and expanding and collapsing slits numbering six while also clutching a stave of peculiar design.


    Behind them a vampyr hiding under many layers of dark brownish garments and carefully segmented and curved armor, a plant-folk of androgynous looks dressed in amber shaded garments holding no weapon yet oozing with a menacing aura. Lastly a tall northern man whose brutish face was riddled with scars, his long fair blonde hair let out and unruly, his arms exposed and adorned with runes overflowing with marhaikos energies granting him power beyond his natural limits.


    Yet none of them mattered to Him, only her, or at least whom He thought led to the confinement of uncountable ages imposed by Himself onto Himself. Or was it Himself who acted as judge for a sin only the formless beings could remember. It did not matter.


    His withered legs moved forward, His slender dried up arms raised forward while in His lipless eternally grinning mouth the rows of teeth clashed onto each other in repeated cycles as He wished to utter Her name, yet He could no longer remember.


    Is that truly you? He wished to convey but His voice long been faded by the time He reached her and found not the one who crumbled into dust, but saddened Moirstyria who vanished in the blink of an eye and pierced through her sword His once more sleeping heart as the emptiness began to spread anew.


    Once more He stood at the center of the dead plains, looking at Her trying to learn where He went wrong, what was the sin which brought Him into the arms of oblivion. Yet no answer left Her soft lips as the desiccated skin and muscle began to crumble away around the blade.


    As His arms and legs fell down, dissipated in the wind and relief settled on His horrid visage while the four members of His new entourage followed Him into the dark path where the pale maiden in black awaited with a teary eye and an aching heart.


    ¡°May your dreams be undisturbed.¡± Moirstyria uttered as she was hit with the force of the pain coursing into her, tears streaming down her scaled pale cheeks as the Djinn nekromancer finally faded away in the warm, gentle air.

 Chapter 37: Lurking Shadows I.

    On the early morning of the 28<sup>th</sup> of Obritnaum, 1259<sup>th</sup> of the First Age, Aurelithae¡¯s smooth eyelids quivered as the light shone in from the window of her room. She slowly raised from the silken embrace of her sheets and stretched her limbs contentedly towards the frescoed ceiling while her bright, prismatic eyes with slit pupils opened. Her refreshing delight shattered the moment her sight sharpened and for a moment she noticed the haunting figure of Ivor standing in the soft shadows opposite of her bed.


    Even with half his charred cranium exposed, she could make out the madness that still lingered over his tormented spirit. His eyes gleamed with malice and joy at the same time as his gaze pierced through the maturing Aurelithae who was frozen in place. His maw decorated by the blackened teeth slowly opened and a wail of the wind emitted from it, paralyzing her whole body.


    At the sounds of footsteps the cramped muscles in her neck loosened and she turned her attention at the opening door, swiftly masking the dread that occupied her face. ¡°Morning my Lady!¡± Lit by the light of Illius, Akaerith greeted her with a motherly smile that perfectly fit her enchanting pale visage framed by gracious tresses of her red hair. Aurelithae¡¯s perfectly fair lips curled into a relieved smile and she felt the numbness fade from her limbs.


    ¡°Morning Akaerith!¡± Aurelithae said with her slightly deeper, but still silken voice as she rotated elegantly out from the confines of her sheets, her feet immediately reached the soft carpet spreading far at the side of her bed. As she straightened her upper body, her silken ashen red hair unraveled behind her back and as Akaerith reached her to start combing it, she noticed how close her cleavage was to her now.


    ¡°Have you slept well my Lady?¡± Akaerith¡¯s voice brought her out from the slight stupor induced by the minor realization. For a moment she hesitated to answer as her dreams repeated itself since the incident at the temple for the past half a year. ¡°Yes. It was a delightful night. How was yours?¡±


    Akaerith stopped for a moment and turned her eyes in slight surprise at Aurelithae. ¡°Yes, I had a good night too.¡± Then she continued combing Aurelithae silken tousled hair, with each gentle push down, strands straightened and their gleam amplified as mana poured from the teeth of the ornated comb.


    ¡°Have you met with him?¡± The sudden question froze Aurelithae as she inspected the white as snow blemishes on her perfectly fair skin. ¡°Yes, but only early on before we got separated by some force.¡± Aurelithae hesitated for a moment with a pensive look, then answered while staring out the window towards the north.


    ¡°Did you ask where he is?¡± Akaerith stopped the combing and asked when she felt satisfied with the result.


    ¡°I know he is from the north, but I don¡¯t wish to pry any further. He will mention it if he feels like it.¡± Aurelithae said with an imperious tone. ¡°I still believe you should mention it to His Highness. There is a divine reason for the two of you meeting in the land of Oneiro.¡±


    Aurelithae heaved a sigh while her eyes gleamed with solemnity. ¡°I will, but for now Father has enough on his belt.¡±


    Akaerith walked regally towards the cabinet and Aurelithae followed after. The nievhen maid tapped her chin with a pondering look as her eyes went through the myriad dresses inside all still in the shape fitted for a smaller Aurelithae. Then her eyes finally stopped on an ebon black toga with embossed with intricate designs of dancing dragons.


    Without saying a word, Aurelithae took of her night garments and spread her arms out. The silvery white hands of Akaerith engulfed in a soft arkhaine aura that proceeded into the dress. Within seconds the regally dark toga grew to match her current size and within a span of a moment, it fitted right onto her delicate form.


    ¡°Have a nice day my dear lady!¡± She slowly danced around in the window and with her mood elevated slightly by her own beauty, Akaerith bowed lightly to her before she left to start her day.


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    **


    Isocrates leaned against the smooth wall of a towering building ¨C a small shop where a retired aevhen veneficiar worked, mostly selling scrolls and grimoires he found during his service ¨C with his hand held out with a coin hovering above it, rotating around. While his eyes focused on the coin, he watched the patrolling members of the 1<sup>st</sup> Legion. Inscriptions slithered around the arkhaine point located in what was adjacent to his brain burning the layout of the street and the points where the legionariir stopped or turned.


    It was not the most exciting task given to him by Naghig but at least it helped alleviate his mind. It has been six months since he last saw Luelia and no matter how much he tried to pry Naghig, he only received the same answer. ¡°She has her own tasks to do.¡± A rather unsatisfactory answer each time that rubbed him the wrong way.


    He suddenly stopped when the third patrol made their turn and let the coin fall into his hand that curled up before it even reached his palm. ¡°Thanks.¡± As the door opened a man with tousled long hair, an eyeless visage with pinkish translucent skin with an obsidian collar around his neck ¨C a vampyr saervun ¨C handed him a stack of scrolls.


    With slow steps he followed after them as usual, the flowing inscription within his mind now spread towards the other five arkhaine points lessening his presence. His lips trembled as tickling joy overwhelmed him.


    While following after them he also swiftly chipped off from the inscriptions and rewrote them to supply the ones extending his sight. Following the events unfolding the temple, a curfew upheld by the 1<sup>st</sup> Legion and the Inquistoriir of the Temple was ordered by Emperor Terrianis himself. For this reason the streets were much busier during the days as many folk scoured to get their necessities as many could not rely on their significant others to visit the markets on the way back home.


    Only those who were not fit anymore for menial tasks remained home, be it because of a severe injury, or because they were in their twilight years. Though these folk now cast vigilant gazes upon the streets and through their family members, reported to the inquisitiir which was the reason Isocrates dusted off his old academical uniform.


    The other reason ¨C which also made him worried for Luelia ¨C was that after the attack the New Dawn was the primary suspect for it. With the recent attacks on the inquisitoriir¡¯s headquarters, the many assassination of high ranking custodiir, it was a natural conclusion that the attack, the assassination attempt was made by them too. That was something he accepted annoyingly.


    He suddenly stopped at a kiosk maintained by a haggardly old man with milky eyes, wintry gray tousled hair and myriad wrinkles. His garments on the other hand seemed gaudy for an elderly merchant dealing with scrolls containing spells of every day usage, like animating cleaning utensils or conjuring water paired with guiding.


    A smile trembled onto his face and he spoke with a kindly tone while his eyes looked past beyond Isocrates. ¡°Hope he did not scare you boy.¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t the first vampyr I met.¡± He said kindly as while the elderly man reached out and opened his palm with faded nails way grown without care. ¡°Is he inside?¡± Then he asked in a low tone while he still followed the two golden armored legionariir reach the end of their patrol.


    The two stopped at a towering building that stood vacant the last Isocrates remembered. But with the recent events the 1<sup>st</sup> Legion ¨C that was stationed on the isles ¨C took the building and renovated the inside while setting up a check point.


    The elderly man meanwhile caressed the leather scrolls and smiled before he answered. ¡°Yes, he is waiting for you. He is rather impatient so hurry.¡± Isocrates heeded his words and bowed quickly before he entered the house to the right.


    **


    The sun-drenched cobblestones streets of the lower levels pulsed with vibrant life even while legionariir patrolled amongst the busy crowd, inquisitoriir and veneficiir hovered above like specters of distant past. At every twenty meters Speakers'' amplified voice broke through the crowd''s noise, promising gold and lavish food for all those with any information on the New Dawn.


    At one such place, a towering figure of hulking mass stood out draped in refined gray garments. Under the hood an eerily handsome visage plastered with curving thin lips bathed in soft shadows parted by the warm light of the Illius.


    His round eyes gleamed with wicked bliss as his attention wandered above, following the imperial magusos. As his lips parted in a maddened smile, golden teeth shined and a silent laughter followed as all those around him noticed as his cheeks parted revealing glistening sinew of fusion of flesh and rare gems. The crowd dispersed in panic while their protectors hurried both on the ground and in the sky.


    Yet they proved too slow as his body erupted in flames of dark golden that spread and consumed without care. In their wake, nothing remained, just charred images burnt eternally into the ground. A grim reminder to all, change was coming.

 Chapter 38: Lurking Shadows II.

    ¡°How could you not see it coming?¡± Nawfal asked the meek looking young veneficiar draped in crimson robes with golden plates over it. ¡°It happened suddenly sir! We just noticed a figure grow gradually in size and then¡­¡± At the sigh of Nawfal he went silent. The senior dragon praetoriar massaged his temple than turned around as the segmented hem of his tunica started flailing towards the imperial magus.


    He placed his right hand over his eyes as he noticed the familiar dragon with pristine, glistening white scales with horns and sharp feathers of prismatic shade descend down at the ground. A large leather saddle with golden ornaments at the center of its hulking body and on top of it the hulking draevhen figure of Augermil oozing with solemnity, majesty.


    The scorched ground still bearing the tortured silhouettes of the unfortunates trembled twice. Once because of the weight of the dragon pushed onto it. The second time ¨C a heavier tremble ¨C as Augermil leapt off from the saddle.


    Nawfal watched and waited for his old friend. He knew no matter what, Augermil went and gently patted the large, elongated avian like head of the dragon adorned with horns resembling the antlers of stags, just much, much thicker and smoother when it came to its surface while the tips emanated an arkhaine mist of prismatic hue.


    Then at long last, their hands joint together in a sturdy shake at their forearms. ¡°What is the situation?¡± Augermil asked his friend while the young aevhen veneficiar watched from behind and bowed to the towering figure that bathed it in gentle shadows.


    ¡°Just calm down boy. Take deep breaths.¡± When the aevhen veneficiar opened his mouth to speak, words do came out, but they were jumbled together as excitement and anxiety fused within the heart of the magus. As he inhaled and exhaled back and forth for the next several moments, Augermil sighed while Nawfal ignored the boy and headed past him while his slit pupils lit up in an arkhaine aura. ¡°Just write it down.¡±


    As the boy nodded in agreement, Augermil walked past him noticing the pensive expression on his friends face. ¡°Noticed anything?¡± Nawfal shook his head as he crossed his arms. ¡°It was definitely the work of an infaerni.¡± He answered in a low tone as crowd gathered around held back only by the guards and by the low roar of Augermil¡¯s winged mount that now rested atop a building.


    When the channeling mana inside his eyes turned into proper inscription allowing for seeing the unseen, he immediately noticed what made his old friend frown. Dark smoke lingered emitting an ethereal smell that burned their spiritual and physical noses at the same time as soon as the spell activated and spread across his noble visage.


    ¡°Any idea which way the suspect may have come from?¡± Augermil looked around while asking. ¡°According to a few survivors who noticed the figure and found him strange, he came from the harbor and headed north.¡± Hearing those words Augermil tapped his silken beard covered chin while pondering.


    ¡°Noticed anything?¡± Nawfal¡¯s eyebrow arched as he noticed the sudden light of realization lit up in Augermil¡¯s eyes. The tall, elderly Draennith Praetoriar tilted his head towards his mount scaring birds away spewing prismatic flames at them. Its long neck swiveled down at him then took off towards the harbor. ¡°Come, let¡¯s check something out.¡±


    Without saying a word Nawfal followed after him with calm, but hurried steps. When the two arrived at the crowd, it parted like waves at the order of a powerful magus, and the two headed straight towards their destination. ¡°What?¡± Halfway through Augermil stopped as he noticed a tall figure in dark robes, a hood over their head where darkness nested itself while a crimson stole with eerie, unfamiliar runes embroidered into its matte fabric ran around the hood and flowed down His shoulders.


    Yet the figure disappeared when Augermil turned his attention and for a few moments searched for the Him, before he gave up. ¡°Nothing ¨C just my imagination.¡±


    **


    ¡°I ask you my brothers and sisters! Should we truly live while looking over our shoulders, restricting the freedom of our children?¡± A man of the trauscian tribe with sharp, angular face and an imperious voice to go with it shouted from the top of his lungs. His clothes well-kept and had a silken look to them, yet on closer look one could see that it was just an imitation made through weak transmutation where the magus relied on nothing but vague concepts.


    He stood on a sturdy crate at the center of the forum ¨C one of the many within the capital where the citizens can voice their ailments, their hardships in hope it reaches the ears of the upper echelons.


    ¡°Nay!¡± The crowd yelled in unison, their voices reached far beyond the walls of the building, leaking into the streets where the guards sighed while feeling anxious themselves. Just like the citizens, they were used to an enemy that showed its face, not relied on underhanded tactics.


    ¡°Do we truly believe those who looked out for us would threaten our lives, the lives of our children, their friends and their families? Or is it a wicked scheme of those living in luxury, seeking thrill in the suffering of us?¡± The man continued and even the few custodiir who stood inside and listened with tired expression now set their attention on him and yelled with the crowd.


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    Unaware of a small, hunched down figure slithering into the crowd like a sly serpent. His voice seemingly weak, a thin smile on his face. As the man continued riling up the crowd, veins appeared on the figure¡¯s androgynous face, crystals popped forth from his body and glistening golden and silver blood poured while a wickedly radiant fire raged within the crystalline formations.


    By the time they realized what had happened, the flames reached with an overwhelming force, breaking the foundations of the forum apart amidst a thunderous howl, the screams of the passerby folks. Ash rose from its place, an ash that sought its way into the people and with a silken embrace, smothered them slowly.


    **


    ¡°Another attack?¡± Isocrates whispered the question to Naghig, his grasp around the ear of his keg tightened while Naghig remained calm, focused on the small object held in his right hand. In the other a sharpened knife which easily cut through the marble like piece.


    He glared at his disturbed reflection in the keg while various thoughts coursed through his mind. Worries about his family, what if they become another target for the attacks. Thoughts that this shall be blamed on them, making it even less likely that he may see Luelia who was with Mirayroth he learned just before the news.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried?¡± Then he turned and asked Naghig who calmly continued slowly slicing off parts of the sleek obsidian, in which he saw an unfamiliar feminine form. ¡°Why should we be worried?¡± Naghig asked with an uninterested tone.


    Anger welled up within Isocrates and he gulped down a hefty amount of his mead. ¡°Because it will be a matter of time before they sent down a hail fire upon us.¡±


    Naghig ignored him, placed his thumb onto the blade and it began to wobble, retract further into the hilt then when he released it, continuing sharpening details on the feminine figure still missing its face. Then he stopped and sighed. ¡°If you¡¯re so worried about that, go down and ask around the docks.¡±


    Isocrates raised one eyebrow. ¡°So you do care?¡± Naghig positioned the knife with its sharp tip pointed at what will become a head and started carving the lines of the hair out, slowly adding up to the mound beneath. ¡°I am like the Emperor. I simply wish to know everything that goes on in the capital.¡± Isocrates watched as Naghig finished sculpting the long, cascading hair. He pressed his index finger onto it, and the dark marble gained an ashen red shade.


    **


    Aurelithae¡¯s feet rhythmically beat against the mosaiced floor, her sharpened claws tapped against the table¡¯s glassy wooden surface, cold sweat born of focused spellcasting flowed naturally down on her scaled face as the fuzzy, longing sensation remained. Her frail, clawed hand clutched the metallic cusp filled to the brim with gloomy, silken beverage with a bitter taste which puckered her face wrinkle free.


    The verdant leaves of the trees rustled by the gentle, cold breeze, the lush canopies shaded the vibrantly shaded grass, and the dozen maidens clad in sleek angularly segmented silver plates with wine silken, high collared tunics beneath them ¨C each more mesmerizing than the other.


    Her attention wandered from one enchanting aevhen face to another, then as the longing faded at last, Aurelithae turned to her teacher. ¡°May I ask something?¡± Magistraira Prisceirith arched her thinly drawn, richly hued brown brow before a warm smile ornated her enchanting face. ¡°Of course your majesty!¡±


    For a moment she closed her eyes, and recalled that dream and her body shivered in small part because of the outlandish form of the Umvraoth, but mostly as she watched the reality of Oneiron bend into itself, the warped, sonorous scream emitted by the horror born of the Almodo¡¯s infinite mind.  The cold emptiness that seeped into her body, and which occupied the innocent face of Sigiwaer, draining his gaze of all emotion.


    ¡°Are there aspects of Maghia which can drain us instead of creating this urge, this ecstasy?¡± She then finally asked while staring at her shivering hands after she put down her cusp.


    Prisceirith tapped her chin with a pensive look, her swirling azure eyes stared at the sky where lone particles of the Illius swam towards the glooming peaks of Dhaugruz. ¡°Drain us like that? Haven¡¯t heard or read about any aspect that would have such vampiric tendencies. Even the vile aspect of Infaerni and Umvraoth instill the longing while also damaging, tainting our psyche.¡±


    Then she turned her attention to Aurelithae. ¡°May I ask why this question surfaced into your Majesty¡¯s head?¡±


    ¡°Just a strange dream I had months ago that gnawed at me. I¡¯m not sure how this question came to be, but I remember waking up feeling a gaping emptiness that shivered my body.¡± As she was mulling on the question for months now, on how to inquire either Prisceirith or Terrianis, Aurelithae answered without hesitation.


    ¡°No memory at all of the dream or about this strange aspect?¡± Prisceirith asked immediately which abashed Aurelithae a little. ¡°The aspect itself. I remember walking around in a seemingly endless forest where the trees were made of pure essence.¡±


    ¡°I see. Could be that it was simply an after effect of the dream. Maybe you met with one of the Deossos who wished to remain unknown before you, or maybe it was the Almodo. The few who allegedly witnessed Him regaled of experiencing a similar feeling of emptiness.¡±


    When Aurelithae heard that she felt relieved for a moment, yet the darkness which occupied one of Sigiwaer¡¯s eyes still chilled her being. In all the depictions and associations hammered into her, not one had darkness associated with the Almodo except when it came to the Umvraoths, Infaerni and the Aydvroeghs ¨C a wicked triumvirate of myriad beings.


    Though before the two could continue, Albron appeared in the distance drawing both of their attention onto his gallant, towering form clad in his dark armor golden, draconic ornaments. The segmented plates which rested upon his broad shoulder and massive arms effortlessly moved, defying the stiffness of common metals.

 Chapter 39: Lurking Shadows III.

    Isocrates stood at the edge of the pier like a statue frozen in time as his eyes wandered over the western bank. The lowest district besides being the home of the lower echelons of the capital, the mines and warehouses was also the home to the vast port where many merchant ships from the northern cities and from the continent travel through while also loading off on goods and all kinds of folks wishing to start their life in the largest city on the capital island and heart of the Empire.


    Simple country kin who seek to establish a business connecting to their villages instead of plowing the earth endlessly there. Or desiring to gain their glories in the continent after listening on the myriad tales their elderlies regaled before the serene, song-like call of the Lady of Dreams ¨C a minor deos serving under the Great Weaver. Of course not all of them were accepted in to the ranks of the Imperial Legion or in other cases got disillusioned with reality and sought glories in other ways.


    One such were those heading into the capital to become adventurers, those who seek out the still pristine ruins of the islands, home to long-lost artifacts, baubles and treasures beyond one¡¯s wildest dreams. While also being the home of wandering monsters who often grew to become dangers to the locals. Even in the heart of the Empire where the 1<sup>st</sup> Legion who fought against the undying legions of the Grimm Sovereign, monsters and wicked cults speaking in forbidden tongues remained under the guise of shadows, bidding their time to deliver the wishes of their vile masters.


    When and before Isocrates attended the academy for the common folk of the capital, he too had aspirations to one day be a veneficiar of the 1<sup>st</sup> Legion after his father, grandfather told of him of the elder tales of great battles fought between the living and the walking dead and other monstrosities born through the final change that awaited all. Which faded with his time and his desires to bring change, to make life better for his little brother in the capital who still toiled in the very mines he glared at when he arrived to the lowest level.


    These desires deepened within him when he met with Luelia once more after she disappeared from his life for many years. A young aevhen who charmed him the first time they met in this very same port as she casually called out to him in the crowd and sought his knowledge of the city and its people ¨C which he knew very little but at that moment he filled her with small lies.


    Though now he knew she was not honest with him at all as he later realized how a foreign would know about the New Dawn movement. At first, he theorized that maybe the New Dawn spread beyond the isle, maybe they were operating in the colonial cities of Vhalleryon too. But later this theory got shattered to pieces when he joined and learned that they were pretty much condensed into the capital, with maybe a few cells that operated outside its mountainous borders in the other towns.


    The other revelation that happened half a year ago when she and Naghig rescued a merchant family with close ties to the movement came to him. Thanks to his studies ¨C and latent arkhaine talent ¨C he sensed the faint mana residue dancing around Luelia¡¯s frail, delicate form that he only managed to pass after a decade.


    He was certain she hid her real face behind a veil of inscriptions, which made him come to the conclusion as he stood on the edge of the pier, waiting that she must be the child of some patriciar or someone who clearly studied maghia way before he even was a thought in the mind of his parents. Though that was a revelation he was well aware of even when they met.


    A part of him wanted to question her as when these thought danced around in his head, the venomous feeling of betrayal spread within him and tainted his mood for weeks. Though at the moment, he was glad she once again disappeared as he was sure that if they met during those days, he would have said something he would regret eternally.


    In the end he realized ¨C hoped even ¨C if and when the time comes, she will reveal the truth to him. He also concluded that she must be hiding her identity for a good reason and not out of some wicked plot concocted by her and her family as her actions, for the most part benefitted the people of the capital to a lesser extent.


    ¡°He¡¯s ready to meet with you.¡± The combination of his deep thoughts and the serene clash of the glistening azure waters below led to him jumping around as the emotionless voice reached his ears.


    Facing him was an enchanting young man with an androgynous face of the same age as him. His delicate skin, features seemed to be a fusion of flesh and wood, his hair a combination of leaves and foliage of a gleaming orange golden hue. Eyes with drawn-out curves following an almond shape design, brimming with a deep maple hue. Lips appeared soft, yet there were signs of wrinkles on them similar to the ones Isocrates seen on trunks of trees. His body showed similar lines, veins running across his exposed chest on the right.


    ¡°Thank you!¡± As he regained his composure, Isocrates lightly bowed and followed after the Pholoiac ¨C a folk who were uplifted from once carnivorous fauna by the Nurturing Mother, one of the major deossos. Isocrates calmly followed after him while keeping his gaze on his back, taking in the gracious movements the fauna-folk made as he led him into one of the larger shops facing them.


    ¡°He is at the back.¡± Then he stopped as he watched the pholoiac stand to the side while the aging deep oaken door creaked open in front of them. His slight obsession with him broke as he noticed his slim fingers that resembled strangely curving twigs still attached to a withering tree. With a second bow he thanked the pholoiac once more then before he would have entered the interior lit in warm light of firestones, he stopped as the two of them got engulfed in shadows for a short moment.


    As he looked up, he stared at the belly of a dragon with magnificent prismatic hues and quickly recognized it from the metal ornaments fitted onto its muscled legs and arms that it belonged to the famed Draennith Praetoriir. ¡°Hurry, others too search around the docks.¡± With that the door closed behind him after he finally broke free from the momentary stupor induced by his wonder of the majestic beast of the skies, and entered.


    Inside he stood frozen in place as the stench of rotten fish, fauna native beneath the waters ¨C specifically the ocean separating them from Vhalleryon. As he looked around, he noticed numerous baubles clearly bought from the underwater kingdom of the Haebriath Ocean occupying the western part of Elhyrissian.


    His eyes mostly locked onto the curving spheres, pearls of bright yet deep shades of blue, orange and even mauve with strange glyphs graved into their reflective surfaces. As his gaze moved on from the baubles, he also noticed even stranger goods looked strange adjacent to the pearls. A wheel that clearly belonged to a ship with hard edges, clearly signaling that it once belonged to a sea faring vessel of the Empire, ancient plates of armor he saw during his studies drawn excellently into their coursebooks.


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    What led to the strange expression on his face born from the confusion that ailed his mind at the moment were the strange fetishes of some eerie dark stones depicting figures straight out from nightmares. A partly white statue that he thought for a moment to be marble depicting an eerily handsome figure that he could not identify as male or female with half their lower body turning into wriggling masses of snails with raging maws beset with razor sharp teeth.


    Another a mound of eyes glued together, each with detailed pupils of myriad kinds wandering in all directions which he thought for a moment may depicted an unknown servant of Septurrion himself as he found the Deos of Seeking Fate and Hoarder of Knowledge to be quite weird in his appearances himself. But the more he looked at the small statue, the more an uncanny, unknowable fear gnawed its way into him.


    And the last one stood out just like everything in the shop. A statue the size of his arm, hewn from a golden stone with an exceptional luster that did not hurt his eye ¨C opposite to that ¨C it practically caressed his eyes, instilling a sensation akin to being well-rested after a long day.


    The statue itself resembled an aevhen figure of unparalleled beauty ¨C which for a moment made him think it was maybe a depiction of Terrianis himself ¨C yet the figure bore no scales on his body, instead celestial wings of enormous size grew from his back and these seemingly were made of a white marble like stone that paired well with the golden that made up the rest of his body and the skirt that covered his lower body.


    ¡°Ah excuse me, I forgot to cover those fetishes.¡± Isocrates jolted at the dry voice of the elderly haebrian whose once deep blue skin now lost its shimmer, his seaweed like beard that covered most of his face including the wide mouth and thick lips that coiled into a strange, yet kind smile.


    ¡°Who are these?¡± Isocrates asked with a tired tone as a strange longing took him over, forcing him to divert his gaze once more onto the eerily beautiful fetish.


    ¡°Not sure. Those two stranger ones¡± The elderly haebrians¡¯ bulging, watery eyes focused on the collection of eyes and the strange amalgam of an androgynous figure with snail like appendages below their torso. ¡°According to some old friends who brought them years ago, they belonged to kin of mine living in the darkest depths of the ocean, where they allegedly listen to the whispers of some outlandish realm beyond any we know of.¡±


    Then his gaze moved towards the golden one, but instead of looking directly at it, he stared above it. ¡°That wicked one, at first, I thought it may have belonged to a forgotten cult of the minor deos of beauty, but it has a wickedly captivating presence.¡± For a moment he went silent and seemingly wrestled with an urge that ailed Isocrates too.


    ¡°If not for Dyfed I may not be alive.¡± He added at the end with a dry chuckle at which Isocrates gulped as he now forced all his muscles away from the fetish.


    ¡°But those aren¡¯t why you came here. Come I made some tea.¡± He gestured towards the back and the two walked behind the counter and entered the door to the left. Even as they climbed the stairs, Isocrates felt the urge to turn around and stare at the golden fetish.


    The urge faded when he stepped in after the haebrian merchant into a small, but cozy room lit only by the firestones ¨C small rocks with an enchanted crystal of amber hue and look containing gentle flames ¨C which rough surfaces had deep pulsing wounds emitting a homely light and warmth. His gaze once again wandered around the room, noting the shelves filled with small figures carved from crystalline stones he used to fish out from the river.


    ¡°Come sit. It needs sometime to be good.¡± He watched the clawed hands meekly hold a thin wooden stick with the wet, stone-like nails scraping it as the haebrian stirred the steaming tea emitting a mixed scent of bitterness and sweetness that swiftly permeated the room.


    Isocrates sat down in the aging old wooden chair and started tapping his finger tips on his leg. ¡°Could you tell me the location of an old temple beneath the port?¡± As he spoke those words, the haebrian stopped and remained stoically still like some statue before he turned around with a pensive look.


    ¡°Did he tell you about it?¡± Isocrates lightly nodded his head. ¡°I guess he suspects someone took up shop down there. But I wouldn¡¯t be so certain of that.¡±


    Isocrates tilted his head towards the right with a questioning look. ¡°Why? Did the Magistratorum sealed the place off?¡±


    The elderly haebrian shook his head and let out a sigh. ¡°It was the Emperor and his elderly brother, the so-called Blade of the Empire that sealed that place off after they cleared it out of a cult that was taken over by some wicked spirit centuries ago.¡±


    ¡°Where was this place?¡± As he felt he already wasted some time, Isocrates dampened his curiosity and voiced his first question.


    Yet the haebrian ignored it and stared at one of the closed windows looking out at the adjacent building. ¡°Trust me boy, that place wasn¡¯t just sealed, but they placed powerful spells over it that only the two of them could handle.¡± Suddenly he went back to normal and grabbed the two cups with serrated surfaces resembling walls of seashells.


    Isocrates thanked him and sipped into the tea that calmed his slight nervousness. ¡°Was it so bad?¡± He nodded his head while too taking a sip from the boiling hot tea, ignoring the scorching of his thin lips. ¡°It was. After they locked the spirit in a pandorium box, they harnessed parts of its essence, forming it into a strong curse. Many other cults tried to take up shop there, but they were all driven insane within hours ¨C I remember when I was your age boy, the screams that reached from the deep below, even through the layers of earth, the layers of concrete and marble. It was a harrowing night.¡± Isocrates gulped as he heard those words and a thought that Naghig may have been wrong planted itself in his thoughts.


    ¡°But if you truly wish to know where the entrance is¡­¡± He went silent and once again stared out the same window.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you see anyone exit from there?¡± The haebrian shook his head then said. ¡°No, I spend most of my days in the shop. These old bones now got too used to the dryland. You should ask Dyfed, he spends much more time in the docks.¡± Isocrates thanked him then remained for a bit more, listening to the old tales of the once mariner in the naval force of the Empire.


    **


    Aurelithae closed the azure grimoire with a deep sigh. Light filtered through the window in a fusion of amber, mauve and crimson beckoning the coming of night and dinner. Yet her hunger only remained for knowledge ¨C knowledge of what wicked spells were inscribed to those who terrorized the streets of the Luth-Astaril and ways to track such spells.


    The chair rose under her feet per her command and rotated until she could easily stand onto her feet. A bubble floated towards her and a soft tendril pierced through her soft, gleaming temple and arkhaine glow coursed through it before it detached and headed back to its previous position above the towering shelves beset with myriad shaded grimoires, books on the history of the Empire and its prominent folk.


    As she walked out from the narrow section between two shelves, she glimpsed a pale figure in flowing robes with dark corners, edges glide by without making any sound. Her head swiftly turned into the direction the figure floated by, yet she found no sign of the ghastly figure. Yet the urge remained to head in that direction, an urge she could not resist.


    With slow, careful steps she approached where she glimpsed the figure and instinctively turned, expecting the haunting visage she saw half a year ago to glare into her being. But there was no sign of the gaunt, androgynous face to be seen, just a table with a heavy grimoire resting atop.


    Her hands ran through the hard, leathery cover and noticed that unlike every other book or grimoire, this one lacked any glyph, rune or letter that would indicate who wrote it or what contents lied between its thousands of pages. When she opened it, eerily strange glyphs of sharp curves, engraved with force onto the page stared back at her, and as her gleaming prismatic eyes ran over them, they seemingly had a shadow of their own.


    The minute Akaerith called out to her, she hid the grimoire behind one of the bookshelves and memorized the window with the mosaiced form of the Gray Monarch crafted onto it by experienced hands. Then she gracefully headed towards her Royal-Attendant while shadows hardened behind her footsteps.

 Chapter 40: Lurking Shadows IV.

    ¡°So the seal had been broken.¡± The two elderly dragon praetoriir stood facing the obsidian hewn door with a sinister mural carved out on its rough, insidious surface. Above them, elaborate webs sewn by clever spiders decorated the corners of the ceiling, the stout beams that straightened above their heads ¨C only a meter or two above ¨C with perfectly calculated distances between each of the four.


    Augermil remained silent as his piercing prismatic pearls looked ominously at the thick, stone door that awfully showed no signs of the cursed runes Terrianis seeded into them centuries ago. His muscle-bound, hulking form quivered for a moment as he recalled the day the two stood the corpse littered cellar, how the dead moaned with a gravelly, warped voice as his younger brother woven their wicked essence into the curse itself before locking the Infaerni into the pandornium box.


    Pandornium boxes back then were a relatively new invention of his brother himself who always enjoyed tinkering, studying the ways of maghia and all that was related to it. A small box, usually coated in golden dye, all six sides engraved with runes of increasing levels of four imprisoning glyphs, and two warding against those who would seek to release the tenants within.


    In that case, it also meant the imprisonment of all the souls who were entwined in the tendrils of the infaerni who prayed on their longing, on their desires to found likeminded souls which led to their cursed fate in the end where they became one and the same, or at least they were under the illusion of it according to Terrianis. An illusion that bordered on a horrifying reality where even though they shared all senses, they were still alone in a wicked sense of irony.


    Couldn¡¯t you at least free them? He asked Terrianis ¨C who in his eyes even today was the greatest magus who ever walked the face of Elhyrissian. Yet a silent rejection was his only answer as he listened on their pleas, all he could do was to curl up his fist in a quiet anger and feel shame for doubting the morals of his own blood for centuries to come while behaving and living to the oath he swore both to him and their father more than a millennia ago.


    ¡°Augermil, should we proceed or report?¡± Nawfal brought him out from the bitter memory and as he turned his head at him, his somber gaze turned to indifference. ¡°Let¡¯s head inside. The place maybe is waste, but not as tangled as the labyrinthine corridors of Ainos.¡±


    Nawfal heaved a sigh as he stared past his old friend and locked eyes with the enervated, monstrous weeping face hewn close almost to the top frame, hovering above slender, crude figures reaching towards it, a depiction awfully similar to how worshippers of the Dawn Father appear on the paintings of famed artists. ¡°Sometimes I¡¯m unsure if you truly lived for thousands of years my friend. At least before we enter the belly of the beast, lets inform Albron.¡±


    ¡°Naturally.¡± Augermil forced a mischievous smile on his scar ornated handsome, angular visage before he turned back to the door that changed his life for the first time in thousands of years. As Nawfal walked out talking into the air, he felt a cold wind blew past the closed door, a wind that felt nostalgic in an insidious way.


    **


    With each step down the stairs, with each creak his steps produced on the aging wood, the urge to just leave gnawed at Isocrates¡¯s conscious. He cursed his own curiosity, his own desire to solve this whole problem to clear the name of the New Dawn and to be able to meet with Luelia. Yet in the end his desire for heroics smothered the fear that kept the hair on his neck up.


    He kept his gaze on the shadow nested cellar of the old building of rotting, dry wood that stood adjacent to the haebrian merchant¡¯s equally weird shop. The collar of his tunic rustled as cold wind passed through him and strangely left towards the door not far from the stairs. For a short while he remained still in the cold shadows, and in the end, he expanded the range of his detection.


    He relied heavily on this spell ever since it was thought to him by his former teacher in the academy. It saved his life at least twice so far. Once when he and three other students ventured into a country side ruin where a hulking minotaur took up residence and the once when some ruffian tried to kidnap him when headed home from one of his late studies from the capital¡¯s ancient library. Yet now the spell did not pick up any signs of other souls so he decided to conjure a sphere of light that parted the shadows as he stood in the center of the cellar.


    A cellar that was still filled with webbed, old crates filled with dusty bottles of dark liquid that was most likely wine as Isocrates concluded to himself. Yet while the crates were in horrendous state, the beams that coursed above his head with perfectly calculated distances between each of them appeared to be clean, softly gleamed as the white light fell onto their smoothened surface.


    Even the ceiling appeared to be pristine clean, while the doors leading to the western and eastern section were covered in heavy, silvery webs. The only doorway that remained open was where the wind that carried neither warmth nor cold, sweetness of land nor the bitterness of the deep blew ever so strongly. The only thing it carried were strange whispers or singing that beckoned Isocrates with sweet promises of glory and fame.


    ¡°What in the Nine Abysses.¡± Isocrates whispered as he peeked inside the room where the strange wind grew in strength, yet when he faced the gaping darkness that was the obsidian-hewn door left open by Augermil and Nawfal ¨C the wind suddenly stopped rumpling his hair, wrinkling his clothes while still carrying strange dust towards the stairs and the door on the ground floor.


    As he gazed into the darkness, hearing the clanking of metallic footsteps in the far distance of the cavernous throat ¨C Isocrates heaved a deep sigh, cracked his fingers. For a mere moment he wanted to run away, but in the end, he pushed the chilling fear away and walked calmly forward.


    **


    The vast system of cavernous corridors ran straight under the streets, gradually deepening as it evaded connection with the mines in the side of the western mountainside. The road itself was shrouded in soft darkness, to which Isocrates¡¯s eyes quickly adjusted to as he tiptoed across the wide, gloomy stalactite walls.


    While he followed the echoing footsteps of Augermil and Nawfal, his mind pondered whether these tunnels were folk-made or were hollowed out by the distant cousins of vampyrs ¨C large worms that live beneath the cold earth that also serves as their food source. At least that was his first guess as the wind now carried a mildly rotten stench that reminded him of the time, he opened up the belly of a worm-like monster during an alchemical class.


    Yet in the end ¨C and after what felt like an hour of walking ¨C he concluded that it must have been folk-built as the stench turned ever more intense until he walked into its source. A tall orkh in ragged dark greyish robes that were torn vertically like his chest from which his greyish intestines fell out, forming a disgusting mound on his lap.


    A few more corpses in similar clothing littered the cavernous corridor, each clearly killed by the sharp end of a blade that belonged to the two Draennith Praetoriir. Isocrates pinched his nose and once again the thought of turning back sprouted in his mind.


    As he gazed upon the corpses ¨C with even more in the distance ¨C he realized that by the time he would catch up with the two would have cleared out the place. The other thing that just popped into his mind was would they think he was one of these lunatics? Yet in the end, he continued on while forming a lie in his mind, even pouring a small amount of his mana into his feet to hurry up.


    **


    ¡°Was that the last of them?¡± Nawfal asked as he swoop his blade to the left. Water poured out from his glistening ebony palm and quickly twisted around his short blade, sapping the blood into itself and then falling off onto the murky floor drenched in the blood of the cultists.


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    Augermil fidgeted his blade stuck in the ceiling ¨C and an aevhen woman whose rouge pinkish blood tainted his face. ¡°Besides the one following us? I think these were the last.¡± At last he managed to dislodge it with a swift and calculated move while the blade vertically sliced open the cadaver of the aevhen.


    The two gradually faded into the dark surrounding, and stood still like the ancient statues erected for the ancient heroes at the Tsiiprida Strait where they slain one of the four terrifying charybdisos. Isocrates continued his way down into the belly of the cave, unaware that he had been long discovered by the two. Which he realized the moment Nawfal¡¯s blade threatened to slice open his throat.


    ¡°Who are you boy?¡± He asked in a threatening manner as soon as Isocrates¡¯s hands reached the elevation of his head. ¡°Aeson sir, a student from the commoners¡¯ academy.¡± He answered without hesitation while still somewhat shaking and praying within to the nine deossos and the Almodo for the two to believe his lie.


    ¡°And what does a student of the commoner¡¯s academy doing down here, a place forgotten even by the Sightless Scribe.¡± Augermil asked in a much calmer tone as his surveyed Isocrates from top to bottom.


    He heaved a deep sigh, closed his shivering eyes then opened them suddenly with now burning conviction. ¡°A desire to restore the peace, to smother the threat which may rob me of my loved ones if I don¡¯t act Sir! Loved ones who work anxiously in the mines, in the streets that once knew the peace of the Empire.¡± Augermil¡¯s gleaming, almost perfect lips formed a smile on his face.


    ¡°Then fear not young Aeson, the pilferers of your peace lay down at your feet.¡± Augermil stated proudly then stopped as they heard distant footsteps approaching them slowly, even methodically. A tall, delicate figure clad in a sleek robe of golden slinked out from the shadows, his visage hidden under a large hood that invited the darkness under itself. Along the silken smooth surface, insidious glyphs and symbols were embroidered, glowing faintly with a wicked iridescent hue which captured the gaze of Isocrates.


    The figure suddenly stopped and pulled down their hood revealing a face of celestial beauty which were built with a combination of milk smooth skin, piercing slit eyes of vibrant silver hue, luxuriant dark mauve hair that fell down onto his shoulders gracefully, a face of exceptional features which were perfectly aligned. Even his claws that poked into his silken hood appeared to be made of richly hued, expensive gems often found on the accessories of patricii and governmental officials.


    Isocrates could not have diverted his gaze from the figure that was a shining star in the darkness that surrounded them if not for Nawfal who stood in his way. ¡°Do not look at his eyes boy. Daemurnus of the pride are one of the most dangerous for the inexperienced.¡± As he heard the word, Isocrates recoiled in fear as he recognized the creature in front of them the moment a name was attached to it.


    Yet as quickly as fear took hold in him, restraining his body completely ¨C he found himself astounded when in the next moment he heard a short grunt and the sound of crystal hitting the ground, shattering to thousands of pieces. ¡°And here I stood, deprived of the glory of sending these cursed daemon back to the brim river of Phlaighathon.¡±


    ¡°Another reason to live a long life then my friend. Boy, are you fine?¡± Augermil walked close and stared over Nawfal¡¯s head easily. ¡°Yes, sir!¡± Isocrates said mustering his strength not to bite his tongue as the last of his fear faded away.


    Augermil turned back and glimpsed at him appraisingly. ¡°Young Aeson, I hope you excel in the ways of maghia.¡± Isocrates answered at first with a light nod. ¡°I excel in the conjuration of thunder and flame while also capable of the more mundane spells the two of you probably excel even more than me.¡±


    Augermil¡¯s sharp brow arched as he stared down at Isocrates than voiced the question that surfaced in his mind. ¡°Tell me young Aeson, what is your occupation, what is your true aspiration?¡±


    For a few moments palpable silence settled between the three of them, and Isocrates gulped as he thought up an answer that may satisfy the hulking draevhen knight. ¡°Currently I earn my bread as courier between esteemed magusos of the capital who retired from the legions of the continent, hoping that with their recommendation I may be able to serve the Empire and spread its peace where evil shadows lurk.¡±


    He heaved a sigh noticing the stiff expression of both praetoriir change in a smile then a hearty laughter. ¡°As ages pass, youths¡¯ thirst for glory remains ever firmly.¡± Augermil said as he looked nostalgically at Nawfal who looked a bit awkward before he coughed twice. ¡°May I remind the two of you where we stand?¡± Augermil straightened his posture then looked pensive for a moment as he stared at the mound of glistening dust that was the daemur moments ago.


    ¡°He is right. Then young Aeson, stay between us and pray no such thing remains in this dark belly of the world.¡± Without interjection, Nawfal remained behind Isocrates as the trio trailed further into the dark.


    **


    The three of them arrived at the singular large hall at the end of the cavernous corridor directly under the mines. While Nawfal and Isocrates experienced a walk straight forward, Augermil knew and saw through the ancient spells which distorted the reality of the hidden lair under the abandoned shop. Spells which chilled the two to the bone, though at the time they had no clue on the source of their mild dread.


    Nawfal himself simply attributed it to the remnants of the curse imbued into the gloomy walls by Terrianis himself while Isocrates explained it to be the after effects of the strange fetishes he saw in the shop. Then when they stepped in, he changed his mind and thought the source came from the what lied in the center of this lair.


    On the sides, rugged sheets were laid out, clearly used not too long ago while at the center, a jagged platform rose out from the ground, a pedestal of weird, ethereal stone and craftmanship stood upon it with. Its square top empty, yet the dust only formed around the edges with the clear outline of a large tome left behind.


    In front of it, a haggard aevhen sat on the edge of the platform, spreading his legs towards the three while his back leaned against the pedestal. He turned his tired, dreamy gaze on Augermil who raised his shield and sword in preparation, the corners of his cracked, dark lips weakly bent up as he greeted the group. ¡°Welcome lost lambs.¡±


    As they looked at him, they all mistook him for the darker, exiled northern kin as his once perfectly fair and smooth skin turned into black and rough, adorned with cracks found on hastily puzzled together porcelain vases. Contrasting that, his haggard, broken form was draped in bright golden, expensive looking clerical robes with a hood which shrouded his damaged face adorned with empty, dark eyes in soft shadows with a tint of golden.


    His head pushed gently against the pedestal rough surface and chuckled. ¡°A legendary knight, a soon-to-be general who hoards victory after victory, and a failed father and lover. What an honor it is.¡± At those words, Augermil became a mirage which loomed over him, the tip of his blade pressed against his throat, still fear avoided him.


    ¡°Answer me with honesty and your life will come to a quick and painless end, and receive a fair judgement of my Solemn Lady.¡± Augermil stated the dark eyes pierced through his hulking form, Nawfal made small steps around the elevation, and Isocrates cracked his fingers while his anima veins crackled. ¡°Where is the Heavenly Father and who do you serve?¡±


    The empty joy came to sudden halt as he stared back at Augermil and as the moments passed by, the elderly praetoriar thought him to be dead. ¡°He is nowhere, reborning into his new form before the new dawn shines upon the promised land.¡±


    Mild anger scorched Augermil from within as he listened to the words laced with madness, reflected in the glassy dark eyes. For a moment he almost yelled, but kept his cool and spoke once more in a calm, measured tone he learned from his once eldest brother. ¡°Do not feed me with your madness. Speak the truth and you shall be judged accordingly.¡±


    ¡°I shall be judged in his Grace, in his court eternal, unceasing before I ascend to continue the great work Fear not the change metered upon us, it will absolve you of the sins you committed against existence.¡± Nawfal eyes wandered aimlessly as he circled around, then stopped on the ceiling.


    Augermil grasped his fist and foolishly put his sword away while mulling on how to trail through the madness walling around the truth which floated in the mind of the cultists. Nawfal suddenly turned as Augermil¡¯s massive armored form flew against the wall and arrived in a thunderous cacophony of metallic clanking and the breaking of stone. Yet there was no need to draw his blade, as the cultist laid dead not long before he stood on his frail legs, smoke rose from his chest, his robes and damaged flesh sizzled as the vile stench of his burnt cadaver glared emptily at his killer, the panting and sweating Isocrates whose hand raised and still crackled with the fury of thunder.


    ¡°A shame for me, a proof for you.¡± Augermil said as he grabbed Nawfal¡¯s hand as he stood up in a series of cracks that slithered down his back. Isocrates remained wordless and he pushed back the charging bile seeking its freedom from the confines of his body.


    ¡°Just breathe in boy. The first is always the worst.¡± He collapsed down to the ground and took the advice of Nawfal. The two praetoriir walked to the corpse and looked at it silently, then they followed his empty gaze onto the ceiling, engraved with a broken spiral dancing into itself.

 Side Story: On The Eve of Dreams

    Cold winds blew the jagged walls of the cyclopean seaside cliff as night descended on sixteenth day of Mhorombar in the 1057<sup>th</sup> year of the First Age. The kind people of Arteia slowly headed into the protective confines of their homes as old Pervica sat at the window, watching the last of the village guard make their round in the vibrant meadows bathed in the silvery light of the Luniorh.


    Her withered ears listened as the waves battered against the walls, washing the unfortunate denizens of the sea swimming too close to the shore. The roars reminisced her off her childhood when her father taught her the tale of Arteia ¨C the namesake of their seaside settlement ¨C whom battled a beast of finality on the plateau overlooking the vast kingdom of her divine father.


    A battle which lasted three cycles of the Illius and Luniorh, in which the once vibrant foliage grayed and rotted away, and the daughter of the King of the Three Oceans met her valiant end. Her statue still adored the center of the settlement, proudly standing over the nightmarish sculpture of the beast, an amalgamation ripped from the demented mind and fearful heart of mortal kindred.


    Pervica herself learned much later after the passing of his father that she herself may have descended from Arteia herself who had many lovers through her century long life, though even if she was the divine blood flowing in their veins had long since faded into the sea of oblivion many included her once dreaded.


    Though as the years passed, gifting her with joy and sadness equally, she learned to live with the loss of her family¡¯s gift and now sitting alone in the shadowy confines of her home once filled with the laughter of her children, the disciplinary yells of hers and her late husband, she felt relieved a little that the hour of meeting them once more was not too far away.


    With a smile she stared at her reflection in the mirror her late husband brought from the capital of the prosperous Empire, a smile curved onto her face garnished with myriads of wrinkles. Her once lush hair receded and lost its refined luster, her once fair olive toned skin smooth as an aevhe¡¯s lost a bit of its fade, her bright lively eyes appeared tired yet she could still not feel the call of the eternal dream.


    As she bathed in the light, watching as tendrils grew and parted ways in the fathomless abyss above, her still sharp ears became aware to the faint and soft creaking of the floor of the spacious interior. She only had to turn a little to know her guest dressed in a nether-like dress exposing her long pale arms beset with nails of sublime matter of pitch blackness.


    Under the wail, she could barely make out the blurred pale face with a plump dark lip of divine luster, eyes expressing sadness and joy. Pervica smiled weakly and exhaled as she closed her eyes and began recounting memories still lingering in her mind on this calm night.


    **


    Approximately 130 years ago, little Pervica accompanied his kind father ¨C a tall lean man with tousled dark hair ¨C to the shores near the cliffs in the season of The Great Gifter. The clear skies, the warm air, the gentle crashing of waves still lingered in her elderly mind along with the coarse, wet sand caressing the bottom of her feet.


    Enamored little Pervica stared into the distance with her deeply emerald fulgent eyes while the air snapped at her hair with great force. Even the basket on her back, strapped to her back rustled as the rage of the winds increased as a warning to stay away from the shores.


    But as the settlement relied upon the foolishly brave inhabitants of the sea, the group of settlers ventured towards the waves letting the water envelop even their knees. Pervica chuckled as the water and seaweeds tickled her legs and feet while her plain white garments turned soggy and wet.


    Watching them from the earthly steps were the guardians of the settlement, enlisted proud members of the 9<sup>th</sup> Legion comprised of the proud founder races of the great empire encompassing the world of Elhyrissian except for the accursed basin of Dhaugruz. Their segmented brass armor glinted in a radiant glow as the blessed light of the Illius braced upon their smooth, geometrically stiff pieces.


    Amongst the guard of the settlement, one drew her attention, a young fair toned changed man older than her only by five years called Phereclus. One who towered over the others while having a body ripped with muscles, no helmet over his head while bony, saw-toothed protuberances sprouted from his thick dark mane while his deep azure eyes had bestial contours to them. Yet all this did not take away from his allure, at least when it came to Pervica.


    Yet this idyllic moment of hers came to an end. At the time she was confused for a moment as she watched the guards unsheathe their weapons, rush towards her yet she could not hear their cries as the mood of the waves worsened.


    But the answer to their sudden change came in a horrific form when his father¡¯s last cries reached her ears. When she turned to face him, the terrifying image of a bipedal fish of dark glinting scales and a grotesque visage impaling his father¡¯s chest entered her vision.


    She was frozen with fear as the wicked Deep One looked at her, the hunched creatures grin revealing his sharpened teeth easily breaking through flesh and bone after it pulled closer his father to himself and gorged on his neck, blood and torn flesh tainting the once azure waters.


    When she tried to escape to the shore, tendrils of wicked azure wrapped her legs, slithered above pushing her arms to her sides while dragging her further from the safety of the shore. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she cried for help which came finally in the form of Phereclus¡¯s hardened iron arms the size of fallen logs.


    With ease, he brought her to safety while bearing the rage of the Deep One magus accompanying the other hunters. His patience wearing thin, he reflexively hurled his spear into the creature¡¯s distorted fish head with the spear breaking through the darkened skin and flesh like a knife which pierced through envelope.


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    On the shore, she turned and buried her face into the cold metal plates, her words stifled by the terror and sorrow lingering in her heart while his hardened hands patting her head brotherly brought little comfort at the time.


    Even now that moment felt like an eternity as she listened to the raging waves hitting against the sandy shores, the distorted cries of the Deep Ones still lingering in her mind, though now she could at least look at the waters and tremble not anymore.


    **


    Twenty years onto that after the harrowing events which led to the blossoming care into a requited love. Yet it was not like anything she imagined as youthful girl of the seaside settlement.


    Many nights were spent in heated passion of the two, then it was counteracted by the cold worry when he was called upon duty against the threats gnawing at the foundations of a united world of peace and prosperity. He gave her two seeds which bore life of their two beautiful children bearing small horns which one day sprouted into horns sturdy and magnificent as their fathers¡¯.


    The eldest was named Cyneas who from a young age dreamed to follow in the deep footsteps of his father, the second Simmias who born with a curiosity to explore the vast distances of the seas as if his great-great grandfather called out to him through the cyclical waves. And later a third was blessed with the essence of life and mind named Ione after her own mother who kept watch over her after the untimely passing of his father.


    But before life found a way, proud Phereclus was called away when a horde of savage natives ¨C as they tended to refer to themselves ¨C amassed around the city of Pyrgos towering high into the infinite sky with the aim of bringing it down. Her heart ached for many nights, and as tears flowed down her cheeks brave Cyneas thought up what if they followed after him.


    And so they done with the next caravan which visited their small sea side settlement. Pain of carrying another life within her body paired not too well with the rocking of the cart as they traversed on the hidden road in the Paenivurh Forest.


    Emerald green foliage all around her appeared in her mind often as she stared emptily, leaves of the trees transparent as the Illius¡¯s light shone through them. Fear gripped her heart each time as avian and draconic beasts of the skies flew over, often with a barbarian rider atop their necks or spines.


    Each time she whispered gratitude to the Eight and the One for shrouding them, yet her prayers went silent as one day close to their destination, the earth began to tremble. Thick vines of wicked kind broke through, bursting with a bestial roar forming a war-like cacophony in tandem with the shrieks of the lupine mounts.


    Her arms tightly embraced Cyneas and Simmias sitting in the cart with her while the sounds of battle raged beyond the veiled confines of the cart. Yet her fears manifested once a lone Changed-Folk with half a body of a spriggan¡¯s stepped into the cart.


    Through the decades Phereclus weren¡¯t just a protective mate, but one who imprinted knowledge enough to protect oneself. While the initial shock made her curl over her children, she quickly turned around ready to face the grinning changed-folk.


    Her mind raced through the few spells taught to her until it fell on one of fire nature. Runes appeared on her bulging womb, mana channeled within her body and soul, and even from her unborn daughter empowering the simple spell which flew from her palm as it swirled into a blurry mess.


    One last chuckle came from the changed-folk as its pride brought its downfall as he believed too deeply in his mutated blood¡¯s protection. In a blink of an eye, his chuckle turned to bloody shrieks as he fell out from the cart, onto the dirt ground while the flames gnawed at his bark and flash like a hungry pack of wolves until only a charred cadaver remained.


    Pervica panted slowly, sweat flowed down her smooth olive toned skin while her soul trembled with ecstatic thrill of a freezing body washed over with warm water, wanting more.


    **


    Thirty years later, the thunderous roar of fireballs exploding in the Nukrenia River near their sea side settlement awakened this memory, once more awakening the primal craving within her being. She exhaled deeply, smothering the thrilling craving while she continued braiding the silken brown hair of her little dear daughter.


    The roars that came thrice in number did not fill her with the dread of that day, the uncertainty of life coming to an end, to not see her beloved anymore and the regret of bringing her children along. The source of these roars came from Phereclus and Cyneas who proved to be a quick learner, a natural magus with greatness ahead of him.


    Sulfurous stench filled the air of the colorful meadows around the bank for a short moment before the winds carried them away. Phereclus and Cyneas stood still as they breathed deeply in an almost meditative stance as they quenched the same craving that ailed her the moment the savage met his end.


    Her gaze for a moment wandered to the bank of the river littered with the corpses of half-burnt fishes whose smell quickly spread towards them, even awakened hunger within them prompting her to give in to the thrilling craving which still ailed her.


    With three deep breaths she raised her arm and the dozens of small corpses rose into the air and flew carefully towards them. Her dear ones watched amazed followed by their claps as they gathered by the kind order of their father, her dear late husband.


    Momentary worry gripped her heart as they began snacking on the cleaned corpses, little dear Iona asked her father to teach her to will flames into reality. Seeing her worried expression, Phereclus offered to teach her once she reached the same age as her brother.


    This simple idyllic moment imprinted itself into her mind for the rest of her life. Even as life slipped from her body, the moment they all sat amongst the colorful foliage of the meadows frozen in eternity, yet they all began to fade slowly.


    First Phereclus bid her goodbye, promising to wait for her in the gray-walled city governed by Mhorsotas. Cyneus followed as his greatness proved to be a short-lived one after the spear of wild revenant brought his demise in the cold and cruel north.


    Simmias slid away as his fate remained shrouded to her last day, though decades later her hope faded as she knew the sea can be just as cruel as it was often gentle to those traversing it.


    Iona remained only as the gentle girl grew into a beautiful woman tending to her even as she slowly faded away through the decades. She stayed by her side through all these decades, tending to her needs, replacing her in the fields, though just like his brother, Iona herself harbored ambition waiting to be commenced.


    Though for this reason she wished to beg Obryllia, the exhaustion accumulated through centuries stifled her words, took the light from her eyes as she blankly stared into the shadows where the Solemn Shepherd stood, a single tear flowing down her pale cheeks.

 Chapter 41: Vindictive Shadows I.

    Brightly inundate light of the Illius bathed the whole training grounds of the Radiant Keep as the hovering fortress slowly rotated it in place on the high noon of the 26<sup>th</sup> of Mhorombar, the closing season of the year.


    In the wide and white marble ground''s north western corner Aurelithae stood patiently, her posture straightened, her fingers curled back and forth, emitting soft cracks while her naked feet graced the soft, blindingly white marble floor of the elevated platform. Facing her a strange figure of liquid substance in the vague shape of a tall aevhe with little to few features except for the sharply drawn eyes, a chiseled, slim nose and the ears which spread to west and east.


    ¡°Ready?¡± At the silken voice of Prisceirith, she tensed up and her mind started racing.


    Her answer came in the form of her fixated head tilting up and down in a short series of nods. Then transparent, hexagonal shaped arkhaine objects thinner than her soft, silken garbs of vibrant azure and mauve shades appeared around her tall body as sharp, liquid spears braced against them and exploded with a sound similar to rocks thrown high up into a river.


    In the next moment, the golem conjured by Prisceirith trampled toward her, its arms twisted softly until they resembled a large shield and a spear. The floor cracked then repaired itself with the same speed as the golem leapt high in the air and from its chest, spheres which quickly froze bombarded the arkhaine shield surrounding Aurelithae.


    As the Golem approached her from the sky, her eyes diverted for only a short moment then when it reached down, its hardened spear arm planted into the ground where Aurelithae stood moments ago. Spheres of swirling flames of radiant golden breached against its back, white smoke and steam with a tint of golden rose where the spheres exploded yet little damaged appeared on the Golem¡¯s body that swiftly turned around in a graceful, small leap.


    It walked slowly towards Aurelithae, shield held over its upper body and on its featureless surface, several myriads of needles protruded and interjected the incoming spheres of golden flames. She raised her left foot and mildly slammed against the marble floor which shook as earthly and azure colored energies spread like a drop impacting the surface of a lake.


    The Golem¡¯s form wobbled strangely while a perfectly round marble plateau elevated high right under its feet. Aurelithae held out her hands ¨C palms facing the sky ¨C and swung them upwards in a graceful gesture while her voluminous ashen red hair tousled all over as the wind picked up and with a mind of its own, sent the Golem even higher.


    Her right hand with palm stretched out, finger locked together stared at the falling Golem that flailed around like a confused children thrown overly high. She felt the heat condense itself, first gently licking her hand before turning into a scorching pain as the golden flames formed out of nothingness and took the shape of a dragon¡¯s head which flew towards the Golem, chuckling silently all through the way.


    The Golem evaporated in the jagged, swirling confines of the jaw and not long after that, the laughing dragon head exploded violently and fell like the fallen particles of the Illius. Aurelithae¡¯s rosy lips trembled as she wrestled with the ecstatic sensation which tickled her whole being while pride filled the moment she was showered in the hailstorm of claps.


    Surrounding the training platform ¨C besides Priscairith ¨C seven maidens of exceptional beauty clad in elaborate, silver segmented plate dresses of a deep silvery shade, with an angularly oval neck from which their gleaming, smooth tunics shaded in the same hues as their hair, rose up to their finely drawn jawlines, standing with the same discipline they showed while watching the bout between their sworn Liege and her mindless opponent.


    ¡°Well done Your Majesty! Soon you shall be able to take down one with even less steps.¡± A proud smile adorned Prisceirith carefully contoured visage adorned with perfectly aligned eyes, nose and thin, gleaming rouge lips. Then she clapped once more and a table set with a steaming pot and two goblets appeared.


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    Aurelithae bowed respectfully as she voiced her gratitude to her teacher and then gracefully hurried to the table and waited as the pot rose to the air and poured its own contents into the goblets.


    Her matured, smooth skinned hands touched the surface ornated with nonagonal shape with a curled up featureless divine child in its center. The golden corners beset with deep engravings grazed her soft lips as small amount of the bitter, deep aquamarine liquid marched into her mouth and down her throat. The liquid calmed her raging arkhaine points crying out for more, tenderly wrapped around her anima veins and soothed their sizzling rage.


    A sigh escaped her and once more her thoughts could focus on things other than the ceaseless desire to force her will upon the world. As she stared at Prisceirith, the teacher noticed the mild anxiety within her student and asked in a gentle, motherly tone.


    Aurelithae diverted her attention towards the north and pondered to stall with a lie or to finally tell about her dreams to other than Akaerith, the one who was always caressed her sweating head when she grew too bold and cast magic from east to west. Who was there when she cried for her mother who left the world when she gave life for the umpteenth time.


    She first started by telling Prisceirith about the first strange dream in which she met with the meek, shy little boy Sigiwaer. A boy she knew immediately from his clothes belonged to the lower class and from the thickness and the disheveled fur on the collars and cuffs deducted he was from the North. Though she left out of her own fear manifesting as she gazed into his single eye made from the pure darkness of the empty night sky.


    Hearing the description, Prisceirith nodded silently as she came to the conclusion while also pondered on whether this was the work of the Weaver of Fates or the Almodo Himself yet in both cases the reason alluded her, or at least the closest answer lied at the threat that rested in the belly of Dhaugruz, bidding his time.


    Continuing on, Aurelithae told her as time went on, she learned the boy had a natural gift of seeing the unseen floating in the world which allows them to form spells into reality, and that their shared dream changed from a haunting forest of ethereal trees into a historical event where Terrianis and Augermil scored a victory against the savages of Vhalleryon.


    For a short moment, she stopped pondering once more whether to lie or to tell the truth but, in the end, she realized there was no way to tell her how she inquired about the unfamiliar aspect of maghia two months ago. Prisceiriths¡¯ eyes opened wide as she heard the Umvraoth manifesting and attacking none other than Aurelithae herself.


    Aurelithae watched and waited for reprimanding, for not telling either her or Terrianis first about these dreams but in the end Prisceirith remained silent waiting for the words that will explain what happened, and what she expected led to the question about the unfamiliar aspect of maghia.


    And they did come with hesitation as Aurelithae recalled that moment in the land of Oneiron, remembered that otherworldly coldness which deprived all sensation, and which planted a sinister calmness onto Sigiwaer¡¯s innocent face. Even for a short moment, she heard the wind carry the warped, melodic scream of the Umvraoth as its whole being was seemingly torn apart bit by bit.


    ¡°Should I speak of the dreams to Father?¡± At the end, she turned her diverted attention onto Prisceirith who said the words she fully expected yet knew not why she did not act upon them by herself years ago.


    ¡°I am no mother of yours, or no motherly attendant ¨C but I do wonder why would you ask that of me my dear student.¡± Hearing those words hurt so much that the remnants of her previous pride vaporized within the blink of an eye.


    ¡°I would like to say because I see you in the same light as Akaerith, as someone I could rely on present and the day, I ascend Father¡¯s place. Maybe my question should have been directed differently and at Brother Anguraa.¡± She looked at herself like she was some fool for withholding such an information for a few years, yet she also felt as if a spell lifted from her mind and she began to thought what may have been the intent of those who connected her and Sigiwaer.


    Her body shivered mildly as the thought of maybe it was for a reason, she now dreamt of her Father¡¯s past she knew little of, and what she knew were from the text of strangers. What if the Weaver of Fates or the Almodo himself distrusted her family, her father? What if they desired the two to be finding their path without the touch of the Empire and its ruling family? These thoughts circled, rotated within her mind as she was taking little sips from her goblet which could not soothe her mind.


    Yet even amidst these treacherous thoughts, she came to the conclusion. ¡°Yes, I will inform Father by the end of this day.¡± To which Prisceirith nodded her head like a disciplined dog.

 Chapter 42: Vindictive Shadows II.

    The ground softly shook under the heavy weight of Augermil as he marshalled through the maze like streets of the western plateau. His gaze focused up and down, shifting between the pristine white pavement under his long and angular greaves, and the hundreds of heads belonging to good folk of Luth-Astaril. Even as he was deep in thought, he felt the gazes of the onlookers and passerby folks, but paid little to no mind to them as he headed for his next destination.


    The past two months since cleansing the cursed lair of the cult, he had been hunting for the remaining cells who still cast their dreadful shadow over the peaks of the mountainous capital. When he gazed at the distorted parody of his kin¡¯s corpse, he still had a na?ve hope that with their death, folk could once more stride the streets without the fear of becoming a grizzled victim of this unknown enemy. Yet when he returned, and reported to Terrianis reality slapped him in the face with a mild force as not long after that, several more attacks unfolded, killing hundreds.


    Though they still managed to at least capture a few as First Legion started to live up to their name, as the ones who brought peace and prosperity to the pan-continent of Vhalleryon which stretched far beyond the eye of even Terrianis. Most of those who were captured were the attackers ready to unleash Tartarussian spells of various kinds. These prisoners proved to be weaker against the Mindwalking techniques of the Empire, compared to those who aided the strange, tall figure who took the Heavenly Monarch years ago.


    With the arkhaine aid of the Magistratorium¡¯s inquisitoriir, they swiftly penetrated the layers of mental blockage put up and found out that the lair the three of them ventured down to was just one located on the lowest district of the city and they had set up at least four more across the city. At this point, the only safe haven in the capital was the Radiant Keep. Even the headquarters of the Draennith Praetoriir sitting atop the western peak proved to be within their range, though Anguraa and Albron both thought it was highly unlikely that it would be attacked.


    Augermil thought the same as for now, the attacks were only aimed at the general populace which planted the seeds of mistrust pointed against the upper echelons, the patricii, the wealthy merchants, and the legatiir. On the other hand, these people accused the New Dawn for being responsible and even the inquisitoriir now believed this and actively hunted for those associated with the movement. He himself thought that while the New Dawn may one day pose a threat against his brother, his family one day, the ones behind it were clearly associated with the Shadow his brother was wary of.


    They also learned from these prisoners that they were common folk who lived in the slums of the lower district where they were taken by strangers who shrouded themselves in dark garments enchanted with high grade inscriptions which made it impossible even for the inquisitoriir to learn their identity. Others were travelers, adventurers of Vhalleryon, who were thought to be dead either attacked by savages on the road back or in the forgotten ruins of the great war.


    Amidst these thoughts, Augermil finally arrived to his destination, the guild house belonging to the Laenas family, an upcoming merchant family who were taken by some ruffians approximately a year ago by some ruffians Augermil suspected to be tied to the cult, providing them with the attackers. The relatively high standing family were the only ones within their rank who tried to clear the name of the New Dawn, as they themselves were rescued by none other than their agents who learnt of their taking ¨C which itself planted further questions in Augermil regarding who were the source of these agents.


    His sculpted hand covered in the scaled, metallic gauntlet grown from the vambrace curled into a bulky fist and with three, well-measured hits, he knocked on the deep mahogany door ornated with the symbols of the Prosperous Son ¨C a large golden coin engraved with a corpulent hybrid of an aevhen and a dwarf with a wide, almost unsettling grin on his swelling head.


    ¡°Yes? How can I help, O Blade of the Empire?¡± Not long after the third hit, he heard the careful steps approaching the door and when it slowly opened, a tall, well-kept and dressed man of Truscian blood stood in the warm shadows of the guild house of the Laenas Family ¨C which also served as their home.


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    Munatius, the Head Steward of the Laneas Family first stared at the gleaming gilded plate ornated with a sleeping dragon whose elongated, serrated tail spiraled around its majestic, yet menacing form. His head slowly tilted upwards before he met the piercing, calm gaze that was natural at this point and time to Augermil who cast his soft shadows onto the meek Truscian man in front of him who almost practically broke his neck just to glimpse into his slit pupiled eyes. Fear manifested itself in the elderly steward as the famed blade of the Empire himself stood in the doorway, silent for several seconds which felt like hours yet on the outside he managed to fake calmness.


    ¡°May I rob some of the time of Middias Laenas regarding the events that unfolded a year ago?¡± Augermil was never a draevhen of words like his father and siblings, though some of the former¡¯s teachings did glue on him through the eons, but still he had to munch his words a lot before heading out.


    ¡°Excuse Munatius, but he is quite wary as inquisitoriar of the Magistratorum were here the day before and left quite the mark on his psyche even without the aid of their spells.¡± Suddenly, as if the deosos listened to his short, silent prayers Middias appeared in the hallway and swiftly recognized the towering draevhen in gilded, segmented angular plated armor. He rushed to the aid of his old caretaker ¨C now steward ¨C and with a gentle touch on his shoulder, alleviated the scorching which clouded his mind at that moment.


    Augermil calmly inspected the young man in impeccable robes which naturally swirled around his body without a single crease on their bright alabaster surface with a tint of golden, and contrasting charcoal frame inscribed with three repeating glyphs. His chestnut hair short and slicked back, gleaming still thanks to the maghia infused waters that forced military discipline upon each strand, similarly his beard was painted onto his handsome face by the most careful hands with a slightly deeper shade. His calm eyes beamed with an affable slyness which contributed to his rise in ranks, and the wealth with which he can shower his family with goods many other just dream of.


    ¡°Come, Munatius fetch Bertilber and bring some mead to our exalted guest!¡± Munatius bowed as he regained his cool finally then before he could disappear in the bowels of the large home, Augermil spoke out. ¡°Actually, I may prefer some sweet, fruity beverage if its not too much.¡± The two looked at him surprise and Middias chuckled a little before he gestured to Munatius who walked away once again a little confused.


    ¡°Excuse my sudden rudeness, it was just quite the surprise hearing it from the Blade of the Empire who I read so much about.¡± The floor screeched under the weight of Augermil who followed slowly after Munatius. ¡°I do not fault you for that. Many of the tales regale the glorious feasts I attended after those victories, but they always shroud my sweet taste with those of a warrior.¡±


    As they headed further into the belly of the house, Augermil pressed his hulking arms together in the narrow corridors and the stair where he made small steps not to accidentally kick a hole into the soft wooden surface. He resemble a gallant crow hunching over Munatius who led him further up to the second floor office of his, where he knew, he could speak to his once idol. While they passed towards the office, Augermil¡¯s attention moved onto the many paintings hung onto the crimson walls.


    Most were depictions of once great battles he himself fought, including the Battle of the Golden Bay in the south where they fought against the horrid legions of the elusive Black Pharaoh who made a pact with 72 Umvraoth and Infaerni to imbue their wicked, vile essence into His once proud warriors and magusos.


    It was followed by the Terror at Meith tu Barreult where the savage kin of theirs fought with their tooth and nail to beat back the small contingent of the First and Second Legion. A battle that cost them the lives of hundreds who were torn to pieces by the enemy behaving like they devolved back to their primal states, accompanied by legions of transmuted beasts, carnivorous flowers given life by dark nature maghia.


    And lastly the one which made him the proud warrior he once was ¨C Battle for the Everlasting Dawn in which he even witnessed the terrifying shadow of the Grimm Sovereign massacre his older brothers, and myriads of his friends who fought with him side by side and whose names he engraved into his mind.


    Even as he stared at the haunting painting, his lips moved as he silently recounted their names and pondered what would they think of him in this day and age and whether they still await him beyond the Molding Gates of Asphodai. ¡°We¡¯re here.¡± Middias softly said those words as he watched Augermil stare at the painting, and saw his lips moving without uttering a word. ¡°Excuse me, just an old habit whenever I see that painting.¡± He bowed as he himself was well aware that not all races were blessed with the eternity of his kin and slowly rushed into the office.

 Chapter 43: Vindictive Shadows III.

    Augermil slowly descended into the chair which at the moment wasn¡¯t fit for his size. Yet midway through the wooden frame emitted a distant howl as its frame, the soft silken cushion stretched wide and by the time he weighted his arms on the chair¡¯s, a relaxed expression spread on his visage. Middias watched from the opposite chair with satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as the tall dragon praetoriar spread his legs far as he gave himself to the comfort of the chair.


    ¡°Excuse my manners!¡± He swiftly straightened his massive torso and his expression turned awkward as he cleared his throat while Middias looked at his idol with mild amusement.


    ¡°No need. This just proves my eyes are still good when it comes to goods.¡± As he said those words the door slowly creaked open and a small dwarf carrying an expensive silver plate with a large keg and two ornated goblets entered. Her skin while fair, it carried a ting of golden like the sand that spread far and wide around the peaks of the Aethgoorn mountain in the south.


    She placed the plate slowly and carefully onto the table between the two and then bowed her head with long graying golden hair before she left. ¡°May I?¡± Augermil nodded his head and let the head of the house pour the silken cherry drink into the goblet closest to him and his muscled fingers wrapped around its uneven surface as he pulled it closer to his silken thin lips.


    Just like always, as the drink flowed down his cavernous throat, Augermil found himself in a momentary, blissful trance as the sweetness tickled her being while it spread within the confines of his gut. He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a short sigh then opened them when he remembered why he came to the Laenaes household.


    ¡°I won¡¯t slice around the bush, I came here to inquire on what I¡¯m certain may not be a delicate memory for you, but it is imperative to me, to the capital.¡± He stopped for a moment as he waited for Middias to take his first sip then continued as the calm eyes turned at him. ¡°Do you recall anything regarding the eve of your kidnapping?¡±


    Middias furrowed his thin brows while his eyes for the first time moved down onto the richly hued birch floor. ¡°Truthfully we remember very little ¨C especially my children whose memories we erased of the incident.¡± His gaze moved back onto Augermil who could not fault Middias, it was a mercy as children that young should not experience the evils of the world he thought.


    ¡°But I did do some investigation myself and hired some adventurers to map out the port and the slums where they had taken us.¡± He continued and Augermil listened silently as he sharpened his mind and ears. ¡°According to one group, they found a tunnel leading to the sewers, which I suspect they may use to transport their victims without being seen.¡±


    Augermil pondered and at first, he was unsure if the sewers would be used as a hiding place. It was true that one could use it travel without being seen, at least if one took care of the patrolling custodiir assigned to that place. Yet his primal part felt the possibility was not zero as it was an expansive system which even, they could not fully surveil at all times.


    ¡°Do you think they may be hiding down there?¡± Middias asked noticing the pensive look on Augermil¡¯s handsome draevhen face.


    He nodded twice then perched up from the chair and carefully placed the goblet back onto the plate. ¡°Yes. Thank you for your time!¡± He said without mincing his words and Middias stood up and the led his guest, and former idol out his home and watched his back for a while as he slowly disappeared in the crowd.


    ¡°Master, should I notify Lord Albron?¡± After he closed the door, Munatius stood before him with a calm expression. ¡°No, don¡¯t need to. He could not do much and I believe it is time to tone down their attacks.¡± Middias said as he walked past his elderly head steward and headed back to his office. ¡°Though, I would appreciate if you would contact Mirayroth for me.¡±


    **


    Isocrates waited for a few seconds within the confines of two imposing houses with sharp, rectangular frames on the eastern plateau of the upper districts. Ever since he stepped out from the confines of his home, he felt a disembodied gaze piercing through his neck hidden under his voluminous dark mane. Yet when he turned around, when he heightened his senses with inscriptions, no source revealed itself to him.


    At first, he thought it may have been the work of the cultists, thinking that his killing the dark aevhen ¨C which still twisted his gut whenever he recalled the haunting image of that strange aevhen ¨C he angered the entity behind the cult. This was further proven to him each night, seeing strange silhouettes in the corners of his small room. One night he even followed the silhouette moving into the room of his parents and watched in terror as it loomed over his sleeping brother who slowly grown into a man like him.


    Yet nothing came from this except him being tired and making mistakes during his job ¨C as he now was employed as a steward for a magus on the western plateau. A job that paid way better compared to the previous toiling in the mines in the lowest district. It even granted him the opportunity to learn more about the various things, including the inferni and their vile servants the Daemurnus.


    Which once more made him think that the source of his mild plight was the Infaerni behind the cult. He did learn that infaerni and daemurnus both were categorized by the Empire¡¯s scholars on whom they preyed upon. There were those who hunted folk who could not rule in their feelings, and when an Infaerni sunk their teeth into them, these feelings were pushed to their extremes.


    Those prone to lash out or even took the name of the Deosos upon their lips on the mildest of inconveniences became wrathful, murderous even. Those who enjoyed the tastes of good food, drink could no longer experience satisfaction and fell into ceaseless consuming with some even devouring their own flesh and bones. And those who believed they could do no wrong, believed they could be judges of right or wrong turned into paragons of pride, and gained an aura which forced others into a wicked devotion.


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    The last shook him when he read the texts on the Infaerni, as one of the masterful artworks created by the author themselves bore a perfect resemblance to the small fetish which called out to him, infecting him with an urge in the shop of the elderly haebrian. As he recalled the hauntingly beautiful sculpture, he hated himself for thinking what a depraved creation which should be melted down in the flames of Hogstol Mountain.


    At the same time, he felt that whatever haunted him could not be an Infaerni. He knew little of the Umvraothoy beside what the Order of Maghia Truths¡¯ clergy taught them. Beings of strange shapes and forms filled with nothing but hate. And a silhouette while dreadful to glare at night, could not count into that. He raked his brain, but could not come to an answer and amidst these thoughts the cold sensation lessened and he took it as his initiative.


    He was already late from his meeting with Naghig, who promised him news on Luelia. Thankfully he was not far from his destination as the feeling of being watched only reared itself when he crossed the bridge dedicated to the Forge Mother, and he could already see the largest establishment in the eastern plateau ¨C The Sleeping Nereid Tavern.


    Smooth surface of the door caressed his palms as he gently pushed it inwards, and it let out a serene creak which according to some former classmates of his resembled the moan of nereids ¨C daughters of Lord of the Three Oceans, a minor deos and second son of the Nurturing Mother. ¡°You are late.¡± There were not many patrons which helped Isocrates spot Naghig sitting at the counter reading a hardcovered book of fine literature, his muscle-bound gray form wrapped in inconspicuous garments of earthly and gravely tones.


    ¡°Sorry, had to be careful.¡± Isocrates said as he sat down onto the tall legged chair. Although he credited the unseen stalker of his to some vile entity, he still decided to make numerous stops just in case they were mortal in nature. ¡°You look horrible.¡± Naghig noted as he turned his gravely crude visage at Isocrates and noticed the dark rings under his eyes.


    ¡°Had a rough week. But you did not call me here to point it out.¡± He wanted to once more inquire about Luelia, but in the end he stopped as he knew he would receive the same answer as before many times. That she was currently doing the bidding of Mirayroth himself so he could not see her which still ached his heart when he thought about it.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. I wanted to talk about your new friends and their offer.¡± At those words cold sweat slithered down his neck and he gulped while sipping in his keg filled with sour mead he just ordered. ¡°How do you know about them?¡± He exhaled to calm himself down as he realized his fear was unfound to begin with.


    ¡°I have eyes and ears everywhere boy. But I won¡¯t beat around the bush. You shall take their offer.¡± He coughed upon hearing those words. After he left the lair with Augermil and Nawfal, the former offered to vouch for him if he wished to truly join the First Legion. Those words hit him like lightning and at first, he wanted to decline the offer, but instead he just implied to think about it. Which he did not until Naghig brought it up to him.


    Regarding wage, it would pay much better than his current job yet it may put him in a situation where he would betray not just the New Dawn, but Luelia he thought to himself. He himself held little confidence in being a double agent which he voiced immediately to the elderly orkh.


    ¡°No need to worry about that boy, we can mold it. And in case you get captured, trust me I already made sure that they won¡¯t learn a thing by prying your mind.¡± Naghig said confidently as he turned back to his book, reached for small collection of seeds and nuts in the embrace of a small wooden bowl and put a hearty amount between his pristine white teeth.


    ¡°Although, your efforts were in vain.¡± He muttered just as the door moaned open once more. Two tall figures draped in sleek, layered robes of vibrant azure, lightweight segmented, angular plates over them stepped inside. Their faces hidden behind masks with slit eyes and mouth made up of glowing runes, Naghig and Isocrates reflected on the perfectly smooth, metallic surface.


    No other could have appeared in them as Isocrates noted to himself as the realization hit him. Only the two of them occupied the eastern plateaus¡¯ largest establishment which usually was filled with the noises of those who seek refuge from the hardships of the day.


    The two blindly looked together then without exchanging words, headed towards them in a slow space, their arms slightly held out, sparkling with unseen energies. ¡°Stay still.¡± Naghig said as his gaze remained on the words beautifully scribed onto the pages.


    The one directly behind Naghig reached out, spells formed around his arm reaching towards the orkh who at one moment was seemingly lost in the contents of the book, in the next he lurched up from his seating grabbed the hand to which the veneficiar hunched back and screamed silently in pain before he suddenly dropped motionless onto the ground. A puddle of crimson with a touch of golden formed under his body, flowing from all parts, soaking the high grade robes draping the now corpse.


    The other sprang into action but by the time a spell was willed into reality, Naghig grabbed him and with palm open and pressed against his chest at which his organs all failed one by one, his bone broke themselves at his order and skin and muscle torn itself open. Isocrates remained hunched over the counter, taking deep breaths as he watched all this unfold within seconds.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about them. I¡¯ll clean this up.¡± Naghig said indifferently as he sat back and read his book like nothing happened the past few moments.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we hide them in case others wait outside?¡± Isocrates voiced his question after he was sure he ruled in the trembling of his body and throat while his eyes glued to the two corpses.


    ¡°There are no more outside. These two probably just followed you.¡± Naghig continued ignoring the reeking corpses as he moistened his fingers while turning the page. His head turned up towards Isocrates who calmed himself down in this short moment. ¡°Take the offer.¡±


    ¡°No. They will definitely discover my secret.¡± Isocrates resisted. ¡°The sooner you accept the offer, the sooner you shall see her.¡± He gulped and began to ponder as he looked down at his curling fists. For a short moment, he believed the sweet lie and truly thought of accepting it even if he gets discovered during the first round of recruitment.


    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it.¡± Isocrates heaved a sigh then side stepped the corpse as he reached the ground with a soft thud. ¡°Do not take your time with it. Eternity is on their side.¡± Those were the last words he heard and as he stepped out, he felt relief wash away the anxiety that gripped him within the confines of the Sleeping Nereid.

 Chapter 44: Vindictive Shadows IV.

    Terrianis sat in his chair which served not just him but even his grandfather who united most of the aevhen, humans, dwarves, merkin and many other races under a single banner when they arrived from their war ravaged plane to this plane where peace and prosperity was promised to them by the Deosos.


    Scrolls of mundane nature took up most of the space of the oaken desk which spread wide, with most needing his signature to impose uncertain fate on those willing to fight for the endurance of his inherited Empire, to approve the usage of arkhaine scrolls inscribed with high grade inscriptions to grow the necessary vegetables, fruits that will feed not just the populace of colonial cities which one day will grow to great significance, but to build a pyramid of thriving.


    He looked at all these with a bored expression and pumped his near infinite mana into the feathered pen which moved according to his will without the need of touching it, to press the thin metallic part between his clawed fingers. ¡°Come in!¡± He said in a silken tone when two soft knocks resounded on the door, through which he watched with a smile as the maturing Aurelithae waited for Akaerith to open the door.


    With a wide, relaxed smile he rose from his eons old chair and greeted his favored daughter who bent the light with her beauty alone as she gracefully bowed. Pride burned in his prismatic eyes as the first results of her seventy years of lectures showed itself in the way she carried herself, as he felt the power building within her. And even in her looks as time gently constructed what will one day become a beauty which even the Mother of Aevhen kin will envy.


    Her voluminous ashen red hair fell onto her shoulders and spread beyond in curls akin to gentle waves hitting the shores, her cheeks gleaming with a soft glow while prismatic scales started to grow at the edges of her face, their surface clean like the surface of diamonds, combined with the luster of the finest silks.


    ¡°Good morning, Father. Excuse me for the interruptions, but I may have made a grave mistake.¡± Her voice now slightly deeper, yet still soft and melodious as it caressed his long, sharp contoured ears. Yet even as he drunkenly listened to her, he raised one, thin brow of his and felt his spine shivering ever so slightly. What could make her say such a thing he thought to himself.


    Silence settled for a few moments, broken only by Akaerith whose soft steps seemingly echoed loudly in the office as she walked out. ¡°We sincerely doubt the possibility of that our dearest!¡± His nostrils expanded as he took a deep breath and hushed away the cold worry then voiced out his thoughts.


    ¡°I feel it is. I was foolishly dishonest with you for many years as my pride led me to search for answers without at least disclosing of my dreams.¡± Terrianis slowly glided across the desk and like a wraith approached his dearest daughter from a marred marriage.


    ¡°Speak our dearest.¡± He wanted to speak more, wanted to tell her it was alright. Everyone makes mistakes, even the best of them, and the important thing was that she came to realization. Yet he spoke no words as he saw this revelation on Aurelithae¡¯s calm face which contorted ever so slightly, yet she still gazed into his eyes.


    ¡°For the past few years, my dreams had been out of my control.¡± As she said those words, Terrianis twitched ever so mildly that she barely noticed it even as he glided in front of her. ¡°It began two years ago, I closed my eyes and found myself wandering in a strange forest of ethereal dreams where I met young boy of half our kin¡¯s blood in his veins.¡±


    Terrianis turned at the windows and approached it with his wrists crossed. Disembodied whispers entered his mind, numbering three telling of three children of aevhen blood. Yet he remained silent as Aurelithae described the boy who perfectly matched the whispers¡¯ description of one of the Almodo¡¯s Chosen. Dark hair, damaged face, one eye taken, still seeing even more than before.


    ¡°You did well to report it to us.¡± After she finished recounting, leaving behind parts including the dream in which Sigiwaer saved them from an Umvraoth, he walked towards Aurelithae and placed his right hand on her delicate chin and lifted her head hunched down in shame and anxiety. She still knew he knew about her little ventures with the New Dawn, which sprouted the fear that he may also knew about her trip to the Lands of Oneiron. Yet he remained silent, smiling at her.


    ¡°Do you think he is¡­¡± She began speaking but stopped when he placed his thumbs¡¯ claw over her soft, gleaming lips and answered with a single nod. ¡°Most definitely. We¡¯re also aware that he must be with the other two remaining.¡±


    Terrianis turned around and crossed his arms as he pondered. ¡°Other two remaining?¡± Aurelithae asked weakly as she felt dread, yet knew not why. ¡°We¡¯re afraid the enemy had reached at least two and eliminated them before they became threats to their plans.¡±


    Now she shook as those words entered her ears, but slowly calmed down as she concluded that Sigiwaer may be able to protect himself with that dreadful spell, aspect of maghia. ¡°Do you think there are two more near him?¡± Terrianis nodded once more.


    ¡°Most certainly. The Oracles told that three of the Chosen were of the same blood, carrying the gift of our kin to varying degrees even.¡± Aurelithae fell into her own thoughts, and now came to the belief that the Almodo connected them. Yet for what reason He did? Why her, and not his father? Maybe for their matching age? Those thought sprouted first and further would have followed but Terrianis turned at her with a simple question. ¡°Do you have any idea where they might be?¡±


    ¡°Not an exact location, but I believe he is a northerner. Even in the dreams he wore thick, furred garments.¡± She said after deciding to ponder on these later, may even ask Rhenathorhia who was more versed in the ways of the Deosos and their almighty Father.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°That will do for now. If you meet with this boy tonight, ask him which torn, region or village he lives. Tell him not of his status yet though.¡± Terrianis glided towards Aurelithae and stopped only when there was little distance between them. He hunched down and kissed her on the center of her forehead gently before he whispered. ¡°You¡¯ve done well. We¡¯re proud of you.¡±


    The corners of her lips curled up upon receiving praise, then the two embraced each other in a hug before she excused herself. ¡°Finally.¡± He looked at his desk as he heaved a sigh when he felt his tense body loosen up a bit for the first time in years, then like fog disturbed by a blade, he disappeared from his office while his pen continued the same motion while the scrolls folded, unfolded and formed a pile on the left.


    **


    Aurelithae made small steps down the twisting stairs as she still felt dizzy from the meeting with Terrianis. Although it went better than she expected, her first thought was not necessary Terrianis being furious at her, but simply disappointed which stabbed at her like cold knives. She thanked the Deosos and the Almodo for whom she had many question, yet they all had to wait.


    The closer they got towards the Greidor Gate, the quicker the dizziness dissipated and her mood elevated as she could not wait to visit her brother Albron. Akaerith followed behind her satisfied too even more as she noticed from one of the windows¡¯ reflection as Aurelithae smiled just at the thought of finally visiting the headquarters of the Draennith Praetoriir.


    For many years she had been told that a visit was not possible until at least she could defeat Prisceirith¡¯s golem, and after many years of arduous training, she could finally step onto their plateaued towers sitting atop the western peak.


    Not many remembers it anymore, but one of the primary reasons the draevhen tribe settled down in the shadowy womb of the mountains were the dragons of the Heavenly House themselves who nested atop the mountains even before the first of the folk stepped on the vast lands of Elhyrissian. Even the long forgotten cult of Septirrion came way after the first dragon soared above the clouds silently passing by.


    Before they even grew the plateaus from the walls of the mountain, they nurtured the seventeen towers which now serve as the main headquarters as the Draennith Praetoriir under the golden shadow of the Radiant Keep which itself hovered high in the sky. The Draennith Praetoriir were the first Order of the Empire established, created by his grandfather who was said to be as hulking and menacing too look at as his dear Uncle ¨C whom she saw very little off in her eighty years of life.


    She still recalled the day when she first cried, when she could only communicate through animalistic sounds. She remembered how he looked at her with a wide smile, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. His lips moved, and he felt a nice scent coming from them, yet no word reached her ears to plant themselves into her mind. One time she asked Akaerith if she ever saw crying the famed blade of the Empire, yet she just shrugged and said only when Moirstyria died which she at that moment realized came a decade after her birth as she clearly remembered her dear sister¡¯s haunting beauty shining down upon her like the silvery phase of the Illius.


    This could wait thought she concluded to herself as the Greidor Gate lit up with arkhaine energy and she stepped through without hesitation as she masked her excitement in regal calmness. On the other side, the two were immediately were greeted by the subordinates of Albron, each straightened their posture in a moment¡¯s notice, their fists curled, smashed onto their chests buried under the fine clothing, their wrists crossed.


    The two silently marched between the columns of praetoriir and passed through the gate which slowly creaked open, filling the dimly lit hall with natural light and revealing the base of the main tower which were a collection of myriad bricks of a darker wine shade with at least six corners shimmering with a deep metallic golden shade as it sliced the wall into eight segments. Liquid like sculpted metallic dragon heads with empty open eyes bulged from the walls, each facing down towards the courtyard.


    On the flattened top, a large dragon of the Heavenly House kept its watchful gaze on the two aevhen maidens entering the courtyard ¨C the mild wind gently breezing their colorful togas, stroked their exposed skin between the bedecked ornaments. Its long, oval pupil followed Aurelithae who glared back at it with a calm expression, while excitement and wonder rampaged within her at the sight of the majestic beast of mixed reptilian and avian features.


    Its scaled epidermis brimmed, painted in ever changing myriad shades, from its spine purposefully dampened bones rose and curved ever so slightly. Two large wings rested on its sides as it sat on the tower in an arrogant feline position, while its long claws unfolded, scooped into the railing. Its head long and narrow, decorated with prismatic feathers, slit noses and long eyes in which she saw signs of intelligence and recognition as the dragon placed its large head down onto its massive arm and closed them signaling, they can proceed further.


    Akaerith tapped gently her right shoulder and as she turned at her, the young Head-Maiden nodded eastwards. Under the embrace of the soft shadows, Albron towered out from the ring of his subordinates who yelled his name in excitement as he stood with his bare chest, one arm stretched out clutching the hilt of his long blade, another holding a large rectangular shield with a dragon¡¯s head spitting fire.


    ¡°Welcome ladies. Albron will be done in a minute.¡± Celsushar noticed the two and quickly intercepted them as they headed towards the ring and bowed before Aurelithae, and offered a sweet kiss on Akaerith¡¯s right hand to which her pale white cheeks gained a frosty azure shade.


    He led the two to the wall of draennith praetoriir who were still lost in the heat of the practice fight between Albron ¨C whose beard gleamed in his sweet sweat ¨C and a young plant-folk recruit who calmly stood in defense in the shadow of his superior. Yet this lack of boldness did not save him as Aurelithae watched as the muscle mountain moved weightlessly and with three movements, tackled down the recruit.


    ¡°Watch for the legs too. Planting them into the ground won¡¯t be enough especially against a foe specializing in fire maghia.¡± He said as he caught the rouge silken handkerchief which swiftly sipped up his glistening sweat. ¡°Sister!¡± He exclaimed loudly as his serious expression shifted to a joyous one as she wrapped his massive arms around her delicate body and lifted her up effortlessly. Similarly, she looped her arms around his thick neck while a wide smile adorned her reddened face as she became aware of the eyes staring at them with mixed expressions.


    The other¡¯s watched with some used to it, others who hadn¡¯t yet set foot in the Radiant Keep with surprise at the sudden change in demeanor. ¡°Come let me show you the trophy room.¡± He said as the two let go from their familial embrace. ¡°You guys can rest for now.¡± As he too realized where they were, he turned back and gave an order. Before she followed after him, she bowed to them amidst her confusion then the four headed into the main tower with the dragon of Albron sleeping atop.

 Chapter 45: Vindictive Shadows V.

    Augermil and Nawfal strode through the stench of the sewers with careful steps made on the wet floor as it seemed to be covered in puddles of water. The two concluded after the third that they were definitely following a trail, although they were not yet sure if it were the trail leading to the cultist¡¯s lair or it was made by something else.


    Nawfal himself brought up the possibility of a small tribe of Caublorumus ¨C small, dumb creatures, a cousin of the continental goblins. Except they had warmer, yellowish skin tones bordering on almost golden thanks to the leyline slithering under the Caesellis Isles.


    They usually grew not higher than a hundred and forty centimeters tall, with flat freakish faces, sloped back forehead usually decorated with mud, blood or the mixture of the two depending on where said caublorum sat on the hierarchy of their respective tribe.


    Augermil himself countered the possibility by pointing out that Caublorumus can¡¯t swim, and from the puddles they clearly leapt into the water, unless they were suicidal for some reason. They also hated cleanliness which was another con against Nawfal¡¯s statement. After that he did not need to point out that from the amount of puddles ¨C which slowly raked up as they ventured further into the labyrinthian sewers ¨C the locals would have noticed caublorumus corpses washing up.


    He was wrong though as after the seventeenth turn, they took, they spotted a small group of those vile creatures. The three caublorumus did not notice them as they were deep in some heated conversion with the tallest of the group painted in excrement and blood pointed quite strongly at a bloody sack laying at the feet of a much shorter caublorum whose wickedly golden eyes glinted in the dimly lit sewers.


    No words needed to be exchanged as the two sprung into action in but a moment¡¯s notice. With one swing each, the crude heads adorned with sharp, almost aevhenish ears flew off from their short, almost non-existent necks while the third, a corpulent one fell onto his bottom at the edge. Before it could alert any other, Augermil¡¯s blade ran up from down its body, its dark blood and fat tainted his magnificent blade with a recess line running across its center where the vile mucus were swallowed in a blink of an eye.


    The two sheathed their blades and Nawfal carefully crouched down, plates softly clashing as he unfastened the rope on the sack. The vile stench of death swiftly assaulted his face when the final boundary was undone. He pinched his nose as one could never fully get used to the smell of rotting flesh, and he gagged when he noticed the small head staring back at him with innocent blue eyes, light extinguished from it, torment eternally frozen in them.


    Augermil gripped his shoulder as Nawfal looked at him with anger in his eyes. He shook slowly his hand, silently promising vengeance upon those who stole the future from the silenced occupier of the sack. Nawfal stood up and away from the sack, Augermil snapped his fingers and dark flames consumed it leaving nothing behind just a dark memory which shall never fade from their mind.


    The two gazed at behind the corpse of one of the cruel caublorumus and continued on the trail of puddles while pondering what could be the true source of them, what could the caublorumus threw in the cleansed river of aevhen and dwarven made passages.


    **


    The refurbished gate opened with a long and deep moan, awakening the dozen dragons of the Heavenly House sleeping in the spacious confines of their barns with a thin layer of webbed glass separating them from the other side where the wind picked up on its space as if it was raging with excitement.


    Aurelithae followed after Albron, a calm expression within her while joy raved within as her slit pupils moved from one dragon to another who seemed to bow their heads as they noticed her in the shadow of his respected brother. ¡°Can I?¡± She asked with a hint of grace and meekness mixing together as she stood close to one of the dragons with a long head with antler like horns shimmering iridescently and adorned with soft avian feathers.


    Albron calmly looked at the dragon, their eyes locked together for a short eternity before he turned back to Aurelithae with a moderate smile. ¡°Go on. Though be wary of their small horns, they are sharp as a sword. Even my hardened hands can be damaged by them if I¡¯m not careful enough.¡± Aurelithae nodded her heads and walked in front of the dragon who rose into a feline position which gave it an air of draconic gravitas.


    She halted before stepping through the golden line and courteously bowed before a dragon before meeting its gaze. Its slit holes of a noses expanded thrice then it lowered its head which made her instinctively smile as she calmly approached and placed her palm onto its scaled epidermis. She gently caressed its long jaw, barely able to reach even halfway before she had to pull back. ¡°What a magnificent beast.¡± She whispered and the dragon seemed to smile as it received those words.


    At the third stroke, she shared a bit of her mana with the dragon who chuckled in its deep, gravely voice. Two more it received before Aurelithae stepped back knowing the dragon felt satisfied in the transaction. Once more she bowed, this time in gratitude and the two smiled at each other before she returned to the side of her brother.


    ¡°A mighty one, isn¡¯t she?¡± Hearing those words, Aurelithae swiftly looked surprised at Albron. ¡°It is said that female dragons bond or trust females of our kin, and the opposite is true.¡±


    ¡°Brother, don¡¯t you ride a female dragon?¡± She asked as they watched as the dragon turned around, seemingly having enough of looking at them and gazed out to the skies.


    ¡°There are exceptions of course. I bonded with Drytteh thanks to Moirstyria. Seems her scent which remained on me once after her visit made my dear Drytteh favor me.¡± Aurelithae listened then she furrowed her thin brows.


    ¡°Who was the rider for¡­ her?¡± She asked as she felt a hint of solitude burrowing within the dragon.


    ¡°Elmiph did not had a rider for the past seven hundred and eighty years.¡± As she received her answer, she looked at Albron with understanding dawning in her eyes and her lips started forming words.


    ¡°Her last one Praetoriar Inunin who fell in the battle at the Vesgeriath Forest. One of the Nightscales kin ripped her off from Elmiph and well¡­ you probably can guess what happened.¡± Hearing it, a bottomless sadness which was unknown to her surfaced in her heart, and tears formed in the corners of her eyes.


    ¡°Brother...¡± Aurelithae¡¯s voice trembled, her hands grabbed her soft, lustrous toga¡¯s sides.


    ¡°Do not worry for me my dearest Sister. The Gray King haven¡¯t reached my name yet, and most importantly everyone says I¡¯m the spitting image of uncle Augermil so I still have a good few thousand years to go on.¡± He reached down with his enormous hand and tousled his long, silken hair while she tried to resist it chuckling with little to no success.


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    ¡°Makes me wonder how he handles it.¡± She blurted out softly as he stopped with the light patting.


    ¡°Time heals wounds. And thanks to the gift of our heavenly father and mother, we have a seemingly endless amount of it.¡± Albron said as the two continued their walk in the long mile between the barns of the Dragons.


    **


    Augermil faced the wall with determination burnt into his eyes while Nawfal carefully smoothened his gauntlet covered hands across it, a golden mist pouring from it as it revealed the outline of a door, pulsing with a dark grayish light. He turned back to the elderly draennith praetoriar and nodded once as he curled his hands and stepped back with one hand on the cubical pommel of his sheathed blade. A metallic snap.


    The pristine wall caved into a dark, swirling abyss and the two smiled weakly after four hours of tracking through the vast sewage system. ¡°Elderly first!¡± Nawfal said cheekily as he showed the way forward with a light bow and his left hand held out, pointing at the vicious darkness.


    ¡°I have a bad feeling about this brother.¡± Nawfal muttered as the two arrived in an unexpected room which appeared way more well kept to the usual hideout of cultists. The gleaming wooden floor rustled under their steps, their blurred reflections appeared on the scrubbed walls decorated with idyllic paintings, the torsos of aevhens and humans frozen in time in the form of sculpted masterworks.


    It did not take long for Augermil to recognize where they stood currently. He had been in this mansion quite a few times as it once belonged to an old comrade of his who fell two millennia ago by the accursed hand of a nekros. The mansion of the Flavian family whose stand out feature were their mesmerizing ocean hued eyes which could so well divulge emotions.


    ¡°We should not dawdle any longer.¡± He rushed through the door on the right and just as he remembered, he stepped into the enormous entrance hall with the same wooden floor continuing on, reflecting the light filtering through the windows. The only sounds were his footsteps and the wood clashing against marble. Other than those, an eerie, palpable silence settled the large mansion on the western mountain, not far from the fortress of the Draennith Praetoriir.


    ¡°Are we where I think we are?¡± Nawfal asked as he followed out still baffled. No answer came except for the warped moan of the gate which closed in the room they arrived from. ¡°Too silent for my liking.¡± Augermil muttered under his breath as the unsheathing of his blade echoed through the hall entering the dozen corridors on the sides.


    ¡°I¡¯ll investigate the eastern wing.¡± Nawfal nodded and without saying a word the two separated. Augermil¡¯s towering form was swallowed by the soft shadows inhabiting the corridor with a singular window straight ahead a few hundred meters from him.


    The further he walked in, the more he felt his stomach boiling, his firm hands shaking as he recalled his final promise to his old comrade which he made while drunk on five kegs of sweetened wine. The blue eyes in the sack flashed into his mind, and he repeated it can¡¯t be within his mind, thinking that a descendant like Opiter Flavian could easily defend against a small group of caublorumus.


    Yet the putrid stench which burnt the insides of his nose like acid would and could not lie. A stench he felt in the sewers, a smell he attributed to the place itself even though it was cleansed by the enchantments woven into them by one of his own.


    High pitched, almost animalistic cackling broke his thoughts and he stopped in front of a large, ornated door. The air trembled visibly as his enormous body was engulfed by a translucent force which smothered any sound he made while walking closer to the door. He held his left ear close to the door while strengthening his grip on his blade, fueling his arkhaine points.


    Bile danced around in his stomach, far from breaking out, enough to fill him with mild rage. He quickly recognized the sound of hardened flesh hitting soft one, then the latter impacting the harsh surface of the wooden floor while continuing on for a few more seconds. He also recognized the primal speech of the caublorumus and slowly counted to six while quelling the flames of anger scorching his being.


    The first met its doom when the door burst open. The small, child of a caublorum fell face first onto the carpeted floor covered in blood, Augermil¡¯s blade followed and stuck deep through the back of its malformed head and went straight into the floor as it vomited its dark yellowish blood onto the floor.


    The second watched in horror and enraged, attacked like a foolish child. And such as one met its demise rather swiftly as half its head separated, revealing rotten-like sinew and muscle, cracked yellowish gray bones which shattered as the indomitable blade swept through.


    The third who watched the rest play their macabre game enjoyed the full force of half the door, then marble hands clasped onto his small, feeble form gripping him to the wall in their cold, harsh silken embrace before their grasp proved too much and his bones broke, his muscle and skin popped leaving behind one last agony filled scream and a gory spot on the wall.


    The fourth hoped to take goliath by surprise from behind, its crude dagger of bone and wood clutched in his hand while his three arkhaine points scorched with wicked energies as it leapt high in the air. Yet midway in its false flight, the mountain of a draevhen turned with blade screaming softly through the air and entered from the waist, left by the waist splattering damaged intestines and shards of bones onto the once pristine floor.


    The fifth, tall and experienced in years similar to Augermil kept its distance while holding the severed head of a once lively maiden in her prime, her once voluminous, silken brown hair drenched in her own blood, her face once shimmering with a bright smile now frozen in eternal dread as her mouth remained agape emitting a silent scream for help. A wide smirk adorned the matured caublorum¡¯s horrid visage as it started swinging the head, his wicked eyes aimed at Augermil¡¯s expressionless head.


    The tip of Augermil¡¯s blade lit up with a sinister mauve light as he positioned it into a thrusting, then like a mirage disappeared from the caublorum¡¯s sight. A blackened cut appeared on the shoulder of the small creature, from which dark veins spread all over its body in the span of a moment. His withered black finger released the severed head as he fell onto his knees while Augermil calmly watched as the caublorum¡¯s body was slowly devoured by nekrotic matter.


    Only the breaking of glass turned his attention away from the slowly dying creature and he quickly followed after the escaping sixth. The staff which indicated its leadership amongst the group left behind, the leaning body straightened in the earthly bind which rose at the same time Augermil trampled his left foot onto the paved ground.


    ¡°Please¡­we just followed orders.¡± Just as he was ready to crush the body of the caublorum shaman, its speaking halted Augermil in the murderous endeavor.


    ¡°Who ordered you?¡± He asked coldly while pushing the tip of his blade glowing in the sinister light of finality.


    ¡°It was our Pale Lady. She said to carry out her vengeance against them.¡± The caublorum spoke hardly as the conjured stone pushed his curled hands into his throat. ¡°Who is this Pale Lady of yours?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ do not know. It is the truth! I only saw her in my dreams¡± Augermil pressed the tip closer and closer. ¡°She had ears like yours, long hair red as their blood.¡± For a moment Augermil stopped and a cold shiver ran down his spine, but he shook his head and the next question came to his mind. ¡°Then tell me this, how could lowly creatures like you massacre a patricii family in their own home?¡±


    ¡°She gave us His gift. It will make us equal to the dragon rider¡¯s family she said.¡± His muddy yellowish blood started flowing from the left corner of his wickedly wide mouth. ¡°That is all I know! Truthfully!¡± Augermil glared into his eyes and remained still like a statue, then with a swift movement, crashed the body of the caublorum shaman, leaving only his head behind.


    He grabbed it and nekrotic matter poured from his fingers into the head, shackling the soul into the head. ¡°We shall see about that.¡± His hand lifted the head closer as he whispered those words, staring into the empty eyes from which behind the caublorum¡¯s soul screamed silently.

 Chapter 46: Fleeting Days I.

    Crunching of marrow, flesh, tearing of clothes echoed through the vast Veinway of the Dhaugruz, spanning hundreds if not thousands of kilometers between the basin and the Vesgeriath Woodland. Long rows of stalactite teeth flow through the earthly maze, bathing the oval vein of the dreaded mountain in a myriad of cold shades which eerily bring warmth to all those living or traversing down there.


    ¡°Enough!¡± Orhadin¡¯s serpentine voice produced a loud whisper stopping the living dead in their gluttonous endeavors. He could feel their dissatisfaction but relented knowing ¨C feeling ¨C their food becoming their comrades in death.


    His slender, withered hands covered in grayish scales arose slowly, holding his peculiar staff in the left with a top depicting a majestic, but also horrific serpent coiling into itself while hugging a shining trapezohedron darker than the scales of the Elder Dragon of the House of Dusk. As the sleeves of filamentous darkness which was his long robe hugging his thin, delicate body slid back, it revealed dark veins of myriad hieroglyphs marching towards the staff pushed against the cold earth.


    Ophidian shadows slithered onto the ground numbering in hundreds swam across the illuminated ground towards the torn, macabre corpses clad in the snow white muscular plates of the 19<sup>th</sup> Legion. Each shadow passed through the natural orifices, and each corpse of the band of scouts rose slowly before they could begin their blessed sleep.


    Segmented plates of draconic belly design clashed against each other in a soft harmony as he gently slammed the staff three more times like a judge condemning the hall to silence. As if filled with the same sense of justice, the whispers arrived in a calm onslaught, listing their resentments against Orhadin for their accursed state.


    Their wrath washed over Orhadin who managed to stand his ground, although his thin eye lids shuttered vertically and horizontally over his serpentine eyes thrice as he felt his body scorching with rage, with desperation. He slurped it all up and a deep, solemn sigh escaped his thin lipless mouth of corpse-like flesh. One tear flowed down his gaunt cheek as he bottled their anger in his heart then once more beat the earth with his staff to beget silence.


    When the last whisper faded, he recalled the repeating list of the dead, telling what they was taken from them by him and his accursed living dead. No more joys of life, no more tastes of food and drinks, no more relief after clenching their thirst, ceasing their hunger. No more warmness kissing their body, melting away the coldness of the cruel north.


    His ophidian will slowly eroded these resentments, these losses away and formed into new ones. Seeds of the joy of undeath planted into their tethered souls, slowly blossoming into tastes of death, relief from the pesky needs and sensations of every day life, the endless certainty of service, purpose to carry out the will of his and his Masters.


    With the illusory choice laid out before them, they arrived unknowingly to acceptance to their new state of being, blind to their chains which may one day end in their grizzly rebirth into something more. They bowed down to their knees towards their new kings and queens and at his silent orders, rose and began their march towards their former home, to bring more into his fold.


    ¡°Onwards!¡± Orhadin¡¯s disembodied voice echoed through the minds of his disciples, fellow nekromancers waiting, watching these events unfold with fulgent eyes of admiration, surrounded by their own minions rotted by the nekrotic matter.


    **


    The sweet lavender scent of Mirdbruil¡¯s breath, the warm light of the Illius penetrating through the window of their room gently awoken Ulrich from his merry slumber on the tenderly cold day of the fourteenth of Aurhiur in the 1259<sup>th</sup> year of the First Age. His log arms embraced the delicate form of his dear wife whose silken hair spread across her side of the bed. The corners of his lips curved up as he listened to her almost childish moans, she emitted each time she woke up, one of the little things he loved about her.


    ¡°Morning.¡± He said as her fulgent eyes opened than drawn into a relaxed, happy expression as she greeted him back. The two remained under their sheets, hugging each other before the rustling coming from Eadwald¡¯s room cruelly forced them out from the warm embrace as he swiftly left to practice with Azugh, not even waiting for the warm breakfast.


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    ¡°Good morning my Snow-Princess.¡± Not long after that, as they just planted their feet onto the creaking floor, Ulrich heard the rushing soft footsteps followed by a faint one. In the door way Amiriniel greeted her and with a swift movement grabbed her, lifted her high before slowly descending back down to the floor. Behind her in the doorframe, Sigiwaer silently peeked inside as he greeted them in his usual shy manner.


    The darkness in his eyes pulsed as the singular pale pupil in its center moved eastwards, westwards. Though initially they found the eye quite worrisome, now with the new revelation from the dwarven priest, the last of their worries ¨C which amplified after the New Life Celebration ¨C faded completely and Ulrich kneeled down and greeted the boy with a kiss on his forehead where his tousled fringe dangled weakly, a bright smile on his face while his cheeks reddened a little.


    He held out his hands which slowly grew in size, though still dwarfed when Ulrich¡¯s wrapped gently around them as they walked to the kitchen. Following them behind Amirinel and Mirdbruil came too mimicking them before the two sat down in their usual place while just becoming aware of the absence of their sibling.


    Ulrich began humming an old song as snapped flames under the heating apparatus after Mirdbruil filled it with a bit of a vegetable broth. An old song taught to him by his old man, a song written by a minor deos serving eternally in the Court of Endless Ideas, using divine notes which fill all those hearing it with mild joy. A hymn to begin the day on a good note.


    Mirdbruil playfully shook her head, the long hair of hairs rustled with aevhen elegance. Amiriniel quickly picked up and hummed along while she moved back and forth like a wave on the ocean. Sigiwaer joined in too with an even fainter humming as his attention focused on his hands fiddling to the soft rhythm while his feet dangled.


    ¡°So what are the plans for today?¡± Ulrich asked as he hovered the bowl full of the steaming vegetable broth between his hardened palms stretched out.


    ¡°I want to practice a bit more with Mama.¡± Amiriniel said as she straightened her posture elegantly while the spoon flew into her soft hands. ¡°Me too.¡± Sigi said shyly as he done the same then blew the steam cloud rising from the spoonful of broth.


    Ulrich pondered for a while then asked them as he wanted to spend a bit more time with both as the two only spent time with him at home after they decided to become pure magusos. ¡°What about practicing at the training grounds?¡±


    ¡°Will Papa and Mama duel?¡± At that Ulrich almost suffocated on the scorching broth he just swallowed while the two were thinking on their answers. He looked at her and quivered as old memories flooded his mind. ¡°We could, just like when we first met.¡± She said with a scary yet also kind smile.


    ¡°Maybe some other time.¡± He answered as he wished to keep the proud image instilled in his dear children, as long as possible. ¡°Though I will duel Priernuss.¡± The two¡¯s eyes lit up at those words after feeling a bit disappointed in losing out seeing a match between a pure magusos and a praecanthar ¨C magusos specializing in enchantments, which most warriors fell into.


    The two looked at each other while slowly consuming their broths. Their hands moved in perfect unison as they placed the it into their mouths while ignoring the heat. ¡°Could Mama and Papa really not duel? It would be really helpful to our growth.¡±


    Ulrich once again found himself in a precarious situation ¨C to him at least ¨C and started sweating not because of the breakfast spreading its warmth across his muscle-bound body.


    Then he felt relief ¨C not intense ¨C at the next words pouring out from Mirdbruil. ¡°What if Papa fights Uncle Aelfsigiour? I think that would be close enough.¡± The two once more looked at each other and nodded at the same time eliciting a relieved sigh from Ulrich as they accepted the offer. ¡°A spear is pretty close to a staff after all.¡± Amiriniel murmured as she stared pensively at her blurred reflection.


    ¡°Fine. There is a deal.¡± Amiriniel said with her head held high as she learned it from Priernuss. ¡°Deal?¡± A bit flabbergasted Ulrich asked but let it go.


    ¡°Thank you!¡± After the breakfast, he walked slowly behind Mirdbruil in the middle of cleaning the bowl and the apparatus. Their lips softly connected as their breaths intermingled. ¡°A few more years and we won¡¯t be able to delay it.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± He said weakly as he was afraid, they may lose their respect, that they won¡¯t depend on him anymore if they witness him losing against Mirdbruil. ¡°No need to worry about that. I¡¯ll hold back when the time comes.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, but I think it will be better for them to see the full potential of a magus.¡± He said as he let go and stretched his arms while also mentally preparing himself for the day. ¡°Anyway, I¡¯ll better start preparations.¡± With that, the household began their day.

 Chapter 47: Fleeting Days II.

    ¡°Sorry, but I can not lose!¡± Ulrich avowed to Aelfsigior facing him a few steps away with a large oval oaken shield with the top and bottom chipped away per design, and a two-arm long quarterstaff which served as the training spear. A defiant look visible through the slit face-visor while the veins on his exposed arms and legs popped out as his stance firmed.


    Surrounding them in the first row of people were Amiriniel and Mirdbruil watching with differing excitement visible on them, Sigiwaer sitting atop his elder brother¡¯s shoulders, leaning onto his tousled dark crown of a mane, his singular visible eye fulgent with excitement at the two man ready as if they face the foe of their lives.


    ¡°I am afraid neither I can relent.¡± Aelfsigior answered back as a smile curved onto his thick, silken bearded mouth as he turned to face Amiriniel and Sigi, winking at each, eliciting a deep envy from Ulrich.


    The two circled around in the frozen mud and snow covered circular ground, never taking their eyes off each other when the bell rang. Mist escaped from the slit opening of their helmets as they took deep breaths, Ulrich going through many motions, settling on being the first to strike.


    Mana flowed and formed into inscription in his anima veins, danced around the arkhaine points in his legs and arms as they both became sturdier and lighter before he became a slightly blurry figure in the eyes of his children before he leapt a little in the air, just to be a bit above Aelfsigior as he cleaved down his wooden sword at his shield.


    As per his calculations the elderly aevhe quickly realized his aim and retaliated with his spear jerking up, waiting for his heavy armored body to fall onto its flat tip. ¡°Watch out Papa!¡± As Sigi worried voice reached his ears, he felt even more invigorated and easily moved his body while descending in this short distance and time.


    The blunt edge of his blade stroke against the crescent like inwards slope and as if it gained sharpness, sliced through until it stopped at the metallic snow white vambrace of Aelfsigior, yet the crack itself continued on until the shield broke into two halves and fell unceremoniously to the ground.


    The crowd yelled out as Ulrich won, his pride doubled as he watched the usually shy Sigi burst out clapping even on top of his brother¡¯s broad shoulders.


    **


    After the duel came to an end, the crowd dispersed and Sigi and Amiriniel began their maghiokel practice in the ring with now roles reversed as Ulrich and Aelfsigior watched as Priernuss taught Mirdbruil how to create golems for more advanced practice.


    At first, they were a bit bored as Priernuss explained how to focus and mold a false will into the vague humanoid shape made of mud and snow approximately matching their height. A bit of excitement dawned on Ulrich¡¯s face while Aelfsigior felt a bit nostalgic as he recalled his superiors raising golems out from the earth and molding a false will into them.


    Usually the procedure to create golem entailed molding one mana into the surrounding mana forced into the golem¡¯s makeshift body, forcing basic instinctual memories like how to move your body, how to recognize danger and if the practitioner needed or wanted it, then a mild killing intent.


    For a short moment the two man looked at each other and pondered on the same thought. Why did not we ask him to make us some golems for practice? And for an equally short time they wanted to immediately ask him to be the resident golem creator for practice purposes, but gave up for now as they saw as Mirdbruil struggled a little making her first and were afraid of the ramifications that came with them becoming the culprits.


    The two silently sat, munching on their breads as the practice for the two kids began as two masculine figures without features rose up from the ground, clutching their knees before rising into a statuesque position exhuming with an extreme sense of pridefulness.


    **


    After finishing their meals, the two walked up to the edge of the training grounds and watched amazed as the two combated the two golems, keeping their distance as the masculine figures of mud creeped closer, evaded the spheres of flames and solid ice flying out from their soft palms.


    When one of them wavered the other quickly aided them, if their wards showed ethereal cracks upon their transparent surfaces, the other erected one more over it. ¡°Pretty good for their age.¡± Aelfsigior said while his attention focused completely on the fight unfolding and the crowd now mostly consisting of the trainees including Eadwald condensed around them.


    ¡°A few more years and they will be able to join us up.¡± Priernuss said with pride in his voice while his eyes followed the movements of the two children slowing down with their casting, starting to realize bombarding was not that valid of a technique against targets moving as fast as these two golems.


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    While Amiriniel maintained a calm demeanor, Sigiwaer seemed frustrated. Even with his gift, he could not take down one of the mindless golems. It gnawed at him, guiding his mind to tap into that strange maghia but in the end he resisted the temptation, afraid of becoming devoid of emotions, sensations like a doll.


    As his small chest puffed out while he drew deep breaths, his gaze shot past the two and into Amiriniel¡¯s eyes. The two lightly nodded their heads and began channeling their mana. ¡°Interesting.¡± Priernuss murmured as he felt the heat concentrating within the boundary of the ring and slowly creep its way into the frozen mud while the snow parts of their bodies began to melt already.


    They continued evading the incoming attacks of the golems, barely truthfully as they lessened the inscriptions dancing around their leg¡¯s arkhaine points. Runes of glowing warm shades filled up the space in their transparent forms, only visible to Sigiwaer. Their light gradually strengthened forcing him to close down his gifted eye while a fist of crumbling mud worryingly approached his innocent, damaged visage.


    He toppled down into the wet mud, the rest of the golem collapsed onto half of his short body. A sigh escaped the young boy as he and Amiriniel released their joint will and the runes broke down into colorless particles, carried away by silent winds while claps of the surrounding watchers made his cheeks flush a little.


    **


    ¡°That was quite an excellent show off.¡± Hevaeck, the elderly dwarven vicar of Hogstol blood slowly clapped his hands together as he approached the family as Sigi and Amiriniel each sat in their parent¡¯s laps while sipping down the bitter brew which slowly abated their mild, ecstatic thirst for more. The two gently bowed in response while continuing their hushed slurping.


    ¡°Have you seen all of it?¡± Priernuss asked as he finished writing into his small sketchbook which he hid inside his leathery coat¡¯s inner pocket.


    Hevaeck solemnly shook his head before he answered. ¡°Afraid not all of it. While I was doing my strolling after lunch, I heard and felt the rumbling of maghiath energies which beckoned me. Though what I¡¯ve seen tell of great possibilities to these young prodigies.¡±


    As he talked, he slowly approached the two and pulled out a small sack from his layered robes and pulled out two vibrant and transparent cubicles with crystalline surfaces, yet contrary to their looks when they easily got squeezed between his fingers and wobbled when he eased on them. He held them out in his paws, his creased elderly face adorned with a wide grandfatherly smile.


    Amiriniel and Sigi both looked at him, then to the sweet cubicles of high sugar concentration, then finally onto their parents who nodded before they grabbed one each and thanked the elderly vicar. As the cubicles started melting in their mouths, they felt warm invisible arms slowly caressing, massaging their whole being, forcing the craving out from their body and soul.


    ¡°A recent invention of some alchemist in the south.¡± Hevaeck said as he watched the two children¡¯s lips curve into a relaxed smile. ¡°He said children practicing with maghia should not be forced to drink that vile brew, but instead should experience a sweet cleansing, at least I think that¡¯s what he said.¡± He scraped his bald head as he sat down and stretched his short, bulky, dirty legs while his hands massaged them while emanating a pleasant warmth.


    Then he reached into his small sack and took out one more sweet cubicle when he noticed Mirdbruil¡¯s curious expression turn to a childishly craving one that made him chuckle before he floated it to the aevhen mother.


    ¡°Respected Vicar, have you brought the supplies yet?¡± A few silent moments passed in this almost picturesque situation which Priernuss broke as he finished scribing into his small sketchbook. Hevaeck started stroking his long gray braided beard as if he was deeply pondering on his answer.


    Then he shook his head. ¡°Haven¡¯t yet.¡±


    ¡°Then me and Gna could help you with that.¡± Priernuss stated just as Gna passed by while carrying practice weapons out from the small shack that served as the armory for the village guard. ¡°We can help you get a few good deals from Skabeda¡¯s stall.¡±


    Hevaeck chuckled and accepted the offer then noticed the worried expression on Mirdbruil. After Sigiwaer was confirmed to be the Chosen of the Almodo, the elderly dwarf pondered as his clergy¡¯s head received a note from the capital that according to the Oracles, three of the Chosen came from the same bloodline.


    Through repeating the same ritual, he did find the Seed in Eadwald and Amiriniel too, though the latter two still lacked any other signs of their blessing. Although he also suspected that the strange eye of Sigiwaer was a gift from Marghiitea herself ¨C The Arch-Deos who planted the arkhaine seeds in the souls of the mortals, sprouting into the arkhaine points.


    Yet there was no definitive evidence to this as he recalled most maghiath eyes often manifested as a third eye in the center of the forehead often in a vertical position and appearing as a runic tattoo. Maybe it was a gift from Marghiitea and Obryllia as the Solemn Shepherd often offered augmentations to those with grave damages.


    While looking at Sigi noticing his mother¡¯s expression, Hevaeck came out from his meditative state. ¡°I¡¯ll return as soon as I¡¯ll become a velefinaar.¡± He said while burying his head into his mother¡¯s chest while his arms looped around her curvaceous waist.


    ¡°Also no need for worry. There are plenty of years before the Empire sends out their party.¡± Hevaeck stood up and stroked his hair gently, once more with a grandfatherly smile. ¡°But if they learn of us, won¡¯t they hasten in their voyage?¡± Amiriniel asked with a sour expression.


    Hevaeck looked at him with the same kindly expression. ¡°Well, that is still at least two months away. And the capital is far from here, even if they send the dragon knights, that¡¯s a few years at least.¡±


    ¡°So the threat isn¡¯t that imminent?¡± Amiriniel looked pensive for a moment. ¡°I think that is enough talk about the future. Let¡¯s focus on the now while it lasts.¡± Before Hevaeck could answer, Priernuss broke the situation that began to feel awkward to the two parents at least as they themselves were unsure whether to leave behind their home or stay here as people were needed here against the threats that lurked in the Vesgeriath woodland.


    The momentary silence was broken by the grumbling of Eadwald¡¯s stomach. ¡°Speaking of which, time to get lunch.¡±

 Chapter 48: Fleeting Days III.

    What a peculiar thing that even after so many decades, so few centuries I still recall the intense taste of my dear Mama¡¯s broth, the intense clash of spices on the soft, steaming pieces of meat still clutching onto the bone in a deep desperation akin to a soldier¡¯s who gut was pierced through by a poisoned blade. What a peculiar thing it truly is.


    Even more peculiar ¨C now that I focus my thoughts on the memory of that day ¨C are how I can easily recall every minute of it. Maybe it is the aldraelhyn blood flowing in my veins, or the gift of my dear Masters I owe everything I achieved, I have.


    The wetness of my brother¡¯s sweat laden hair as I clutch onto it while overdriven by joy, by pride as Papa broke through Uncle¡¯s shield with a single downwards strike or even how before the strike came to reality, he evaded in a mere moment while descending down towards the end of his quarterstaff.


    Or the intensity of our training, the gnawing craving which beckons one to cast more and more spell until they get devoured by the cruel waves of the aethereal river Acheryoth. Or the amazement I felt towards Mama for mastering such a medium grade spell like creating Golems in a matter of minutes yet it took me at least a decade to reach perfection.


    I remember my failed promise that still aches my heart, yet as they say time mends all kinds of wounds, though they can never heal fully. I wonder still if she would be proud of my achievements, or would she be disgusted with me. I can only hope she found eternal joy in the Beyond.


    As I lay beside my Pale Orchid ¨C gently caressing her face adorned with an expression akin to innocently dreaming beasts ¨C her long auburn strands spreading far and wide across her delicate body, I wonder what beget my mind to recall that day. Was it my guilt for lying to her as I found sleep hard on that day, afraid what she would think of me as I recalled her terrified expression in the land of Oneiro on that fateful day.


    Yet my worries were all in vain as when darkness enveloped my world finally after my dear sister already traversed the lands of Oneiro ¨C one of her cherished grimoires resting alongside on her face ¨C I found myself not falling this time, but by a strange sensation crawling my ankles as they planted into a fathomless lakelet of neither freezing nor scorching.


    My momentary relief turned to terror which shifted just as swiftly into calmness born of void as I started surveying the endless surroundings and finally noticed the shape of unnerving curves and shapes hovering high with a blinding color out of this world. A color that proved weak against the surrounding blackness even as it hurt my eyes as I foolishly stared into it laced by my childish curiosity.


    My calmness mixed with the seeds of fear as I noticed the strange shape moving in impossible ways as if trying to break free from the grasp of the blackness that slowly creeped onto its weird curves yet it failed and were forced into a stateless submission as the blackness swallowed me whole and once more felt the ecstasy of falling without seeing.


    With an abrupt end I found myself in a wholly different, strange world that now I know was the far south opposite to where I lived and live. Warm sand tickled the cavities between my toes of my exposed foot eerily dry even after the fall.


    The fallacious Illius created by the Servitors of Dreams warmly kissed my face as I slowly rose while a momentary fright made me yelp as a dark skinned man of the Yhanubj tribe passed through me ignoring as I was once more nothing more than an onlooker out of time.


    Fulgent, mauve and golden dunes arose as far as I could see while spinning around with a few aspen trees with crystalline foliage of vermillion swindled gently as the warm air traversed towards the enormous walls of the once proud city of Khadrath where the once infamous Black Pharaoh ruled with legions of horrors following his silent words. At least that¡¯s what the Empire¡¯s scholars spread across the world.


    As I plodded the same way as the man, people manifested all around us, folks of all southern kinds including a Changed-Folk with onyx jackal head with soft fur and long ears reaching high and a towering slender form with tight muscles. bursting veins stroke along the exposed areas of his garments. A gudraelh warrior beset in the revealing southern armor with a prominent angularly oval frame adorned with colorful gems.


    Even some of the pariah folks appeared without their usual shackles of imperial nature, including an orkh family and a vampyr desperately wrapped in many layers of ragged garments to hide from the cruel rays of the Illius as it quickly desired to fill his arkharuine hunger.


    Yet what truly beckoned my interest were the two figures whom manifested at the gates where two imposing statues of proud man dressed lightly in southern regal pieces cast their shadow on the people entering the city of the Black Pharaoh.


    One, whom even without my dear Orchid¡¯s guidance recognized as the proud blade of the Empire, The Reaper of His Children as some of the venerated Aydvroeghok referred to Augermil as he towered over all other just like the two statues. Even the orkh¡¯s looked at him with admiration as they noticed the muscles wrapped in many layers of fine sheet. Yet his onyx scales adorning his heroic face were nowhere to be seen.


    Even Terrianis ¨C who stood in his shadow ¨C appeared as no more than a common aldraelh of quite, near-divine beauty with his tall, delicate body which is often a preference for pure magosh. And what a magosh he was from what I learned from my Orchid and from the Masters ¨C and most importantly ¨C from what I sensed from just looking at a far past self of His.


    Strangely I was both thrilled for some reason yet to be known at the time, and calm but curious at the prospect of maybe witnessing something so distant, so strange to me at the time. Though in that moment I expected my Orchid to show up and accredited these sensations to that but in the end, I alone followed the two inside as they entered the city with a little altercation as Terrianis wished to have an audience with the infamous Black Pharaoh.


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    Thanks to Augermil¡¯s calm, composed self, convinced him that they shall prove themselves worthy for a meeting easing the djinn guard who looked at them with suspicious in his large, bulging eyes of darkened amethyst while his thin lipless mouth remained expressionless. Instinctively I walked in Augermil¡¯s shadow trailing close as they acted as my guides into this new, exciting world.


    **


    Fort Corrorth. One of the many fortresses erected by the Stone-Forgers of the Empire, elite magusos specialized in molding most if not all types of earthen materials including marble, basalt and even the menacing stalactites of Vhalleryon¡¯s mountains. Except for one which is dhaugrite which makes up all of the Dhaugruz mountain range. A wicked stone as many of them tend to refer to it.


    The fortress itself was molded from gelum marble native to the northern regions beneath the mountain range, resulting in its wall having an icy, even to some glass like quality to it. Walls with sharp edges and turns, a surface pristine, immaculate even while smooth as the new frost born onto the surface of lakes at the start of the seasons of finality.


    Immaculate walls which rise even above the reach of the frost giants of the north, straying from the jagged, gloomy walls of the mountain where a singular cavernous mouth lead down into the natural labyrinth known as the Veinways.


    ¡°Open the gates!¡± With a loud yell, Gadaric an auxiliary of the 19<sup>th</sup> Legion clad in their muscular armor ordered his comrades when he noticed the patrol returning with dozens of refugees dressed in barbaric garments. The imposing birch gates moaned as they opened forth letting the unfortunate folk into its courtyard of four sharp corners.


    For a moment uncertainty grasped his heart as he watched the eerily limping folk march slowly into as their safe haven, a second womb where their new life shall begin. It quickly faded the moment Praefectias Ruari, a driiad of northern kind with long white foliage like hair and skin a strange fusion of flesh and soft petals of the northern flora, greeted the leader of the refugees, a towering man whose hulking arm wrapped around his slender one.


    Those of the patrol ¨C including Radegond, his little sister ¨C dispersed after receiving their orders for rest and recuperation just as the Illius began its transformation signaled by the cold tones spreading across the skies.


    Calm hours passed as Gadaric made his rounds, often he stared into the menacing crowd of trees surrounding the fort, spreading towards the south sometimes noticing the restless dead. Now that his dear little sister was back in the welcoming belly of the fort, he could remain calm while feeling excited a little as his time shall come to venture into the cold veins of the mountain, to save more lives from the claws of the Dusk.


    ¡°Brother.¡± He suddenly stopped in the angular archway of the watchtower, in the shadows he barely made out the well-honed slender form of his sister calling out to him in a husky voice not matching her vibrant. His heart began to beat harder with each gradual second. ¡°Help me!¡± She said while walking out into the silvery white light which revealed her pale face with a kind, inviting expression.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Yet his brotherly love won over his slight suspicion as he walked up to her. His hand felt the cold, yet he could not resist his love even as the dagger plunged into his throat and a river of blood burst forth. ¡°Do not worry. He is a gentle shepherd.¡± She said while tenderly holding his body, lowering it down to the ground.


    ¡°In his care, we shall live forever.¡± Her mouth opened wide as an ethereal serpent woven from shadows of nekrotic matter slithered forth and down into his. Confusion and terror beget anger as he felt the call of the Solemn Shepherd grew close than distant.


    His grasp waned as all the others¡¯ within the now haunted fort. His pale corpse stared at the sky, then as he unwillingly decided, joined Orhadin¡¯s herd.


    The elderly shepherd of the living dead plodded as the gate moaned a third time, welcomed by the eager lamb reborn in death. ¡°Keep your dead in the towers, we shall wait for a few days.¡± As a towering disciple of his walked up, with emptily wondering serpentine eyes, he wondered at the architecture he heard so much about from his dearest mother and father.


    The towering disciple of partial giant-blood bowed then his large hand lit up in the cold light of nekrotic matter as runes of finality enveloped his exposed log of an arm. The rotten dead spreading their vile stench disappeared in the cavities of the fort.


    Gentle, cold air breezed his robe as he stood in the center of the courtyard like a phantom bound to the decrepit amphitheater watching the Niodr¡¯s vomiting streaks of silver into the fathomless darkness. As he heard the footsteps approaching, he walked towards the imposing gate, through which a fading road slowly claimed back by nature led towards the blessed forest where the lost wandered eternally.


    As he slowly approached the second gate, two moderately cyclopean statues of ormdraelh stood proudly clad in their angularly sculpted, segmented plate armor eternalized into welcoming stances yet he could feel nothing but disgust as his ophidian eyes gazed upon them.


    His living dead pushed their cold and fresh palms onto the chiseled wooden gates and slowly opened the way. Excitement shook his body for a blink of an eye, as he glared at the trees bathed in silvery holy light, his tread came to a halt.


    ¡°Vellinid, Thorlak. Prepare the swiftest and slyest of your dead.¡± He focused on the forest even as the naedraelhyn and skaeze disciple of his stopped thrice a feet away, bathed in the shadows of the gateway. ¡°Seek out the restless lords of this land, tell them that our Masters shall bless their unending with the salvation of rebirth.¡±


    Vellinid the naedralhyn maiden replied, her voluminous silvery white hair cascaded unimpeded down her robe of finest silken produced by her kin, bathed in the shades of dusk itself. Her mesmerizing face devoid of emotion except for faux joy frozen eternally on the exposed skull of her half-decayed face.


    Thorlak on the other hand was meek, short skaeze with a gaunt visage hidden behind his charcoal beard braided many times as flowed down on his ivory armored robe of a pale grayish shade. His vacant eyes contoured unevenly round while deep shadows occupied the corners.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we hasten their demise?¡± The blind disciple asked with unsure tone as his head tilted eastwards eliciting a poisoned gaze from Vellinid.


    Orhadin stroked his sharpened chin while a pensive look occupied his darkened visage. ¡°Even with our numbers, these walls would cost us dearly. For now we wait for the patrols to return, then amass before we swarm the other forts.¡±


    With that the two nodded then left to retrieve the best of their dead while Orhadin stood still. As he glared into the distance, anxiousness gently creeped its way into his mind. Was it the right move? Will the masterless dead follow his word? These questions surfaced in his mind, but he smothered them as he recalled Grimslaukh¡¯s strengthening words.


    ¡°Time is on our side.¡± He whispered to himself as he turned his back on the silent forest.

 Tales of Elhyrissian: Where Shadows Lengthen I.

    On the closing thirty-second day of Indemetriuth¡¯s season, at the early seventh year of the First Age, warm winds assailed the distressed Gogh¡¯Arghat whose knees sunken deep into the warm sand, his hands stretched beyond his lean body while viscous ropes bound his wrists together unyieldingly, cutting into his sweat laden skin.


    His grayish eyes pleaded to the towering dusky man whose body was draped by dark and silver garbs and plates, his rough face of angular contours garnished with scars, his eyes circled by dark circles painted on with glistening make up. Beyond him, the great walls of Khadrath rose high towards the cloudless skies while dark winged beasts kept watch over the legion of dunes ascending and descending around them.


    Gogh tried his very best to prove his loyalty to the magnanimous Pharaoh¡¯s servant, to prove that whatever they found did not belong to him, but instead were left there to placate him as the wicked spy of the Empire whose menacing shadow descended onto the once more peaceful sandscape of the south of great Vhalleryon.


    He reasoned with the man that he was no spy, that he hated the Empire whose wretched legions took his dear father from him. A dear father who always stood by his side, taught him how to call forth water from the ground and from the nothingness of reality, how to tame wind and how to breath a mild storm or create warm air to hasten the stiffening of the muddy substance they used to stack sculpted sandstones on top of each other or together.


    Or to how to regulate the air flowing within him, to cool it or warm it so that he could continue work even when the cruel rays of the Illius proved too much, or now when he had to remain calm not to prove their suspicion by acting like a fearful wrongdoer.


    He argued that he was nothing more than a victim in a wicked play so that the true culprit could walk freely in the heavenly city of Khadrath where all was equal, where all who followed the tenets of the great Pharaoh in Black who united the warring kingdoms of the south after decades of warring could enjoy peace and prosperity.


    All his life he followed His tenets, always kept away from the shady elements of the city whose greed proved to be their doom, always remained calm even when he spent too much on the sweetly sour drinks in the tavern after work, always remained kind to all whom he met on his long days of work.


    Yet no matter what sweet words he used, how much they were laced in truth, the man watching at him silently uttered the simple dreadful words which sealed his fate on that day. The two figures in the same garments and armor as him walked to the terrified Gogh and grabbed him up by his armpits before they hurled him unceremoniously down into the bottomless abyss of the hole, his shriek carried away by the warm winds of the slowly approaching dusk.


    **


    Darkness swallowed his surroundings, the light slowly retreated like a miffed beast right in front of his eyes while the cold air braced against the back of his head as he approached the ground deep in the throat of the earth. Strange emotion confused Gogh¡¯s mind as the sensation of weightlessness awakened old, but fond memories.


    Namely a simple sight of his father¡¯s face of deathly crude visage smiling back at him, his sharpened tusk protruding beneath his lower lip, parting from the upper as he laughed in joy while threw little Gogh in the air. A visage garnished by scars collected in series of battles long before his time, which many he regaled to him at his bedside just before the short visit to the land of Oneiron. How he wished he was there while swallowed by the darkness nestled within the aperture.


    He remembered the hopes his father had for his future, pondered whether in that moment he was proving his worth to be a warrior, even though he wished for nothing more than a life in which he can live without the fear of imminent finality, spending time with mesmerizing maidens of Khadrath who spread bliss through bodily acts. Nothing more, nothing less.


    Maybe he should have found a mate to settle down with, to have his own child with whom to he could continue to pass on the heroic tales told by his father. But the harsh ground reminded him that it was for the better he never settled for one, as they may have to leave with the shame of him swallowed by the dreaded Umbral Vaults branching beneath the sands and the wondrous city of Khadrath. Or worse, they may have been sentenced with him, to be devoured by the shadows and those who lurked within it.


    These thoughts erased the previous fears of his, which was to die by falling. As he was an honest stonemason since his young adulthood, he witnessed many a fellow or friend meet their doom out of their carelessness of their surroundings while building the terraced towers of the city, or by extending the walls as more and more flocked to the promised city.


    The one that came to his mind was the Changed-Folk whose parents out of some strange reason augmented themselves with the parts of large arachnoid beasts. A tall pale man with eight irises and hands and foot which could stick to any surface allowing him to work without the aid of complex contraptions, though one day when sleep evaded him the night before led to the call claiming him, sending him to the harsh embrace of the ground below.


    Even though he was safe on the ground, the dread he thought his friend must have felt when his eyes opened amidst the fall lingered within, chilled him to his core. Or was it the darkness, he pondered as the ropes finally yielded in their tightness and released his wrists from their not so passionate embrace.


    Gogh remained on his knees, his eyes constantly moved around as he waited for his doom to come in a horrific form, or to at least for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior which slowly came, revealing what appeared to be some kind of tomb of many, yet none laid on the finely hewn limestone beds of deep black with a mauve tint.


    Further beyond them, serrated walls of hardened sand and earth elevated high towards the aperture, a warm disk where light was fearful to enter the Umbral Vaults as the vicious darkness devoured every singular particle which danced its way into the dark circle in the sand.


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    In the promised city of Khadrath, death was only allowed to the faithful, to the diligent. Those who upended the peace and order imposed by the Pharaoh in Black and those who committed a heinous crime against their fellow citizens were sent into the Umbral Vaults, a labyrinthian system where the wrathful collaborators of the Pharaoh In Black lived and fed on the sentenced.


    Gogh himself heard a myriad tales told by a friend of his who served in the army of the Pharaoh, talking about the formless horrors slithering in the shadows, emanating strange ravenous tones akin to hyenas¡¯ mocking laughter as the sentenced were banished below into shadowy embrace of the Umbral Vaults. He also heard and believed that those who manage to evade these horrors usually never found a way and just wither away in the dim halls only to be denied entrance to the lands of Beyond.


    As he kneeled into the rough and coarse sand, recalling these and many other tales, he contemplated whether it would be better to just end his own existence. Hope was a fools tool in these vaults, the only certainty was his impending doom by the hands of time and its plantation of needs into his body, or by the hands of some walking nightmare born out of fear in the distant realms of Urhggoth.


    Though, as much as Gogh tried to force himself to be his own executioner, fools hope remained as he felt the gentle, tickling brace of the wind sweeping from behind and heading into the gaping oval maw of gloomy limestone garnished with strange hieroglyphs he deciphered as possible warnings of no return. He clutched his hands pressing against his numb thighs and forced life into his legs as he rushed into the utter dimness.


    Stepping outside, Gogh entered into a long hall of pristine limestone walls reaching into unseen heights, their walls adorned with the same hieroglyphs he saw on the oval archway. Facing him were the foot of a giant hewn from a grayish black basalt with six toes on each naked foot, upper the skirt which seemed to be made with a cavity occupied by thick shadows.


    As he walked further into the hallway, he noticed similar oval archways on both his left and right, seemingly in an uncountable quantity. Though as much as he would have liked to inspect each architectural piece, to ponder on who and when they were made, light footsteps approaching him from the black distance forced him to first rush back whence he came.


    Though this endeavor proved futile as an unseen wall sent him tumbling into the cold floor where he sat for a few short moments as he looked at the pitch blackness in front of him where once the spacious and empty tomb existed. He swiftly rose back to his feet and as the footsteps reached closer and closer to his place, Gogh rushed to the gap between two of the gargantuan statues and hoped the shadows shrouding him shall prove good enough against who ¨C or ¨C whatever was nearing.


    A strange curiosity overwhelmed his dread after minutes passed, yet the whoever or whatever treaded towards him still was out of sight. Gogh could only see till the fifteenth archway, beyond that only the thick abyss stared back at him. As he watched curiously, he began to ponder whether the source of the footsteps were a kindred soul who was sentenced to wander these vaults just like him.


    Yet the answer to this question never arrived as he footsteps seemed to change their trajectory, revealing that beyond the darkness a turn may follow. For a while he crouched between the statues, amassing his courage seeping out as the coldness of fear spread like a wild plague.


    Gogh gulped once and forced power into his legs, breaking the icy grip of fear wrapping around them, holding them to the numbing floor. As his heart pounded, he charged into the dark belly of the Vaults, deaf to his own echoed trembling.


    **


    Forward and forward he ran, his pace gradually harder to keep up as he reached the fiftieth statue while cold sweat cascaded down his whole lean body while he was filled with the strange mixture of fear and ecstatic joy as he regulated his breath through arkhaine means.


    Yet even as hours passed by, there was no sign of the turn where the approaching steps diverted then became distant until they were swallowed by the dark vastness. With an ecstatic feeling tingling his whole body, he stopped and looked back and forth, pondering whether he heard the steps from the chosen trajectory. He stared back and toiled whether to move whence he came and head in to that distance.


    Amidst these ponderings a horrific revelation came in two forms. One was bloodcurdling screams of pleading for help, the other a trembling which shook his still body followed by an awful stench of death he was familiar with thanks to witnessing the many accidents claiming the life of his fellow stonemasons.


    He quickly darted into the shadows, where fear grew harder as a hand clamped over his mouth, pressing his soft lower lip onto his tusks while a shush stifled his quick yelp sent out thoughtlessly while the screams seemed to approach ever closer, the vibrations grew more intense.


    In front of the two shrouded by dim shadows in the gap, a lightly dressed disheveled merkin collapsed wheezing and pleading to the horrific hunter brought forth nightmares of the haunting kind. A figure towering high into the shadows whose hulking form was wrapped in dark gauzes, fitted with queerly angular plates of a deep orchid hue including the pieces looping around its slim, forward leaning horns sprouting from the sides of its head akin to the minotaurs of the northern lands.


    Its bulky foot pressed against the gilded and scaled abdomen of the merkin, its weight pressing out air as the slits on his neck ovulated while his high-pitched voice grew a husky tone. The horned head of the beast tilted left and right while its orchid eyes stared inquiringly at its prey, though in the next moment the nightmare beast lost all interest and slowly forced more and more of his weight onto the merkin.


    His lips opened wide, yet no scream followed while his small fishy eyes popped out from their frame while the cracking of his bones echoed through the endless hall, followed by the tearing of his flesh by the very bones of his themselves, followed by the translucent azure blood of his flowing onto the pristine floor which quickly swallowed it up satiating its vampiric thirst, while shadowy veins grew under the torn skin of his, his head slanted towards the two as his small eyes finally fell out from the round borders while his jaws stretched into an unnatural length, the last of his breath escaping from it.


    Yet before more harm could have come to the gilded cadaver, it released its foot and stepped back while thick orchid mist flowed out from under the dark gauzes and slithered into the orifices. Silent moments followed rich in creeping dread as the two stared at the two eyeless holes filled with the strange mist before a distorted scream, laughter escaped the agape mouth.


    The animated cadaver sprung onto its legs and vomited what little blood and innards remained within the body, then rose and stared at the two. Tears formed in the corner¡¯s of Gogh¡¯s eyes as he closed them awaiting the gruesome doom of being torn apart by the animated cadaver standing silently in front of them. He wanted to scream the name of his father in vain, hoping that his once valiant form sprang forth the shadows, cleaving through the horrific beings.


    Yet the doom never came as he opened his eyes, he watched as the two were swallowed by the dim shadows, heading where he arrived from. Moments passed as he sat motionless in the lap of his nameless and faceless savior, listening, feeling as the two reach further and further away.

 Chapter 49: Wretched Paths of the Forest I.

    The first thing taught to all children of the North beneath the jagged, gloomy walls of Dhaugruz ¨C never strode alone on the treacherous paths of the Vesgeriath Woodland. With centuries passed, the settlers and refugees swiftly learned the woodland itself was inhabited by trickster spirits of nature and finality who enjoyed calling the people into the endless mazes of the woodland, rarely allowing escape to the fooled adventurers.


    Only those earned return, escape from the woodland who prayed for either the guidance of the old deossos, or those who bowed down onto their knees, pleading the spirits, offering to expand their trickery by trading the souls of others for their own. Strangely or not, the latter rarely produced the intended results, many of them cowards now still wandered the haunted lands of the Vesgeriath Woodland. Even after they earned their freedom by lacking compunction.


    One such wandered of distant lands visiting the woodland was a niuvhen maiden whose name had been forcefully forgotten. Her vices ranged from minor twist of married men and women of the settlements to major ones including beckoning inept parties of adventurers into the crooked hands of the wicked fey of the woodland per their bargain.


    For hundreds of years she eluded her accursed, inescapable fate of wandering the forest without the hope of rest. Hundreds of years, thousands of souls which then led to an army of the dead unleashed against the pursuing legions of the Empire just as the hordes of slaved gained entrance to the frozen womb of Dhaugruz.


    Her foolishness revealed itself on that distant day seven hundred years ago, when the faux possibility of escape reared its fangs to her and as one of the largest battles at the time in the north unfolded, she tried to make haste to the warmer south yet as she stepped out from the gate of Theisibrar, fleshy roots burst forth the snow blanketed road, wrapped around her well-honed delicate form and dragged her deep into the bowels of the earth, her shrieks still heard to this day according to some foolish bards.


    Though some say she still got away free of punishments as the wicked fay whom was her contractor resides in a small metallic box of the Empire, their freedom forever taken away by decree of the Emperor.


    For this reason, her pale specter wandered the woodland aimlessly for centuries, hunting unfortunate souls who strayed from the blessed paths or sought glory where only death awaited. Through centuries long hunt of the living, she slowly stepped onto the stairs of accursed ascension, gaining the title of one of the Damned Lords of the Woodland.


    While proud citizens, adventurers, magusos and brave warriors of the Empire stayed on the blessed paths, many other sought to stray into the decaying wilds of the woodland their aims varied in myriad ways.


    Those who practiced the arts of calling the dead, taking their grudges upon them to gain their services sought her dreaded court in the heart of the woodland. Most put much on their self-believed silver tongue only to end up as one of her silent servitors.


    Those from the Host of Dusk on the other end showed great respect to the avaricious specter, bringing hundreds of gifts comprised from baubles of arkhaine nature fueling her long desired ascension, slaves collected from the former kingdom felled many years after her death who now served as her loyal hounds.


    And then there came out of nowhere the strange visitor on the twenty-sixth day of the Dawn Father¡¯s month, draped in mostly black. At first, she believed this visitor were one of the mysterious scholarly race of aetherkiin, a race who long since ascended beyond their mortal coil after peering into fathomless mind of the Almodo ¨C at least that¡¯s what the tales told of the ancient aethereal race.


    The visitor showed no fear or respect as she glided across the ruined fane serving as her court. Contrary, when she peered under His hood, the bottomless vicious darkness instilled an existential fear which brought her on the doorstep of delirium ¨C a feat she thought was impossible after the day earth swallowed her.


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    Yet this reaper of a tall figure came not to take her to her eternal rest, but to offer a greater ascension than the one she worked for centuries. He held his long arm out ending in a pitch black hand of elongated clawed fingers and she took it without hesitation.


    A crooked smile bent onto her lips bleeding a dark mist revealing her rotten, asymmetrically arrayed teeth and a long pointed tongue wriggling as she felt excitement at the vision shown to her of a band of white armored warriors and a small bulky fellow of the mountains with hair and beard already white as the snow.


    The golden eyed young man drew her attention, and the anger she felt for the one who got away rose up from the abyss of her tainted soul. Without any further words needed, she took the dark visitor¡¯s offer.


    **


    ¡°It has been some time.¡± Gna said as he fastened the belt of his oval shield, fixing it to his back in a series of clangs. Their little group consisted of Ulrich, Eadwald, Azugh, Aelfsigior, Priernuss, the elderly Hevaeck, Ashnan and young maiden Lioba converging at the small northern gate of Vonschneithar.


    Surrounding them their loved ones brought heavy satchels which they aided onto their belts before offering a hopeful embrace, in some cases accompanied by single streams of tears along their cheeks. Even Mirdbruil couldn¡¯t stifle the worry ailing her heart as she gazed upon the proud forms of her dear husband and second child almost grown fully to a man.


    ¡°Do not worry my love, I shall keep an eye on him like before, like always.¡± Ulrich said with a soothing tone as her arms pushed the metallic plate hugging his chest tighter onto his body.


    She leaned away for a moment and as the two¡¯s lips locked onto each other, Amiriniel and Eadwald looked away shyly while Sigiwaer stared taking in every little detail before he too looked away feeling awkwardly. ¡°I know that, but do not forget about watching out to yourself too.¡±


    Ulrich chuckled a little then slightly turned towards the others. ¡°That is why I keep them close.¡±


    ¡°I shall watch his back.¡± Priernuss who finished saying goodbye to many maidens whom he wooed the past few months chided in with a hearty chuckle of his own.


    ¡°Thank you Priernuss!¡± Priernuss bowed as if he was showing respect to some royalty. ¡°Naturally. Now I¡¯ll leave you to continue your tearful farewells.¡±


    Before he could turn away Sigi asked him with a greedily childish tone to bring a bauble from the road to which he answered with another, now playful bow. ¡°Don¡¯t you want me to bring something too?¡± Ulrich asked feeling a bit envious.


    Sigi shook his head and answered simply. ¡°Just bring yourself.¡± Then he leapt into his father¡¯s neck with a little maghiath aid taught by his elderly uncle Aelfsigior. Ulrich was left speechless, and he himself teared up at the heartfelt gesture as he hugged him tightly.


    ¡°I agree. Though if either of you see some maghiath tome, that would be nice too.¡± Amiriniel said feeling a bit of guilt before she too embraced her father in a warm hug.


    ¡°Watch out too brother.¡± Following the end of his farewells, Eadwald followed as he kneeled down into the frozen mud as he embraced his two siblings one at a time. ¡°I shall, and thanks to your gift I am confident we shall return in no time.¡± He said while placing the crude amulet hewn from stone by Sigi¡¯s little hands over the rustling collection of medals bearing the marks of the One and the Eight.


    ¡°Fear not as the Almodo offers his protection to all his children ¨C especially those who carry his blessed seed.¡± Hevaeck watching the tearful goodbyes unfolding all around him said to all. Sigi¡¯s blessed eye buzzed as he stared at the elderly dwarf speaking, weaving unseen particles of mana into each word, into each sonance created by him out of sheer kindness.


    He watched excitedly as each hidden rune brimming with arkhaine power floated towards the onlookers including himself and buried into his and their chests banishing the lingering shadows of doubt and worry, reborning them into the radiance of hope and certainty of their loved one''s return.


    Just like in their hearts, the tears of worry phased into tears of hope, and everyone reached one last time for their departing loved ones. With some final whispers, they stood back and watched as the group of armored settlers and the elderly vicar parted from the vast village courtyard.


    Sigiwaer clutched onto the soft skirt of his mother, then just like everyone else, raised his small hand and waved at the back of his dear father and brother as they were slowly swallowed by the terrifyingly picturesque landscape of endless woodland of Vesgeriath.

 Chapter 50: Wretched Paths of the Forest II.

    After the two entered into the city pretending to be visitors they wandered around aimlessly with the myriad other refugees. As I later learned, their aimlessness was simply to shroud their quest to map out weak points along the imposing sand golden walls towering higher than the pure-blooded giants of the basin patrolled by the altered dead of the Black Pharaoh.


    I quickly recognized the scent of Umvraoths lingering on the undead guards who silently patrolled the walls spreading their maddening aura all over the sand filled landscape. Fear gripped my heart as I kept my vigil while following the two in the soft shadows, expecting one of the Nightmares of the Almodo to appear to devour me like in the dream before.


    Thankfully this event never unfolded as these umvraothoy were fabrications of the land of Oneiron, though that only registered into me much later after I woke up. For the time being I attached myself to the ethereal robes draping over the hulking frame of Augermil.


    To calm myself and gain back the excitement which roared its head in my heart as I entered with them, I diverted my gaze onto the strange buildings of many different shades. There were cubicle shaped homes hewn from obsidian and with crimson plates engraved with unfamiliar glyphs with powerful maghaikas inscriptions woven into them which both I and them felt as Terrianis stared at them quite coldly.


    Unlike the traditional imperial architecture, the edges of these intermittent structures were hewn quite bluntly and with surreptitious design emitting strange shadows which I quickly learned were simply offered shading against the cruel rays of the Illius while also protecting the walking dead, or to be precise slowed their decay in this warmer climate.


    Though in hindsight I realize it was a small part of why the locals tolerated the walking dead, with the bigger part being that they themselves were not that much different from our Host of Dusk, seeing the various other spirits as nothing more than misunderstood beings.


    Still for little me they were still weird folks draped in shining garments of velvet and silken of the highest grade as the source came from the terrifying worms of the south who lived beneath the scorching sands of the many colored deserts. It was quite the dreadful experience at the time seeing one float in the air by strange, gloomy maghaikas crystals embedded into sand stone columns as tall as Augermil himself.


    While the cadaver of the chitinous beast was terrifying to me, the arkhruine symbols invisible to the naked eye dancing joyfully around the large cadaver shrouding much of the market square in hardened shadows. What surprised me most was the cinnamon like scent permeating the air which I first attributed to the sweet bakeries in the making of ceramic wombs hewn into the side of certain sand golden structures, yet in truth the scent originated from the hovering corpse.


    The whole market was a strange event to witness as living and undead guards patrolled in the thick crowd of people who showed no fear at the walking, rotting corpses adorned in silvery and dark armor with an open helmet exposing their horrid visages. People simply ignored them as they went on to their business¡¯s, children laughed and some even waved to the emotionless guards.


    Terrianis and Augermil on the other hand veiled their disgust quite well as they carefully maneuvered between the colorfully dressed while also hiding in the shadows of wide alleys where only the downtrodden and homeless dwelt. Strangely Terrianis kept watch while Augermil inquired them on the maze-like routes of the humongous city, specifically asking about the ones leading towards the temple as the palace itself was quite easily findable.


    The pyramid shaped palace of Khadrath itself ¨C in my own estimation at least ¨C was large enough for one clawed hand of Nightscale himself to fit upon its flat top. The palace itself was hewn from the finest of obsidian, resulting in a polished, lavishly glassy surface reflecting and converting the rays of the Illius into a cooling light as I inspected it with my blessed eye.


    From the market itself I discerned that the pyramid itself was segmented into at least three vast floors with each top and bottom edge ornated with lavish silver engraved with strange, weird hieroglyphs imbued with strange maghaikas inscriptions just like with the other structures of the city. Though I could deduce these runes prevented unwanted eyes from peering beyond the thick, stiffly sloped walls, which at the time I thought how exciting it would be to slide down from them. To be honest to myself, I still think it would be a thrilling experience.


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    But these thoughts were pushed away as me and them heard the strange thrumming coming from the center, the palace itself. At the third thrum the people of the market, the whole city stopped with whatever they were doing, those seated rose from their chairs, sofas and each in a perfectly artificial manner turned towards the pyramid and marched towards it as one.


    Like them I was filled with curiosity, not knowing what awaited, what beckoned the people of Khadrath. And I was quite excited to find out strangely, not knowing the fateful encounter awaiting me at the end of this dream.


    **


    It was true that the Vesgeriath Woodland was a swathe land of legions of trees once blooming with ethereally ivory and onyx foliage. Though the latter still appeared occasionally, most of the trees withered away as centuries passed since the leylines beneath were overflown with nekrotic energies.


    Which led to certain areas devoid of shadows, allowing a wicked brightness as the light of the Illius filtered by the clouds mingled with the muddy yet still glistening snow. In one such clearing, the mix blooded giants wandered when the Solemn Shepherd loomed behind their steps, where they often dug their own final resting places.


    Orhadin himself stood in the shadow of one such barrow of snow and frozen mud. In the vast clearing he stood alone as living, dozens of revenants circled around him as they felt the scent of life emanating from him. But they stifled their desire to torn him apart, to force him amongst their own herd as he also emanated a combined scent strangely familiar yet distant.


    The scent of the ophidian Aydvroegh, Jaurmandr who once the chief of minor deossos of finality refurbishing parts of the soul chiseled off from those passed to the Beyond. Yet this was not the one keeping the accursed dead away, but the one much stronger and older belonging to the Elder Dragon of Dusk itself whose first roar birthed the cycle of day and night in all realms of existence.


    ¡°Do not sulk my friend.¡± Orhadin swiftly turned around and with a clean motion was bending his knee, pushing his sloped forehead of scaled ivory epidermis onto it as the familiar voice of Grimslaukh entered his ears hidden beneath his hood.


    ¡°Nothing that can be solved. Just need a little time.¡± He said while still focusing on the runes placed around the rotting cadaver resting beneath mud and snow. While the most of the lost could not be prevented from rising into their accursed state, the Empire still made sure that the peaceful giants of the north remained undisturbed. Many of their vicars called upon the Obtryllia and constructed inscriptions keeping the deceased giants in a faux sleep.


    ¡°Let me help with that. Keep your eyes truly open.¡± At his words Orhadin straightened his stance and channeled mana into his arkhruine point situated approximately at his head from which the now shaped mana flowed into his ophidian eyes revealing the faint outlines of particles.


    In his almost childish curiosity, his attention diverted onto Grimslaukh who appeared completely engulfed in dark energies, as if he was wound in reality. Just looking at him he felt awe and had to force himself to stare back at the radiating inscriptions circling around the mound, pouring ethereal whirlpools into the hill like grave.


    Grimslaukh stood still yet the darkness which engulfed his whole being spread around the barrow mound, tendrils rose from the ground and nibbled the inscriptions like starving wolves, tearing and shredding the protective wards with ease.


    A deep coldness washed over Orhadin, his knees trembled, his grasp on his staff tightened while his teeth pressed against one another while he felt the whole world tremble for a short moment. Then instinctively he stepped back with Grimslaukh as the whirlpool of aethereal energies stopped flowing and dissipated, the hill-like grave trembled before it blown to a thousand parts showering the revenants still circling around.


    Many revenants tumbled over as their rotten and frozen carcasses were hit with snow and frozen mud, yet they swiftly rose back as if nothing happened. ¡°Follow his words my children.¡± Grimslaukh¡¯s hollow voice echoed through the clearing as he pointed at the half-rotten giant no bigger than the trees surrounding them afar.


    Warped, distorted words poured from the mouth of the revenants and followed after the once livelier rotten giant emanating a wicked mauve glow from beneath his exposed bones. ¡°Is it alright to let them wander off?¡±


    ¡°Of course. Now come, time to meet with the strongest of this land.¡± Reality tore itself apart revealing a hole occupied by vicious darkness towards Grimslaukh beckoned Orhadin. Without saying any word, Orhadin complied even happily and two departed to meet one of the dreaded lords of the Vesgeriath Woodland.

 Chapter 51: Wretched Paths of the Forest III.

    Cold winds blew as the group reached deep into the heart of the Vesgeriath Woodland. Fetid scent infested the air which seemed to follow them in their tracks across the blessed paths created by the elderly vicar Hevaeck.


    From his amulet he gained seemingly endless power to erect a vast bubble of radiant energies which expelled not only the accursed dead, but also other wicked spirits lingering in the shadows of the decaying trees. Their route towards the Deoshiar Monestary, a route of great peril under the jurisdiction of the utmost surreptitious lords of the damned woodland.


    Shadows lingered at the edges, whispering sweet words into the ears of the party¡¯s members, beckoning them to join his umbral court where eternal joy awaited them in the soft and cold shadows of a once great fortress living still with its once protective purpose.


    Each their steps faltered except for the experienced Aelfsigior and Priernuss who wandered distant, dangerous lands and the elderly vicar enjoying the protection of the magnanimous deossos. Eadwald struggled occasionally, his faith in the Almodo who blessed him, chosen him wavered as he took small glances at the shadows of the forest.


    In the end he pulled through and ignored the children¡¯s laughter reaching his ears from beyond the protective aura, and inquired on their next stop. The enchantments woven into their clothing, their armor slowly began to fade in power and his muscles were burning, screaming for rest.


    While Aelfsigior himself was knowledgeable about most of the woodland, he himself was a bit unsure setting up camp within this territory seeing the dark circles, the pale complexions of the others besides Priernuss and Hevaeck.


    The elderly dwarf furrowed his brows, stroked his beard while the other hand remained on his amulet engulfed in radiant golden energies. ¡°There is a clearing not far ahead. We should be able to rest there I believe.¡± Hearing those words, Eadwald heaved a deep sigh as he prepared himself.


    For a short moment he even closed his eye and rested not more than a few seconds. Then as he opened his eyes, he felt the firm hands of his father touching his shoulders. He looked at him and conveyed he can endure the cold and the tiredness for a little bit more.


    As they continued on, he decided to ask old Hevaeck about the priesthood who set up shop in the middle of Vesgeriath Woodland. He had been quite curious for the reason a small sect of the Dawn Father settling down practically in the middle of enemy territory


    Hevaeck explained to the young man that contrary to what he believed ¨C and what was told to him ¨C the so called healers of Vesgeriath did not dabble in simple restoration maghia, but their title actually meant their mission was to cleanse the forest of negative matter and the ravenous, anger-filled undead.


    Now for centuries, they had been patrolling the forest in small groups of four, hunting down lesser and or greater revenants while also seeking out insidious points where lesser aydvroegh or umvraoth dwelled even alluding to the tale of one famed healer of the woodland called Galen.


    Galen was a truscian man who came to see the first ray of light of the world in the deep south of the Vhalleryon, born into a poor family in a small settlement which lost its name the day a disciple of the ill-famed Pharaoh In Black laid waste to it, adding the residents to its growing horde of the dead.


    The event left a deep mark in his soul as he became the soul survivor only thanks to the kindness of his mother who led him down into secret tunnels created by the ever migrating worms of the south. For many years he studied the maghia of the Dawn Father the arisen dead were so afraid of, leading to his enlisting into the 2<sup>nd</sup> Legion then later into the Order of Maghia¡¯s Truth.


    There after many decades gaining knowledge both on repelling the undead and the aydvroegh, he found himself amongst like minded friends who decided to cleanse the accursed woodland of Vesgeriath where he fought against the Crimson Praetoriar, a fallen knight whose corpse was inhabited by an Aydvroegh whom possessed a ceaseless thirst for the blood of the living.


    Eadwald listened with glinting eyes to the ardent retelling of the tale, imagined the days long duel between brave Galen and the Crimson Praetoriar whose once snow white armor gained a deep crimson shade. And just as the tale reached its end, the group also stepped forth into the vast clearing with nothing but snow and rotten dead turning towards them.


    Eadwald amidst counting the revenant gulped then gave up after reaching two dozen at least. The group stood frozen in place as they contemplated their next move, but as most were tired decided to rely on the protection of the ward while they rested.


    **


    The hour of dusk swiftly approached as darkness lengthened the empty sky and the only source of the light were the golden ward shaped into a large bubble around them. Beyond its radiant border, a vicious darkness nestled infested with the revenants waiting futile for any of them to step beyond its scorching, transparent walls.


    Right at the center, Priernuss and Lioba together rose and shaped a caved mound with a small hole in its center. Within its relatively spacious earthen interior, the fire burnt calmly bathing the cold walls in warmth and light while the smoke escaped through both the entrance and the small aperture of the ceiling. The moderately seasoned boar broth steamed within the onyx kettle.


    Its mesmerizing scent permeated both the inside and the outside where Ulrich and Eadwald stood rested and full of bread and broth, vigilantly watching the vicious darkness. Although they could not see the ceaselessly hungering pack of revenants circling around tirelessly, waiting for the ward to collapse at any moment in vain.


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    The two stood in silence, straining their senses, their muscle ripped arms hidden beneath layers of thick garments and the white armor of theirs, close enough that their hands could grab their swords in a matter of seconds. Yet the only thing he fought against was his urge born of deep, endless curiosity as he wished to learn more of the world, and the tales of his father accumulated during his years in the legion.


    ¡°You should rest Priernuss, the morning will be a long one.¡± Ulrich turned around as he heard the faint crunch of snow, the soft clacks of the armor pieces caressing each other as Priernuss walked up to the two trying to make as little noise as possible and with childish intent on his face.


    ¡°And here I though I could scare you Eadwald.¡± He chuckled while bluish energies of the mind dispersed from around his head. ¡°An old habit we had back down at the south. Plant certain sensations like itching or a bad stomach ache.¡±


    For a moment Eadwald thought the spell went into partial motion as he began to fold some of the layers looping around his arm and scratching his skin beneath. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, no spell had been cast on you, also if you are tired Eadwald I can replace you. I can function with little sleep.¡±


    Eadwald closed his eyes for a moment, then let the cold air hit his face. ¡°No need. This much I can and should endure.¡±


    ¡°Good. Let¡¯s just pass some time. Boredom is the enemy of all as we say.¡± Priernuss walked between father and son and inhaled deeply the fetid air while his slightly sharpened ears twitched as he listened to the air carrying the creaking steps of the dead.


    Silence settled between them for a few seconds as the two stared at Priernuss, as if anticipating something great akin to witnessing a spell turning a mountain to rubble or turning water into wine of the very best kind. ¡°Have you ever wandered what compels the revenants to seek out any and all entering these lands?¡±


    Ulrich and Eadwald both raised their eyebrow at the question. ¡°Isn¡¯t it their hatred for the living?¡±


    ¡°Well most people think that regarding the revenants not just of this land. But in actuality ¨C like with everything ¨C there is more to them, including inscriptions instilling murderous thoughts into their restless minds.¡± Priernuss continued cracking his fingers and breathing deeply in the cold, fetid air.


    ¡°Revenants ¨C and might I say every other breathing, thinking, existing creature including us ¨C are drawn to various things like hounds who picked up on a scent.¡±


    Eadwald listened excitedly but then began to question those words and thought maybe Priernuss hoped to prank him, yet his curiosity still forced the next set of words out from his mouth. ¡°Scent?¡±


    ¡°Scents, sounds, sensations we produce by just existing effecting them and us. For infaerni, these scents are sweet as cinnamon, maddening like love. For the revenants its like a good lamb broth or stew, swelling their hunger, while also the source of their rebirth into nekrossok.¡±


    The two looked at each other and Ulrich asked next.¡± But how does it affect us?¡±


    ¡°It is only a theory I heard from the aetherkiin I met long ago, but these unseen, void smells and sounds are what leads us onto our paths, what makes us desire to do good or evil, to create peace or wage war to lie or to tell truth.¡±


    ¡°What happens if we would be deprived of any one of them?¡± Eadwald asked out of the blue surprising both his father and Priernuss who began to scratch his temple.


    His eyes wandered out the radiant border as he pondered then heaved a soft sigh. ¡°Hard to say if I am being honest. My closest guess would be it would severely hinder us, may even degrade us into a state similar to vegetables.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe in the existence of this not smellable scent, cannot be heard sound, unknown faint sensation?¡± Ulrich asked as his attention returned to their dim surroundings.


    ¡°A little. Aetherkiin have no sense of humor, and they see things beyond our sight.¡±


    ¡°Like Sigi.¡± At that Priernuss nodded while Ulrich¡¯s nose began to search vainly for this scent, hoping to pick up on. In the end he smelled only the stew¡¯s alluring one, and the sweat under the other two¡¯s armpits.


    ¡°Speaking of which ¨C are you excited now having a certainty to leave and even fulfill your ambitions?¡± At that both Ulrich and Eadwald twitched a little. For the past few days, the thought of being The Ones, the Almodo¡¯s chosen evaded their minds as they mostly focused on their daily lives of getting up in the morning, practicing, helping the elderly of their settlement.


    Yet now that there was a certainty that he shall leave the walls of Vonschneithar further than the woodland, the source of many of his fears and nightmares filled him with uncertainty in a twisted sense. ¡°Honestly, I am a bit afraid. The past few years, I just felt content ensuring that Vonschneithar could enjoy a sense of peace. But now, thinking that one day I may face threats greater than some revenants, wild beasts ¨C the horrors of this forest ¨C fill me with dread.¡±


    Priernuss looked into his eyes, than nodded to Ulrich whose head was now filled with a fluster storm of thoughts. ¡°It is never easy to leave your home, to face challenges you only heard from tales. But me and your mother are proud to give life to you, and you won¡¯t have to worry about home, because one day you shall return, I have no doubt of that. Until than I wish for you to live your life, to fulfill your destiny and join the annals of the greatest who walked these lands.¡±


    Ulrich placed his right hand over his shoulder and embraced his son while holding back tears, while also repeating to himself that they still have some time left before the goodbyes. Time which he vowed to himself to spend with each of them to the best of his abilities.


    ¡°And if it helps, I know a few spells which you could use to keep touch with your old man and mother.¡± Priernuss waited and spoke only when the two finished their heartfelt embrace.


    ¡°Will you stay at Vonscneithar?¡± Ulrich asked as he turned back towards the dim surroundings devouring the light of the ward.


    ¡°Probably for a few more years so they can return home one day.¡± Priernuss said jokingly, then Ulrich sighed and turned towards him.


    ¡°Honestly, I am glad we can count you amongst us. But I would be even more glad if you accompanied them when the time comes.¡±


    Priernuss turned back a bit surprised at the statement. ¡°Are you sure? I have no doubt the top shall send the best of the best. You may even meet your idol my friend.¡± For a short moment Ulrich¡¯s eyes lit up at the thought of meeting the famed blade of the Empire but shook his head.


    ¡°Maybe but still I think Sigi and Ami would be happy to have you along while teaching them at least a few more spells. Plus I think they shall definitely need someone to eternalize them in their greatest of moments.¡±


    Priernuss chuckled a little while stared down at the ground before he bowed. ¡°Then when the time comes, I shall accompany them and protect them until they pass us far ahead. And probably make a few more portraits maybe even for free.¡±


    With that without noticing, Eadwald¡¯s heart eased knowing that one familiar face shall be with them in a world fully unknown to them. The rest of the night passed by as he listened to the two recounting old tales in their respective legions, and before long shift changed, and the darkness slowly faded from the sky as a new day begun.

 Chapter 52: Wretched Paths of the Forest IV.

    The last to wake up was Ulrich as he stirred numerous times to the soft trembling of the ground beneath his thick fur bedding, the cracks of the tainted bones of the revenants still hungrily dancing around while groaning in their warped voices.


    Thanks to the flexibility of the arkhaine natured metal his armor was crafted from ¨C and to the additional enchantments ¨C he could easily stretch his limbs before aiding the others in cleaning up their camp and then preparing to move towards their destination which seemed so far while in the middle of a swarm of revenants.


    As with the days before, he stood beside Gna with Priernuss and Aelfsigior at the front, Lioba and Ashnan at the back while Hevaeck himself was guarded by the youth of the group. The old dwarf stared at the ground while breathing heavily, still clutching the amulet channeling mana into the ward.


    Then his eyes suddenly popped open and he nodded to Aelfsigior who finally gave the command, and they began their slow march towards the north east. Austere winds blew against the ward, creeping the space with an unnatural cold and fetid air.


    Ulrich¡¯s golden eyes remained focused on the revenants hollowly staring at them while slowly shadowing the trail of the radiant circle. Some bore their rotten, incomplete jaws at them, sneering almost while others remained gravely silent as if they possessed a bottomless patience knowing, expecting the ward to break down at any moment.


    Thick, sick foliage they headed towards felt dreadfully distant, their pace slower with the frozen mud and snow wrapping itself onto their greaves, seeking to halt their uneasy treading towards the mendacious protective embrace of the forest.


    Beneath his feet, the trembling he felt during his awakening what felt like hours ago intensified, just like the beating of his heart while the creaking of trees was carried towards his ear, turning his attention westwards where they danced themselves towards crumbling down to the earth as a rotten giant emanating a dark mist from the exposed skeletal half appeared on the grimly pale horizon.


    ¡°Brace yourselves!¡± Even before Aelfsigior words, orders manifested Ulrich and the others tightened their grip and took a formation around Hevaeck, no longer trusting the strength of his ward as the revenants collectively made a path for the undead giant.


    Deep trembles shook their formation as the undead giant got closer and closer with each passing moment. Their hands tightened around the straps of the shields, their muscles in their arms and legs tensed up while their bodies quivered with mild ecstasy as they channeled their mana into their limbs.


    Priernuss sensed the cold nekrotic matter condensing around the large log the giant tore from the earth, slowly slithering around the makeshift weapon which it slowly lifted upwards its half eternally grinning head. He quickly fell into the center of the formation, Ashnan and Aelfsigior patching the hole he left.


    He threw down his weapon and shield, stretched his arm down towards the earth and closed his eyes while taking a deep breath. The mild ecstasy he felt intensified with each gradual moment as he swallowed the unseen energies of the earth ¨C the building blocks of the aspect what they sensed and knew as earth ¨C and forced his will upon it.


    In the next moment, the undead giant tumbled over as the earth roared under its feet, tainted and rotten roots burst forth under its bulky, decayed feet and wrapped around its hole riddled frozenly dry curvature while pumping cold energies to lock it in place while the group began its careful march out of the damned clearing.


    Revenants swarmed the fallen over undead giant cursing in its warped tongue, and like dutiful drones began to tear the roots, clawed at the ice slowly growing onto the dead flesh and yellowed bone while a few others decided to at least halt the careful march of the group.


    Many stood in the way of the sliding ward, and as soon as they came into contact with the radiant and transparent wall, their bodies erupted in bright flames, or radiant matter taking on the shape of raging, starving flames eating away the thick and thin flesh in an everlastingly dead state.


    All those revenants emitted one last harrowing, warped shriek as only a pile of bones remained of them which Ulrich and the others trampled onto. With each crack, with each bone broken under their heavy and slow steps, he muttered a prayer to the Solemn Shepherd and Gray Monarch while his eyes focused on the forest offering little protection, yet at that moment it seemed safer than the fight that may lied ahead if the ward maintained by the tireless Hevaeck collapsed.


    His blood froze the moment, a deep warped shriek was followed by what he guessed was a victorious laughter reached his ¨C theirs ¨C ears. Aelfsigior turned to Priernuss for a moment who shook his head while breathing heavily with a half-mad smile under his helmet.


    Ulrich was glad the half-aevhe was with them as it at least brought them time to reach a point from where they began to increase their pace. As soon as the earth began to tremble once more, a second warped roar quivered the trees, the group reached the forest, and at Aelfsigior¡¯s command began to sprint without looking back.


    Their only sign of their pursuer¡¯s existence were their heart-shaking, spine freezing shriek that reverberated through the whole shadow infested forest.


    **


    Hours passed, the sky gained a darker, gloomier tone as they finally halted in hamlet devoid of life. After they entered the forest, the group picked up on their pace, Priernuss still carried Hevaeck on his back while the old dwarf seemed to be in an even deeper trance while clutching his amulet, the one protection they had against the threats of the deeper woodland.


    Yet the danger was not too far away, prompting Aelfsigior to give out hasty commands. Ulrich, Eadwald and Lioba took up position in the hamlet¡¯s third eastern structure, once a homestead of a family of hunters as decaying pelts remained over the roof and the walls both in and outside.


    Azugh, Gna and Ashnan were ordered to take position at the opposing crumbling building slightly on a lower elevation as the village like their own was built onto a slight slope in the woodland¡¯s abundant area. A home once housing a craftsman and their family once as dozens of cracked, crumbling pots adorned the collapsing shelves both in the main living area still possessing a bed or two, and in the storage room which¡¯s northern wall collapsed down completely, letting the grayish white light of the Illius shone through the gaping hole.


    Lastly, before Priernuss, Hevaeck and Aelfsigior took up their position in the square to act as decoys to most of the revenants reaching ever closer, Aelfsigior prayed to the Dawn Father and gave bestowed protective enchantments onto each of their chest plates, warding off the creeping nekrotic matter sapping their life forces away slowly and surely.


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    In the homestead, Ulrich and Lioba faced the front and back doors while Eadwald stood between them a bit hesitantly, but stayed silent knowing it was not the right time to amass glory. Ulrich tightened his grip and closed his eyes. Not long after, in the vast sea of darkness gradually strengthening damaged, ethereal outlines appeared charging towards the hamlet appearing as a blindingly glimmering gilded smudge.


    Then the still menacing, dreadful trembling shook their bodies lightly as he opened his eyes, all of them prepared for the battle ahead with Ashnan, Gna, Ulrich, Priernuss and Aelfsigior murmuring to themselves they fought worse than a risen giant.


    Just as they expected it, the first of the revenants whom rushed into the abandoned hamlet charged with mindless rage towards the still erected ward and like those at the clearing, their eternally frozen dead flesh disintegrated into nothingness while their bones decorated the earthly, snow blanketed streets.


    The second wave of the revenants seemed more intelligent as they halted in their rushed tracks and began to sense the life force pouring from Gna¡¯s and Ulrich¡¯s group. Some of their grotesque heads tilted to the sides while their sunken, hollowed eyeholes glared at the few deteriorated houses.


    Ulrich ducked down as an undead aevhe charged at him with a long battleaxe still glinting blade heading for his neck free of plates. At the same time, his sword thrusted forward and easily penetrated through the weak dead flesh, then he cleaved upwards freeing it from the yielding grayish ivory flesh engulfed by nekrotic matter and the disintegrating soul passing beyond the mortal world.


    Stepping backwards, his feet crushed the skull of a goblinoid revenant which body laid not too far from a hole itself created. For the short moment the rest of the second wave battered futile against the ward, Ulrich took a short peek at Eadwald, his whole body covered in black ichor which was once one of the prime life aspects of the humanoid revenant still pierced through by his gifted blade.


    Ulrich wished to help him pull it out but his efforts were cut before he could even walk one step closer when two more revenants burst into the ravaged homestead. The first he sent tumbling down to the floor by bashing his shield against its frail, half-rotten body while the second was cleaved in half at its waist then got finished with the next thrust aimed at its head missing its jaw.


    Just as the accursed soul was released, the other one leaped back onto its feet quite athletically for an undead. Ulrich spread his legs apart, hunched himself down a little while holding the shield in front of him, his blade ready to be thrusted forward at the inverted crescent curvature right at the left center of his shield. With a single thrusts forward, he poured a little of his mana bathed in the aspect of flames and as soon as the tip found its way into the abdomen of the revenant, it emitted a high-pitched and warped shriek as its body lit up in raging flames.


    It flailed around in a primal rage aimed at Ulrich, then two or three steps later collapsed at his feet while Ulrich breathed softly while taming the flames, holding them back from migrating to the decades old wood making up most if not all of the building.


    As the last mark of the revenant burned into the floor, Ulrich noticed the near silence which fell upon the little hamlet in the shadowy heart of the woodland. Yet it brought no solace as snow fell in the holes of the roof, the walls, the floor began to shook in small periods, and a deep, guttural and warped howl froze their legs, their spines as the undead giant slowly caught up.


    ¡°I guess it was too hopeful of me that we managed shake off that damned giant.¡± Lioba said as she cleaned off the tainted, malodorous blood from her axe and with the same breath stood into a battle stance with her shield held high as both she and Ulrich sensed the trembles aimed at them.


    Their fears proved to be true when Ulrich yelled for them to drop down onto the corpse littered floor just as the club cleaved off the upper half of the once cozy homestead. Fluidly they got back onto their feet with the exception of Eadwald whose name surged out in a yell as Ulrich watched as the large trunk torn from the earth, engulfed by nekrotic matter swung towards him.


    Immediately, he trampled towards him while at the same time, subconsciously pouring mana into his shield, amplifying its durability. His slid across the last few meters, shield held above his head, encompassing his back and shoulders while he gritted his teeth, strained than closed his eyes as he confirmed he did arrive just in time and that it wasn¡¯t a nightmare momentarily masquerading as a dream.


    Yet just like one, the impact which he expected he would feel for weeks if not months never arrived, instead an even more hateful warped growl and a thundering roar reverberated through the area shaking his body and even armor. After confirming that Eadwald and him were both still in one piece, he turned to the left and noticed the spear pinning the large trunk into the ground with the rotten arm still clutching onto it.


    Led by his fatherly instinct he looked back at Eadwald first and at the same breath confirmed that even Lioba was doing fine. He quickly ordered them to rush under the gilded ethereal umbrella and he rose back up facing the undead giant struggling to retrieve its makeshift weapon.


    The earth trembled under their feet when it stroke at the ground with its right leg aiming to break off the spear pinning the log, yet its missed its target which retreated back to the hand of Aelfsigior. Ulrich slowly remained in the ruined house drawing the undead giants¡¯ attention onto himself.


    A small part of him was not so keen on it working and fear weighted down his legs and arms as the grotesque giant with a gaping hole where its once prominent arm was leaked what once was blood, now a dark ichor emanating a sickly sweet, caustic odor that cursed Ulrich with additional nausea.


    Reflexively he leapt away from the downward strike of the log raised above the giant¡¯s half ivory head, though in the end the motion proved to be unnecessary as the spear previously pinning its weapon now lodged into its rotten chest followed by a series of radiant spheres blowing its head away followed by the joyous curses of Priernuss as he was assailed by ecstatic pain while down on his knees. For a short moment, envy gnawed at Ulrich as he watched his son rushing to his friend¡¯s aid first though time was not on his side as he reached for his shield too late.


    The dangerous sensation faded from him the moment he felt the fetid, necrotic skin brace against his whole body followed by the certain sensation of weightlessness beget from being kicked away. Amidst the clanking of his armor, the tearing of decades old rotten wood, his ear picked up the shout escaping the lips of his eldest son that made him feel better even amidst his situation of propelled into the adjacent building which collapsed onto his body.


    Though this weird joy was only momentary as his mind, his body was assaulted by immense pain, while he coughed blood onto the shattered shield on his left ¨C or at least onto a part of it. ¡°Gna, keep watch over him!¡± He had a hard time but he could make out Aelfsigior yelling amidst the strange, ever more warped gravelly shriek and the nauseous sound akin to flesh tearing and stretching in unnatural ways.


    ¡°Hang in there brother!¡± While it took him a great deal of effort, he moved his head upwards and smiled reassuringly into the brutish but affable face of his old friend he went through a lot the past few decades.


    A series of ethereal rings buzzed his ear while Ashnan kneeled over him with palms over his damaged abdomen, emitting a warm light slowly easing the pain into oblivion. His lips moved, trembled as he heard Aelfsigior¡¯s voice calling out Eadwald¡¯s name amidst the series of rings stifled by the otherworldly roars.


    Yet no words escaped him as his vision gradually blurred while shadows creeped at the edges, the sounds of battle became ever more distant. Dread formed in his heart, its icy tendrils wrapped around his spine as he noticed the dark figure looming in the corner of his sight to the right of Ashnan, draped in priestly garments of deep black similar to the fathomless darkness swallowing the sky when night falls.


    He wrestled against the tiredness slowly taking him over, yet it was a battle he could not won as the figure raised its left hand, its elongated, clawed index finger raised in front of the utter darkness nestled within the confines of his hood. A child¡¯s soft shush hurled her into the abyssal garden forming around the lands of Oneiron just as a deathly gargle of warped tongue reverberated through the forlorn hamlet hiding in the far corners of the Vesgeriath Woodland.

 Tales of Elhyrissian: Where Shadows Lengthen II.

    The revelation of the sands of his impending doom began to flow out from the flask struck him the moment the two walked out from the gap and he made out the sharp aevhen features of Sussuoroth.


    Two long years passed when he first met with the aurhe whom he first taught as a refugee from the northern regions where the first wave of the tenth legion broke into their kingdom, capturing the smaller towns. Gogh was amongst the stonemasons ordered to the construction of the outer walls as the Pharaoh decreed the expansion of the city to accommodate the homeless lambs flocking to the promised city.


    Even though he appeared well-fed, in a healthier state than the other refugees, the two quickly became good friends as the aurhe called out to him and asked if he could help out in the work, proving his prowess in the shaping of earthen matter.


    Two years passed, and Sussuoroth made the work he done and the work he already was passionate about ever more joyous as he taught him better ways to mold limestone and basalt, of the weird yet humorous idioms of the north while also endorsing his drinking in the tavern, helped in swaying the courtesans Gogh had a hard time speaking to even while he was on the brink of dead drunkenness.


    Yet even as they walked in the hallway, he could not force himself to kill the one who deprived him of a long and joyful life. The simple reason for this was simply fear of being alone down in the vaults where nightmarish beasts and undead walked in unknown numbers, and with prowess most definitely greater than his both in physical and arkhaine terms.


    Sussuoroth was the only reason the beast who snuffed the life out from the merkin did not notice him, he thought to himself. He was also no killer, though his father taught him a few techniques to protect himself, but in this situation, it may just give away their position. For now he had to be patient, if there was an exit, they shall find it and then he shall have his chance.


    Just as he reached this conclusion within, the two halted in their tracks when they noticed the ascending stairs in a wider gap between the towering statues whose waist above were swallowed by the complete darkness. The two stood there for moments, contemplating if there was some arkhaine trap, an illusion similar to the one which stopped them from reentering their entry points.


    Then Gogh felt the wind sweep against his back, ascending into the dim stairs which he quickly pointed out to his former friend. With that, the two began their ascent, making careful but somewhat hasty steps as the thought of nightmarish beast appearing from behind was a not too savory thought they had.


    Whilst they ascended, Gogh surveyed the limestone walls on their sides, taking in each of the strangy hieroglyphs and carvings consisting of horrifying shapes including those of the dreaded southern worms who beckoned their victims with their sweet, cinnamon odor, though this specimen was carried by legions of rotting, skeletal figures in ritualistic garments towards a great black aperture like some exotic, rare delicacy on a large garnished plate.


    For a short moment, his body quivered at the thought of this place acting as the feeding grounds to some horror from beyond.


    On the top, the two halted in their tracks in the circular room with twisting, ophidian pillars growing high into the shadowy firmament placed unevenly as they spiraled into the center of the room ornated by the lonesome basalt sculpture of an amorphous shape with a few bestial proportions toiling to break away.


    Gogh¡¯s attention was strangely drawn to the sculpture as he heard a distant thrumming in the distance soothing him as they slowly made their way around the bizarre sculpture.


    On their left and right, stairs descended further into the abyssal depths, while in the front ascension beckoned them towards with gentle winds blowing from some distance aperture, satiating their sense of hopefulness towards their escape.  Nonetheless their escape retreated as they became aware of distant steps approaching them, forcing the two to head into the corner.


    Sussuoroth called upon the shadows silently, forming a thick bubble around them which insides proved transparent, allowing them to witness the march of the animated dead. A large group of rotting corpses in ceremonial garbs akin to the engravings on the walls of their previous ascent, except for their heads which were equally rotted heads of various animals sewn onto their necks.


    Nor did they carry a mighty sand worm on an ornated plate, they simply headed towards the left descent while their variedly grotesque bestial heads muttered silent whispers of a language unknown to Sussuoroth and Gogh. Blood froze in both of them as the last of jackal head stopped in its measured steps and slowly turned towards their shrouded corner.


    The dark tip of its nose, half-decayed away revealing pungent flesh trembled as the undead began to seek their scent. Its clawed, withered hand reached forward, almost touched the foggy wall unseen to its empty eye sockets occupied by an orchid light. Then its last remaining ear trembled and Gogh noticed it sneer while it turned around and followed in the footsteps of the others, descending further into the belly of the vaults.


    Several moments passed as the two awaited in silence before Sussuoroth erased the shadowy walls and two continued their ascent while Gogh pondered while the living dead sneered and felt unease staring at the gaping darkness where the wind headed upwards. Was there truly an exit to this nightmarish place, he though to himself before heaving a sigh and forcing his tired legs onto the increasing steps.


    **


    Hours passed as they ascended towards the uncertain exit with the gloomy limestone walls engraved with strange hieroglyphs once more, but this time carved with maddened strokes and overlapping as if they author were slowly driven into the mouth of madness.


    Even though Gogh could not understand a single glyph, their position, their interjection imbued him with a primal, existential fear one worse than the terror of finality many a brave warriors push away with lies of confidence. Like his old father who promised to return and witness the first structure he aided in its birth, telling that neither the Solemn Shepherd nor the Gray King shall claim him, neither those of the pesky legionaries of the fraud Empire promising peace and prosperity, forcing collars and shackles in their place for the pariah kin.


    Then suddenly Gogh collapsed as a wave of nauseous sensation swept against his body and collapsed onto the steps and almost fell back whence, they came if not for Sussuoroth¡¯s timely grab and hold using the last of his own waning strength.


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    For the first time since he was plummeted down, Gogh wheezed heavily while the cold stairs cooled his body from behind and he pushed the thoughts onto his tongue and inquired to his former friend what beget the aurhe to choose him.


    Sussuoroth remained silent for several moments, only his heavy breathing filled the wide space where the wind beckoned them towards ascension. Then at last he uttered the words which hurt the most ¡°There was no particular reason other than aiding in my work.¡±


    Gogh looked surprised and laughed softly instead of forcing his will upon reality to draw air out from the body of Sussuoroth. His being scorched in anger aimed at himself and at the aurhe, and he felt regret for showing kindness to strangers.


    For a moment, the prospect of accursed existence felt promising just to enact his welling anger not just on his betrayer, but those who sought to end the promised kingdom of the Black Pharaoh. This momentary though proved to be short lived, as he felt cold vibrations irritate his whole body slinking downwards towards the endless dimness.


    A familial malodorous scent burnt their noses and rejuvenated the two as they quickly realized who or what this scent belonged to as they noticed the wicked pair of orchid light appear in the dark distance. With their renewed strength and conviction of survival, the two charged up the steps from where the draught of cold wind swept their exposed chests.


    As they neared towards the end of the ascent, they snickered out in unison and leapt over the last few steps, landing on even ground. Though they had little time for merriment as the vibrations strengthened across their forms, and the two hurriedly descended the steps of the vast chamber slanting inwards.


    In the center, they halted to catch their breath while standing on what felt like basalt to Gogh though as much as he wished to inspect the hewn platform, he opted to continue their rush forward. This option proved vainly as they both hurled from each other as a loud roar of basalt and limestone shattering rang through the whole chamber.


    As Gogh looked up laying on the floor, he noticed the hulking figure of the Horror slowly walk towards Sussuoroth who already stood on two, walking backwards while hurling radiating spells of differing swirly shapes against gauzed form of the beast. Whilst most simply dispersed into void upon impact, those with firmer curves resembling cubicles or hedrons exploded in a small but violent storm of iuboron matter burning away the gloomy gauzes.


    Beneath the few exposed holes, flesh most unnatural and hideous revealed itself in the company of an even stronger caustic, rancid odor. Though his further horror, long appendages grew forth them of overlapping forearms missing their hands, in their place he saw a gaping hole not realizing it to be sharpened ends like javelins or spears shaped from the same darkness occupying the space.


    Air breezed against his form once more, freeing him from the grip of terror and he swiftly raised onto his feet and marched further into the shadows until he the sounds of battle lessened, and an aperture fitting for his lithe form appeared to be hewn into the limestone wall.


    Gogh turned around before entering, feeling guilt and confusion as he listened to the screams of Sussuoroth calling his name for help. Though then he remembered his words and spit on the ground before he got swallowed by the aperture ¨C fit for him.


    **


    At the end of the narrow passage, Gogh halted in his tracks and felt a strange calmness as he noticed the absence of the deathly odor, the trembling of the ground and his body or the bestial distorted growl which hastened his steps for the last few meters.


    He stood in the utter dark alone, regret lingering within as he looked at his own hands, tickled by the wind he himself called upon to cool the scorching of his body. Then as he looked up, he stared back at the same pitch black surface which occupied the space of the oval arch from which he entered the infinite hallway.


    Knowing there was no route back anymore, he turned to face the vast expanse of blackness with pristine, limestone floor stretching into the boundless distance. With careful steps he moved forward, following the natural wind sweeping his small form while occasionally looking left and right when his mind made up small noises, footsteps, laughter, crying and distant shrieks.


    Without noticing a single thing, hours passed by with him walking forward, terrified by the little noises seeping into his mind, forcing tears to be birthed in the corners of his tired eyes which he slowly closed down, hurling himself into the safety of the imaginary warm, homely interior of his favored tavern.


    A wide sandstone counter stretching from one side of the wall to the other, behind it the towering djinn owner with a form honed through centuries long life, curving goat like horns, hair of an ethereal quality and density, large bulging eyes of pitch blackness.


    Beneath him, a comfortable padded chair reaching high, his back gently stroked by the soft hands of the aurhen courtesan in whose presence he could not utter a word, be it kind or drunkenly rude until Sussuoroth entered into his life. A sweet courtesan who always offered her a warm smile gentle like the twilight light soothing the body, who peachy, calming scent beckoning his eyes and heart, and the one he would have been content with to be for the rest of his life.


    Yet before anymore could materialize, Gogh opened his eyes when wetness spread onto his toes, and felt the wind stopping once and for all. Before him a black lake stretched far and wide and he scratched his head standing before it.


    He was no expert of geography, be it above or below ground, but he still found it strange the existence of an ebony lake. Coldness coiled around his spine with the reason for it evading his mind as he focused once more on his escape.


    With no way to reroute, he called as much air as he could around his head and sealed it off in a bubble while forcing his whole body to leap into the dark waters. He swam first down into the abyssal depths noticing a strange, queer light glowing in the distance which he thought to be a void within the walls, the earthen layers leading outside.


    As he forced more and more power into his slender arms, for the first time arriving down, realized there were no tiredness assailing him, a thought that seemed to be a sign for his eventual escape. As he changed trajectory to swam a bit forward, he began to ponder whether to return to the promised city of Khardrath.


    Is it good idea to chance a return, to once more try to prove his innocence? Or is it better to just chance wandering the domed wastes of the desert, where starving worms swim under his steps? These thoughts and many others danced then faded as he once more thought of his father, and what he would do in this situation.


    Gogh pushed the thoughts deep, and focused on the old memory as the weightlessness of swimming in the abyss once more reminded him of the sweet memory of his father flinging him high up in the air just as the Illius began to change into its nightly state. Its warm, amber shades began their swirling change into darker shades of mauve and crimson while spreading the same utter darkness which surrounded him.


    And just like that day, he saw the bizarre movement in the utter dark akin to the trembling of pieces of sand when the worms move under them. He saw the cracks in the dark forming, the translucent mist glowing with a color he never saw before, filling him with weirdly harmonized dread and confidence, joy and sadness, and a form forcing half his lip to curve up the other down, one eye crying with delight, the other with misery and his mind with confusion and understanding.


    Just like then when he hovered first in the air with the aid of the myriad winds, he spread his arms and legs out and let his body sink towards the oddly calming light which parted into three meanwhile.


    He descended for days, weeks, months and years until he reached the bottom where his silent scream echoed into the numberless voids of reality.

 Chapter 53: Cold Winds of Finality I.

    Rigid winds swept all across the vast woodland of dreaded Vesgeriath in the closing days of Aurhiur in the 1259<sup>th</sup> year of the First Age, reaching through even the radiant ward encircling walled grounds of Deoshiar Monastery erected in the wicked heart of the woodland.


    Walls of carefully stacked stones ran in sharp turns around the tightly packed courtyard where the dry road moistened as the snow phased through the unseen radiant ward keeping evil at bay. The radiant warmth melted snow, and let it through in its purest form to drench the now muddy road crossing through the courtyard with short turns leading towards the few magnificently geometrical ivory structures emanating a blinding glow to the walking revenants circling between the nearby trees.


    Nearest to the southern gate, a simple long house rested with a garden of moistened, thriving plantations, while the interior nearest to the garden oozing with rousing deathly scent of frozen meat hanging from chains, waiting to be seasoned and prepared in various ways. Beyond that further in, a long hallway leading into an even more spacious hall beset with richly deep wooden tables and chairs set near the walls and windows filtering natural light.


    Heat condensed in the adjacent room where on a singular large counter in the center bowls of sliced potatoes and other vegetables and rice from the east, vibrant red or mauve meat dreamt their dreamless dreams while erudite cooks prepared for the coming feast of midday.


    Facing it, the home of the local scholarly clergyman dreamt peacefully in their myriad rooms stretching in the limitless space born of the high grade enchantments woven into the stones. In the back of the expanded interior, a chimney rose high above the walls, emanating a sulfuric mist as below it a large heated bath took up most of the space where they could relax after long and arduous days.


    Most prominent of these structures was the House of Studies in the heart of the courtyard, a large cross of two rectangular patterns melded into each other while from the center, a high hexagonal tower grown towards the skies with a looping terrace on the top, windows two on each side of all seven floors.


    The interior itself built with cozy walls of warm tones containing hidden maghiath runes calming the mind, wide balustraded inner terraces of circular kind, wooden floor garnished with embroidered carpets bearing the symbols of the Dawn Father while near the outer walls, stacks of bookshelves stood in disciplined silence, racked with myriads of hard covered tomes and books.


    The latter contained mostly tales recounted by locals on the Five Damned Lords of the Land whose number since then have been culled to three thanks to the century long effort of the Order. This included the tales of the Crimson Praetoriar which varied from folk to folk.


    A few believed that he was once a proud Draennith Praetoriar whose magnificent winged mount was felled more than seven centuries ago when the horde of slaves mounted one last defense against the pursuing ivory legion of the north, at the hands of the Seventh-Born of the Nightscale himself whom He conceived with the Father of Strigoii.


    Others believed he was a shunned Impirith Praetoriar who failed to protect one of the myriad mates of the Elhyrissiar, whose family disowned him and, in his shame, wandered to the north where he entered into a pact with the Extinguisher of Bloodlines to create his own accursed bloodline whom he wanted to use to enact revenge on those who stripped him of all he had.


    And there were hundreds of different tales, not just on the now fallen lords but even on the other three still ruling from their hidden, curst courts where the Hosts¡¯ most prominent nekromancers traversed to learn hidden techniques known only to the risen dead.


    Iuitl herself ¨C a mesmerizing vivid and faded translucent green merkin possessing long, voluminous dark hair ¨C held a hardened amber covered tome betwixt her webbed hands, her bulging, small round eyes in a sunken socket glared inquisitively at the soft, gilded white pages adorned with well-articulated interconnected lines and deeply ingrained inked maghieth runed writing.


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    The ancient runic text beneath the interconnected lines forming into five welted triangular shapes slowly rearranged themselves familiar syllables to her small, round eyes bulging from her sunken sockets while they trailed after her index finger beset with boorish gray nail with a basalt-like texture. The six slits on her neck ovulated rapidly behind the vermillion collar of her tunic tightly clasping onto her neck, as she slowly whispered out the words.


    Yet her tired mind could not make sense to the confusing wording of the archaic language translated right in front of her mind. For the past two weeks, alarming dreams assailed her slumbering hours, dreams in which a horde of even more bizarre undead broke through the barrier, the courtyard littered by the gruesomely torn apart cadavers of fellow scholarly inqusitoriir before she too was claimed by the decaying nightmares led by a grotesque beauty of draped in tattered dark regal garments.


    She knew the nightmares came as a warning, foretelling of the doom of their purpose and maybe even worse if she not acted in time. Like her many others shifted in translating the tome, trying to find a lost scripture which may aid in strengthening the ward, while the others sought ways in case their trail leads to a dead end.


    Occasionally she stared anxiously out the mosaiced window to her right, staring at the ever swirling Illius hovering high in the infinite sky, praying silently to the One and the Eight.  Though she was aware it was all in vain, here where the Elder Dragon of Dusk was the true sovereign of the woodland, no matter what the remaining damned lords of the forest taught in their accursed minds.


    As she finished the prayer, she noticed the book quivering in her tremulous hands and she took deep breaths while focusing on the text, yet she could not abate the frustration born of impatience and dread. Even the hidden enchantments proved meager against the coldly scorching sensation forcing her clawed fingers to scratch her thick corralled brows and neck.


    When the hour of her shift¡¯s end approached, Iuitl only deciphered a pair of pages which according to her enchanted eyes and mind, told of techniques to transmute pure maghieth matter itself. From it she deduced one had to stand in the junction of the arkhaine vein running in the frozen, nekrotic soaked earth itself and offer their own radiant matter first to then force change upon the taint.


    While this was only a small step, it still proved enough to ease the cold scorching assailing her whole being as she slumped into the soft silken cushioned chair while hot air escaped her smooth, bulging fishy lips. Yet this moment of calmness lasted only for a blink of an eye.


    Iuitl¡¯s tenderly sharpened ears twitched as hideous coldness swept through the wards¡¯ invisible wall followed by an echoing of glass cracking as it strained against the assault of maghieth energies condensed into destructive inscriptions.


    Through the mosaiced window, she watched to her horror as cracks formed in the elevated reality while large shadowy feelers arose from the snow blanketed ground and drummed against the ward with great force. She forced life into her frozen legs and rushed down the ladder and out from the House of Studies, and strode with great haste towards the northern gate.


    Beyond it an army of the dead awaited patiently, a few holding decrepit shields surrounding the hulking feelers of pure pitch blackness ¨C wounds on the fabric of reality from her point. Though what shook her to her core was the regal feminine figure hovering above the deathly trees wearing shapeless regal robes on her divinely rotten pale body while a crown pressured her hooded visage hidden under shadows.


    Her right hand stretched forward, ethereal nails planted into their tips of the same primal darkness, pointing towards the ward on which intertwining cracks grew towards the upper center revealing the unseen bubble which for decades, even centuries offered protection against the vile inhabitants of the Vesgeriath Woodland.


    Though the fear within her never abated, the trembling of her knees and body halted when she felt the tenderly touch of their niuvhen Urh-Magistriar who possessed a perfectly symmetrical, angular visage of smooth, snow white epidermis and equally white luxuriant hair reaching down to the center of his back as it naturally cascaded.


    A mellowing smile adorned his youthfully elder visage which eased the prosperity of impending doom as like her fellow scholarly inquisitoriiir, Iuitl exhaled deeply while closing her eyes. In the darkness memories of her past flounced across her mind, both dear and difficult before she managed to clear her minds¡¯ vision to finally see the dozens of prismatic collection of lights surrounded by the hundreds of darkened mauves.


    At least when her heart gained back its calmed pace, she opened her eyes to the icy shriek and the shattering of the ward ¨C an ethereally mesmerizing sight as particles of radiant mana blackened before disintegration just as the malodorous dead began their rush emitting a warped cacophony.

 Chapter 54: Cold Winds of Finality II.

    ¡°He is awakening!¡± Ashnan¡¯s voice reached Ulrich¡¯s ears first as he growled reflexively while toiling in the balmy embrace of the thick, furred sheets the others¡¯ wrapped him after the undead giant finally met its subsequent end.


    Above him, the gilded bubble ward glistened painting the gloomy white sky in tenderly tones while surrounding him were the still standing walls of the destroyed homestead. Blanched bones littered the surroundings permeated by the odor of finality and something a bit more pleasant for his nose ¨C a boiling hot mushy stew filled to the brim in the round confines of the charcoaled vessel hanging onto the makeshift wooden contraption while flames devoured the dried wood beneath its eclectic bottom.


    Eadwald slowly helped him onto his back, even though no pain remained to assail his being while he inspected his bare-naked upper body and noticing with relief it bereft of scars or a large blackening left by the enormous foot which laid beyond the ruined wooden walls of the once familial homestead.


    After thanking Priernuss for the healing he turned to the rest inquisitive what followed after his passing to the lands of Oneiron. Eadwald lessened like a scared pet as Aelfsigior and Priernuss regaled how his son was filled with fear and anger manifesting an aura most divine both ever seen here in the accursed north and south in the warmer forest infested lands.


    Though they left out the source of the last worrying noises Ulrich heard though his memory banished them to the furthest corners. The crunching sound of the heavily impaired undead mutating in front of them like some amorphous blob taking familial bestial shapes but also distant, unknowable forms like a nightmarish beast brought forth the maddening realms of Urhggoth.


    Both Priernuss and Hevaeck noted to themselves that the Dread Lord with a Thousand Young may have sent one of his children sensing the blessed seed of the Almodo wandering into its territory, though its aim evaded Priernuss while Hevaeck conjured that it may have sought the favor of the dread true lord of the Woodland.


    ¡°Thank you, son! Now this old man feels useless.¡± In the end it mattered not, though the former smiled as Eadwald practically pushed the waning spirit of his father back. ¡°Do not speak such foolishness father. I did not bring the giant down myself, so there is many more things you can still teach me.¡±


    Ulrich like a child hoped to refute, though before he could the growl of his stomach halted his train of depressed thoughts followed by the march of nauseous hunger. With renewed power, he quickly unwrapped himself from the bondage of his sheets and headed for the boiling food which scent overtook the fetid odors still lingering in the air after three days.


    **


    Mirdbruil threw an unsteady sphere of translucent liquid sphere from one hand to another while she leant against the counter in their kitchen just above the emptied oak walled sink. As the sphere sailed from her right towards her left, her hand suddenly fell beside her and let the sphere splash into oblivion on the floor as a momentary shiver ran through her body.


    Instinctively she walked towards the back and found the door closed. ¡°Dear, did you open it?¡± Leaning out from the doorway, she noticed Amiriniel standing over a vague figure rising from the muddy ground then as her mother¡¯s husky, inquiry voice reached her, disperse back into which it born from.


    ¡°No I was following uncle Priernuss¡¯s notes.¡± She exhaled deeply before answering then went back to the small stone table where the singular piece of paper rested atop staring at the gloomy white sky.


    ¡°I see.¡± Mirdbruil murmured as she felt a surreptitious scorching ail her stomach while her head was beckoned towards the further north by some invisible force. ¡°I¡¯m going to fetch Sigi, want to come with us?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay home.¡± Amiriniel answered with a smile while still glaring at the paper, deciphering the words and runes Priernuss beautifully graved onto the paper. Mirdbruil nodded then turned and lightly closed the door before heading out the opposite side.


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    As soon as she stepped out, her upper body instinctively tilted ever so slightly in a graceful motion as a spherical object of almost pure whiteness if not for the small pieces of natural dirt and wet mud flew past her face while the sibilant cacophony of scared children came not far from her.


    Amongst the children, Sigi hid behind a tall kid of skaeze blood with long snow blonde hair swept by the cold northern wind and intense icy eyes draped in layers of thick garments.


    Knowing there is no point to hide, he walked past the others and looked solemnly and apologetically. ¡°There is nothing to be afraid of my dear. We should work on your aim though.¡± She said teasingly with a motherly smile. ¡°Now say goodbye for now.¡± With that he turned around and each of the kids younger than him bid him farewell then the two maneuvered through the streets heading on the way to the northern gate.


    At the gate the two halted in their tracks and joined in with the amassing group of women including the gaunt wife of Gna, Shad¡¯Yrg and the stout dwarven woman of the Hogstol clan, Hustarra clad in her sculpted ivory plates and reddish leather tunic and skirt beneath the angularly muscular plates. The two quickly noticed Mirdbruil and Sigiwaer and greeted them back as soon as they stopped.


    The three indulged in womanly talk, each about their chosen man wondering how they fare in the accursed woodland¡¯s northernmost parcels while they awaited the elderly northern merkin leader of theirs. Sigi clutched onto Mirdbruil¡¯s skirt while his eyes focused on the belly of the stout Hustarra, noticing shadows dancing in circles yet when asked what picked her interest, he remained silent unsure as he felt some belonging to the ethereal thing.


    At long last, the elderly merkin of deathly complexion appeared wearing her usual blackened robes with ivory plates similar to Hustarra¡¯s and in her raspy deep voice laid out the orders. First, she explained not to wander too deep from the edge of the forest, then designated the groups with Mirdbruil and Sigi paired with Shad and Hustarra as their protector while they collected the sprouting mushrooms of a sweet, lightly caustic palate.


    After each group formed up, the large condensation of village folk moved out the gate with Mirdbruil and Sigi standing still for a moment as he tamed the rising terror within his heart. As they reached closer and closer to the woodland, Sigi¡¯s eyes moved from the menacing trees towards the gloomy skies slowly gaining a warmer, more welcoming tone.


    Under the wicked shadows, he followed in the footsteps of his mother and collected the smallest of mushrooms growing in the veiny exposed roots of the grizzled trees. His fingers reached near the slender, smooth and fleshy stalk of the ivory and onyx mushrooms, and from the tips translucent matter blurred reality as he cleaved most hoisting above the frozen earth leaving the basal bulb and the spreading mycelial threads beneath so that a new one may regenerate one day.


    Quickly he altered the spell, and the sliced off capped body hovered above the snow and flew into the small basket between the pair of son and mother. As Mirdbruil noticed this, she gently stroked the growing dark mane of his before she shushed the others while her eyes darted off into the shadowy, dimly packed distance of the woodland.


    A pungent odor hit her dainty tipped nose while her golden eyes surveyed the surroundings both seen and unseen as mana poured from the arkhaine point occupying the center of her head into her eyes through the anima veins where they sculpted into proper runic inscriptions. Her poised hands arose just as the rest of her body while she ordered Sigi to stay close at her as a cold deeper than the norths pervaded the air around them, carrying the pungent odor of finality.


    A shriek most frightening broke the momentary silence coming from their left where a half fully decayed orkh clad in decrepit armor belonging to the 19<sup>th</sup> Legion sprung forth from the grizzled tree, swinging down its featureless mace at the tall skaeze of long auburn hair.


    Sigi begun to tremble, to long for the safety of the village¡¯s walls while pushing into the back of Mirdbruil, though her motherly back calmed his soul and he heaved a sigh while keeping his attention on the nearby trees. Just as he reached serenity, a plant-folk with barked epidermis as grizzled as the trees lunged from the nearest tree emitting an ear-piercing shriek while its left arm contorted into a mass of sharpened appendages thrusting forward the small form.


    He swiftly swept his arms towards the left and a sudden gust of wind hurled the plant-folk revenant through the tree, shattering it in two, yet it proved scanty as both the severed lower and upper body skulked towards the boy, though it never reached its target as Mirdbruil swiftly turned around to witness the darkening flames pouring forth her child¡¯s maw devouring the wooden dead whose last shrieks reached beyond the walls of Vonschneithar.


    ¡°Retreat everyone!¡± Mecatl¡¯s disembodied raspy voice rang through Sigiwaer¡¯s head as he stood smiling over the burning cadaver of the revenant while a thrilling queasy sensation washed over his whole being. Mirdbruil¡¯s soft hands grasping onto his brought him out from the momentary stupor and just as he swiftly as he reacted, his legs picked up on the pace of Mirdbruil as they all rushed towards the gate while the village watch began to unleash spells of many myriads of shapes upon the dozens of revenants mindlessly charging after.

 Chapter 55: Cold Winds of Finality III.

    People flooded towards the heart of the once promised city of Khadrath, stepping into the silvery shadow of the cyclopean pyramid of a palace. Though first to enter, we had to traverse through one of the longest bridges I ever witnessed built from large blackened limestone with the towering balustrades on each garnished with a cold silvery metal.


    Strangely the glow they emitted onto the passing people felt more cold than scorchingly hurting, instilling a negligeable longing to remain in their glow, and what the others haven¡¯t felt, a slimy prowling of the mind ¨C though at the time this truth evaded me all the same.


    If I am being honest to myself, I even mistook ¨C even misled ¨C it for a revelation as the next thing I did while heading towards the towering black gate long ahead was stopping in my tracks and letting the faux people phase through my small form. Then with knowledge imprinted in my mind, I felt and experienced true weightlessness as I hovered above the marching crowd and like a true specter followed from a higher vantage point valiant Augermil and repugnant Terrianis.


    Even amongst the myriad people the two towered distinctly out from the legions even including those who altered their physical selves in great lengths. There were people of hulking frames with faint scales on their exposed limbs, their heads reptilian with small eyes and elongated jaws with rows of razor sharp teeth, even one who once was a pure Djinn, yet now bore the head of an ibis with horns long, coarse and emanating an insidious mist.


    Then there were those who possessed undead-like distinctness like preeminent members of our esteemed Host though lacked the otherworldly coldness emanating from the raised or risen dead. Skin which clearly appeared to be frozen in state of decay yet lacked in damages inflicted in myriad ways while their faces were sunken like the orkhin¡¯s.  Some were clearly of aevhen flock, I deduced even then from their sharp and faultlessly chiseled and symmetrical features like their sharp, knife long ears, the empty sockets inhibited by darkened purple flames of finality with an almond contoured frame and refined, chiseled noses though for some only the foundational outline remained.


    There were even a few who I mistook for dwarves at the time as their height were reduced, and at the center of their sickly pale heads a closed cavity remained whom I now know were the distinct feature of the reviled goblinoids of the far south who often lived in the dark and forgotten edifices of the south¡¯s distant past.


    The more I recount all those faces, all those people the more I feel kinship just like I do with my people of the far north. I now believe me and the Pharaoh in Black were kin spirits who sought to upend the infectious equilibrium of great Elhyrissian, though what reason compelled to him to abandon the people whom he built the promised city is still a mystery ¨C a mystery that I may have the answer for, I am just too afraid to recall it.


    Through the obsidian gate we entered into the vast courtyard spanning far beyond even my elevated vision filled with squares of condensed people kneeling in the ebony grass growing from the strange sand I first mistook for snow thanks to its ivory shade.


    Though while it filled me with a sense of unease, what truly made my heart beat in pace too quick was the gravelly throat chanting coming from the undead veiled in black, shapeless robes standing like statues in front of the people who were slowly infected by the warped tonal chanting. Or maybe it was Augermil or Terrianis whom I shared senses, though that felt preposterous at the time.


    A second, earthly tone joined into the cacophony as six large hands grew forth the slanted walls of the pyramid, their seven fingers dug deep into the center wall and opened it up like ravenous ghouls a sliced stomach. Unlike the example though, the walls opened with quite the precision, forming a triangular hole in which a dimly lit hall of myriad hulking columns connected glistening marble onyx floor with ivory basalt ceiling while large spheres hovered aimlessly spreading the little light parting the darkness within.


    Though while from my position, I could not see, I still felt the light terror, the anticipation, and envy coalescing within either Augermil or Terrianis ¨C though now I¡¯ll bet my soul on the latter. ¨C as they noticed the Black Pharaoh of promised Khadrath appear along an entourage of strange tripodal centaurs of chaotic outlines, grayish nekrotic flesh and elongated, almost appendage like heads wriggling while in the lower center where their neck began ¨C I believe ¨C were adorned by gaping teethless holes.


    Their slender bodies adorned with even stranger plates of armor of black and silver kind, while in their elongated, withered hands they held forked spears glinting in the light of the changing Illius as Dusk slowly approached. I impulsively pinched my nose as their pungent putrid ethereal deathly scent reached my psychic nose conjured by the laws of Oneiron. That I was sure about.


    Yet I was once more confused for the otherworldly shiver which ran through my being, my soul as I hovered not far from the two infiltrators, though I did chalk it up to being seen as it felt similar when my Pale Orchid and me were assailed by that umvraoth.


    In reality it was his gaze which incurred the shiver through my soul, my being ¨C the gaze of the Pharaoh of Black, the once magnanimous lord of the Seven Vivid Deserts who walked between his Royal Guard conjured from the place where black stars rise over the horizon.


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    I only glimpsed him when at the raise of his long arms stairs burst from the slanted walls with a blackened, almost aethereal carpet rolling over the thousands steps he slowly descended. On the bottom stacked limestones formed a long path culminating in a circular stand with a spiraling sign of silver engraved into their glossy, reflective surface.


    Terrianis not able to contain his thirst, led by it walked through the rows of chanting people while the Black Pharaoh still descended, while Augermil feeling slightly annoyed followed after him and the two now standing out faced the once kind monarch of the distant south standing in the center of the sign while he beckoned silence by raising his arms hidden beneath rows of gauze and the regal yet shapeless robe adorned with overlapping stoles sprouting from the shadowy nested confines of the hood pressed by his obsidian crown and the silvery pallid mask lacking expressions, sculpted from a nameless metal and bearing the visage of an affable man with a pointed, sharp tipped chin while the small calm holes for eyes revealed a bottomless darkness behind.


    Even at the time I was baffled ¨C maybe because of my own shy nature ¨C that Terrianis was worthy to be the next Elhyrissiar in both the eyes of his father and the One and the Eight when he stepped beyond the rows of chanting people, and onto the platform inviting the magnanimous Black Pharaoh to a duel offering to withdraw their forces upon his loss or to force servitude upon the people upon his victory.


    Was it arrogance knowing that he was destined for a faux greatness? Was it because he was tutored by the late second Elhyrissiar himself who fought against the Grimm Sovereign so many millennia ago? That to this day I am unsure of.


    He stood there proudly, his chiseled nose held high awaiting the answer while Augermil felt the pressure of the surrounding silent people, his hands grasping the hilt of his sheathed blade while his eyes firmly remained on the two and the three umvraothoy halting in their encirclement.


    The long silence was palpable even in the strange air of the land of Oneiro and I felt quite excited at the prospect of witnessing two great magrohror engage in a battle of will and wit one such as me back in those days could only dream of. And just like that, the Pharaoh in Black accepted the offer, his voice regal and divinely deep while his true gaze remained on me.


    Though Augermil let out a sigh with a mild trace of relief, his hand still remained prepared to cut through the hundreds, the thousands of needed to be while Terrianis gloated as he was sure of his victory as he stood calmly at the edge, stepping further into in preparation while his mind surely went through numerous images of the Pharaoh¡¯s demise.


    His calmness was tested mockingly by the Pharaoh when his nearest body guard standing on the right began its otherworldly count by uttering what I heard as Hy, then followed by the one on the left muttering Ad, and finished by the last emitting Es. Contrary to what I expected, the two just stood patiently waiting for the other to make the first move, to move their mana through their anima veins while shaping it with their will into spells of the highest grades.


    In the end, the first to prove impetuous was Terrianis himself who quickly leaned his torso forward while his index and middle fingers touched the center of his throat while runes born of mauve blackish flames carved into their milk smooth surface. At the same time his jaw widened and flames of the same combined hues poured out in a chaotic whirl and with the velocity of raging wind heading straight for the Black Pharaoh.


    While I believed the flames would hit the Pharaoh or at least disperse in front of him, the spell simply passed by his left. Back then I believed he simply wished his form out of the way, now I believe he bade the world or the spells themselves to move or miss his body while he remained still, calmly watching the stupefied Terrianis grinding his teeth, racking his brain on what have happened.


    Though he swiftly regained his calm and in another swift motion, clapped his hands together front which was followed by the rumble of the fabric of reality itself while the air around the Black Pharaoh torn and blurred itself, and while I felt his intention was to torturously gash the Pharaoh into many large pieces, all he achieved was the birth of some tassels along the lavish black robe cascading towards the glossy floor.


    I felt both confused and amazed, angered and merry at the small motion of the Pharaoh¡¯s veiled, masked head tilting ever so slightly in clearly mocking intent which once more forced Terrianis on the offence as he could not yet fully rule his swelling frustration. Though he still managed to be patient in action as the two began to circle at the edges of the platform while their eyes remained on each other.


    In the next moment, I surely believed Terrianis prepared a third attack as he locked index and middle finger together while veering his arm in front of himself while pointing at the floor. Cracks formed on the ground following the tips of his locked fingers, then as his arms slowly rose and the cracks curved towards the Black Pharaoh, he halted his will just before I expected the glossy limestone thorn to break forth hoping to impale the dark form.


    Whilst the spell halted before realization, I felt recognition, discernment bloom within Terrianis¡¯s mind in what I could only describe as a faint, hideous smile on an alluring, divinely chiseled visage.  Although it evaded my young mind, I still felt the familiar energies of a distant reality from beyond ours manifesting for a moment shorter than the blink of an eye or the flap of hippogriff¡¯s ivory wing.


    Most surely the Black Pharaoh himself noticed this recognition, forcing him to go on the offensive. Though as much as I have a disdain for Terrianis, I still must commend him for sensing those faint energies moving according to his opponent¡¯s will, even if in the end this knowledge amounted to nothing when both him and Augermil disappeared into nothingness.


    As their sudden disappearance unfolded, I hovered silently, expecting my expulsion from the lands of Oneiron, though the fact I remained left me with dread as I felt the gaze strengthen by the thousands as I noticed the pallid masked Pharaoh stare at me through those empty eyeholes, the silent thousands mimicking his head¡¯s motion.


    ¡°Follow me child of Ulrich and Mirdbruil.¡±

 Chapter 56: Cold Winds of Finality IV.

    By the time the group reached towards their intended destination, the mildly warmer winds of the season of Marzhiitea blew between the dim in-betweens of the Vesgeriath Woodland. While they were behind their schedule which exasperated them little, they felt relaxed as the ward around them shimmered with a greater potency.


    Thanks to some further healing received from Priernuss, Ulrich felt better than before, a new vigor surged through him, making each sunken step bearable as they tracked through the frozen, snow blanketed vistas garnished with dying trees all around them.


    Whilst he felt rejuvenated, a part of him ¨C like the others ¨C felt a certain unease beget from the fact that since the last battle they have encountered no revenant hunting under the thinly veiled grounds. The following night and three days before their estimated arrival, they all pondered whether they were favored by one of the deossos or the Almodo, which led them to stare inquisitively at Hevaeck first then at Eadwald who simply shrugged his shoulders stating that he had no warning dreams.


    A night later, the revelation clawed itself into Hevaeck who then explained that the deossos held no power in the woodland as it was claimed by the dreaded Nightscale. Eadwald ever curious inquired about the fact, and Hevaeck the erudite vicar elucidated the truth that certain beings of the world, of the myriad planes predated the Deossos themselves ¨C though he pointed out that the Almodo Himself was the exception.


    Hearing this, the young Eadwald trembled a little at the prospect of facing an adversary predating the Eight. Noticing this, Ulrich reminded him that such a battle was still far ahead and that the boy turned man still had centuries to prepare, while Priernuss added in the tale of the second Elhyrissiar facing the Grimm Sovereign lone after five centuries of preparations.


    Even Aelfsigior boasted his triumph against a wild dragon of the House of Dusk who terrorized the local northern settlements so many centuries ago. He spoke of the terror he felt initially when his small regiment faced off with the winged beast whose pallid black, deathly scales drawn many of his lost comrades to their doom, and the flames which rotted away all the snow sheltered foliage, though he abstained from the fact his own arm becoming the victim of the aging flames.


    As he finished the tale by advising the boy to aim for the neck of the beasts, Ulrich wishing to further embolden his son promised him that when that day comes to face the greatest winged menace, he shall be by his side, just like his sister and little brother is destined to. As if he started a chain, followed by Azugh they all made a promise to accompany the siblings ¨C though they all gave flippant motives like Ashnan expecting great riches following, even a patricii title, Lioba desiring fame and to amass a harem of admirers while Priernuss simply reasoned it would make an extraordinary peace of art he already titled Slaying of the Dusk.


    Hevaeck smiled under his beard as he witnessed the heartfelt moment, though he felt ashamed at the envious feelings abated by the camaraderie of the group, which prompted him to offer his services when the day of Dusk¡¯s end reaches even though he already began to feel the whirring call of the Gray Monarch of Asphodel.


    In the same vein, the hours of dusk reached their end soon after the group decided to rest after their warm meal, with Priernuss and Ulrich beginning the shift of watch and keeping company to the ever-awake Hevaeck who thirsted for dreams after almost four weeks without them. A fact which instilled a foreboding dread within him he chalked up to the fact they still stepped in the shadowy realm of the nightmarish lord of this parcel.


    They swiftly packed their belongings into their packs which were woven from a mixture of hide and furred silken created through alchemical means while also enchanted with a minor grade of spell expanding their natural space while also easing on the weight of the inanimate objects.


    With their formation of a cross swiftly assumed, the group bid farewell silently to the haunting clearing which served as their camp, and continued on their way following the fading rays of the Illius further into the shadow infested nest and Hevaeck quickly mentioned that they stepped out from the territory of whispering shadows, though as the youth relaxed, he added that now they walked in the vast court of the vengeful spectral queen whose servants included the smallest of lifeforms enslaved to her wrathful will.


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    Two uneventful days passed by birthing mild discomfort in the group as they felt the cold gazes of undead pests lurking in the umbral nests between the branches of the grizzled trees swinging back and forth as cold winds blew. ¡°How far are we away from the monastery?¡± During one of their breaks Aelfsigior voiced the question while his eyes looked for the Illius which seemed to obscure itself behind the deathly crown of the trees.


    ¡°We should arrive in a day or two more if I am correct.¡± Hevaeck answered while a part of him departed high above the horizon and watched the gilded Illius gain menacing tints of amber and crimson. ¡°Prepare yourselves. Seems the queen of this land sent her delegates.¡±


    Like before, the group assumed a circular formation around Hevaeck small, corpulent form draped in priestly robes. The ivory shields glistened as a few rays of the Illius shone between the branches, revealing the haunting forms of the revenants charging like starving beasts. ¡°Do not let your guard down.¡± Noticing Eadwald and Azugh easing their grips, Ulrich whispered to the two youth just as the revenants approached a step or two away from the radiant ward.


    A distant recognition dawned in Eadwald¡¯s golden eyes as he noticed the empty eye sockets of framed by rotten flesh staring at them while a misty darkness poured out from them upwards the sky. His body shivered as he recalled the pale motionless forms of his passed friends and the hovering pale form draped in regal like robes formed out of thickened shadows.


    Though as he strained his eyes out of his wide curiosity ¨C and an instinctive desire to face his fears ¨C he glimpsed a flickers of a strange color vibrating through the penetrating shadows, birthed in small intervals by a presence of voidness. A color he could not describe in his own mind, but a color from beyond nonetheless he concluded quite unsure from where the notion may have born.


    All he knew ¨C which he conveyed in murmurs to Azugh ¨C that the gilded, radiant ward offered no more than faux protection against the servants of the dreaded queen of the land whom he felt a faint connection to. Following his instinct and his father¡¯s words, he deepened his stance, tensed his muscles and took deep breath to calm his rampant nerves.


    His eyes followed the revenants patiently circling their prepared prey, and just like his instinct prophesized and justifying his father¡¯s warning words, the revenants broke through the ward with a simple swing of their weapons. Contrary to their expectation, the undead calmly remained a few steps away as the radiant particles fell and dispersed into the void of reality.


    Like patient hunters they awaited their prey to make their first move, while in their distorted graven tongue, spoke strange words seeding the group with increasing terror. Though as Hevaeck no longer needed to focus on the ward, he shifted his will towards reflecting these maghia laden words.


    Moments which felt like hours, even eternity passed as the dozens upon dozens of walking dead ¨C both sapient and bestial ¨C circled without a hint of killing intent except for their vacant gazes showing small hints of anger, while their tones carried promises of eternal bliss under the service of the Queen of the Damned.


    ¡°What should we do? Seems like they are playing with us!¡± Ulrich said as his patient began to wear thin while like the others, his gaze followed the revenants whose deathly odor permeated the air and slowly layered a nauseous feeling.


    ¡°We move northwards while maintaining our formation. If they attack, we retaliate and grant them their deserved rest.¡± Everyone of the group answered in nods then as a hivemind, began to slowly creep towards the north where their destination laid a day or two away.


    Whilst they expected the revenants to lunge at them either at their first movement, or when they jounced through those making their rounds at the front, to their surprise those walking carcasses simply backed away and altered their trajectory while slowly following after, whispering cold, emotionless maghia infused words behind them.


    Their ever-grinning grim visages focused on the group, then as the darkening of the world slowly began, one by one the revenants stopped their floundering and watched as the ivory group disappeared in the darkened distance of the woodland.


    By the late hour of dusk, when the group stepped into another open domed vista of Vesgeriath, the last of the revenants halted under the vicious darkness nestled between the trees and watched as Hevaeck futilely raised the radiant bubble over themselves while Priernuss and Ashnan kept their gazes on the revenants standing like statues.

 Chapter 57: Cold Winds of Finality V.

    ¡°Should we retreat?¡± Priernuss asked as he stood between Ulrich and Aelfsigior a safe distance away from the eerily silent monastery which walls stood impeccably while the putrid odor of finality lingered in the air. Hevaeck himself while clutching his amulet stared grimly as he searched vainly for any sign of life within the confines.


    Through the spell he only felt the still dead awaiting for their prey to step forth the gate into their doom. Aelfsigior turned at him with a questioning look then asked. ¡°How many do you sense?¡±


    ¡°Approximately thrice our number, though I have no sense of their capabilities as of now, but if they could break through the ward, I fear that the culprit may veil themselves and quite a few others.¡± Hearing this, Aelfsigior stroked his bearded chiseled chin while turning back to the silent walled monastery veiled by withered trees and bushes, the snow revealing only a few footsteps matching the approximation of Hevaeck.


    Aelfsigior then surveyed the faces masking their slight dread before he voiced his thoughts. ¡°I want to say we should turn back, but I am afraid that is what they expect too hence the revenants from three days halted in their strange pursuit.¡± He stopped then a mild revelation formed in his mind. ¡°Say Hevaeck, the gate is in the House of Studies underfloor?¡±


    At his question Hevaeck nodded firmly. For a few moments he remained silent then regaled his plans to the others, telling that they shall enter into the trap and fight their way through the House of Studies underfloor and escape as swiftly as possible through the greidor gate connected to the colonial city of Mocontriam two weeks away from their little fortified settlement.


    ¡°Though if anyone else have a better plan, speak up now.¡± As he finished laying out his quickly made plan, he inspected their visages once more and voiced his question. For a while their masks of bravery broke off and everyone pondered as they themselves were not cowards who would run from battle ¨C be it favored or not ¨C but the past few days spent witnessing the strange behavior of the revenants brought forth foreign emotions.


    In the end they all accepted the plan, coming to the exultated conclusion that if they survive it will be a glorious tale to regale to their friends and loved ones, and if not then they knew they could not swim against the sweeping waves of fate.


    Under the shadows of finality, the group stood in formation, white mist escaping the slit openings of their visored-helmets. At Aelfsigior¡¯s command, they began their march into the overt trap laid by the risen dead.


    **


    I hovered silently over the courtyard of the black pyramid palace absent of the rows of thousands and even the triad of nightmarish Royal Guard. Only he and I remained with my strange feelings which beckoned me to heed my words and follow in his steps as he ascended on the thousand steps.


    As if he was certain, and he was no wrong in his beliefs, he took step by step with a calm, mysterious attitude while the one voice whispering silently in my mind forced me in the end to hover after him. ¡°Where did they go?¡± I asked out of my curiosity and quite oblivious to my circumstances for a reason now clear to me, back then they evaded me.


    He stopped and turned to face me through his pallid silver mask with eyeholes revealing nothing but the darkness behind his mask. ¡°I sent them onto an adventure. It shall be quite the experience for his future highness.¡± I tilted my head questioningly how a facet of a distant past would know of one¡¯s future as I was aware even back then that divination of such level were only possible for the truly focused.


    ¡°Hold your further questions now. We shall talk in a much pleasant place with sweets of both liquid and solid.¡± Though now I feel a bit awkwardly foolish, those last words were laced with simple enchanting to my self who could rarely enjoy such lavishness of taste back then.


    Like a well-behaved pet I nodded my head and continued and what felt like only a few moments we reached the top aperture of rectangular proportions where he turned around and pointed back at the once promised city of Khadrath. I instinctively let out an enamored gasp of wonder as my glistening eyes gazed upon the far-stretching city amidst dunes of many vibrant shades lighted in a divinely glow created by the warm dusk tones of the altering Illius.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it beautiful?¡± He asked and I answered in a soft whisper while I had a hard time taking off my gaze from the civilized vista of Khadrath. ¡°Regret fills me every moment knowing that doom lingers near.¡±


    I sensed a hint of solemn in his priorly emotionless, regal voice as the vacant holes of the pallid mask looked far into the distance. ¡°Could you not parlor with them and let this remain as part of the Empire?¡± I asked naively as I felt sad for the stranger Pharaoh, though this fact evaded me.


    He shook his head before he answered once more in an emotionless tone. ¡°I am afraid not. Sometimes we have to make decisions other would label as wicked even if it shall lead for the betterment of the world and all its inhabitants.¡± Even now I am unsure of what he meant, though before I could ask, he turned and headed into the vast interior and as I entered, the walls closed themselves behind us, yet the same day light lit the spacious hall as we neared the steps leading to where my fate truly began its alteration.


    **


    Their alloyed steps mingled with the crunching of snow, with the creaking of frozen mud as they stepped forth the gate with vigilant gazes and prepared arms and legs. Beneath their aurinthian helmets, their ears twitched as they sought the little sounds produced by the sly revenants veiling their faint cursed presences within the measured confines once home to life.


    In the center Hevaeck supplying the ward adjusted his steps while a solemn feeling spread within him as he looked around in the silent surroundings, he once spent a considerable time in, recalling the days he spent amongst peers with a simple desire to cleanse this once lush woodland that bore mesmeric white and blue foliage which he once wished to experience like his forefathers.


    Ulrich felt similarly as he himself visited this place when he was the same age as Eadwald, though he spoke little of it as his father a kind and valiant man of similar desirable looks were secretly laden with paranoid thoughts of whispering shadows and eyes regaling to their old enemies who still sought their demise so many centuries later.


    He too recalled the kind folk who inhabited the monastery who taught him many things regarding the weaknesses of the risen dead, but also ways to traverse these accursed lands which accidentally led to the fateful day he gazed upon his present mate, who like him served in the 19<sup>th</sup> Legion as a veneficiar versed well in the arts of restoration.


    Though the urge to regale this to Eadwald welled up in him since the day of their departure, he forgo to tell it as he was well aware children prefer to know little of the love affairs of the elders. And currently it was more imperative to stay vigilant as Hevaeck whispered that the revenants began to move near towards them.


    ¡°Prepare yourselves and don¡¯t stop moving.¡± At Aelfsigior¡¯s command, each of the eight warriors began to channel their mana into their limbs arkhaine points through their anima veins where they formed into spells amplifying their strength and stamina while also hardening their skin and flesh to be as resilient as their plates adorning their well-honed forms.


    The foul odor of finality they sensed gradually worsened as the first of the revenants stepped closer and closer to the light before they burst forth the structures while emitting their raucous warped shrieks.


    The sadness within Hevaeck deepened as he gazed upon the grizzled forms of the monastery¡¯s inhabitants including Iuitl a former student of his whose lively fish-like visage was torn to shreds, even her half her skull shattered revealing a rancorous darkness leaking from it.


    ¡°May the Shepherd bless your dreams!¡± He murmured as ethereal, translucent spears protruded forth the radiant wall, impaling through the weakened, blackened flesh of the risen inhabitants before the radiant matter spread onto them and like ravenous beasts, devoured their haunting forms.


    Elder revenants higher in the echelons of the dead watched from the shadows as their lower kindred rushed mindlessly against the radiant tips, each pushing further and further towards the translucent walls while their withered, frozen forms ruptured into nothingness while Hevaeck¡¯s resilience waned quickly as the pleasant feeling of forcing his will upon the world began to turn into an agonizing pain of inner scorching not unlike of being set ablaze.


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    ¡°Move now, but do not forget! Leave the golden eyed child to me!¡± Then as the spears grown onto the domed ward, Her sweet voice rang through their ascended mind and at once all the dead marched forth and battered against the wall, impeding the eight and the one.


    **


    ¡°Come, sit!¡± At long last we have arrived to the terrace overlooking the domed vastness of many colors stretching before the walled city of Khadrath. Though before I hovered near the long table beset with saccharine treats with two seats of obsidian and silvery trims which seemed to possess a metallic sheen, I passed between numerous busts of unfamiliar faces except for two which both oddly reminded me of folk, though I could not conjure names nor faces into my mind.


    I relented as I believed I¡¯ll have time to recall it, not knowing the cobwebs veiling the person were not made by my own mind¡¯s will. Near the end where I stepped into the light bathed terrace, I sat opposite to the Pharaoh in Black who waited patiently while his pallid masked visage stared emptily at my place.


    Though I expected to sense nothing, the as my bottom neared towards the seating, a cushiony embrace coursed through my weary being with a wave of soothing as I found my legs stretching beneath the desk which simply possessed no leg of its own, just carelessly hovered above the limestone floor of the terrace.


    Moments passed in an eerie silence as I fitted my small form to appear brave and elegant matching the distant royalty before me, and I curiously waited for him to reveal what lied beyond the pallid mask of his, though in the end he just swept his right arm across the table and the plates of saccharine treats marched towards my side and as I could no longer hold back I reached for the nearest softly crumbling disks garnished with shrunken yet still quite juicy fruits quelling both hunger and thirst.


    ¡°What we must speak of shall not be a pleasant or easy subject, that I swore to be the truth.¡± My body and being tensed as he spoke those words in his rigid voice with hints of solemn. I stopped my munching on the saccharine treats and turned at him questioningly on what me and him could talk, though I had a sense he knew of my gift and the seed embedded into my soul.


    ¡°Even if time separates us now, I still impart my wisdom, and offer a choice not even him imparted onto you when he had chosen you as his vessel.¡± A foreboding cold swept my soul as I continued consuming the treats laid before me feeling even my earthbound body. I remained silent as pondered as a small form could with what little I knew.


    Being chosen was a new and exhilarating feeling, knowing that my dream of one day becoming a great magus was nothing but certainty. That one day I may meet my Pale Orchid and speak with her, to explain I had no intention of scaring her, though I wanted to ask for advice in matters of speaking with one¡¯s soul mate from father. Yet in that moment, those words awakened that dread which lingered in the recesses of my mind that surfaced for a moment after revelation as well.


    I looked into the dim holes and nodded as I wrestled and triumphed over the slight dread. ¡°What choice do you mean I have yet not aware of?¡±


    ¡°A simple yet hard one, but one that may entice you once you know more of the true price of being his chosen. A price that hides itself as a reason to set you on the path that one day shall lead to your doom and this dreams¡¯ too.¡± His head turned and stared at the colorful phantoms forming from the union of sand and wind beyond the rising walls of the city.


    ¡°Though I fear we may have been late as one price, one reason had been metered out upon you and your siblings to face the great winged lord who breathed the night and awakened time long before the awakening of the deos and the races you know.¡±


    My munching slowed and swallowing the tasty treat proved challenging as I felt coldness grip my hands reaching for the next as if the answer lingered in my mind evading the grasp of realization. ¡°That you shall know the moment you awaken. For now know there is a path I offer you, a path in which no doubt majority of the world shall brand you as the second coming of the Grimm Sovereign, the True Disciple of Dusk, but it shall also save what shall be taken and reward with furthermore including the right that was taken from your family so long ago.¡±


    I stared at him frozen, and as he looked into my eyes, feeling uncertain whether to answer and if yes what to speak. I just watched silently the light behind the holes of his pallid mask, the lights flickering with a color from beyond.


    **


    Ulrich¡¯s left arm ached from the continuous battering and from the pieces of cursed metal lodged from the lacerating wounds whose frames began to blacken with veins spreading and numbing his sense of it amidst great aching. A white torrent of mist escaped his exposed face as his helmet laid amidst the grizzly corpses of the once more unmoving dead.


    With his plate half-destroyed ¨C exposing his scar riddled left side ¨C he walked near Eadwald who laid wheezing and teary against the scorching of exhaustion as he sat the blackened ground while clutching the hilt of his forged blade.


    ¡°Burn her.¡± Aelfsigior¡¯s sore voice reached his ears and he watched as the soaring flames of amber engulfed the torn form of Lioba staring vacantly at him. Her form fitting armor in shambles, torn like paper while her guts forced out onto the cold ground while her head almost severed, where once her throat laid now a gaping hole remained though not for long as flames devoured her decaying, blackened and paling flesh leaving nothing behind but just old memories of her.


    As there he had no more use for it in its current state, Ulrich let his broken shield fell to the bone littered ground and sheathed his blade as he offered his one remaining good hand to Eadwald. ¡°This can wait.¡± As Priernuss approached offering healing for his aching arm, he declined with a smile as wave of unease washed over him and the desire to rush to the greidor gate compelled him.


    Malodorous scent of finality seared their noses once more and at Aelfsigior¡¯s command, they all rushed through the broken gate of the House of Studies the moment they felt the earth¡¯s light tremble as the revenants charged towards them from beyond the walls and gates of the desolate monastery.


    Ulrich remained last, ignoring the pain as he turned around with his blade once more in his hand, rending the few revenants nearing them. To his aid, Priernuss came hurling weak spells while healing some of his wounds and to his worry Eadwald severing the twig parched neck of an aevhen dead.


    The three slowly backed with Priernuss¡¯s ward keeping the revenants from tearing them apart. ¡°There.¡± Hevaeck weakly shouted towards the turn leading from the central hall riddled with torn books, dried blood and decaying pieces of flesh to the steps descending below the earth.


    Near the steps, Ulrich grabbed Eadwald¡¯s shoulder and hurled him towards the steps then followed after him after cleaving head from shoulders of two dead while Priernuss stayed arms stretched forward as his ward began to crumble as cold shadows gathered in the corners.


    In the long, gloomy corridor of neatly stapled stones, Ulrich perceived Eadwald¡¯s terror plastered on his face, freezing him in place. With half turned towards him, he pushed his back while aimlessly thrusting the tip of his blade engulfed by tenderly swirling Iuboron matter parting shadows with its radiant gilded glow. With each chaotic thrust, the golden mist latched onto the blackened and brownish flesh of the ravenous dead, then their gravelly screams echoed through the chambers followed by the ear-bleeding shriek of their master.


    In the final hall at the end of the corridor, Gna who carried Hevaeck placed the elderly dwarf onto the center of the room, into a whitish marble circle engravened with numerous curious drawings in front of the curving gate riddled with carefully hewn hieroglyphics spelling out the name of Mocontriam. With his palms locked, eyes closed Hevaeck began to channel what remaining cavalcade of matter remained in his four arkhaine points and began to pour them into the center.


    While the rest lined up for a possible last stand, as they felt the permeating cold presence approaching hastily, he rushed to Eadwald crumbled onto his shaking knees and with a swiftly calculated slap, brought him out of his terrified state. ¡°Do not fear anything as long as you see me.¡± He said while grabbing onto his shoulders, a kindly smile curved onto his handsome visage.


    ¡°Won¡¯t be able to hold any longer.¡± Priernuss said amidst gritting his teeth as he felt a cold anger slipping into him as pitch blackness pervaded the other side of the sharply curving arch filled with his expanded ward. As he the ward crumbled into aethereal dust, two blades of radiant and amber energies appeared in his hands and they all let out a unified cry overpowering the cacophony of the dead.


    They all swung and thrust forward in perfect rhythm, dead flesh halted in decay rendered and torn, plates of alloy, bone and other materials shattered, bones cracked and broke, shrieks emitted and hurt the already damaged ears of theirs and Ulrich once more felt the dwindling of time. Amidst the pouring gangrenous dead, he witness the floating pale form wrapped in vicious and hardened shadows embroidered into regal garments, and beyond the veil a murderous stare in the pitch black eyes aimed at his son.


    ¡°It is done! Hurry through!¡± Hevaeck¡¯s voice yelled through the roars of the dead just as the bluish light bathed the room. Ulrich saw him stepped through and ordered Eadwald to immediately follow after him. Though he relented at first, Ulrich promised to come behind him then watched as he and Azugh entered in quick succession while the elderly remained holding the few dead.


    Though as his back was swallowed by the bubbling aethereal waters, a second stronger shriek shook the whole structure, sent them tumbling down the floor and even shattered the remaining revenants into pieces of rotten flesh and yellowing bones.


    Fear hastened the beating of his heart as he noticed the dangling pair of pale legs sprouting beneath shadows pass over them, and while ignoring the pain beget of his bleeding ears and eyes, aching head he stretched his right arm towards the gliding wraith and wave of strong ecstasy washed over him as hundreds of slim strings of golden mist and sand sprouted from his palm and towards the Queen of the Damned.


    ¡°Hurry! I¡¯ll see you all on the other side!¡± Even though he could not even hear his own voice, he yelled smiling from the top of his lungs as he felt the anger seeping from her breaking the gilded bonds. As the last of them disappeared in the waters, he channeled what little matters and energies remained within into his central arkhaine point while his eyes closed.


    His effort proved vain as he felt a cold hand breaking through his flesh and as he opened his eyes, he stared down into the pale, grotesquely alluring visage shrouded by shadows, smiling back at him before waves spreading from him shattered the greigor gate to pieces. He felt the burrowing maws gnawing at his being, halting the approach of the dream.

 Chapter 58: On The Threshold I.

    The cerulean rays of the Illius lengthened across the golden field of the Aruemar Lowland surrounding the mountainous capital of the Elhyrissian Empire. Grass sprouted high and dangled east and north, west and south as the temperate winds swept through while the river melodically rutted as it sinuously headed inwards from the towering silvery gray embrace of the Draemons Mountains.


    Though on the tenth day of Mhorombar in the 1259<sup>th</sup> year of the First Age, the wind carried a malodorous, bestial and sulfurous scent and finality instead of the aromatic floral, while its silence was broken by the clash of blade against the alloy thick hide of a minotaur, and the roaring of Albron¡¯s mighty winged mount as it breathed flames of golden and crimson onto the crude and brittle forms of tainted golden which were the tribalistic caublorumus.


    Colchiorh shadow prismatic shadow spread over the crimson golden charred remains of the caublorumus as triumphant bellow escaped his lengthened maw garnished with a glistening beaked chin while a branching crown of ever shifting shades grew forth from his prominent bony brow above his small, almond framed eyes of a deep golden crimson flame with a slit at its center.


    His wiggling tail at the back with feathery decoration crushed through the body of the cowardly caublorumus aiming to strike while the dragon of the Heavenly House was drunken by the swift victory. Their crooked upper bodies shattered into hundreds of bloody and bony chunks as the tail thrice harder than any metal passed through them propelled by the instinctive potency of the mature dragon.


    His long neck twisted east and west, his body rotated north and west as mighty Colchiorh confirmed the demise of the last of the caublorumus, then feeling assured and content, sat down in a feline position and patiently gazed as his towering comrade, head of the Draennith Praetoriir played in the shadow of the hulking minotaur clad in makeshift armor of bone and the hide of other beasts once aiming for its throne.


    In its large, meaty hand a crude mace of wood and stone struck down at Albron who measured the same, though instead of finding its way through his soft and smooth flesh, it sent waves through the sturdy earth upon impact which furthered the anger within the bull-human hybrid with a forward curving horn of grayish black. Its black pearled eyes narrowed, chiseled his hoofed feet against the earth before it sprang towards Albron with a deep bellow.


    Its black and golden white fur rustled as the temperate wind swept through it while the earth trembled beneath Albron¡¯s feet, though he still gazed calmly at the slowly blurring form of the Minotaur rapidly approaching. Even in his ebony angular plates of numerous asymmetrical segments, he easily bent his torso down letting the large piece of stone fastened to the log cleave through the air while his free hand reached palm facing the earth keeping his own muscular form from stumbling over.


    With a bit of arkhaine aid, generating a strong gust of wind while pouncing his palm from the harsh touch of the earth, Albron straightened his posture then leapt over the Minotaur¡¯s dim horns while he swung his burning blade into the massive, broad shoulder. Blood spew forth into his fetching bearded visage tainting his fair golden milk smooth epidermis in deep crimson nectar while his blade sunk deeper and deeper, severing muscle from muscle until the left arm of the bipedal beast fell off.


    His clawed gauntleted fingers pinched his nose as they were assaulted by the pungent odor of scorched flesh and bone permeating the air while a minor headache born in his head amidst the intense scream of the Minotaur.


    Eyes focused on the beast, Albron stretched his free arm towards the beast and mockingly beckoned the it as it silently boiled with anger, once more chiseling, excavating the earth beneath its hooved-feet. Then it charged at him with great speed, though it tumbled halfway through when the earth shook beneath its feet while thick walls rose to the same elevation of its thickly furred knees.


    Its massive form lost its balance and curled and hurled towards Albron while its one remaining hand released its grasp of its makeshift weapon that flew through the air and landed amongst the gilded foliage of the Lowland. Albron watched not too mused then stepped to the left unceremoniously while his blade passed through the muscle-bound body of the Minotaur like butter.


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    Just as he predicted from measuring, the sharp end of his blade crossed through the vast neck shattering bone and parting muscle and skin while in another swift motion, he grabbed onto the nearest horn and held the head in the air above the ground while the lifeless body hurled a few more meters along before it halted near the border of the forest where its blood formed a lake under the massive cadaver.


    ¡°Its all your my friend!¡± Albron turned towards his graceful winged mount who flew immediately into the air and down at the corpse like a majestic vulture. His golden crimson flames engulfed the cadaver, ridding it of the not so appetizing fur while roasting skin and flesh. Then with an inhale, the flames returned to his gaping maw followed by his claws tearing flesh from the corpse.


    As the tantalizing smell of roasted minotaur reached his chiseled long nose, even Albron began to harbor desires to feast on the corpse whilst he held the severed head. ¡°Maybe some other time.¡± He murmured while watching Colchiorh merrily began his feast.


    Though the moment parted fast as he felt a cold scorching on his wrist and felt thoughts not of his own seeping into his mind, informing him of a sudden meeting petitioned by Mirayroth himself.


    **


    Aurelithae circled around in the center of her room lit by the filtered warm amber golden light of the Illius. Her steps muffled upon the newly gifted carpet she received from her distant uncle and consuliar of the eastern islands of Vhalleryon.


    Its mostly alabaster round form laid in contrast to her blackish burgundy floor of glossy, neatly welted together planks of wood harvested from the lush forests of the main island of Caesselis Archipelago. The tasseled trims themselves merged in with the floor itself while close to the edge, serpentine wingless dragons of the east and oceans belonging to the House of Tides twirled behind each other, slowly approaching the center where the Illius slowly shifted into its dusky form from which the alabaster spread across most of the carpet.


    Following and at the same time also framing the spiraling dragons were the curious and mystical glyphs of east embroidered in a deep reddish and mauve shade, with each letter spelling out a part of a short poem written by a forgotten poet to their muse who were taken by the Grimm Sovereign centuries, eons before the races migrated to the promised plane of Elhyrissian as she learnt it from her erudite handmaiden, Akaerith.


    The reason for her circling on the recent gift though wasn¡¯t to kill time or to enjoy the soft brush of the fabric, but it laid on the curious object, the black tome which hardcover were hewn or embroidered from some peculiar feeling hide or wood.


    When she first laid eyes on it in the vast library of the Radiant Keep, it appeared to be made from the former as it gave a sensation akin to when Albron let her caress the refined hide of one of their dragons, though now it felt more akin to the sensation of her naked feet pressing onto her room¡¯s floor. The confusion itself though erected from the fact that when she touched it, it felt neither, nor anything she touched ever. Not even a coldness or warmth which usually seeped into the former.


    On top of that, she even noticed the darkness which dyed it completely ¨C even the pages ¨C seemed to swirl, tremble and move as Aurelithae placed her hands on the smoothly arched spine lacking letters, runes or numbers usually found on tomes and grimoires.


    The only thing that seemed a certainty was that it was a grimoire, simply from the fact that upon touch she felt voidness solidifying in her anima veins, filling her with a strange confidence that she could not only create fire, abiding to the laws set upon it on the dawn of all creation, out of nothingness by forcing her will upon reality, but could easily hurl herself across space and time, not just within the confines of Elhyrissian, but even the dead planes the races migrated from so many centuries before.


    The other minor fact that proved its arkhaine nature was when Aurelithae held it into the light of the Illius, the air around the tome began to blur, while translucent shadows lunged out and seemingly devoured the miniscule particles of the Illius.


    Aurelithae¡¯s prismatic draconic eyes glued upon the tome resting atop her desk in the shadows, within herself she wrestled against her desire to open the grimoire, knowing many who fell to the mephitic temptations of Infaernius, to the chaotic promises of Umvraothius, the apathetic offers of Aydvroeghius. Yet she could not wrestle against her curious nature ¨C and to the silent whispers ¨C and walked calmly and grasped the grimoire while reassuring that it is for the greater good of the realm.

 Chapter 59: On The Threshold II.

    A pillar of tender smoke rose from the furnace while the dwarven smith of the 1<sup>st</sup> Legion Isocrates got assigned to waved his short, bulky arms engulfed in bluish white energies. The conjured wind breezed against his face, sweeping into his lush dark beard while he looked quite amazed as the last of the smoke escaped out the aperture in the center of the domed ceiling.


    ¡°Bring in the next batch.¡± The dwarf said as he turned his haggard face garnished with a massive, potato shaped nose in its center. Though initially he had doubts whether to take the offer of Augermil, on the orders of Naghig he took the opportunity and joined the 1<sup>st</sup> Legion a few months ago.


    One of his reasons initially was that he would be sent away on larger tasks to accompany small regiments of legionaries around the main island as he often heard it from the veterans who worked in the mines. Instead of that, he was given the rank of Servuothii, a non-combat oriented rank usually tasked with simple jobs around the headquarters like cleaning the hallways, the residences of the stationed legionariir.


    Or like in his current case, aid the Forge-Master in replenishing, fixing the weapons or even to carry the lunch to the dwarf who was too occupied with his work to head to the dining hall.


    ¡°So what is he like?¡± And he was not the sole servuoth assigned to the forge-master ¨C or to any of his other tasks. Shigesaith, a lithe niuvhe no older than 120 with a milk smooth epidermis of a vibrant silver shade and a tinge of azure like his almond framed eyes aligned in perfect symmetry who like Luelia came from the colonies, in this case from the far east like Mirayroth. His hair cropped short, reaching only his shoulders while part of it were bundled in a small bun erected above his head.


    ¡°Calm. And tall, like really tall.¡± Isocrates said jokingly. A part of him knew that he was not welcome in the 1<sup>st</sup> Legion as most of its members were of patricii blood or at least came from families who served in the other exalted legions for centuries or more.


    Which was another reason for his hesitation a few weeks ago as he knew many would resent him and even question how a bumfuck son of a miner would manage to get in the graces of the proud blade of the Empire who fought against the Twilight Host of the Grimm Sovereign so many eons ago that even amongst the aevhen kindred were those who weren¡¯t even thoughts.


    Yet contrary to his beliefs, there were two camps who received or seen him in different ways. There were those of the above, who resented him. And there were those who either did not care on how he met or gained the recommendation of Augermil, though some of the like Shigesaith bombarded him with questions about Augermil, some in the realm of normalcy, others less so like questions about the curves of his muscles, whether his hair is silken or not and so on.


    He thanked the One and the Eight for Shigesaith falling into the first group. ¡°Is it through he can conjure the flames of Promethean?¡±


    ¡°Promethean flames?¡± Isocrates asked as the two carried heavy crates filled to the brim with silverish ingots. ¡°Ah, my bad it is not something they teach at the commoners¡¯ academy.¡± Niuvhe apologized with an awkward look on his mesmerizing visage.


    ¡°You see back in the age of dawn while the war raged on between the Seven Siblings, Augermil set out to gain the aid of Promethean, the House of Life and when he reached the home of the gargantuan elder dragon who constructed the planes our ancestors came to be by the Will of the Almodo. As Promethean vowed to not aid either side, it took Augermil decades to convince Promethean to at least gave him a way to learn how to master, to conjure the strongest flames in existence which can burn even the soul of living and non-living.¡±


    Isocrates listening intently halted his fellow servuoth and blurted out a surfacing question. ¡°How did manage to convince Promethean?¡±


    ¡°Well, in the end being who he is, he resorted to a simple duel in which he fought against the first born of Promethean, though it was a costly victory as it said that half his body was charred, scorched to the bone. Seeing his resolve, Promethean simply gifted him the knowledge, the will to conjure his flames which he then used to mow down hundreds of thousands of nekrossus, undead and pariah folk. And even passed this knowledge onto his father who used it against the Grimm Sovereign.¡±


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    ¡°I see. Also no, I haven¡¯t seen him using it. He mostly just cleaved through cultists and daemurnus when I met him and lord Nawfal.¡± Isocrates asked as he felt a bit motivated hearing the story and the resolve of Augermil. For a moment, he pondered whether to aim to become a Draennith Praetoriar instead of a veneficiar of the 1<sup>st</sup> Legion.


    ¡°Thought so. Wait isn¡¯t that Septarch Rhenathorhia?¡± As they walked through the courtyard, the two stopped and Shigesaith noticed Rhenathorhia and his dusky companion whose divinely graceful form drew both their attentions. The more Isocrates stared at them, mesmerized by their chiseled beauty, he felt a creeping terror slithering onto his being, one that felt familiar yet he could not remember from when.


    **


    Celsushar stood over the edge overlooking the alabaster city fractured into numerous district plateaus grew forth the jagged walls, bathed in the soothing cold light of the Illius. Just as he began to descend into deep thoughts, strong winds swept into his dark mane sheared to the skin on the sides, exposing his recent addition, a magical tattoo of a dragon of the House of Heavens resting in a feline position with its long neck coiled like a serpent.


    When he looked up, his mouth surrounded by his finely trimmed silken beard curved at its corners as he stared at the colorful belly of large, overlapping scales of Colchiorh. ¡°Welcome back brother.¡± The two¡¯s forearms locked together in a firm embrace the moment Albron¡¯s massive form leapt down from the center of his winged comrade¡¯s spine.


    ¡°It was. Here take it down to the magistratoriar.¡± After he handed the malodorous sack to Celsushar he hurried towards the tower. ¡°Just a moment brother. I do not wish to worsen your mood, but your Uncle is waiting for you at your office.¡±


    Hearing those words felt like a cold shower against his warm body, knowing Augermil usually do not show up unannounced. ¡°Is it related to Flavian?¡± He turned and asked.


    ¡°Yes. I feel he holds suspicion towards the order.¡± Albron gazed up to the peculiar tower of their order then sighed deeply. ¡°I see. Leave it to me.¡± With that he headed for his office while soothing himself.


    **


    The Draconos Erviniire was a collection of grown, basalt and marble, spires erected from the serrated top of the Draemons Mountain¡¯s western peak overlooking the valley, the surrounding Lowland and even the shores were visible on clearer days.


    Each hexagonal spire housed their respective Wing of the Draennith Praetoriir, their smooth walls shaded after the color associated with the House their founders once swore their friendship to several millennia ago. In Albron¡¯s case he started out in the Wing of his uncle, the Wing of Heavens, though as he rose through the ranks, he became the head of the Wing of Dusk and then the whole order itself after Augermil stepped down after a string of tragedies which ailed his elderly mind.


    ¡°I hope you did not need to wait for too long Uncle.¡± The two locked their forearms together, then their massive frames stuck together into a familial embrace. Augermil shook his head with a tired expression thinly masked with an affable smile.


    ¡°Anything to drink?¡± As soon as they entered, Albron commenced towards the shelf housing the exotic collection of alcoholic beverages from all over the Empire. His hand reached for one encased in golden and obsidian and poured it out instantly for himself. ¡°Just a little.¡± Augermil said sensing the sweet scent of the beverage.


    ¡°So what is the reason for your sudden visit?¡± As the two sunk into the soft cushioned divans, clad in their contrasting armor, Albron spoke up first noticing the uncertainty on his uncle¡¯s visage.


    ¡°It is not something I¡¯m light on to mention, but after all these years of evading certainty, I¡¯m sure that someone in our exalted order turned to the side of the enemy.¡±


    Albron furrowed his dim brows lightly as he lightly gulped down his drink listening. ¡°What makes you believe that?¡±


    ¡°The thought took its roots in my mind almost immediately the attack on the Sanctum of the Heavenly Monarch. At the time I pushed the thought away, certainly after brother told of the Oracles foreboding divination of the dim future ahead. But what reason would the death of Flavian, head of Wing of Life serve besides weakening our forces.¡±


    Albron felt a cold breeze sweep into the edifices of his armor. ¡°Flavian had many enemies, even amongst the patricii.¡±


    ¡°That is certainly true. He was not an easy man to exist with I¡¯m willing to concede on. But recently someone gave me this.¡± Augermil¡¯s left arm disappeared, swallowed by an aperture of blur in reality then came back holding a neatly folded and bound parcel which he gave to Albron.


    As soon as he undid the slim bindings of crimson, and placed his clawed thumb onto the seal, his heart increased its pace and he began to curse many names which surfaced in the bowels of his mind. ¡°I see. What a sly man you were my old friend.¡±

 Chapter 60: On The Threshold III.

    A rippling silence inhabited the spacious interior of the Sleeping Nereid, to the preference of Taip ¨C the faun owner and bartender ¨C whose hairy arms ending in claws appeared to by a synthetization of flesh and water, similarly his curving goat-like horns adorning his bestial head bore both perceptible traits of liquids and bone.


    He would not complain though if there were guests needed to be served as his establishment was quite a popular choice amongst the working class of the capital, while also a few of the patricii tended to spend time and aurym on certain nights. With the recent attacks, he harbored worry in his heart each night, expecting those mad folk to wander amongst the good people and carry out a vile deed that shall either cost his life or reputation ¨C though those wandered together.


    Although Naghig and even Mirayroth whispered to him that such worries were unnecessary, and he can just continue to live his life before he joined the New Dawn.


    Suddenly, his small ¨C adorned in the center with a vertical and wide slit ¨C of a deep blue moved onto the door as its creaking broke the rigid silence of the Sleeping Nereid. A small, corpulent man in a richly hued lavish robe of many layers with a collar that slanted outwards with a neckline shaped like a tear stepped in and greeted him with a silent nod as he slowly walked towards him with a haggard expression.


    ¡°Good day my good lord! What can I serve with?¡± A part of him wanted to remain behind the towering counter of stacked stones and wooden top, but his good nature triumphed and walked up to him and asked in a genial manner.


    The old man ¨C a merchant he though ¨C he mistook at first for a dwarf furrowed his brows then looked at the wooden plaque. His tired, steel gray eyes narrowed then he coughed and laid out his order in swift manner in his deep, hoarse voice. ¡°Only a cup of your finest wine. Please and thank you!¡±


    He hurried behind the counter after taking the order with a light bow, then connected the slithering tube of flexible metal to one of the barrels and held its open end over a freshly cleaned cup of rich alloy of brass shade and engraved with peculiar southern patterns and glyphs. As his wet and fleshy fingers wrapped around the tube, his mana poured into its smooth and temperate surface and at once wine flowed upon the awakening of enchantments.


    Just as Taip finished pouring almost to the trim, he heard the door flip open in a familiar manner and noticed the pale form of Naghig draped by not too outstanding garments of mismatched colors. The two greeted each other with a silent nod, then he heaved a soft sigh noticing the orkh heading straight for the small and corpulent man.


    Before he delivered the order, he poured the favored mead of Naghig and headed to their table where he quickly placed down the keg and goblet then before he could retreat to his abode Naghig stopped him with a grunt. ¡°Will need the backroom.¡±


    ¡°Then just a moment.¡±


    **


    As he stepped through the gate, his corpulent man disguise faded into the void of reality, and once more Albron¡¯s gallant form stood proudly in the place where black stars rise over the purple skies.


    The Plateau of Hauseng, a place currently sitting at the very border of His reality, a vast vista of nothingness except for the ivory spire of a flat soil some scholars debate to be a broken off piece of the Almodo himself. Though as Albron looked at it, it looked closer to basalt of a strange white shade amongst the infinite mauve space.


    A historical piece of ground though nonetheless as he heard the many tales told by his father, by Augermil that the first Elhyrissiar of the Empire dueled the Grimm Sovereign himself on top of the Plateau of Hauseng, the place where he his essence fused with the Six. As he breathed deeply the air ¨C neither cold, warm nor temperate yet with a bizarrely sweet, beckoning odor ¨C he sensed the remains which rent into the very fiber of reality, the result of tearing a doorstep onto the veil itself.


    Albron knew what he felt were all the leftovers of the purest form of the primal aspects which built up the reality he knew, he lived in. The essence of change and the resulting finality lingered and kissed his being like a cold lover, the essence of nature including all its elements assaulted him with their varying fervor, the essence of mind and life cleared his jumbled thoughts and relieved him of the tiredness that hung over his shoulders for decades now.


    And a myriad other remnants of these forces wormed their way into Albron, whilst his eyes searched for Mirayroth whom they found standing at the far edge of the Plateau of Hauseng, staring down into the bottomless abyss while seemingly pondering and waiting for his comrade to approach him at last.


    As he reached near Mirayroth, a second spire erected itself beyond the borders of the plateau, a spire of pure, vicious darkness which seemed to swallow what little strange light lit up this realm. It swirled both calmly and chaotically, and it stood by itself but also leaning against the veil into which it tore a doorstep.


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    And like many times before, he saw the shapes of familiar lineaments and utterly bizarre beyond comprehension protruding from its walls, its even and vertically sloping surface then retracted to the nothingness of it. ¡°You know I am quite busy old friend.¡± Albron asked as soon as he stopped in a calm manner which still communicated well his frustration.


    ¡°I am well aware of that fact. And I don¡¯t plan to take up much of your time.¡± Mirayroth answered in a soothing tone as he continued to stare down at the abyss. ¡°I simply want to inquire on the progress of lady Aurelithae.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you just ask him about that?¡± Albron said lightly frustrated as he crossed his arms. ¡°But to save you some time, she certainly found his grimoire already as she had been holed up in her room the past few weeks.¡± He continued with faint solemnity in his deep voice.


    ¡°I see, so we won¡¯t see her down here for a while then. Now my friend tell me, what ails your mind?¡± As he turned slightly to look at him, Mirayorth noticed the visible distress on Albron.


    ¡°Have you spoken with him? I know it is late to send them back, but I still feel like it has been early for such actions.¡±


    ¡°Is it early? Time maybe our ally, but Terrianis is already aware of the Chosen, and soon a delegation shall visit them no doubt about that.¡± Mirayroth turned back to the abyss as he felt its stir rang through the air, through his body and soul.


    ¡°I am aware, though I still feel their actions are unnecessary. Don¡¯t they undermine your agenda?¡±


    Mirayorth shook his head. ¡°Not in the slightest of ways. Contrary, my cells¡¯ numbers are growing even as we speak thanks to folk losing faith in their protectors.¡±


    ¡°I see. One last thing, if she visits you once more, I¡¯d like you to tell her to refrain from acting upon her anger anymore. Though this time it brought both miracle and trouble.¡± Albron stood beside Mirayroth and gazed down at the stirring darkness, growing with every passing day.


    ¡°What trouble?¡± Mirayroth then turned and looked up at him as he stood in his massive shadow.


    ¡°Flavian whose death she desired was inspecting on his own and came quite close to suspect me and my Wing of treachery. And he seemed to be aware that she kept her eye on him, which led to his letter that found its way into my uncle¡¯s hands. And now that solidified his beliefs.¡±


    ¡°Does he suspect you?¡± Albron shook his head. ¡°Then for now just leave him be.¡±


    ¡°Not like any of us could take him on.¡± Albron chuckled which seemed to infect Mirayroth. ¡°True. But I also suspect that his own investigation shall be delayed soon.¡±


    ¡°Well until then I stay by his side and try to fix this mess myself. Hopefully when that time comes, he shall not relay it to Terrianis.¡±


    **


    A knock on her door brought Aurelithae out from the excited stupor, and with a swift movement she closed the dark book whose pages crawled with shadows and unfamiliar yet readable and comprehensible glyphs that seemingly talked to her, poured her mind with knowledge of secrets about an art preceding all the planes of existence.


    Hours passed as her eyes slowly traversed the first dozen pages, and felt a void excitement that thrilled her more than forcing her will upon the world. At first, she felt content with just reading a bit of it as she did not expect understand any of the weird letters. Then a desire awakened within her, a desire to follow the scripts penned in a strange color.


    Aurelithae held her tender hand out into the light seeping into her room, onto the peculiar eastern carpet, and for a moment closed her eyes, and envisioned the colorful domed vistas of the Tsuormo archipelago where her mother came from and forced herself into the mental painting. And at the same time, instead of forcing her will, she simply beckoned the space to hurl her through itself, coveted time to halt its relentless march.


    A surge of thrill followed her eyes opening to the very same landscape unfolding before her, the great walled city of Yaugwhai veiled by the trees bearing warmly shaded foliage and honied fruits and sitting on the unevenly rising hill while feeling the breeze of the cold air of Mhorombar against her alluring fair face. Though this surge of thrill and joy beget of great discovery proved to be short lived as she felt distress at not making it back.


    This fear dispersed at the shake of her head and she closed her eyes and envisioned her room after closing her eyes and when she felt the cold air no more, she let out a calm sigh and went back scrying the knowledge of the black book.


    Drunken by the experience, she read the book until darkness spread across the sky and the Illius shifted into its silvery form with tinge of mauve and azure dancing across the vista of emptiness. As the dim room lit up in a warm golden light, she held her hand once more forward palm facing the ceiling and she forced the image of majestic dragons into the infinite desolation before her eyes.


    Then when Aurelithae felt cold touch of scaled paws against her palm, she opened her eyes and stared once more exhilarated at the small form of a dragon. Once again though her achievement proved itself to be short lived as the miniature beast halted in its movements and stayed motionless as she watched with a gaping heart slowly drained of hope.


    In the end she placed the small cadaver inside her drawer and began to scrim the grimoire once more, though as she reached beyond two more pages, the knock sounded on the door and she swiftly closed the book and hid it behind her shelf near the door itself.


    Upon entering, she courteously greeted Akaerith and the three handmaidens whom prepared her ceremoniously to sleep, ridding of her daytime garments then dressing her into the soft, satiny dress of a warm golden and mauve color then handed her a cup of tantalizingly scented tea which she chugged down elegantly before she was tucked deeply into the soft embrace of her sheets.


    Bidding farewell to them, her eyes closed down and she felt eager to visit the land of Oneiro while oblivious to the scraping in the desk and moving in the drawer.

 Tales of Elhyrissian: Pearls In The Eyes I.

    Glinting shadows nested in the domed maze of the Paenivurh forests¡¯ northern border on the late noon of the twenty-fourth of Mhorombar in the 1159<sup>th</sup> year of the First Age. The usually silent forest filled only with the echoes of twigs breaking, the howls of predators and the soft murmur of their prey whispering secrets to evade the former now rang with the metallic clanking of armor and the soft whispers of legionariir of the 9<sup>th</sup> Legion.


    As they moved, their brass plates glinted and tremored tenderly while hugging their well-honed forms as they followed in the footsteps of Moirstyria clad in her gloomy white silvery plates of angular contours, segmented into many pieces and decorated with the grim motives of Obtryllia while under it she wore her usual dark garments of a silken which most resembled textile molten glass with a collar which circled around her pale neck while burrowing into itself like braids.


    Behind him, her dear Ba¡¯atz followed with his over protuberant eyes skimming the trees and lower flora while his long grayish black robes swung left then right while the finely carved and hewn ivory armor around the soft, matte garments rattled with each movement. Beside him Akemion followed with one hand kept on the handle of his sheathed blade while his own exotic eastern plates glimmered as the occasional light shone onto them while beneath, he wore an urchin grade eastern robe of many embroidered layers.


    The small regiment of legionariir halted in their tracks the moment Moirstyria lifted her right hand covered in a gauntlet fashioned after a skeletal hand melded onto a silken glove. They immediately rushed into formation when one of their, a towering faun of whitish fur fell motionless into the masses of leaves shrouding the earth with his blood quickly forming a large puddle while the arrow which sent him into the embrace of the Solemn Shepherd pushed through his neck.


    Moirstyria and her two closest remained in front, engulfed in a translucent blue bubble from which the arrows coming simply out from reality itself bounced off down to the ground which swiftly swallowed them. Not long after the very same arrows aimed at the joints of their armors, sent with great precision. Moirstyria touched the ground and mauve and light bluish energies swept out from her palm connecting to it leading to the fallen arrows aging, rotting into nothing.


    Then as she looked up with glowing eyes, she noticed spheres of white hovering high on the trees. Moirstyria quickly pointed at them and as her orders reached the legionariir behind them, the few veneficiir and Ba¡¯atz hurled spells at the hiding savages whose burning, frozen, shattered corpses fell unceremoniously down to the earth.


    Silence settled into the forest once more as they waited vigilantly, then it was broken by a multitude of bellowing battle cries that even shook the earth beneath their feet as dozens upon dozens of savages popped out from the trees and the earth including their altered beasts who were fusion of animal and plant life.


    ¡°For the Empire!¡± Moirstyria screamed through the confident bellows of the savages while raising her blade high and in a short moment she unleashed a fog of finality upon the first wave of the quickly approaching enemy whose gangrenous corpses littered the leaf hidden path leading further into the once peaceful forest of Paenivurh.


    **


    Darkness slowly evaporated over the alabaster city of Nidumiath which stood out firmly amongst the vast flatland of greenery and warm colors just a few dozen kilometers away from the dense forest. Its octagonal walls stood proudly over the deep mote occasionally filled with the waste water pouring forth the cylindrical maws of the sewer system, though it never rose above its usual level thanks to dwarven engineering leading it down into the bowels of the continent.


    From the eight corners of the wall itself, four-sided spires rose with strict contours and curves built from a shimmering white stone with the top containing a large cushioned bed fitted for the winged mounts of the eight Draennith Praetoriir assigned to the protection of the city and to occasionally fly out and eradicate threats which the legionariir could not handle themselves.


    Further beyond the walls, the city itself was sliced into four vast districts. The side closest to the freezing north housed the residential district and the large market filled with goods brought down from the northern colonial cities, towns and small settlements.


    The southern districts on the other hand housed the legionariir and their families while also dotted with a few bakeries and places to spend time including libraries and eateries while the one directly to east the Arkhaine District nestled where magusos, veneficiir conducted their experiments, housed their vast libraries of grimoires and tomes containing the various researches conducted on the local savages, the history of the forest and so on.


    And in the center where Moirstyria and her renowned group arrived after long weeks of travelling, ascending the growing number of elevating steps while occasionally taking inquisitive glimpses at the peculiar stones with maghiath veins popping on their dusky white surface emanating a myriad colors constantly shifting with each blur while also singing an ethereal sonnet of soft reverberation.


    At the top they once more stopped in wonder at the structure of the palace built with asymmetrical proportions and articulations while hewn from the very stones, they just glimpsed at on their way up. The veins which emanated the ethereal glow now twisted, intertwined, branched to make out vague shapes of the good folk and even the Deossos while other lines simply just served as decorative frames at the trims and edges.


    ¡°Welcome Sister and your friends!¡± As they reached the next set of shorter stairs their eyes immediately focused onto the mesmerizing figure whose face was a fusion of male contours and female soft lineaments while his scales took artful shapes and delineations, his eyes wide and narrow with slim frame in which his slit mauve pupils gleamed like pearls pulled from the azure sea and glinting under the purest light of the Illius while on his body he wore the most profligate set of layered robes consisting of the royal shades of mauve, crimson and golden.


    ¡°It is good to see you again Brother Aerdonis!¡± Moirstyria said as she smiled affectionately while embracing the consulius of Nidumiath, her elderly brother of a different mother in a distant hug.


    ¡°The Solemn Shepherd truly smiled upon me for sending you hear. Come my servants prepared a worthy feast for you and your friends.¡± He said in his soothing, smooth voice while turning around pointing at his entourage consisting of many different folks, though all equally beautiful almost as him and dressed in lavish garments while adorned with jewels and brochures of the finest workmanship.


    Moirstyria moved first out of her trance, then was followed by the rest as they headed into the peculiar palace where they regaled their tale of traveling and many other adventures including the battle against one of the cyclopean children of the Father of the Deep Ones in the Gutticur Strait near the border of the colored deserts of the south.


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    ¡°Come, come my friends. Do not just feast your eyes!¡± As soon as they stepped into the vast dining hall, most of the group except for Moirstyria and Akamion halted and fell into a trance upon witnessing the long table garnished with jeweled gilded plates and cups, a saliva inducing cavalcade of scents coming from the sizzling food, the warmed drinks and the carefully arranged deserts waiting for them.


    Aerdonim raised his hand as he sat on the right end facing Moirstyria at the other end when he noticed her dark lips began to move. ¡°We shall talk about the savages and my request after you filled your empty stomaches! Now feast to your heart contents.¡± A smile curved onto his lips as he watched each of the group eat with a manner mimicking Akamion¡¯s after they realized they could not count on Moirstyria who devoured the food with an apparent lack of sophistication.


    **


    Moirstyria stared coldly into the vacant eyes of the legionariir, beasts and savage warriors laying all around her while their blood dripped to the leaves. Her heart raced as the thrill of snuffing one¡¯s life out pumped her soul and body, dampening the sound of battle raging around her.


    Time seemed to slow down even as she halted her own spells forcing her into a faster stream of time itself. She watched as Akamion¡¯s blade severed sinew and marrow, watched with excitement as the bundles of intestines wriggled while the upper body of a haggard lievhe hit the ground and his niuvhen friend moved onto the next victim of his striking with his large wooden and stone hammer at an unassuming legionariar ¨C a kindred of Ba¡¯atz from the central waters of Elhyrissian ¨C panting over the cadaver of a horned bear with a wide grin.


    Then her attention turned towards Ba¡¯atz ¨C the famed black scaled Deep One whom she rescued from slavery many a decade ago ¨C piercing a plant-folk savage whose floral flesh turned liquid as the water elemental spell penetrated through his carved oaken plate and in the next moment, where he stood only his empty armor and garments remained amidst the mud and wet leaves.


    Three more of these savages fell to a single spell conjured by him, a bubble of raging water torn their figures into grotesque fleshy puppets as if they walked through a storm of razors while their bones shattered into a myriad or more pieces.


    Slowly the number of the enemy dwindled, beckoning Moirstyria to emit a triumphant cry, raising her blade towards the blocked sky and the forest trembled under the heavy steps of the marching, proud warriors of the great Elhyrissian Empire drunken on certain victory.


    **


    ¡°Where did he go?¡± Moirstyria¡¯s gentle yet agitated, disembodied voice traversed the aethereal link between them.


    ¡°In the house to your left.¡± Ba¡¯atz who hovered high in the sky conveyed and as Akamion caught up, the two entered the angular structure of pristine alabaster. Moirstyria stepped forth first into the seemingly vacant house evident from the long and empty hallway.


    The gentle gale of the wind, the metallic steps and clanking of their adamantine armor pervaded through the whole building. Between each door way they halted and stared into each strangely empty room after realizing their prey was a master of subterfuge and umbral maghia.


    In each room, their eyes lit up momentarily as they peeked beyond the natural world, into the land of the unseen where the shadows hid the traitor against their own will. To their surprise, the featureless walls seemed to bear strange marks, of a distant language spoken only by wicked beings ¨C at least that was their conclusion.


    As Moirstyria¡¯s eyes wandered following the trail of letters and glyphs, she watched as Ba¡¯atz hovered close to the tall building¡¯s windows while ready to unleash his arkhaine knowledge in case the enemy decided, tried to escape once more.


    Leaving the room, she felt cold tendril coil around her soul, digging deeper and deeper with each passing moment. This feeling proved equally pervasive, revolting and most importantly assuring that their prey drawn them onto the wall in case of discovery to buy time to escape.


    Though she was also puzzled as to why he would lead them to here. Was he foolish enough to try his chance against the group? If so, he was both foolish and clever enough to guide her, Ba¡¯atz and Akamion here first. Instinctively she smiled as these train of thought continued while she watched the latter survey around the central room of the homestead.


    Then she span around, her blade unsheathed and thrusted forward while time slowed down and stared into the dying eyes of the aevhen man which seemed desperate and hopeful while holding his hands towards her, his lips trying to form words but only his iridescent blood came forth onto his throat and the floor. Was it a suicidal move knowing there was no escape? Was it just a foolish attempt followed by trying to curse them before passing into the hands of her Mistress and her worn Husband?


    **


    As they pushed further and further into the forest, cutting all who stopped to halt their march, the regiment led by Moirstyria was halted in a vast clearing where the tender light of the Illius shone unabated, caressing the stretching parcel of grass, the shrubbery bearing many vivid colors at the shadowy borders and the merry flowers dancing to the will of the wind.


    Amidst these soothing scenery, they found themselves surrounded by savages, beasts and kin of the elements howling and growling in a chaotic union. Yet they remained dozens of steps from the brave legionariir of the Empire. Moirstyria¡¯s eyes ran across the many crude faces searching for the leader knowing their head shall prove enough to dissuade these brutes from terrorizing the caravans and good folk traversing the forest.


    And as if the Deossos heard her prayer, the row of barbarians and beasts broke their line letting their proud leader to walk holding his twin swords of strange alloy gleaming with a color she had never seen before, the blades themselves growing from strong oaken handles of unevenly strident contours.


    A lievhen savage stood proudly at their lead, his face handsome and gifted with the majestic curves of stags, eyes of lupine sharpness and piercing menace, a figure as awe-inspiring as the greatest of ursine beasts stalking the lush forested lands of Vhalleryon clad in armor of bone and oak, his shadow cast onto Moirstyria and her two dearest. His arms slowly arose while his bearded visage reflected a beckoning smile aimed at her.


    Not wasting the invite, Moirstyria uttered a battle cry and the battle resumed after the momentary cessation. The legionariir, Akamion and the savage band charged at each other in slow motion as the flow of time lessened by and to Moirstyria.


    She appeared as a series of miraged specter hopping closer and closer to the proud lievhen leader. Her glinting blade of silver stroke down aiming to sever him in two from head to nether point, though the strike ended in failure as it found itself wedged between the strange metallic blades locked into a scissor formation above his pale oaken maned head.


    Then she found herself on her knees, struggling for air after the strong impact of his foot planted into her plate clad abdomen. Her tears bombarded the ground and as she looked up Moirstyria saw the still figure with lowered blades calmly staring over her.


    As she slowly arose to her feet, she watched the slow rush of Akamion charging with his katana clutched between his hand, aiming for the joint of the lievhe before them who still stood calmly, then in the next moment Akamion posture shifted to one of lost balance, blade slowly descending towards the legions of grass while a dent slowly grow into branching cracks across his single dark plate.


    Led by a strange anger, Moirstyria charged believing in her own willed pace, hoping to end this battle by cleaving through his opponents body, but once more she missed and felt the oaken hilt¡¯s harsh brunt against her nape shrouded by the dark storm of her flowing hair. Then as the sway of Oneiron beckoned her sweetly, she looked as her will waned on the stream of time and noticed the gloomy, delicate figure of her Mistress standing in the shadows of the forest while Ba¡¯atz¡¯s worried cry rang in her ears before she stood alone in the dark vista of Oneiron.

 Chapter 61: Fiend Amongst The Flock I.

    The echoing scraping of the feathered pen contouring letter after letter onto the parchment stabbed into Terrianis¡¯s pondering mind like cold, thin needles as he read through the report that was carried by the silent yet visible anxious draevhen girl just a few decades older than Aurelithae with her long radiant golden hair bundled into an oval bun at the back.


    Terrianis occasionally looked up at her questioningly though before words could have left her gleaming wide lips his glinting prismatic stern eyes wandered back to the piece of rolled, sallow paper while the feathered pen scraping his title onto the spire of rolled out scrolls halted then waited as they slipped out from the top down to the bottom while the spire rose in the air for a moment.


    ¡°So they could not stop him from leaving the city?¡± Terrianis blurted out while rassling with the scorching that threw his patience into disarray. Written on the paper ¨C tremulously penned by the magistratoriar of Voragoith, the northern colonial capital ¨C were the report on Eadwald escaping from the grasp of the legionariir just beneath another his eyes skimmed through.


    ¡°I am afraid so my Elhyrissiar. He slipped out during the night with the aid of the half-aevhe known across the colonies as a wandering painter.¡± She answered in a meek voice then went immediately silent when Terrianis¡¯s piercing and frustration poisoned look focused onto her frail, delicate form hugged by a dress sewn with a collar of peculiar flowery strokes.


    Terrianis leaned forward while carefully placing the paper onto the table with his trembling hands then took a deep breath. ¡°Well, what to do now?¡± The feathered pen stopped as its scraping noise got replaced by the clank of his prismatic claw tips beating rhythmically against the glossy oaken table as he turned his attention towards the window filtering the inflowing light of the Illius.


    ¡°We can¡¯t really count on those fools.¡± When his gaze returned to the table, to a piece of scrolls bearing the sigil of the Draennith Praetoriir¡¯s Wing of Heavens, he halted the flow of his words while he came to a realization. ¡°Call for Augermil, his wish shall be granted.¡± A bit confused the draevhe daughter of his bowed deeply and hurriedly left while piece of rolled paper emanating a sickly sweet odor flew into his hand.


    **


    Isocrates laid in his bed throwing a sewn ball filled with small pebbles of white and black while the mesmerizing face of Rhenathorhia and the dusky priestess who accompanied him on their visit to the headquarters lingered in his mind even after a week has passed.


    A cavalcade of feelings formed wicked tendrils which dug deep into his mind. Ever since he first laid eyes upon Luelia, ever since his heart skipped a beat upon smelling her tantalizing rosy scent which like the vines of carnivorous plants wrapped around his nose and remained firmly, he strongly believed he would never grow such attachments to another until he laid eyes upon the two.


    He could also feel a chill creeping up on his spine, occasionally shivering his whole body as a warning that he should not dwell on these feelings and should just forget the two. Yet he could not do so, to the point that he often came out from a stupor and just realized that he had been talking about the two with Shigeaith and some of the other servuothii while his desires to become a veneficiir of the legion dispersed as a strong gust of wind hit it like rising smoke.


    These thoughts though had to wait as Isocrates realized that dawn swiftly approached as the dim room of theirs slowly brightened as the amber and mauve hues painted the deep chestnut and alabaster colored walls. He exhaled deeply while closing his eyes for a moment, then sprang out from under the soft embrace of the sheets and started dressing up in his loose, coarse uniform of his bearing a deep burgundy shade.


    ¡°You could not sleep either?¡± To his surprise he found Shigeaith awake in his bed with dark bluish circles embedded into his silverish skin. ¡°Not at all.¡± He answered while slipping into the tunic.


    Shigeaith rose from the bed and let out a tired sigh. ¡°It shall be a long day.¡± He said in a raspy tone. ¡°I hope they visit.¡± Once more Isocrates¡¯s body twitched upon hearing those tired words coming from a face plastered with vain hope.


    **


    Augermil¡¯s shadow melded in with the blackening spot spreading far at the center of the street, breaking the faultless alabaster blanketed in the soft shadows of the rustling trees and the towering houses of angular proportions. The wheeling of his thoughts smothering the cacophony of the crowd kept at bay by the golden legionariir of the 1<sup>st</sup> Legion, his eyes focused on the corpses littering the closed off area.


    People of all kinds, of all ages laid motionless on the black spot, their blood converged into one myriad colored spiral like paint on a blank canvas. Their vacant eyes seemingly glaring at his towering form casting its gallant shadow onto them, their expression just as varied as them with some harboring resentment, anger, sorrow while those with alluring features and almost matching colorful robes gloating with triumphant empty looks.


    Yet in his minds¡¯ eye he saw nothing else but the events unfolding on the chilly morning of his patron¡¯s mate judging and maintaining the change and flow of time. He watched as the figures appeared from the houses surrounding him, casting their own shadow onto his hulking form, carrying daggers, swords and various other weapons as they joined in with the busy flock.


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    The event swiftly unfolded, puzzling many as shrieks rang through the murmuring of the streets and people fell like stringless puppets discarded by their master, deep wounds on their throats from which their blood flowed burst forth, swords and axes found their way into heads, splitting open flesh and bone, spells of a sulfurous odor found their target¡¯s snuffing life slowly out of them in the form of rouge flames that made them shriek and giggle like madman.


    Brave gilded legionariir rushed not long after the nightmare began, yet they were seemingly halted when they looked upon their enemies whose alluring visages enchanted them, and some joined amongst the common folk while the more erudite, trained ones shook away the enchantment and unleashed their fury upon the cultists.


    Though most seemingly died, except one of gleaming dark skin, a beautiful woman of the Yhanubj tribe of humans who unlike the others wore clothing seen only on the pious magusos of the Order of Maghiath¡¯s Truth, a two piece robe with one loosely draping her slender body, while a second deeper layer ran across her shoulder while a white veil cascaded over her head.


    Even the best amongst these legionariir fell to her charms and gladly slit their own throats without hesitation, giving her the chance to tear a whirlpool of arkhaine energies of a vibrant blue and mauve into reality and step through it leaving behind the carnage as her only mark just as Augermil arrived and his winged mount unleashed the flames which left their mark upon the ground before he too leapt down and mowed the remaining cultists.


    Whilst the vision faded, a whirlpool danced and tore reality, blurring the gilded and crimson back of the legionariir forming a disciplined wall and at once Albron stepped through it brandishing his blade before reaching out his right arm to greet Augermil. ¡°Was this all of them?¡±


    Augermil shook his head. ¡°Most died to the legionariir while a few remaining got incinerated by the flames while their leader got away through a portal.¡± His eyes lit up with an arkhaine glow and focused where the alluring woman disappeared through a portal


    ¡°What?¡± Albron asked calmly as he noticed the puzzled look on Augermil. ¡°She is in the Evligmaeoroth Cathedralii¡±


    **


    Isocrates and Shigeaith slowly tore through the people screaming questions, curses aimed at either the unknown enemy or the custodiir, legionariir and the praetoriir who swore ages ago to protect the peace of the capital. Some even tried to hurl pebbles and various objects on them towards the line of legionariir with little to no success as even those pieces that flew high above them bounced off the invisible ward.


    The two out for their dinner were allured to the scene of the battle by people spreading knowledge of the recent attack and by the waned scent of sulfurous death. Without uttering words Isocrates was dragged by hand across the maze like streets by the curious Shigeaith who believed they could get across and aid their fellow comrades. Isocrates himself believed otherwise, that they shall be sent away as they were nothing more than errand boys.


    These beliefs of his quickly shattered upon hearing Augermil calling out to the legionariir to let them through and he stared mystified when he saw the two draevhe in contrasting armors towering over all others except for the majestic winged mount of Augermil. For a few moments timed seemed to slow down then the third time his name left Augermil¡¯s slim lips he rushed past the opening with Shigeaith in toe.


    ¡°Hold on for a moment.¡± Augermil said as the two youth reached them and he stood trembling from anxiety as the few cutodiir inspecting the scene halted in their work and stared at them judgingly and with a hint of envy. ¡°Wha¡­?¡±


    Suddenly both their trained forms was stroked across by aethereal lines and pain and despair slithered through their whole body and out of their facial orifices in the form of gilded black smoke. ¡°Bear with it!¡± Augermil ordered in a kindly manner while the two toiled on their knees while in tears from both less than desirable sensation.


    As the last of the taint left their soul and body, they slowly rose and thanked the elderly dragon praetor even though they had no clue what just happened, except that they felt something missing which hurt as if they lost one of their limbs.


    Whilst the sensation waned, Isocrates looked up and noticed Augermil pondering. ¡°Young Aeson, I¡¯ve seen you haven¡¯t wasted my recommendation ¨C mostly ¨C but say as much as I¡¯d like to hear how you fare, I must ask have you not seen a dusky woman of exceptional beauty recently dressed in clothing akin to the more pious members of the Order?¡± He asked slowly seeing that Isocrates still struggled with the strange loss of his.


    Instinctively he wanted and began to shake his head, but he stopped as he recalled the visit from Rhenathorhia and the woman he spoke of. ¡°We did last week at the headquarters with one of your kin my lord.¡±


    ¡°I see. Seems things are even more dire than I thought.¡± Gloom descended onto Augermil as he turned to Albron. ¡°Was she responsible for the carnage here?¡± Isocrates asked while knowing the answer which was further confirmed by both draevhe nodding their heads.


    ¡°I know it may be bold of me to request, but could I accompany you once more my lord?¡± Albron watched and he unconsciously smiled at the blind bravery of the young man whom was dressed in garments of slave rank of the legion.


    ¡°I am afraid this time the danger is greater. Just stay safely to your directive of day. Though I can assure you, she shall pay and won¡¯t cause anymore terror.¡±


    ¡°My lords, once more excuse my manner, but I believe I proved myself to be capable.¡± Both draeve looked slightly puzzled, then Augermil stroked his temples.


    Albron¡¯s gaze changed to amused and he decided to interject as he finally recognized the boy. ¡°If you fear for his safety I can watch over him. Plus an extra muscle may come in handy against pesky company.¡±


    ¡°You just want to see if he is as capable as bold?¡± Augermil let out a sibilant sigh as Albron nodded in confirmation. ¡°Fine. But the glory of taking her head is mine.¡±


    ¡°Fine by me.¡± Albron answered with an honest smile.


    ¡°May I come too?¡± Shigeaith asked with a slightly tremulous tone as he finally mustered his strength while facing two of his icons. ¡°Sure, though I may not guarantee your safety.¡±


    ¡°No need to, I have been trained since I was this little.¡± He said while still trembling with his arms stretched downwards to almost his knee.


    Once more a whirlpool tore itself into reality, Augermil walked to his graceful winged mount and caressed his long jaw. ¡°Keep to the skies friend.¡± The four stepped through then the whirlpool closed while the shadows softened as the firmament lightened in tint and brilliance.

 Chapter 62: Fiend Amongst The Flock II.

    Dim shadows spread over the square when Augermil, Albron and the two youth stepped through the portal. As soon as the temple guards noticed the hulking frames of the former two, they bowed quickly and welcomed them to the blessed house of the deossos.


    ¡°Not to question you my lord, but are we in the right place?¡± Isocrates asked expecting to arrive in a dilapidated building in the lower levels instead of the cyclopean angular spire with further branching towers numbering Eight.


    ¡°Unless she used of the highest grade, I am fairly sure this is where she retreated after the carnage.¡± Augermil answered as he walked through the mosaiced square where the repugnant energies of the infernal realm of Tartarushia still lingered heavily.


    The towering gates moaned as they revealed the vast hall spread beyond their oaken grace, rows of empty benches stood up to the elevated end where a rainbow cavalcade of light filtered through the nine windows focusing onto the center where Rhenathorhia kneeled on the glossy marble floor while his fair golden hands locked together, faint murmurs echoing with a deep feminine undertone as he seemingly prayed to the benevolent deities of the Empire.


    As he slowly rose, his long azure and golden velvet robe with a refined metallic sheen swung charmingly around his slender form while his golden long hair brushed against its soft surface embroidered with motherly symbols of Great Weaver.


    ¡°What do I owe the pleasure Uncle, Brother.¡± A wide welcoming smile plastered across his face while his soothing, deep voice reverberated tenderly through the vast hall as the group slowly approached him. His gleaming slit pearled eyes then moved onto the two smaller forms hiding in the shadow of the two like meek pets.


    Isocrates and Shigeaith bowed lightly as anxiousness spread through them whilst their gracelessly stared at his alluring visage. From the corner of his vision, he noticed the softened features of Rhenathrohia, eyes which contour sharpened, his epidermis gleaming like marble as the light shone on it, and his heavy golden, silken hair appeared slightly ethereal, evoking an image of the fetish he saw months ago.


    ¡°Wish I could say we are here to give prayers to our Lords and Ladies, but I am afraid we are here to carry out a grim task.¡± Rhenathorhia whose gaze focused on Isocrates, then turned at Augermil with a questioning expression when Augermil stopped for a moment. ¡°What grim task would lead you to the blessed house?¡±


    ¡°An hour ago an attack unfolded two district below, and one of the culprits escaped through a portal. I sensed the tainted energies converging to here. I won¡¯t question the loyalty of the Order, but I do believe that the enemy may have a base under the cathedral.¡±


    Rhenathorhia began to caress his chiseled, perfectly stroked chin. ¡°I see. Though just for my and Anguraa¡¯s sake, could I ask for a description on who this culprit is?¡±


    ¡°A young female of the Yhanubj tribe, dressed in robes of the Magistralua Branch of the Order. She has striking eyes, and wore a white veil which enhanced the glow of her unnatural beauty. I believe these two also saw her with you a week ago at the headquarters.¡±


    Puzzlement plastered across his face, his robes swung in tender chaos as Rhenathorhia trembled softly as a cruel realization dawned on him. ¡°That must be sister Hunra. One that has been with me for five decades now.¡± He exclaimed with a tremulous voice sowed with hints of anger while his eyes narrowed at the floor. Augermil looked at him feeling guilt for delivering such news as he himself lived through this realization not once through his long life.


    Many whom he believed to be his friends, his wards, apprentices during the long war against the Grimm Sovereign stabbed him in the back as they faltered in their believes and in the Deossos who failed to stop their brethren from snuffing the lives of millions. ¡°Do you know where she is now?¡±


    Rhenathorhia whose head was planted into his clawed hands looked up and hid his pain behind his dignity while nodding firmly. ¡°She must be in our tower¡¯s Hall of Knowledge with a few other of our pious members.¡±


    ¡°Stay here my dear nephew!¡± As they left towards the stairs, Rhenathorhia¡¯s gaze met with Albrons¡¯ for a short moment, gratitude reflected within.


    **


    The Spire of the Great Weaver as its name suggested belonged to the Circle of Maerhiost ¨C a branch of the Order of Maghia¡¯s Truth ¨C who without vain offered prayers and thanks for the Magnificent Mother of Aevhen kindred. Though the spire reached high, it still stood in the shadow of the central structure of the cathedral on the north eastern side.


    Within the tower itself there were only the top most floor which served as a place for the magusos to research various artifacts which once belonged to the chosen of the Great Weaver, tomes and grimoires filled with the artwork of sages, scribes of arkhaine arts including the great veneficiar who established the Order several millennia ago, Tadianna the youngest sister of the first Elhyrissiar who fell in the early years of the great war.


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    The Spire itself was constructed before the First Age, in the last eon of the Dawn Age by Arch-Magistratoros Fausthar who himself was also responsible for the spatial enchantment which expands the space of the interior, which allowed the construction of at least fifty open balustraded floors ¨C and also the inventor of the Greigor Gates, though even in his long life he did not find the solution to halting the flow of time as someone is hurled through space.


    Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Augermil, Albron and the two youths¡¯ hurried steps echoed through the joint bridge closed off from the flesh air breezing against the alabaster marble walls with sharp curvature. The inside itself appeared quite dimly lit as the only light source seemed to pour from the outside through the decorative windows of myriad colored glass.


    Walls themselves were painted in a deep azure shade close to matching the seas in the early hours of the dusk, while the few golden scripture converging towards their destination painted by careful and proficient hands swallowed the energies occupying the light of the Illius and served as the source of light during the dark hours of the long nights.


    Augermil and Albron feeling a taint lingering in the air halted in their tracks with a precise suddenness that almost led to the two youth crashing into their plated forms. ¡°Stop!¡±


    An eerie silence hung alongside them in the corridor, and the two reached for their sheathed blades while positioning into a battle stance shielding the two. ¡°Cover our backs.¡± The two nodded and began channeling their mana through their anima veins while vigilantly watching the shadows lengthen while sensing a tantalizing odor of wickedness.


    The door in the distance opened, and many forms walked slowly through it with the measured steps of predators. They wore lambent robes of deep azure with mauve trims and stitching, soft waves moved on their surface as they arms rose amidst their preponderous and exultant chuckle while their eyes glinted with a wicked hue of rouge.


    ¡°It shall be a hard ask, but I¡¯d like all of you to refrain from delivering them to my Mistress.¡± Augermil said as he felt the repugnant saccharine sensation of the tempting spell forcing these pious magusos to act against their will.


    Before the two could answer, the mesmerized magusos leapt at Albron and Augermil who quickly stroke at them with the blunt surfaces of their blades. ¡°Do you know any spell that may not hurt them?¡± Shigeaith asked right when Isocrates was sweeping through his own knowledge on the various aspects, arts of maghia.


    ¡°Just one. Sense the energies flowing and forming within me and follow after me.¡± Charmed after charmed leapt in a suicidal madness against the two, expecting the blades to cleave through their tender bodies, yet to their strange surprise, the two dragon praetors simply planted fists into their faces which hurled them a few meters from them and into their fellows.


    Isocrates curled his fingers into a funnel, while the other hands¡¯ danced like playful fey around a bonfire while the air around blurred with a strange color of mauve, light blue and cinnamon poured forth from his forearm and into the funnel. Shigeaith himself quickly sensing the intent of his will followed the same motions. ¡°Keep it up!¡± Albron yelled with slight triumph as he noticed the few knocked down magusos¡¯s form enveloped by a thick mist of aethereal matters leaving only their heads and shoulders unbound.


    After the last of the charmed fell and were wrapped in the aethereal energies ¨C including nekrotic ¨C Augermil followed after Albron who rushed head first towards the glass paneled doors bearing two exceptionally alluring figures draped in similarly bluish robes, their eyes closed while their hands frozen in motion while surrounded by the depiction of maghiath matters.


    Beneath their heavy steps, the wooden floor creaked as they approached closer to the center of the circular room where a large marble piece depicting an arkhaine eye in a bluish black color stared at the distant ceiling. ¡°There!¡± Albron said pointing upwards to the tenth floor where they noticed Hunra watching them while leaning onto the curving balustrade of a deep Algernia wood ¨C a black tree native to the western highlands of Vhalleryon.


    ¡°It is an honor to be the prey to the one and only Augermil, The Paragon of Obtryllia herself and the one who hunted the kin of the dreaded Nightscale himself not just in this realm but in the elder ones.¡± As she spoke, Augermil picked up a faint echo of a deeper, gravelly murmur echoing the same words while his eyes once more lit up. He furrowed his brows while readying himself to thrust his blade through the tainted form of Hunra.


    ¡°I like that look. The look of a predator who is most assured of the doom of their pray.¡± She stopped for a moment, her eyes focusing on Isocrates and Shigeaith and her chiseled face contorted, though its beauty was just as it was before. ¡°But the master needs my services for a little bit more.


    ¡°There is no point in running.¡± Augermil yelled in an austere tone. Hunar smiled then chuckled as she released her grip from the curving wooden railing of a deep black and blue in to which her small hands seemed to meld into.


    The corner of her gleaming diamond lips curved tenderly as childish giggle left her while her infernal eyes narrowed sinisterly.


    ¡°I am afraid that your blades shall have to wait to quell the parch of their thirst. The Dark One still requests for my services. Though we shall see each other soon enough.¡± With that she quickly rushed to the back just as Augermil and Albron appeared before her, breaking through the thick balustrade with their bodies, while their blades rent the floor of the same dark shades.


    Augermil leapt further striking at her enticing form, though the tip only cleaved a bit from her body and the loose attire draping her silhouette whilst a maw tore into reality and swallowed her form with the bellow of a thousand goats drumming through the vast, expanded space of the spire before silence followed as Augermil cursed himself once more.

 Chapter 63: Fiend Amongst The Flock III.

    Shadows slowly crept towards the alabaster edges of the large central pavilion of the Radiant Keep¡¯s vast garden when Albron and Augermil arrived after dropping off Isocrates and his niuvhen friend in the headquarters. The clanking of their armor rang through the dusk blanketed garden and as they reached towards the alabaster structure emanating a divinely silver glow though the two paid not much attention to it as they both were occupied with their thoughts.


    Beneath the mirrored ceiling the two spotted the umbra kissed slender form of Terrianis draped in three layers of silken robes. The first outer resembled more of a cloak that effortlessly cascaded down his back in while the little silvery light of the dusk appeared in elegant, dancing streaks towards the edges where his magnificently combed long ashen black hair not have reached.


    Beneath it he wore a striking robe of myriad hues like his scales, claws and eyes that appeared to be sewn to fit his form in a disciplined stiffness while its arkhaine nature guaranteed the surface remained devoid of creases even as he lifted his hand and let his milk smooth palm be bathed by the ray of silver hitting the floor caressing the bottom of nis naked feet.


    And the third and last piece hugging his form consisted of a single piece which encompassed almost his whole body except for his head. It seemed to be sewn from a textile glass with onyx grids similar to mosaiced windows or the borders on the wings of winged insects while blurring his smooth fair skin beneath itself.


    Close to his right, Anguraa stood and leaned closer in his own mauve pieces of layered aevhen robes whispering sibilantly while hiding his worry behind a calm demeanor, though the two saw through his guise as he tended to dig his index finger into his palm in occasions like this.


    ¡°Brother. Albron.¡± The two halted in their steps right before the widely curved steps and got down onto their knees as soon as Terrianis rotated around and his prismatic draconic eyes pierced through them while in his presence the air grew heavier, scorching while the nearby flora gleamed with a crimson glow as if reflecting the smothered anger of their owner.


    A strong gust of wind blew through the pavilion and its surrounding as his nostrils expanded while his hands folded onto each other in front of him. ¡°Please tell me that the two of you came with good tidings.¡±


    ¡°I am afraid we came with opposing tides my dear brother. The agent of the enemy escaped and this time left no traces which would lead us to their den.¡± Albron and Anguraa twitched as a cup on the marble balustrade collapsed into itself with the garnishing jewels shattering into thousands of pieces.


    ¡°So the Shadow lengthened over our capital.¡± Terrianis murmured. ¡°There is more to it we see it on your faces. Out with it!¡±


    ¡°There is also a chance that the Order had been infiltrated by the Infaerni.¡±


    ¡°That can¡¯t be!¡± Before Anguraa could have yelled more, he was gestured into silence. ¡°A chance you say? And which Infaerni would be foolish enough to thread on my territory?¡±


    ¡°Said agent was a long time prot¨¦g¨¦ under the wing of Rhenathorhia and I believe the one dubbing itself as the Beautiful One is behind the attacks.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t poor Moirstyria took care of that one? What makes sure it is that wounded beast?¡±


    ¡°I fought with it many a century ago and that saccharine aethereal stench is unmistakable as well as the tricks it uses to gain worshippers. Two servuothii and the magusos of the Great Weaver also bore the very same taint in their soul.¡±


    Terrianis listened silently while stroking his chin, then turned to Anguraa. ¡°Inspect every single member of the Order. Albron go aid him.¡± The two nodded then walked away into the central building of the Radiant Keep.


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    ¡°If I¡¯m not needed anymore my Elhyrissiar I would like to continue my hunt.¡±


    Halfway through turning to leave, Terrianis called out to him. ¡°It was quite the hectic day and we almost forgot, but after you are finished with hunting, we shall allow you to go through with the Ritual of Change.¡± Augermil¡¯s puzzled expression was veiled by the shadows, and remained silent for a several moments.


    ¡°Though further talks on that business shall have to wait. For now go our dear brother, hunt down this wretch and make them regret their folly of tainting our soil with their breath.¡±


    **


    Albron¡¯s muscles tensed under his ebony plates the moment the two stepped through the Greigor Gate and arrived into a large hall of obsidian stones neatly stacked and welded while the six-armed sculptures of the Fateweaver loomed over them near the center and the singular towering blackwood gate ornated with adamantium giving off an iridescent hue while maghieth light fell on them.


    ¡°Where are we?¡± He asked in the echoing chamber while Anguraa silently stopped then looked at his palm bleeding his azure blood. The tip of his left index finger ran across it and the hemorrhaging wound closed as new flesh and skin grew over it in the blink of an eye.


    ¡°I am going to be honest. I expected the Draennith Praetoriir to be the ones infiltrated by the enemy. I was mistaken.¡± Bewilderment was clearly visible on Albron¡¯s face as he witnessed his brother¡¯s admission ¨C even if he knew he was right ¨C for the first time in their centuries long life. His muscles which were prepared to strike down his own kin loosened while the anxiety which heated his body halted.


    ¡°Now the answer to your question. This is my little secret laboratory only a few know about including father, not including uncle for good reasons you yourself are aware of probably.¡± He nodded as he himself many times circled in his own office, coming up with futile thoughts of convincing Augermil to switch sides, to betray which he protected for thousands of years.


    The gate slowly revealed a great hollow of basalt and marble walls with metallic tubes in stiff sinewy lineaments growing forth the walls and heading further in. A strange, lightly caustic and musky odor permeated the air, the source the myriad people laying motionless on stone tablets and a small aethgoorn dwarf of pure blood scurrying between them while holding a plaque in his hands of metallic flesh brimming with a golden hue and a tint of natural azure.


    His slender dwarfish form enveloped in a robe with the pyramid collars standing proudly, wedging his bulky head graced with a cropped, hanging brownish mane with a few tresses falling over and framing his haggard but excited face lacking in the prized beard of his kin.


    ¡°Ah Lord Anguraa, I did not expect a guest. You must be Lord Albron! I heard many tales of you wrestling with Hydra menacing the lake Luernaen!¡± The moment he noticed the two, he placed the plaque carefully besides the dreaming aevhen maiden of pale white complexion with a tint of silver and rushed to greet the two. A child like joy plastered itself across his face as he stared with his stretching small teal eyes while Albron¡¯s shadow draped all over his withered dwarven form.


    ¡°It is my pleasure!¡± Albron stated while forcing a friendly smile upon his own bearded visage while rassling against repugnant odor which he was not sure if it came from the catatonic people or the dwarf himself.


    ¡°Oh my bad, Haznarn-rulih at your service.¡± For a moment he stopped and looked questioningly at Anguraa as if waiting to get approval. ¡°If I knew you were to visit, I would have freshened the air. My nose already got used to their smell.¡±


    ¡°Are they dead?¡± Albron asked as he towered over demikin of feline features in a completely frozen state. As he bent down, he noticed the head of the beastfolk elevated slightly as its silhouette appeared on the marble bed. A tube ran from it and disappeared in a metallic disk barely visible.


    ¡°In a sense yes. Though I can assure you they felt no pain or agony be it physical or mental. They all lost their self while in the tender realm of Oneiro.¡± As his eyes lit up, he noticed mauve and azure energies leaking from the tube, and converging towards the rear cranium.


    ¡°No need for such assurances. Their sacrifice is for the prosperous, eternal future of the Empire.¡± Albron said while leaning over the corpse watching as the flow of the aethereal energies matched the flow of vitae and frame of the skeleton. ¡°Though my last question, is this all?¡±


    ¡°No, there are a lot more. And there shall be even more once we expand to the continent.¡±


    Albron¡¯s gaze followed into the distant end of the cavity and his eyes bulged mildly at the sight which he expected, though he still had to quell the rising anger within himself as he gazed upon the beautiful golden form hung above a deep chasm where a vortex of energies condensed and flew into the artifice wedged into the basalt wall. ¡°Though that is what I wanted to show you. Our magnum opus!¡±

 Tales of Elhyrissian: Pearls In The Eyes II.

    Moirstyria slowly awoke feeling her naked pallid feet hanging in the air, her wrists aching from the unyielding grip of the vine-ropes growing forth the domed ceiling of the small hut of flattened, curled tree bark. Though while she felt the cold air of the final season on her body, as she looked down while groaning with the cloth knitted around her mouth, she felt a bit relieved that her leathery attire still hugged her body.


    ¡°Good morning, dear child of the One Who Carries Us to the End.¡± As soon as her muffled grunt reached beyond the sheet hanging over the oblong doorway, her captor the quite gracious looking lievhe walked in with folded arms and an exultant look on his face. ¡°It has been a while since my blades clashed with an equals. Though it is a shame that circumstances denied the satisfaction of ceasing their thirst for your blood.¡± Moirstyria grunted and fruitlessly lurched at her captor, eliciting a gloating almost childish smile from him.


    ¡°One day, they shall taste your sweet blood little dragon. But for now, I¡¯ll need your aid as much as you need mine to defeat our common foe.¡± The hatred in her eyes shifted into confusion.


    ¡°Her taint still lingers in your heart, in your mind, in your soul.¡± He reached into his pocket and brought out a vial of glowing rouge and twisted off its small top. ¡°Inhale it deeply, then I¡¯ll take the gag out.¡± When he reached within a few steps, Moirstyria squirmed in her bindings.


    A combination of fear and coveting appeared on her pale white face adorned by the onyx scales near her tapering jaw as the taint wrestled with her true self it repressed. ¡°Stay still or I push this vial into your nostrils.¡± The black locks of her hair violently danced around as she pulled her head away while his palm lit up in an ethereal glow, and the fluid within the translucent confines vaporized, the caustic fruity fumes swirled towards her small nostrils.


    Losing his patience, his free hand reached for her head and he roughly straightened it whilst pulling the vial close to her face forced staring down at the ground. ¡°There. Hope you won¡¯t mind this much your excellency.¡± He added mockingly.


    As the fumes floated into her small nostrils, her hung body began to squirm once again as an immense pain assaulted her whole being. She screamed into the cloth firmly coiled around her dark lips, and tears streamed out from her eyes and then when he released his grip, her head slumped forward and remained so. A deep sorrow nestled into her and her eyes for a moment lost their light as she felt something profoundly precious was taken from her, something which clung, rooted itself into her body and soul like some parasite.


    Then the repressed memories of the previous month flowed back, his uncle standing over him repeatedly inquiring if she shall be fine on the mission conferred to her by her own father. Months ago the two met up in Nammildum ¨C a smaller colonial town south west to Nidumiath ¨C where Augermil explained that one of her siblings became the victim of the Infaerni preying on the dignified, upstanding titled the Beautiful One who turns her victims towards arrogance, self-deification.


    And most importantly when it takes over their bodies, she employs wicked spells of the mind the gather worshippers for herself. The Whisperers¡¯ ¨C a clandestine order of assassins and spies of the Empire ¨C were sent out to the largest colonial cities to deem which one of his children became a victim of the Beautiful One.


    ¡°Nnmn nph!¡± As her mind cleared from the taint of the Beautiful One, she remembered the aevhen man uttering her name and a prayer for her to awake from the trance she was thrusted into the moment she entered the range of the city.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you mind cleared now fully.¡± The proud lievhe said as he undone the tight knot at the back of her head and pulled the cloth stuffed into her mouth out. ¡°Before we come to any deal, what is your name lievhe?¡±


    He chuckled a little hearing her now almost emotionless, husky voice utter those words with a confidence he detested. ¡°Now you sound just like your siblings.¡± The vine-ropes severed though remained tightly coiled around her wrists as she landed firmly on the ground kicking up the leaves littering the floor. ¡°Cattuivar by the way. Though as you said before we come to any deal, we should see Him so that you don¡¯t lose yourself once we step out from the forest.¡±


    At first, she raised her eyebrow, then realized that her memories were cut off the moment they stepped out from the forest. ¡°Who is this Him?¡± She asked while slowly following after Cattuivar.


    **


    She followed Cattuivar through the village nestled deep in the forest. While her eyes remained strained on the back of her captor ¨C whom mildly intrigued Moirstyria ¨C she expanded her sight, the only thing she could do as the vine-ropes sapped her mana like thirsty strigoii their victims.


    Marching through the village, starved by her curiosity, Moirstyria surveyed the people around them doing their daily chores, separating the fruits, leaves and reagents collected during the day, skinned the prey of the hunters and the children playing or aiding their elders.


    Like her, the people ¨C many of whom saw any like her for the first time in their lives ¨C gazed at her as she was following after Cattuivar as they traversed through the pathless settlement, heading towards the bright glow that was the Illius partially blocked by the trees. A few of the children including a few of her distant kin ran close to them, but stopped and began to question Cattuivar if this one shall be his mate.


    ¡°This one? She is strong, but still not worthy to carry my seed.¡± He said with a kind, fatherly smile as he patted the head of a Wolven child ¨C a demikin with striking grayish fur and long clawed fingers wrapped around a basket.


    ¡°Just so you know, I¡¯m already taken.¡± She said with hollow prudence as they continued on.


    ¡°With the fish man I know.¡± Cattuivar said nonchalantly, then halted and turned back while tapping his right temple. ¡°We took a little peek into your memories.¡±


    ¡°I know, but more importantly you still haven¡¯t told me who we are meeting? Is he a powerful druid of yours?¡± She inquired as they reached the last homes ¡°No, he is closer to Aigroth, what you call deos.¡±


    ¡°That is impossible you know that? There is no way a minor deos could overpower the taint of the Beautiful One.¡±


    For a moment the two stopped and Caittuvar looked back over his shoulder. ¡°He is. I¡¯d reckon he is even more powerful than The One Who Stretches Across the World.¡±


    Hearing those heretical words, Moirstyria sighed and doubt began to surface within her. ¡°Well it is natural you don¡¯t believe me. But you shall see it soon.¡± He interjected just as she wanted to offer calling for his uncle¡¯s aid. From the vine rope a long, thick thread grew forth into his hand and he forcefully pulled her.


    Moirstyria decided to humor Caittuvar, to see if such a being can walk on the lands of Elhyrissian without anyone in the Empire noticing it. She followed him in silence until the two reached a clearing where a steep meadow rose before them, covered in eerily pallid shrubbery. Her whole body quivered as she felt warmness and coldness each ceasing to exist beyond the oblongly upended, dim barked and crooked willows with an iridescently white foliage spiraling down as reality seemed to distort in the meadows¡¯ space.


    ¡°Come, this way!¡± Cattuivar pulled on her vine-rope once more as she was stunned at the sight and the weird sensation that made her tremble lightly, feeling as if she was about to walk into the belly of the beast. He led Moirstyria up the slope where the foliage expectantly parted before the two, then they halted on the top.


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    ¡°What is this place?¡± Finally able to speak, Moirstyria inquired raising her voice suddenly which slightly puzzled the elderly Cattuivar.


    ¡°Calm down. Remember if we would have wanted you dead, you would already be.¡± He answered while looking down at the calm lake of utter darkness. Moirstyria walked beside him and stared down at the pallid figure rising from the undisturbed waters swallowing the little light invading the clearing.


    Her eyes strained as she looked at the pale figure draped in layers of ivory and dark robes with a large hood cast over his gaunt, angular aevhen head of stained by umbral blisters bleeding forth the cracks adorning the wiry body whence these blisters took the shape of a raging blaze shooting upwards from his nether areas, engulfing his fissure ornated abdomen.


    The more she stared at the figure standing in the gloomy shadow of the steeped hill stretching over the shore, the more she felt the voidness of the place crawling into her being and at once she found bosom rising and sinking deeply as the pace of her heart hastened by the chill of emptiness.


    ¡°A pleasure to meet with you, Lady Moirstyria. Your tales are quite far reaching.¡± At once, he appeared before the two and mockingly half-bowed before her. ¡°I hope my friend wasn¡¯t too rough with you. Though I regret we have to meet in such dire times.¡± His words cold and resonant, shivering her soul, hollow devoid of honesty and deceit seeding her heart with uncertainty.


    Her lips trembled, her throat felt heavy, impossible to force words through each yet she let out a soft sigh and recalled the first time she met Ba¡¯atz, a time when she was no different from many of her siblings, kin and looked at him with calm terror and disgust. ¡°The pleasure is mine. Though I know not who I owe this pleasure.¡± He smiled, and her fear grew as the umbral blister covered epidermis stretching across his throat, crawling up onto his jaw and beyond seemed to swirl in impossible ways.


    ¡°Grimslaukh at your service my lady. Though I am afraid niceties must have to wait for another time. Time is off the essence I believe is the saying.¡± Grimslaukh looked at her, his face devoid of any expression, then snapped his fingers and the vine-rope disappeared, and she was standing once more clad in her pallid silver armor of segmented magnificence.


    Moirstyria raised her eyebrows as the portentous words poured out from his darkened lips. ¡°The Beautiful One as you know now took possession of your brother, and more importantly she now plans to fully step into this realm. That we cannot allow we both agree on.¡±


    Without uttering any word, she nodded. ¡°Then shall we make a deal?¡±


    She felt calm, and confused at the sudden egress of fear and uncertainty. ¡°If we do what would be the price you seek from me?¡±


    Grimslaukh¡¯s left hand arose, and in his palm a ring of coiling serpents appeared with a second hand growing forth the center, in its jaw a translucent trapezohedron stood proudly. ¡°Before we speak of the price for my protection, I want you to seal her into this ring instead of your little boxes.¡±


    **


    Using the night as their cover, the two dashed across the plain encircling the octagonal city of Nidumiath and passed in through the cylindrical maws of the sewers vomiting cleansed sewage water into the river arranged into the deep, chasm like moat.


    Three decades before, Moirstyria with only Akamion and the late Djagbartur were hired by Aerdonim to cleanse the sewer from an infestation of cultists¡¯ worshipping the Nightscale, remnants from the exodus of the hordes¡¯ of slaves who rose up and were offered protection by the eldest child of the Nightscale.


    Owing to this assignment Moirstyria had an easy time guiding through the vast sewer system of a stone altered by the Chtonmancers of the Empire to resemble marble, though it lacked its polished, refined luster. They also created false life and imbued it into the stone in the forms of moving, carved silhouettes repeating the same waving motion which both guides and cleanses the waste tainted water starting from the cistern where they keep it from rising to undesirably high levels, are separated and led through the eight archways.


    Upon entering the cistern carved directly below the hill, Moirstyria staggered for a short moment as she sensed the taint of the Beautiful One lingering unseen in the air. Whilst she struggled to keep her mind clean, Cattuivar stared up at the stone ladder leading up to the palaces¡¯ treasury whence the light shone down through a small, grated aperture parting the vicious, blinding darkness which stretched over the world, invaded these underground places often lacking in light sources.


    ¡°Are you fine?¡± He then turned back at Moirstyria asking. ¡°I¡¯ll be. Just give me a few seconds.¡± She said while feeling the unseen profane particles being swallowed by an invisible hunter.


    Cattuivar stared back up and a smile beget of excitement formed on his face. ¡°She knows¡¯ we are here. I bet your friends are the ones waiting for us.¡± Above them, she sensed too their distinct anima length as soon as she poured her mana into her eyes and shaped them into a high grade spell of perception.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t kill them.¡± Said Cattuivar the moment Moirstyria¡¯s gaze pierced him. ¡°Though it is quite rude of us for making them wait.¡± As he began to climb, Moirstyria grabbed his shoulder and forcefully turned him around.


    ¡°They can wait a little. Before we head up, we should formulate a plan don¡¯t you think so?¡±


    Cattuivar shrugged his shoulder then said with half a smile. ¡°Do we? Except for the pale eastern and the fish man, the others¡¯ lack quite in skill.¡±


    ¡°Still it is quicker if we separate them. I¡¯ll take Ba¡¯atz, Fyamon and you take on Akemion and Kaurgh.¡± She said with her arms folded and staring up solemnly.


    ¡°Fine by me, though I hope you point them out to me which is which.¡± Cauttuivar said mockingly as he began to climb once more. Moirstyria sighed then followed after.


    **


    In the vast treasury, the resonances of battle slowly dulled as Cattuivar stood victoriously over the panting pallid auburn orkh Kaurgh and the proud eastern warrior, Akamion whose pretty was adorned with patches of purple, red and blue of their respective darker shades.


    He watched as Moirstyria gently slammed the plant-folk Fyamon into one of the pillars ornated with a coiling dragon hewn from lucent golden stone against the white marble. His soft yelp echoed through the vast space of the treasury filled with metallic gates ornated with the Avaricious Son, a minor deos of Iuanorh who is said to have created gold by imbuing the light of day into alloys native to Caesselis Archipelago and lush center of Vhalleryon.


    With a swift thrust straightly downwards at his soft back of leaf like epidermis tinted in the shades of autumnal seasons. Though as it dug into his body, it remained devoid of wound or blood gushing forth to form a pool beneath and around his slender form. Ivory, translucent mist enveloped her blade, motes of mana particles formed a spell of finality, seizing his consciousness without the granting him entrance into the land of Oneiron.


    Then she turned towards Ba¡¯atz blocking the way up the long and widely stretching stairs. His bulging fish eyes focused on her, searing with disgust and anger not of his own. She assumed a defensive position with her blade pointed down, and slowly approached while holding out her hand, naively believing she could free him from the taint. Watching this, Cattuivar pondered for a short moment whether to take down the Deep One magus, but opted to stay out and simply just watch things unfold.


    In the end, as he expected, Ba¡¯atz shot thunder forth his staff at Moirstyria who used her blade to swallow the conjured mauve tinted streak of thunder, then became a blurry phantasm swiftly nearing towards him. Cattuivar raised his eyebrow in admiration when her blade enveloped in the translucent ivory mist landed not in his body, but penetrated through the hardened marble, creating a slit aperture in its unblemished alabaster surface.


    He sprung into action and leapt before her body, crossing his twin blades of an eerie metal with a strange shade which swallowed the rays of lightning slithering with great velocity towards Moirstyria. ¡°Thanks.¡± She blurted out before she appeared behind Ba¡¯atz, this time the blade cleaving through his waist.


    ¡°No need, I am simply just making sure you don¡¯t die before you pay His price.¡± He said while sheathing his blades over his back while Moirstyria checked Ba¡¯atz was alright on the ground.


    Moirstyria stared daggers at him, then stood up and walked past Cattuivar and hurried up the stairs as the sound of clanking footsteps reached their ears. ¡°Prepare your blades!¡± Moirstyria said while Cattuivar cracked his fists and neck in preparation.


    ¡°So you don¡¯t mind them dying?¡± Cattuivar inquired. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant¡­ never mind.¡±


    The gate before them burst open and brave and enchanted legionariir of the ninth legion charged at them. Before the horde of enthralled legionariir could even bellow, the two cleaved through and many of them laid on the stairs dreamlessly unconscious.


    ¡°That way.¡± Moirstyria pointed her blade towards the turn in the vast hallway furnished with busts of Aerdonim after she smote down three legionariir at the same time, leaving them unconscious while their comrades stumbled over their bodies, only to meet the same benign fate.


    By the time the two reached the large gate of processed, enchanted glass depicting the profane true form of the Beautiful One standing oozing with divine conceit over kneeling figures, silence settled onto the whole palace. ¡°Let¡¯s finish this!¡± Cattuivar said and Moirstyria nodded along before the two pushed the gate open and entered to face Her in the round chamber, in the House of the Deossos¡­

 Chapter 64: Doom at Dawn I.

    The moment I closed down my eyes, the pull of Oneiron hurled me into the dark vistas lacking any distinct feature initially laid before my mind¡¯s eye. I felt ground beneath my feet yet I knew there was nothing there except for the vast dimness of the dream realm.


    Then slowly strange lights were drawn across the empty landscape of familiar colors in various shapes, silhouettes of tall spires, temples, buildings that dotted the marble scape of the capital, though these bore a different style the more I looked them. They resembled the crude curves of the southern edifices I read about in the library of our Keep in the sky.


    Then the voidness beneath my feet altered first into a gentle warmness tingling my being, my soul then its warmth elevated itself into a cruel scorching forcing me to move forward as the blackness too shifted into a dozen different hues including mauve and amber of the late filament, bright reds, lusterless purples and shimmering azures converged into blunt steeps.


    In their center, enormous walls arose with the distinctness of limestone ¨C a cruder material than the divinely marble ¨C with vigilant watchtowers at the dozen corners of all courses. It was clearly a vast city akin to many of our colonial ones hiding vainly amongst the colorful dunes while a single straight road of softened pale sand gathered straight on to the imposing black gates of wooden or something close to that as it shimmered with an eerie sheen I¡¯ve never seen before on our gates.


    Though I seen little through my eighty years locked to the confines of the Keep and the capital of our vast Empire. Still as I was racking my brain, my mind to connect the material to any I hove from the legions of tomes in our library, vague shapes standing on two began to appear in the road, all flocking towards the peculiar black gates. There were many familiar races amongst them including our southern kindred of warm shaded epidermises lacking the prided features of our forefathers, the chaotically different demikin bearing the various animalistic contours, features of their own myriad forefathers savagely stalking the wilds of this vast plane of ours, humans of the southern Yhanubj Tribe and from another possessing lighter skin tones.


    And there were also those whom I only read though never seen like the famed Djinn whose arkhaine prowess rivalled of our own, and whose ancient king sealed 90 of the oldest and strongest of the Infaernius in a weighty grimoire bound by the hide of Prometheans¡¯ eldest daughter who aided him in his long endeavor so many a millennia ago that even uncle Augermil wasn¡¯t even a thought.


    I even felt excited upon seeing my first aetherkiin, the elusive race whose maghieth knowledge, arkhaine prowess was greater than ours while their history, the reason for their current state of being left a mystery though I read that they were once a race of flesh and marrow like us, though they were a lesser mortal kin who wished to be our equals and for this reason peeked into the infinite mind of the Almodo. Though other scholars wrote that they simply just found the aethereal river of Acheryoth in which they bathed until they exchanged flesh for pure maghieth matter, and eliminated the threat of the Rage.


    Never before was I more excited of seeing such a magnificent race other than mine, though my excitement was spiced by a little terror as for a moment I believed he was staring at me from under his dark hood where his vaguely shaped head of pure dim energies whirred. In all honesty, compared to the other phantasms of people, he wore much better clothing fit for the pious of the Gray King or the Solemn Shepherd, but I know that the aetherkiin are a race never staying at one place and many offer their services for a hefty sum to local consulius and magistratoriir.


    Then suddenly the familiar towering figure of uncle walked past the darkly draped aetherkiin, and my eye followed him and father who lacked his prismatic scales as he was draped under tattered brown robes just like uncle. For a moment I questioned whether it was him, though as I felt a bit of anxiety not my own, I knew it was them and I followed hurriedly after them, passing through the various apparitions of the marching people.


    **


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    Hours passed as I followed father and uncle as they seemingly scoured the streets, keeping to the shadows all the way through. It was a longer vision of the past, and a stranger as I felt the tantalizing scents of food, the more pungent of the undead who made up most of the protectors of the city and I even witnessed the terrifying cadaver of a sandworm left in the air while various folk pried the spices generated under their heavy and enormous chitins.


    It was quite surreal, though also strange when I felt the beckoning to try one of the crunchy bakeries emanating the air with the scent of sweet cinnamon belonging to father, whom preferred the saltier tastes, flavors, but I guess he may have preferred those before his ascension to the throne.


    Then came the strange thrumming that pervaded the whole city, I knew it strangely, that caused every single citizen to halt and turn towards the large, onyx and silver pyramid casting its heavy shadows over the city and at once they began to flock towards it, and father and uncle followed as they continued to blend in. I felt his anxiety, the one all too familiar of getting discovered.


    On the way to the pyramid shaped temple or palace my curiosity led my eyes on the undead guards and the strange folk ¨C including our kindred ¨C who like the dreaded Host augmented themselves with the wicked beasts of finality, resulting in their sallow, parched skin, gaunt, sullen visages and slender, writhed arms and legs wrapped in white or black gauzes. Their pungent odor filled me and father with utter disgust, and I had to wrestle against the intent of my body desiring to throw up while I was asleep.


    The long distance of this bridge also made it worse paired with the heat which was tenfold worse than the temperature of Luth-Astaril during the long seasons of Great Weaver, The Matron of Forges and occasionally The Mad Sculptor¡¯s. I truly just want this vision to be over, but the amount of people condensed on the bridge made the pace slower than even a snails, though at least by the time we reached the gates, dusk approached on the horizon, bringing with itself a gently cold wind that tingled me and my father while uncle towered stoically as usual.


    Though it may have been a spell cast on the confines of the third or fourth layer of walls surrounding the pyramid which generated these cold winds as we stepped onto snow¡­ no it was sand just as white as Sigi¡¯s description of the frigid blanket of the North. And it felt just as cold when I stepped myself onto it. I tickled and for a moment felt scared at the prospect of someone hearing, discovering me though I feel foolish of this thought now.


    Slowly the people of this city marched into many rows, and both father and uncle followed in tow, lining up at the back and the middle and followed every motion including getting down on their knees, though it proved hard initially for father when I heard Augermil¡¯s whisper coming from the right while I watched them from just a few steps behind their row.


    A rumble akin to earth splitting boomed across the vast courtyard filled with thousands of people ¨C or maybe even more ¨C and two enormous hands of the same dark marble or stone close to it grew forth the steep wall and dug their fingers deep without denting the faultlessly smooth surface as they ripped open a hole from which stairs grew down to the center where I found myself standing before a podium of sorts with a spiraling symbol carved into the glassy marble surface of it.


    On the stairs an outlandish composition descended slowly. Three nightmarish beasts standing on three, long heads of bloody tongues with an oval aperture inhibited by a rancorous darkness, lithe bodies of sallow, scarred epidermis clad in dark plates attuning to their grotesque forms. Between the horrid trio a tall man in regal robes of black akin to brother Opithetar¡¯s, his hands monstrous in contours and covered in black gauzes, adorned by ivory rings beset with gems of utter dimness.


    His visage furtive from me thanks to the pallid mask of aevhen contours and listless expression, extending into a thorned crown with the sharp tips blackened, dark root like patterns stretching from the blackness crossing through the narrow eye holes occupied by the same blackness as the three beasts.


    Part of me wanted to escape, to run as a dread I only experienced once swept against me like cruel waves of the sea. Although I am not sure if it is my fear or father¡¯s. How foolish am I? It must be mine.


    More importantly, now I wanted to stay, wanted to see. I watched with a newfound curiosity deeper and stronger than the fear I feel at this moment. It is a strange sensation when cold needles poke at my soul while a tender warmness tingled at the same time while I watched the Black Monarch of a distant past raise his hands amidst the chanting that I became oblivious to.


    From a distant void I felt as he called forth the very same grimoire, I found weeks, months ago in the library of the Keep, and he held it calmly before a stand perfectly sculpted for the book grew from the podium. Was he like me?

 Chapter 65: Doom at Dawn II.

    A dull, echoing splash rang forth the Greigor Gate connecting the headquarters of the First Legion to the rest of the capital resting on the other side of the western mountain. As the last of the legionariir stepped forth, the aethereal lake of light blue with pristine white mote at the edges collapsed into itself, revealing the edifice home to the capitals¡¯ Custodiir corps.


    Each of the legionariir wore their varied gilded armor ornated with draconic engravings, arranged into multiple overlapping segments and contoured with faultless symmetry a benchmark of aevhen smiths and those who studied under them per the doctrine of the pure legions of the Elhyrissian Empire assigned to protect the central colonies and the islands.


    The doctrine itself born not long after the discovery of this alloy by the now accursed, pariah clan of dwarves who found a strange alloy growing near the nexus points of the Leylines which many scholarly smiths attribute to its perfect bodily elasticity.


    After the war resulting in their exile to the Dhaugruz Basin, the draevhen and pure aevhen built cities over the leylines¡¯ nexus points and began their mining operations while the more erudite in matters of shaping alloy began further studies on perfecting the molding techniques required and overtime passed it onto the Hogstol Clans¡¯ pure-blooded members and a few members of the Truscian and Graion humans. Though not perfectly as aevhen created vivuarh ¨C living armor in the common tongue ¨C proves better against the ravages of time and adversaries.


    Beneath the vivuarh armor pieces, the lower ranked legionariir wore crimson tunics with mildly trimmed shoulders, collars rising high and kissing their neck while sliced open at the center while at their chest the piece connected with itself magnetically, while the circular hemline was tucked into their thick rawhide pants of the same shade.


    The few Tribuniir amongst them ¨C high ranking officers ¨C wore a symmetrically knitted, angularly contoured deep purple tunic with pleated, shawl-like collar while the shoulders themselves were trimmed heavily with golden tapestries of mighty dragons with their heads towards the collar, their long tails lengthened and spiraled onto the longer sleeves hidden beneath the angular vambrace and shoulder plates ornated with rubies and amethyst.


    Most of the low-ranked remained as they pondered and impetuously argued against where to spend their night, or whether to go to the bathhouses first a bit further to the south along the winding street with concave towers dancing at the jagged walls of the mountain, containing their residences as most hailed from the neighboring cities on the Isle.


    On the other side of the winding road of the district laid their desired dwellings after a long day spiced with constant terror and boredom jumbled together. Bathhouses of seven pointed stony silhouettes with the centers carved open to let the accumulating mist vapor towards the endless sky, taverns operated by retired members of the short-lived races like dwarves who knew their drinks or humans of the Graion tribe who invented strange beverages that in time became favorites to many races like lead flavored wine which the pure-blooded dwarves drink like water, mead laced with transmuted dried blood of hunted nekrossus the orkhin describe as sweet as the cold breeze of Obtryllia¡¯s season.


    A few of these places also neighbored close to the armories and forges where their armor waited for them either idly or waiting to be strengthened, repaired after an arduous day and often the owner of both places ¨C in the case of dwarves at least ¨C tended to be the same as they themselves lived quite long and unlike the other races ¨C except for the few of the pariah ¨C they held the belief work only ends when the Solemn Shepherd comes to claim their soul.


    Many a dwarves of the First Legion also hail from the same military blooded family, Graupripra being one of the oldest family serving as their first Alloy-Father was commissioned by the First Elhyrissiar¡¯s little brother, Hadrional for this very district in the late millennia of the Dawn Age. His grayish silver, stout form still garnished the center square while in front of the Greigor Gate, Hadrional¡¯s form was hewn into marble while his lavish armor was forged from the rarest of metals ¨C quite a waste according to many historians of the Empire.


    After long debating, even their numbers dwindled as they retreated into the taverns and bathhouses while their assigned Servuothii rid them of their maghieth armor, hoarding them diligently to the armories. Shigeaith was amongst these servuothii, still blissful from the thrill of accompanying Augermil and Albron in their hunt for the traitor.


    Like Isocrates, he was too bombarded with questions and poisoned dagger sharp stares from the fellow comrades prohibited from combat duties. Unlike Isocrates though he enjoyed the attention much more, and answered each question with his nose held high as if he triumphed over a winged member of the House of Dusk.


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    After they returned from the hunt the week before Shigeaith even expected both of them to be elevated to the lowly rank of auxiliariir. For now, the two only received empty promises that such promotion got closer by a little bit as while they managed to save a few members of the Order, they still failed to apprehend Hunra, the traitor whose face was now mystically projected onto the walls of the cities edifices.


    Even at the military district, her slender quite enticing form appeared near the Greigor Gate, projected from a hewn ivory disk with a glassy obsidian and azure surface. Many a legionariir jokingly wished and promised to each other how they will meter out punishment worthy of the vicious dusky Yhanubj whose projection gave an unpleasant sensation bordering on terror to both Isocrates and Shigeaith.


    The taint which made them feel an obsession towards her proved reluctant to leave and combined with their common sense that such features were beyond the natural of even for aevhen. Most strange of this was the fact that it was not an obsession of lust as they themselves did not wish to be Hunra¡¯s passionate lovers, but an obsession fit more for the pious, and more importantly worthy only towards the Deossos who sacrificed themselves to save the planes and their people from the madness of their elderly sibling and father.


    Whilst Isocrates could not pinpoint the source of this depravity, Shigeaith who hailed from a patricii family of the far east was aware of the myriad different Infaernus who preyed on the mortals, lingering formlessly in the shadows of reality while holding out their bait to latch onto a soul fit for their tastes. It was evident for him that it was the work of the Infaerni who gorged on the proud spiced with mildly with humility he rids them off, those who believe themselves to be paragons of righteousness and elevates that to unbreakable falsehood.


    This knowledge paired with his self-inspection terrified him which for the past week depraved him of proper sleep leading to his enlistment for nightly duties of cleaning the armory and serving drinks to the tired legionariir in the tavern near the Greigor Gate. And on the fateful night twenty-fifth of Mhorombar in the 1259<sup>th</sup> year of the First Age, he was finishing mopping up the dusty armory near the prison where they kept most of the cultists ¨C the few they managed to catch before they could have ended their own existence.


    A cold breeze swept into his bluish dark mane which silken tresses freely flailed like appendages when he stepped out drenched in his own saccharine sweat mixing with the caustic scent of the alchemical concoction blended with the water in the bucket. Like the previous few nights, Shigeaith folded his arms and waited pressing his back against the cold marble wall while his gaze followed the few patrolling guards.


    As he scoured the dim surroundings lit by the Illius¡¯s silvery purple light, he halted upon witnessing the dark figure standing alone facing the statue of Hadrional and quickly recognized it as an aetherkiin from the tales of his father and grandfather who met these enigmatic folk wandering the continent, offering their vast eldritch knowledge to all kinds. Confusion at the fact of this aetherkiin standing here alone nestled in his heart, as Shigeaith knew that if an aetherkiin was in the capital, everyone would knew about it, yet here stood one and not a word had been spoken in the taverns, shops and eateries he visited during the day.


    Although he theorized to himself that the recent dire events proved paramount compared to the mysterious visitor who still stood unnoticed by the others, draped in fine black robes and a blackish red stola embroidered with strange glyphs which increased the pace of his heart beating.


    ¡°Hey you see that aetherkiin?¡± Then a fellow aevhen maiden clad in the shining living armor reached near him and Shigeaith lived with the chance to point at the dark aetherkiin standing alone in the shadow of Hadrional. She looked at him too and walked knowing that even the aetherkiin had to at least register before entering the vast premises of the capital.


    Because of the unease he felt, Shigeaith remained at the wall and watched him remained unfaced even as more and more noticed and flocked with varying expressions. Some excited at witnessing the visitor, other vary at how such person could enter without the veneficiir noticing, while the fellow aevhen maiden he called out shifted from vary to terrified when she peeked beneath the hood.


    Then his own unease turned to terror at the events swiftly unfolding before him. All those surrounding the aetherkiin got down on their knees and at once their forms began to shift. Their epidermis gained a sheen akin to polished gems, the white of their eyes bled into a deep purple while their varying pupils blackened and lengthened steeply and from the dimness roots spread in all direction, their figures equally grew in height, their fingers and toes twisted into claws of grandidierite, their hair gained mass as it burst forth under their form-fitting flailed helmets which like their armor melded onto their unnaturally smooth epidermis and became a second, harder layer.


    After he calmed a little, still terrified, Shigeaith rushed back into the armory where he hid between two rows of crates, inhaling the headache inducing air then he waited before his terror renewed at the abnormally deep, pervading howls of the former legionariir, slowly increasing in number.

 Chapter 66: Doom at Dawn III.

    Total silence shrouded the alabaster courtyard blackened by the shadows of the people all around me. The Black Monarch stood still on the center, between his feet the spiraling engraving of limestone or marble strikingly different from the glassy dimness. His arms stretched out as he stood before the pedestal grown forth the platform yet seemed to be hewn from a distinctively nether stone fitting for the strange grimoire covered by the hardened matter of the night itself.


    He broke the silence when his voice sharply cut through the silence, possessing soothing, deep tones that were pleasant to my ears and felt a certain, yet elusive kinship profounder than our regal blood we both possess ¨C or at least I do. I have no doubts about the intent of father and uncle being in this city without exposing their identities to the people, I know that whoever this Black Monarch is ¨C was ¨C opposing the Empire in the early days of the First Age.


    Yet even now I feel myself drawn to him like with Sigi, even as I know that we would be enemies if this personage was alive today. Maybe it came to be thanks to the grimoire resting on the pedestal, or that he appears to be a benevolent ruler who is may enlisted the aid of nightmares out of desperation. Or could be something else devoid of all these theories popping into my mind.


    Could also be father who is drawn to this enigmatic, distant kin of ours as I noticed the faint chill creeping up my spine and felt the caress of my silken sheets veiling my sleeping body for a short moment. I am not sure of that if I have to be honest with myself. The feeling is too overpowering to be his and not mine, I think.


    The answer had to wait for now. Unexpectedly he went silent then I noticed movement in the corners of my eyes. From the front rows various folks stepped forth and marched in silence until they neared the platform where they knelt in to the sand, their hands on their knees, their faces turned down gazing at the corrugated snow white sand lacking warmth.


    Nearest to the three nightmarish guards were an ivory djinn with black and majestic goat horns, dressed in silver and black of lavish garments revealing parts of his body kneeling on the left while opposite a merkin whose face was bore prominent human-like features like a bulky nose and not so bulging eyes though his epidermis was covered in finely glinting golden and amber scales while between his fingers, translucent webs filled the space.


    Nearer to the people and me kneeled a dashing aurhen with fair golden smooth complexion, with arcuate framed eyes framed by a glossy mauve tint that slightly extended towards his temples hidden under layered waves of long dark hair while his arms coiled by bracelets of silver engraved with onyx crystalline decorations. Facing him, a young orkh girl in the same stage of age as me, though she had much cruder lineaments with her skull clearly bulging from beneath his sallow emerald epidermis.


    And at the center facing the Black Monarch himself kneeled a dusky woman of glistening ebony complexion in the revealing silver and black armor of the guards and a headpiece of a silvery diadem from which a dark veil merged with her wavy hair sprouted, exposing her finely hewn visage featuring a chiseled, dainty nose, plump lightened lips and almond framed eyes closed down until her name had been called by the soothing deep voice.


    Her calm, almost listless expression shifted into one filled with pride and joy at being recognized by her sworn liege whom she faced quite proudly. Truly he must had quite the sway over these people. Right before the pedestal, she stopped and once more got down onto her knees, this time taking off the headpiece and placing her narrow forehead onto the elevated platform¡¯s cold and dark surface while the spiraling symbol no doubt cut into her legs, though she endured it silently.


    The Black Monarch praised her dedication for the protection of the city called Khadrath and its people, then flipped open the book right at its middle and the empty holes of his mask stared at the dark pages where glyphs and runes swirled in their strange dance.


    In a haunting suddenness the coldness grew to the point I felt my body shivering under the warm embrace of the sheets. The sky blackened and as I instinctively turned around, led by a familiar fear I watched with bulging eyes as the Illius parted into three jewels in the infinite sky which itself blackened and for a short moment saw shapes moving in or behind it.


    Then as my gaze wandered back to the elevated pedestal, I noticed shadows spreading, lengthened over the white sand, snuffing purity out from it while flocking towards the two. I felt the emptiness pour forth the Black Monarch as he grappled onto the book while I felt gazes upon myself, though no matter how much I searched I could not find the one as the people now looked down at their feet while repeating the same gibberish words in a silent cacophony.


    ¡°OGTHROD AI''F GEB''L-EE''H, YAUGH-ZHOKLOTH ''NGAH''NG AI''Y ZHRO¡± Their chant slowly molded into one singular voice and at the same time, the dusky guard rose up into the air with limbs stretched out and facing the crowd. Unseen hands pulled open from both sides her ebony epidermis, bright reddish muscles and white skull like some piece of garment, and quickly expanded down to her nether regions.


    Though instead of gore, a much older horror crawled forth from the abyssal crevice of the once woman, a being whose upper body followed the standing contour of an expanding maw beset with a pale teal pearl at the upper curve larger than my fist or head, bedded amongst the legions of fleshy spikes, varying at both length and width while eight long and crooked limbs balanced the large body of dry, corpse-like flesh.


    Father¡¯s disgust washed over me just as the chanting halted and shifted into impetuous cheering at what I assume to be a rite of ascension born of the strange maghia of the black grimoire. I should feel as disgusted, but as the beast emanated a howl of tremulous and raspy resonance while its four arms curled divergently, I felt the same if not more. The power of that book may one day make me the greatest Elhyrissiar of this plane, that I was sure of as the projected world faded into the empty vistas of Oneiron.


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    **


    Isocrates¡¯s sigh echoed between the dimly lit library of the main barracks. His eyes wandered on the hard covered tomes and grimoires which spines were ornated with golden letters, some familiar some with refined contours beyond his comprehension.


    For the past few days after the encounter and realizing how little protection he had against the taint of otherworldly beings, he enlisted to be the valet of the librarian. Though he knew compared to the Orders¡¯ library, the legions¡¯ lacked in grimoires teaching ways on how to build fortitude against taints of the nether realms¡¯ denizens.


    As he inspected and catalogued the books on one of the taller shelves, he picked down a few and scammed his eyes through the texts blurred and whirled on the pages, a few around diagrams aiding the visualization process of casting spells, forcing ones¡¯ will upon the world.


    Holding one written by a Djinn veneficiar he heard quite a lot about during his studied in the commoners¡¯ academy, Isocrates followed the instructions and tried to create a mild gust of wind around his body to help him levitate down from the ladder. His velvety uniform rustled as he carefully exerted his will, then he flung down to the floor, kicking over a chair near the middle table and he groaned sibilantly with the book on his head.


    ¡°Maybe another time.¡± Isocrates whispered to himself as he straightened his rustled garments of a deep shade of red then placed the ladder back while thanking the Deossos for his spell not hurling the other tomes and grimoires out from their place.


    After placing the book back to its place and finishing the rest of his tasks including finishing the catalogue tablet and placing it onto the desk in front of the entrance, he stepped out and became aware of the sounds of battles muffled by the thick walls of the library. He stood still, frozen in place while clutching the handle of the door whilst legionariir of multifarious kin and rank rushed past him while yelling left and right.


    Isocrates noticed the occasional portentous glows of maghieth energies lightning up the winding street and square before the primary edifice of the district home to the highest ranked members of the First Legion. Deep down he knew who exactly were behind the attack and as he managed to overcome his fear and free the handle from the grasp of his hand, he began to recount the handed out procedure of the servuothii.


    In the case they were not called upon by the higher ranks for aid in the armory or supplying them with mana, servuothii had the task of heading for the infirmary where they acted as additional mana batteries for the healers and warders or because they were located in the capital, tasked with heading into the hidden tunnels connecting to the sewer system from where they had to head into the city and call for additional aid.


    After deciding to head to call for aid ¨C specifically to the aid of the Draennith Praetoriir ¨C he halted in his steps as he heard the howl of a Wyvern of the Heavenly House and its rider took off from the tower and evading the incoming spells of a dimmer, fiendish shade of purple and golden. Now his first thought was to head for the infirmary, but this feeling faded the moment the building shook as if a tremor assaulted the artificial plateau and noticed the smoke rising from the adjacent wing while flames seemed to consume even the marble rubble spreading onto the main square.


    ¡°Follow us boy!¡± An elderly tribuniar with a stubbly face called out to him and feeling a bit assured at the decorated golden armor he was wearing nodded and followed after ready to prove his worth.


    **


    Outside the square was swiftly pervaded by the malodorous blend of death and sulfur. The square alabaster pavement stretched leaden with streaming blood of many shades, bits and pieces of shattered armor, littered with the corpses of the legionariir and cultists whose haunting visage stared vacantly with tortured grimaces.


    The scraping of metal against metal rang through the streets, and became clearer to Isocrates as he watched the horrifically enticing figures clashing in the dance of battle against the various legionariir with some grouping up on the daemurnus who bore the beautified faces of their former comrades, striking with the faux intent of playing children.


    Not long after the sudden transformation of hundreds of their comrades into the servant class of Tartharossia, cloaked and armored figures stepped forth brandishing mythril daggers, swords, axes and shields and throw them against the confused soldiers whom many fell amidst the chaos of the sudden attack.


    Though this confusion lasted no more than a few moments and the members of the First Legion began to live up to their renown, with many a cultist appearing out of nowhere were dragged down into the nether realm by either cleaved through their chest or neck, charred by the middle class spells imbued with the true facet of flame, frozen then shattered into a thousand bloody and hoary pieces and so on.


    Using the raucousness spreading like wildfire, the shadows and smoke rising between the angular structures, Shigeaith slowly slipped across the erected wall though he stopped occasionally and stuck while erasing his presence when the fight extended to the outer threshold of the district. Though when he noticed the a few lone cultist stumbled before him, he quickly unsheathed the dagger he took from the armory and struck with great haste and power into their throats.


    Slowly he reached the square where he noticed Isocrates amongst a group led by the aged tribuniar with the peculiar helmet sporting a deep purple flail of reptilian mohawk embedded into metal frame protruding from the form-fitting helmet slit open at the front while towards the forehead area it branches east and west, the bottom edge slightly curving outwards.


    His first instinct was to call out to his new friend, though realizing it would be foolish even as the legionariir in the square occupied the few daemurnus and cultists whose numbers now slowly began to dwindle thanks to the quick orders of the tribuniar.


    Seeing an opportunity the moment the enemies¡¯ numbers reached only a few, Shigeaith leapt out from the shadows and forced every muscle in his leg to dash towards the group, and relief began to set in, though it disappeared when he noticed Isocrates yelling his name while a sense of dread followed as Hunra¡¯s monstrous hand of flayed, marbly purple skin broke through his chest and squashed his no longer beating heart before hurling him across the burning wreckage of the western wing.

 Chapter 67: Doom At Dawn IV.

    The chanting of those strange southern people still resonated throughout my mind as I felt the cold embrace of nothingness beneath my feet. I once more stood in the emptiness of dreams I was familiar with before my nightly assemblies with little Sigiwaer. Before meeting him, I spent a considerable time just laying in my bed, floating in the endless dark vistas of Oneiron reflecting mostly on my studies regarding the nature of spells, maghia itself and of course on the studies that shall make my as great an Elhyrissiar as father.


    Yet even after I witnessed that strange maghia ascend that woman, the strange words the people chanted in monotone dissonance, I stood here wishing only to meet with little Sigi to relay the good news that tingled my being. Now that I witnessed one¡¯s soul utterly altered by the Black Monarch ¨C a chosen of the Almodo no doubt ¨C I was craving to further discuss the possibilities of such maghia, even if that destructive spell that gave him that soulless, wicked stare still coursed the cold fingers of dread across my spine.


    It seems my unwarranted patience paid off as I felt the moan of Oneiron paired with the weightlessness of my presence hurled through these hollow sceneries. Phantasmal shapes surfaced from the blackness before my eyes, taking on the crude shapes of the city I just dreamt off, including the oblique pyramid which most certainly acted as the palace for the dark monarch.


    The rest of the edifices surrounding us were much different in their style and material, though they were of stone, but less lavish and refined in their nature, smaller in their scope compared to the enormous palace. I recognize them from the recent lessons on the colonies father chosen for me after I relayed what I foolishly held back for so long.


    Dim, damp stones stacked neatly and held firmly by the dwarves cement discovered, invented just a few centuries ago if I¡¯m correct. A fluid resource for our colonial architects and Earth-Callers whom tame the motes of maghieth particles of water and earth and alter the former, gifting it with a potent bonding trait which amplifies as it dries up be the cause conjured heat or natural.


    These structures, these homes were clearly of the far northern style of the fallen kingdom of Virdr whose refugees now lived on the boundary of the southern peaks of the accursed Dhaugruz Mountain and the Vesgeriath Woodland stalked by cursed undead, nightmares and horrors. It was his making I¡¯m sure of it.


    It stretched high up into the empty filament withs its blunted tip scraped against illusory clouds showering the strange vista with snow gently cold as it fell and melted upon the few scales embellishing my bare shoulders. Without realizing, my lips curved at their corners into a smile and I know he was in that castle, though I was wandering had he dreamt the same dream, yet hid from me or the Almodo simply wished to show us the same vision separately.


    The answer to this question had to wait, I sauntered elegantly towards the long set of stairs and began my slow ascent towards the rectangular aperture held open by the onyx hands which tore them asunder.


    **


    Hunra stood upright in her new, profane form engulfed by a dim radiance which formed a halo behind her grotesque visage skinned of its former ebony epidermis, revealing the marbly white sinew with a silken sheen embedded into a golden and purple exoskeleton of cushioned and hardened flesh, which drawn all the attention onto her, halting the resistance of the legionariir in the square who fell one by one as a result of their new, involuntary devotion.


    Whilst Isocrates was afraid for the past few weeks of meeting with Hunra, now he was filled with anger and disgust as he stared into her glass eyes of swirling amber with an abyssal slit in its center, shimmering with overconfidence. ¡°It is a bit early, but we can¡¯t do much about boy. Time to prove your worth Augermil wrote about.¡±


    Upon hearing those words from the elderly tribuniar, Isocrates gruffly nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you can sync up with our will.¡± The tall aevhen veneficiar maintaining the conjured ward around the small group of them said. Though he still lacked in his maghia studies, Isocrates pressed his palm onto his shoulder clad in angular, overlapping plates perfectly following the broad curves and closed his eyes as he focused. In the next moment, as Hunra and two more daemurnus began to hurl their blasphemous spells towards them the cracks which appeared just a few moments before now began to fade, and the aevhe felt an ease as now Isocrates took a brunt of the spells¡¯ hits.


    On top of that, when two more spells impacted the ward originating from the newborn daemurnus, streaks of lightning burst forth at them and amidst their guttural screams, their grotesquely enticing vessels collapsed onto the rubble and corpse littered ground. ¡°Good work boy. Though refrain from further spells until I command so. Understood?¡±


    ¡°Understood!¡± He answered while his lids closed and waited patiently amidst the set of commands given out to the other three Legionariir, then they slowly began to march towards Hunra whom they believed to be the source of their plight. For the moment, Isocrates was tasked simply to supply mana for the aevhen veneficiar while the others used their swords and spears to thrust at the brazen cultists throwing themselves at the ward.


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    Their bodies fractured like a pieced back together pot glowing with the same wicked purple and golden glow, while their eyes reflected the torment of the spell, they forced upon themselves. Those who fell to the strikes shattered into ethereal pieces whilst those who managed to land on the ward blasted, sending a wave of nauseous gust of energy within the confines of the ward.


    ¡°Just hold up. Keep the pace low. Even if we don¡¯t cut the wrench down, we just have to buy enough time for the Draenith Praetoriir.¡± The Tribunii relayed in almost raspy whispers as he struggled to hold back the vomit, which two of the more martial oriented subordinates could not, leading for further explosions and the thickening of the sickly air.


    They slowly circled around the statue at the center, even as they fought against the dwindling cultists and their own bodies. Hunra¡¯s eerie, triumphant laughter poked Isocrates¡¯ nerves as he was dead set on not dying here, on that night. ¡°Sir, I¡¯m well-adept in storm spells. May I clean the air out and reduce the enemies¡¯ numbers a bit more?¡± He asked the moment they stopped as the three auxiliariir could no longer hold back and emptied their stomachs while still gripping their shields and weapons.


    The elderly tribuniar with a haggard look stared at Isocrates and then turned at the veneficiar. ¡°I can open a hole for a short moment, but I¡¯ll need your aid boy to close it.¡± Isocrates confirmed while one hand pressed against his abdomen. ¡°Do so, and kill or maim as many as you can.¡±


    ¡°On the right.¡± The aevhen veneficiar shouted as he created the hole, and in a moments¡¯ notice as he promised, a gust of wind carried out the infectious air from their ward, while crackles of lightning raged in the twisting tunnel of conjured wind. Upon exiting, the spell branched into many smaller ones and like serpent lunged at the cultists charging at them, impaling each.


    Hunra chuckled as she walked past the branching spell taking a serpentine form whilst Isocrates felt the Rage of Acheryoth, felt the pain of his insides zapped by lightning, air choked him from the inside as he swayed between the others after he aided in the closure of the ward. ¡°Hang in there son!¡± The Tribuniar yelled as he heard the thud of Isocrates¡¯s knees hitting the tainted ground.


    ¡°How brave and foolish of the slaves of the pretender. Fighting vainly, even though by the time the valiant dragon praetors¡¯ arrive, you shall all be dead.¡± Hunra gloated and towered over the group, her marvelous skin at the edges of her mouth parted ways to reveal the wicked taint which altered her. ¡°Silence you beast.¡± The tallest of the group thrusted his spear at her shapely bosom, though it never reached its intended destination as her hands beset with nails hewn from flamboyant gems grabbed and pulled the man out.


    ¡°Dawn shall not arrive for either any of you.¡± Her jaw extended wide and a golden cobra slithered out and vomited an acerbic fluid of golden onto the legionariar. Within seconds his scream reverberated through the square, drowning out all other noise of the battle whilst the fluid corroded the living metal armor then continued down to his clothes and skin until nothing but a skinless puppet of golden sinew hung in her arms which she stared at with an ecstatic delight. Then as if the corpse was nothing more than a faded toy, she hurled it into the primary, crumbling edifice of the district.


    Isocrates slowly rose onto his feet, his whole body shaking from the increasing pain and delirious thrill plowing his thoughts. Through the armored forms before him, he noticed amidst the shades of amber, mauve and crimson the majestic winged beasts approaching and his lip curved as his gaze turned at Hunra exultantly. ¡°Dawn is here and so is your doom.¡± He forced through those words just as he forced himself onto his feet and hurled one last spell at Hunra, aimed at her eyes.


    Her daemurniac shriek pervaded the streets, mingling with the mighty roar of the Heavenly Houses¡¯ proud dragons and the deep bellow of Augermil who leapt down from the saddle of his old comrade. His hands wrapped around the hilt of the swords, its blade engulfed in the primordial flames of Promethean.


    Then came the roar of the earth as he landed shaking the ground beneath his hulking form while the blade ran straight down the left shoulder of Hunra, and cleaved down into the pavement. With a swift pull, the burning blade was in the air once more, heading for the head of the wicked being whom dodged it just in the last second. The tip crept across her alabaster neck, leaving a long searing mark which forced the serpentine tongue out scorching on the flames which lit up the first day of the first world.


    Hunra stumbled backwards, reeling from the pain of the flames boiling not just her flesh and bone, but even the soul tainted with the essence of an ancient evil from beyond the time of human-kin, aevhen and dwarves. Molten gold flowed from the open vestige of hers melting the corpses she staggered past while evading the next few strikes aimed at her head and chest.


    In her panic, she swung her dented body, spraying the golden blood of hers at Augermil who simply let the acidic fluid land on his gilded armor exuding an air of menace, gravitas and grace akin to the Heavenly Houses¡¯ with its sculpted motifs, serrated, scaled rims.


    Before her eyes, the vast Augermil faded amidst the blur of smoke and flame suffused air, then a smile curved onto her wickedly enticing visage of alabaster sinew in tandem with the pain of Augermil¡¯s blade piercing through her bosom, through her golden heart. ¡°You have already lost!¡± She blurted out before the flames of Promethean engulfed her from the insides, melting her dented eyes and as the onlookers turned at her form swallowed by the elder flames, they saw her cleansed soul blown away by the wind. The last remaining particles of ash swirled down to rest amongst the fallen of the day as the battle came to an end.


    As the sounds of battles diminished, Augermil turned around and noticed Isocrates laying amongst the three overlooking him not aware that he was on the brink of death. He hastily made his way through and eased the Rage of Acheryoth and snarled as he took the brunt of the eldritch anger.


    Feeling relieved at the survival of the youth, he lifted his clawed hand from Isocrates¡¯ chest and as he stared proudly, forcing a triumphant look on his dashing visage, for a short moment he noticed the dark figure amongst them, only for a brief moment before He vanished just as the warm light spread across the ravaged district.

 Chapter 68: Doom at Dawn V.

    If there is one thing, I¡¯d like to manifest into the awake world from the land of Oneiro, it is the lack fatigue from climbing two thousand and seven hundred steps. No burning of the body, no thirst for air, no sweet sweat to cool the body either, although that is a trade I would willingly make of course. Maybe I¡¯ll be capable of that once I decipher the black book further, but for now I better hurry as time of dreams is nearing its end.


    I wonder if Sigi himself sauntered through these halls or simply his imagination filled this place with the onyx tiles stretching far and wide, the strange columns of weeping, joyous and multifarious folk melded together, reaching high into the dimness while constantly changing shapes emanating the warm light of the day.


    As I neared the wall after I knowingly decided to keep going forward on the branching center of the ornated path, this seemingly minor question answered itself when the walls appeared, decorated by carvings of events including a city sacked most definitely the one we both dreamed about. There was even a one that strangely picked my interest, depicting a small village where the structures clearly followed the southern colonial style amidst crimson hewn trees growing high towards the sky.


    The one directly on its right showed a sleeping aevhen maiden hewn from pallid stone, resting on the bank of some river while an orkish figure wept over her body. And another beside it showing three youth, one mostly human except for the sharp curvature of his ears, an aevhen girl maybe the same age as me, though still in the form of a child with voluminous dark hair flowing across her feeble form and down to the devoid ground beneath their feet. The last one, clearly Sigi one of its eyes were missing and hewn meticulously to reflect the often misty darkness which occupies the empty hole.


    The three siblings inherited various levels of our kindreds¡¯ blood stood in the center, their backs to each other¡¯s as the atrophic undead crept in from the corners of the etching. Is it his message that danger is closing in on them? Before I could seek the answer, my attention was drawn to the last piece drawing me to itself, the most detailed on the far right.


    A large ornated room was carved with all its details, one I recognized as the only vacant room in the Radiant Keep with a large bed in the center. In front of it a regal figure ¨C is it father? ¨C stood holding a newborn. My heart began to beat quicker and stronger as I noticed the dagger raised above the head, the pallid tip pointing at the small infant in his hand.


    Before them, a lady wept and wailed on the floor, while two figures carved clad in the chromatic armor of the Impirith Praetoriir holding her down firmly. Was it father? It can¡¯t be. It has to be grandfather whose fourth wife said to be came from the family of niuvhei whom they exiled to the north eons ago. This has to be the moment he purged the taint from our family. Yes, it has to be.


    ¡°Aurelithae?¡± I turned and stared down at little Sigi, one tear tainting my left cheek I quickly wept away. ¡°Ah excuse me Sigi. Don¡¯t know what took me over while staring at these¡­¡± As I turned back, the etchings were no more, in their place the black marble or limestone gleamed back at me.


    When I finally, properly looked him in the face, I noticed his usual bright expression devoid, instead he looked tires, dark circles around both his eyes with the one remaining still red. ¡°Is everything alright?¡± When I asked his soft face contorted whilst he tried to turn his back against me.


    I walked up to him and kneeled while gently touching his shoulder. ¡°You can tell me everything you know?¡± He looked back at me, snorting and clearly using all his mental strength not to cry in front of me, to appear strong. I am unsure if it is the right thing, but I smiled at him the best as I could and it seems to work as his lips curved reassuringly.


    Though they still trembled as he tried to force the words out from himself. ¡°Papa¡­ Father died.¡± At last he softly bellowed those words out and I am once more not sure what came me over, but I wrapped my hands around his neck and hold him tightly as uncle did the day when Brother Tullian died when I was as small as him.


    After a few moments passed I let go and we sat against the wall and remained in silence. Was it the time to tell him or should I try to console him? I scraped through my memories, recalled the day when Uncle Augermil relayed and talked with Brother Albron after our loss. Like him I asked Sigi about his father, to talk about the best moments they had together as I recalled uncle mentioning that evoking these memories aid in the healing of the heart and mind.


    I listened sharply as he regaled of the day, they first left their settlements¡¯ walls and headed out for a hunting trip in the forest south westward to them. I felt a bit envious as he retold a bit hastily the moment his father wrestled with a large black bear and hurled its enormous form across the river, then told him and his older brother Eadwald on the importance of life.


    After a few more stories he went silent and I once more raked my mind to ease his heart and mind. and remembered uncle telling Brother Albron that do not worry for the dead as they were now in the care of the Solemn Shepherd and the Gray King who shall grant the valiant souls a blissful rest, then one day sow them back into the world. I told him, one day he and his father shall meet again, though he may not recognize him immediately, but he shall know when the time comes.


    I let out a hushed sigh as the brightness on his visage slowly returned. ¡°Do not fear Sigi. Soon the entourage shall bring you...¡± I halted for a moment and he gazed at me with an innocuous pensiveness. ¡°Here in the capital, you shall all be safe I promise you.¡±


    His face changed once more, became strangely concerned. ¡°I am not sure about that.¡± I felt an ominous tingle brewing in my body and soul. ¡°He was right.¡± As I opened my mouth to question whom he spoke to, I stared not at him but at the ceiling of my room with shadows dancing and swirling in its center, retreating from the light of dawn.


    **


    ¡°I know you may be tired of my reiteration, but are you truly fine going through with it?¡± Albron escorted Augermil along the narrow and high corridor deep beneath the cathedral¡¯s north eastern tower housing the Circle of Daemeiorvoth, The Prodigious Sculptor and Father of Chaos. Canvas like banners hung from the sides of chaotic mosaiced walls, bearing his sign, a collection of chaotically fused geometrical shapes bleeding rainbow paint.


    The two halted at the large basalt, limestone and marble hewn ornated gate carved with masks of diverse expressions, a sorrowful smiling at Augermil, a wickedly joyous one exhaling in relief at Albron. ¡°I am. But are you willing to accept my decision? If not, just please wait in the main chamber.¡±


    Albron stared at the gate, his draconic eyes following the hewn out masks adorning its rought, muddled together shell. ¡°You were there for me when I was accepted into the Order, now I must do the same even if it brings me no joy.¡±


    Augermil raised his right, prominent eyebrow. ¡°You know that and this is not the same?¡±


    He chuckled awkwardly while furling his hands into fists. ¡°I know. I could not make this choice like you, I am too much of a coward. But I want to be here, see it through is the least I can do as the events of that night are as much of my fault as it is yours uncle.¡±


    Tears welled up in his eyes, and Augermil firmly grasped his exposed left shoulder, though before he could reassure him, lift the weight from his conscience, the moaning of the gate echoed through the corridor, signaling that the mad clergy was prepared to begin the ritual of alteration, augmentation. In the end he only uttered two words. ¡°Thank you!¡± And the two walked in.


    For a moment Augermil halted with a sorrowful gaze aimed at his eldest companion staring vacantly back while his enormous winged form of chromatic scales and stag like horns laid motionless, from his throat his iridescent blood streamed windingly into the pool. ¡°Goodbye old friend. We shall meet again in the Golden Pastures!¡± On either side of its massive head, two figures stood scantily dressed in muted blue and green velvet garments scantily kissing their slender forms.


    ¡°The Pool of Change has been prepared. If you are ready, we shall commence the ritual.¡± Then a fellow aevhe of the far eastern kin walked on the right, the Arch-Mystriar of the Daemiorost Circle of the Order. His pallid form statuesque, chiseled with the finest proportions of their kindred, hair luxuriant and reaching almost to the ground while a dim stone gray crown from which long veils of rosy tint followed the lines of his even locks. His exposed chest ornated with the chaotic lines of a painter, the disordered symbols carved into his gleaming epidermis.


    ¡°See you soon Nephew.¡± Augermil turned and smiled at Albron and two locked their arms firmly, then Augerim walked stiffly towards the pool as the humming of the vicari and the magistrariir surrounding it in their flamboyant, mismatched attires began.


    At the sign of the Arch-Mystriar he halted before the pool and watched as he held out his hands, fingers stretching upwards and a tray with a peculiar flower blooming only after the House of Disorder¡¯s dragons¡¯ blanket stretching vistas of foliage in their rainbow flames. He watched as the niuvhe snapped his fingers and the flower with roots intertwining into themselves set aflame emanating a musky smoke that slowly pervaded the spacious chamber.


    ¡°Prodigious Sculptor, I beseech thou to once again to guide this soul through the Path of Self-Alteration.¡± His voice laced with madness thundered through the chanting and as he began, Augermil and Albron both felt a presence grow and spread across the chamber, their thoughts like the roots intertwining with themselves, bearing chaotic ideas while also filling them with dizziness.


    ¡°Let the flesh of the Heavenly Monarchs¡¯ child merge impeccably with the flesh of our Magnificent Mother¡¯s child.¡± As he stood at the edge of the pool, his knees gave out and he collapsed onto them, trembling the room. In the pool of blood whilst having thoughts of fully retiring and becoming a wandering bard or painter to retell his myriad tales to people of the Empire, he glanced a vaguely anthropoid shape made out of polished stone with cracks bleeding multifariously tinted paint with the head on his neck upside down, vertically oriented eyes where the mouth, mouths where the bereft ears should be, unevenly distributed limbs protruding all over the body and clapping, creating and reaching for him.


    ¡°Grant him your Gift of Symbiosis, so that he may carry out his task within the Almodo¡¯s Design better than he could have in his current crude form.¡± The figure¡¯s form disturbed in the pool of blood as the two vicari who began to slice the lustrous cadaver apart, hurled large pieces into the chromatic pond.


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    Then as the last piece submerged, an orange ethereal orb appeared, greedily consuming the smoke into itself before dropping into the pool without sound or disturbing the once more smooth surface. Augermil head cleared at the same time, and rose back onto his feet and at the sign of the Arch-Mystriir walked into the pond and was pulled into it by invisible hands holding his massive, wiry body. ¡°Let him be reborn as His instrument!¡± The Arch-Mystriir whispered.


    Augermil weightlessly floated in an eerie storm of chaotic matter, slowly descending further into a blindingly shimmering aperture of golden. Beyond it he found himself laying on caressing sand and as he looked slowly up, he found himself on a meadow glowing in the warm. soothing hues of dawn. A pleasant warm air swept through his being and he let out a sigh of relief as all the pain of centuries, all the grief from thousands lost seemed to fade from him for the first time in thousands of years.


    When he opened his eyes, he stood once more, clad in his old gilded armor he wore while cleaving through legions of undead, nekrossus, orkhin, the fallen kin of his and many others. The moment his gaze wandered off from his old armor, he noticed the two stunning figures before him and he collapsed onto his knees, head bowed down.


    Before him stood the patron, chief Deos of the Empire, Iuanorh the Dawn Father, The Amber Lord, Bringer of the First Light in all his searing golden and crimson glory while assuming the striking appearance of an aevhe. Beside him, with hands locked were his radiantly beautiful wife and the Magnificent Mother of Aevhen kindred, Maerhya whose voluminous, divinely silken hair with locks of all vibrant shades stood still even as the ethereal gust blew through them.


    No words were uttered, yet Augermil knew of their intentions of appearing before him. He rose his head and met their gazes, each reflecting sorrow and clemency for his failure of letting their favored child be taken by the Shadow and at his resolution of altering his being, his form conceived by the two eons before his birth.


    As soon as he wanted to utter his promise to the two ¨C to find and defeat this eluding evil ¨C he was hurled through realities and for a moment he glimpsed into the Aether Between Realms, gazed upon the mighty form of the Titans holding, guarding the balance of the planes, watched the Great Serpent swimming across the dim vista of strangeness swallow a sphere and looked at the threshold with the unknown beyond before he arrived before the Prodigious Sculptor whose form glimpsed in the pool.


    Before he could even take a look to satiate his old childhood curiosity which set him upon his long path, a pain beyond any and all other and indescribable coursed through his whole body and soul. He felt as the hands which contours followed the stroke of an overzealous painter grabbed onto him and tore him apart shorn of care and gentleness.


    Augermil wanted to scream as his form shred to its miniscule atoms were clapped together with his old companions which extended the unbearable pain. Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days, days felt like centuries as he was slowly reassembled into his new form while not allowed to fall into the Land of Oneiron devoid of the pain.


    Though at last, he burst back into reality as the others watched the pool shrink and flock into the center where it first took the shape of the sphere pressured, molded, sliced by crafty, unseen hands until it took the anthropoid silhouette of Augermil¡¯s augmented, new form. Then the fluid turned into hardened, scaled epidermis, soft and gleaming sunken eyes in the elongated and wide head with a beaked curvature with slit noses and mouth, even jaw beset with alabaster angular spikes, the antler like intertwining horns, bestial feet with shimmering claws and a long feathered tail.


    His deep and bestial roar echoed through the chamber, through corridor as he felt the flames of dawn and Promethean burn ever stronger not just in his soul, but even within his body.


    **


    The mingling lights of white, gray and amber spread over the vast golden meadow stretching far across before the mountain, and a soft sigh traversed far as Augermil stared anxiously down from the threshold of the hexagonal platform. On his right, Jaculus his new winged companion stretched his legs while spewing forth chromatic embers from his vivid throat capable of swallowing even the hulking Augermil.


    Days passed since the ritual, yet his body, his soul still tinged from the reconstruction, and still not used to the heavier weight of the scaled body which muscles proved denser as he felt even without the aid of maghia, he could easily lift a boulder with one hand. Overall, Augermil found it both strange and exciting as he once more thirsted to test the limits of his new form, though it had to wait.


    Footsteps made him turn around and his tail breezed against the clawed frontal foot and hand of Jaculus who growled a little whilst Augermil apologized as besides his heavier weight, he still wasn¡¯t used to his spiked tail protruding from his back, leading to half his few garments to be thrown out as they lacked the bottom aperture through which it could slip out.


    ¡°Uncle, I know you wanted to set off without notice, but I could not stop them, and well her.¡± Albron approached him with Nawfal at his sides, and three of his underlings behind them who were chosen to accompany him in the retrieval of the Chosen. ¡°Her?¡± He asked, his voice deeper and melodious, yet still not lacking in the serenity it once possessed.


    ¡°Sister Aurelithae. When she heard you went through the change, she was quite curious to see your new form.¡± Albron answered scraping his bearded visage with an apologetic expression. ¡°Which then led to Father also wishing to bid you farewell, besides I believe he also wants to be spectacular about it.¡± Augermil heaved a sigh while stroking his wide forehead from which his majestic antler like horns protruded, now adorned with metallic beads inscribed with soothing runes that lessened the adjustment to his altered body.


    Though before he could prepare to welcome his little brother, his Elhyrissiar and Aurelithae whom he hadn¡¯t seen for years before the attack on the Cathedral, the space before the large gate beneath the slanted ridge tore open revealing the grand ceremonial hall of the Radiant Keep, Terrianis and Aurelithae standing front with a small legion of attendants and the Impirith Praetoriir in the chromatic plate armor behind them, waiting for the two apexes of draevhen kin to march through.


    Everyone on the bridge connecting to the platform lined to the edges, saluting and bowing on their knees including Augermil¡¯s entourage who stood beside their own draconic companions, mounts. ¡°Just to be clear, she said for you to forego with decorousness.¡± Albron whispered as their fists glued to their ceremonial breast plates of amber and plum trims.


    When Terrianis and Aurelithae reached near them, the two kneeled like the others, but rose immediately upon his command. ¡°We know brother that you are no fond of such traditions, ceremonies so we shall keep it short.¡± Augermil remained silent, but nodded in understanding and acknowledgement. ¡°You have once more proved your boundless humility, your courage unwavering like roaring rivers, and most importantly your loyalty to our cause, to our purpose in the world. Both father and grandfather recognized and gifted you for your greatest sacrifices, yet we failed to do so in the thousand year since our ascension.¡± Terrianis stopped for a moment, his expression calm, his gaze piercing veiling his own gratitude and relief at the tainted form of his older brother.


    ¡°But on this day, we shall rectify this mistake.¡± A strong gust of wind made the dragons snarl as they felt waves of mana washing over the platform, flowing like the greatest of rivers towards Augermil whose newly crafted armor turned into a glowing mass of translucent matter, its silhouette changing.


    When it returned to its metallic state, its shades of dawned turned fully chromatic, with each shade drifting on the smooth, gleaming surface. The embossed breastplate extended down to his hip in many symmetrically contoured, angular segments bearing the draconic symbol of the empire on front and back. The shoulder plates reformed and joined into the vambrace engraved with legions of runes on each overlapping segment, the greaves similarly welted together with his footwear, whilst the tunic and breeches hugging his sinewy, scaled form gained the luster and smoothness of fluid alloys while its ruby shade turned deeper and vibrant.


    ¡°I am undeserving of such gifts and kindness! You have my unwavering loyalty my Elhyrissiar!¡± Albron felt a slight anger slipping through his calm fa?ade, trembling his body he masked by straining his body, his muscles. When Aurelithae stepped forward after looking for confirmation, he soothed a little and felt a little joyous when she smiled at Augermil who himself felt conflicted of her seeing him in his new form, afraid what words would pour out from her soft, gleaming lips. ¡°I know that even you may look different from now, you are still the same Uncle who spent his precious time with me when mother passed, that you showed me the grace and strength of our forefathers, to me you did not taint your form, but instead ascended to be closer to them. To me you are the same paragon, hero of the Empire and I may still lack in power, but please accept my gift.¡± Tears welled in Augermil¡¯s eyes as he kneeled before the young niece of her reaching only up to her waist even as she stepped onto the threshold of aevhen adulthood.


    ¡°Thank you!¡± He said with a tremulous voice as he wrestled with his feelings bursting through the dam he built up through the long years of his life. ¡°One more thing uncle! It may take sometime to convince them to leave, as they just have lost their father. So be gentle with them like you were and are with us!¡± Augermil nodded whilst Aurelithae knotted the slim thread of the amulet resembling the Heavenly Monarch which she hewn after the painting in the grand hall of the Radiant Keep.


    After Aurelithae walked back besides Terrianis, Augermil hailed the Empire and him once more before giving out his orders, and at once, the four Draennith Praetoriir took off to the skies, heading towards the dim peeks of Dhaugruz.


    **


    Albron stood silently in the small, dim space permeated by the cold, cleansed air facing the statue of the Solemn Shepherd rising forth the white marble wall. Surrounding him were three beds of stone designed with perfect edges, their lower sides ornamented with gold shaped like vines spreading upwards. On each three bodies laid in eternal silence, their bodies pale frozen in time till the end of times. The one on his right a draevhen of the same age with alabaster long hair spread under his back, flowing with impeccable straightness. In front a beautiful maiden with hair as black as the fine feathers of ravens. And on the left a young child of their kindred lost way before his time.


    ¡°We need to speak.¡± Albron got down onto his knees, clutching a pendant with onyx in its center. His hot breath enveloped the onyx as he whispered with a shaking voice while his face remained devoid of most emotions except for anxiety, the fear of everything he done be in vain. ¡°He set off to the north this morning.¡± He added.


    Seconds passed by, then his breath turned visible, his flesh crawled as an unsettling, yet also welcomed coldness filled the dimly lit crypt. Soft shadows started to bite into the white light sprawled by the lone crystal embedded into the ceiling, as the little child¡¯s corpse slowly risen halfway. His lids slid up revealing eyes inhibited by an uncaring, vicious darkness.


    ¡°Than that is a relief, isn¡¯t it my friend?¡± A myriad whispering voices, young, old, deep and soft, gravelly and serene, melodious and bland decanted from the gaping maw of the child¡¯s pale corpse while its small head twitched towards the left shoulder. ¡°Have you taken care of the Chosen?¡± It shook the head once in answer. ¡°Then it is not. If he gets there before the Host, the plan shall fail.¡±


    ¡°Do you trust me Albron?¡± For a moment he remained silent, ruminating his answer. ¡°I do. But we have to hurry up, otherwise he gets there before the Host.¡±


    The corpse rose into the air and carefully landed on the tiled floor, walking towards Albron with small, careful steps. ¡°He will that is certain. But fear not, he and Terrianis are both already late. The seeds have been planted in the heart of the youngest.¡±


    Albron furled his thin brow as he stared into the vacant eyes. ¡°What about the other two?¡±


    ¡°Whether they live or die, whether they are brought here into the heart of the Empire, whether your uncle decides to mentor them, whether they cut down the Beautiful One or not, whether they discover the cult and jeopardize their efforts, they are inconsequential in the grand design. So do not fret over it, be glad things worked out.¡±


    ¡°What about Aurelithae? Did she read the black book?¡± Then he asked feeling relaxed suddenly. ¡°She did, though I am not sure yet if she will be prepared for her task. So when her time comes, stay by her side and if necessary, bring her here.¡±


    ¡°It shall be done so.¡± Albron bowed down. ¡°For now, try to beckon her back to the city my friend.¡± As his head rose up, the corpse once more laid on the funeral bed, motionless, the shadows retreated back to the corners, away from the white light of the crystal in the ceiling.

 Chapter 69: For Whom The Bells Toll I.

    Piercing through his blade, the war of pure Iuboron matter remained unblemished while the revenant of a faun whose goat-like face was half decayed to the skull crumbled akin to a puppet whose strings had been severed. Eadwald panted sporadically as he felt his muscles burning with the pain that took over the place of the tinging phrenzy beget of the spells enchanting his limbs.


    He gritted his teeth and once more swung beyond the threshold of the ward protecting them from the swarming dead in the chamber beneath the earth at the same time Azugh swung his mace crushing an aevhen revenants head to pungent bits of sallow flesh and withered bone. His own blade struck into the shoulder of a revenant beyond recognition with gaunt, monstrous visage emanating the blackish purple nekrotic matter tainting their souls.


    The blade halted midway through the lithe torso with exposed ribcages, devoid of a belly or hanging intestines of malodorous scent, only twisting dark mist descended then curled towards the ceiling. For a moment, fear struck Eadwald¡¯s heart and in a panic stated began to fidget the blade to pull it out as the cold, dry hands of the dead latched onto it and began to pull him out.


    Salvation came in the form of a long spear, a spear coated in gold tainted by ichor flowing, dripping from the revenant before him whose chest lacking or not of heart got pierced through. Iuboron engulfed its body like flames and within seconds its distorted, sepulchral screams faded into nothingness and marred themselves into Eadwald¡¯s memory as he stumbled back at the sudden release of his blade.


    As he slowly arose, Eadwald felt a numbness of dread creep through his body and the dim scenery of the chamber shifted of the familiar vista of the Vesgeriath Woodland not far from Vonschneithar. Surrounding him were the small, vacant forms of his old friends laying face down in the snow, their bloody forming one singular pond in the center before his kneeling silhouette.


    Above the dark pond, reflected in its lucent dusky surface was the pale figure of feminine curvatures wrapped in tattered, regal attires of jet blackness woven from the night sky itself, accompanied by the chill of finality carrying the souls to the Gray City of Asphodai and the hatred of the searing Phlageitonic sub-realms of Taerebus where souls maddened by rage lingered in eternal slavery.


    He felt her approaching, now ever stronger than in the corridor, then in the past when he slipped into the woodland against the wishes and orders of Ulrich and Mirdbruil. His body shook from the terror he thought to be free from since he matured into a man. Then came the abrupt, forceful slap and the reassuring words which thawed away the binding ice of terror, and helped him onto his feet leading him to the fray once more, dwindling the numbers of the seemingly endless revenants battering against Priernuss¡¯s ward.


    As they all moved in flawless accord, Priernuss¡¯s ward crumbled into motes of aethereal dust, the dozen or more revenants throwing their ghastly forms against fell over, allowing each and every one of them to be swiftly cut down by Eadwald and the others. Hope never tasted better as their triumph seemed ever more plausibly. Still he remained clear-headed even whilst the pain of over relying on the Acheryoth spread like wildfire, resulting in an excruciating pain akin to bones shattering, the shards severing his sinew from within.


    Amidst the screams of the revenants, he heard Aelfsigior yell his name, pointing at the dead leaping from his right. Eadwald swung upwards, and the blade sliced it in two from nether to head, both sides landed beyond them with a sodden thud.


    At last, came the overpowering shout of Hevaeck from behind paired with the lightening howl of the Greigor Gate opening up bathing the room in a mix of light azure and foamy white while its surface within the two wide columns reminded Eadwald of the untainted waters flowing in rivers south of their settlement. First, he felt hesitant when Ulrich ordered him to run through it, but in the end, he obeyed and leapt through after Hevaeck.


    In the created space connecting the Greigor Gate of the desolate monastery and Vhoragos, Eadwald found himself floating in a translucent whirlpool of whiteness. Above him the endless blackness spread across an eternity, occasional pulsing of crimson, purple and many other different hues and shades like veins popping into existence.


    And betwixt them, clearly visible even with their equally dark scales flew the mighty beasts whom filled his heart with utter terror as they sore, swam across the sea of darkness waiting to leak the darkness into reality as the hour of day neared its end. Beasts whom appeared on the walls of his home, on the painting of his and his siblings¡¯ masterfully created by Priernuss himself years before.


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    Though more than them, other horrific beings clawed at the threshold between reality and hollowness between planes, whilst the tamer swam with the dragons of dusk, including a kindred of theirs lacking limbs but making up in size as it slithered and swallowed spheres the size of snowflake to him, the size of the titan for young Eadwald who turned his attention away from the strange beings, turning to the bright world opposite.


    Below him, the heart shaped continent of Vhalleryon stretched far across, its appendage like earthly extensions flailing in perfect stillness towards all foci of the compass. Directly beneath the Vesgeriath Woodland swelled across the whiteness of the north beneath Dhaugruz like a dim blister and he watched with wondrous eyes as sphinxes of Septurrion, dragons of the House of Heavens and Dawn ruled the skies further south, a vast worm shaped blackness moving slowly beneath the waters, the much feared Charybdis he heard of from the tales told by Ulrich.


    Between his feet, the Illius shone brightly keeping the darkness above at bay, its light easing the Rage of Acheryoth which tortured his body and soul moments ago in punishment of over reliance on its strange, aethereal waters. The more he stared at the spherical celestial body of condensed and perfectly meshed together arkhaine energies, the more he was filled with a child like joy on top of his wonder and desire to relay this experience not just to the others, but to his mother, to his siblings, the residents of Vonschneithar and then others whom he shall meet one day.


    He slowly rotated around while pulled by invisible feelers across the maghieth whirlpool created by the Greigor Gate, and looked at the destination close to where the whiteness of the north came to an end, and the cavalcade of warm shades began, though for a moment his eyes wandered onto the spire emerging from the heart of Vhalleryon, the famed city Pyrgos.


    It is said to be the home of the Lustrous Wing of the Draennith Praetoriir, the branch who befriended, tamed the magnificent dragons of House they named themselves after. Dragons whose scales said to be possess a sheen as refined as mirrors, and if one stares long into them can see the reflection of their next lives after they begin anew journey in the mortal planes.


    Eadwald continued his search for where the whirlpool dragged him towards, and amidst the strange descent towards the ground, he noticed amongst the deep veins of the earth, a dim octagonal outline of the city of Vhoragos. The colonial capital of the north was established first as fortress for the 19<sup>th</sup> Legion led by Terrianis¡¯s 177<sup>th</sup> son born from his 45<sup>th</sup> wife, sent here to intercept the slave hordes rising up.


    Though the fortress itself rose much quicker than they anticipated the slaves reaching the northern wastes, and after the failed attempt to halt their march, two more layers were erected. First the innermost district serving as home to Terrianis¡¯s son who was punished to be the Consuliar of the North until the day comes to defeat the Host. Then came the third layer of the city, the residential and market district where the families of the stationed legionariir migrated after accepting their loved ones won¡¯t return from the north in their lifetimes.


    A slight huff escaped him as cold and heavy air breezed through his bristly face. An uncanny descent began as Eadwald sensed the rousing dread of falling and the octagonal city neared with each passing moment. He tensed his limbs in preparation for the landing and at once the diverging vistas below and above shifted into a featureless shadowscape with white light at the far end in the vague silhouette of an arch.


    At last, he let out a disconsolate sigh knowing the thrilling journey which felt only momentary came to a halt. His body passed through the light and at once he found himself in the center of a vast chamber of gloomy, wet stone welted together with the dwarves cement, though most of it was blocked by the legionariir of heterogenous kindred clad in the same ivory plates as Eadwald.


    ¡°Come. Give some space to the others.¡± Hevaeck grabbed onto his arm and pulled him further in the center where the legionariir gave way. Though it took him a bit of effort as Eadwald worry filled golden eyes stared at the condensed pond of aethereal energies settled in the thick confines of the Greigor Gate bearing the sightless visage of Septurrion.


    First, Azugh and Ashnan stepped forth battered and wheezing, with their armor dented, missing pieces, their bodies scarred mildly with parts already in the process of necrosis. Healers draped in azure robes hurried to the two and carried them away while already battling against the viciously devouring nekrotic matter.


    ¡°I won¡¯t leave until father steps through.¡± Eadwald yelled at the soldiers trying to take him away to check his wounds, his vitae as he reeked from the taint of the woodland like the others. He kept looking, waiting though the two after him were followed by Gna who stumbled and collapsed not far from the gate, his greenish blood streaming from his ears and eyes.


    ¡°Father!¡± Then after Priernuss and Aelfsigior stepped through, he yelled as the gate connecting to the monastery collapsed into itself just as the two in the same state collapsed besides Gna. ¡°Open it up!¡± He yelled and yelled while breaking through the legionariir who held him in place, than at once, he fell unconscious as Hevaeck with a solemn expression touched the back of his head.

 Chapter 70: For Whom The Bells Tolls II.

    With a throbbing headache, Eadwald slowly furled his eyes and stared at the shifting wooden ceiling of the room. He let out a soft moan as he relished the softness beneath his body sinking into the bed, his mind drifted back to his room, hearing the tiptoeing of Sigi as he waits for him to wake up in the short hallway separating their rooms, the slow turn of pages as Amiriniel reads one of her books bought in the market after another caravan visited them from the south, the sizzling of breakfast while Mirdbruil hummed some old song.


    And the spade striking into the frozen ground, the conjured heat melting the ice while Ulrich groaned with each lift of the heavy earth before he planted some now flower, he bought to please Mirdbruil for staying out too late or once more after Aelfsigior or Gna reported him once more leaping head first into battle. This momentary illusion faded the moment he turned his head and faced Priernuss good as new sitting with a solemn expression on his stubbly half-aevhen face.


    ¡°Good morning.¡± He said in husky tone, forcing a smile on his face. ¡°Where am I?¡± Eadwald slowly rose from the bed, the headache increasing as he now sat facing Priernuss, cold seeping in from the floor beneath his feet.


    ¡°In Vhoragos, namely in one of the best suites of the Scrupulous Phaerun.¡± Said Priernuss while his eyes circled the quite spacious room filled with beds littered by tousled sheets and pillows.


    ¡°The others?¡± Feeling his throat dry, Priernuss levitated a wooden cup filled with water to Eadwald who took it. ¡°Down eating breakfast. I told them to go ahead.¡±


    ¡°Even father?¡± As soon as he spoke out those words with haste, a palpable, gloomy shadow dimmed the suite. The silence accompanying it broke when Priernuss took a deep breath while locked his eyes then opened them piercing Eadwald.


    ¡°There is no easy way of saying this, but I am afraid he did not make it. I and Aelfsigior were the last one who stepped through the portal while Ulrich held back the revenants from passing through.¡± Eadwald froze and his eyes welled up with tears but he forced them back whence they came.


    ¡°Then we have no time to lose. We have to head back and help him!¡± He said forcing each word as he felt pebbles lodging in his throat.


    ¡°Listen Eadwald, it is too late. He is gone.¡± Priernuss said as comfortingly as possible. ¡°You don¡¯t know that. Father is strong enough to cut through some nameless dead even if it takes days.¡±


    Priernuss sighed, halted him when his firm hand grappled onto his shoulder and pulled him back. The two faced at each other, Priernuss¡¯s mind racing for the right words. ¡°Even if that is the case, we will arrive late be it on foot or through the gate.¡±


    Eadwalds¡¯ brow rose questioningly. ¡°Greigor Gates are not perfect. While it eases the travel by not needing to fear the night ands its inhabitants, time does not halt its march. Look!¡± Priernuss lead him to the window where the two stared out to the narrow street of Vhoragos¡¯s third inner district obliquely stretching downwards. The rays of the Illius mingled with faint tints of violet, caerulean belonging to the autumnal season of Septupruo following after the chaotic spring season of Indaemetrua.


    ¡°I am truly sorry to say this, but we are too late either way.¡± Priernuss said, sorrowful tones burrowing themselves into each word of his. ¡°Now come and eat. You need it.¡±


    **


    The Scrupulous Phaerun was one of the finest establishments in Vhoragos, near the palace district sitting on the top of the steep hill the city was built on almost eight centuries ago.  It was built by the Canisia family, consisting of lievhei whom integrated into the Empire around its establishment in Elhyrissian during the dawn war and remained loyal to them, though as many of their kin fought against the spreading Empire, they were only allowed to join the pariah legions, including the nineteenth.


    The edifice itself followed the Uethlidian Style of rigid geometrical silhouette, in its case a pentagonal shape erected in one of the corners of the fourth inner wall bathing constantly in the shadow of a hexagonal watch tower of homogenous dark stones stacked neatly together, rhombus contoured windows on all three levels and a singular chimney where conjured flames spread a temperate warm across the vast interior expanded by spatial enchantments woven into the building pillars.


    The whole ground floor consisted the bar and dining area where they also recorded the guests in the lodging tome. Eadwald slowly descended the narrow stairs placed in the center of ground floor facing rows of long tables, the far broadening and tall counter where three different folks scoured behind, filling the empty kegs of the patrons and guests, while from behind them in a faux walled fashion, tantalizing scents of boiling broths, soups, roasted meat and saccharine pastries swelled across the ground floor.


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    ¡°Thank the One and the Eight your fine brother!¡± As soon as he stepped down, the floor creaked softly beneath his feet and Azugh who sat with the others near the stairs sprouted from the bench and rushed him. ¡°I should be the one to say that.¡± Eadwald said pushing the sorrow away, forcing the smile on his face as their arms locked firmly together.


    ¡°You know how we are. Need more than that to kill an orkh.¡± As he said those words, Azugh welled up with remorse then turned and pulled Eadwald along softly. ¡°Come, you must be starving.¡±


    Aelfsigior noticing him smeared the sorrowful expression of his face and greeted him shortly before moving on towards Priernuss. Eadwald stared at the two whispering, knowing the contents of their whispers even without hearing them, though for now he ignored the certainty and sat down besides the others at the table clouded by disconsolateness.


    Not knowing what to say, Eadwald started by reaching for the keg placed before him by the stolid plant-folk attendant of tender and wintry floral epidermis and raised it high up. ¡°To Lioba! May she rest peacefully and may we meet her again one day!¡± The others followed as Aelfsigior and Priernuss arrived and almost blurted out a final farewell to Ulrich too but stopped themselves out of vain hope, of absent possibilities of his survival.


    ¡°Where is Hevaeck?¡± Eadwald asked while gorging on his early morning repast consisted of freshly smoldering pork slices and crunchy bread fresh out from the nearby oven.


    ¡°Well he departed not long after the healers finished patching up our wounds. He said he has some business to report, though he said he shall visit us once he done so.¡± Ashnan answered while he stirred his fisherman¡¯s soup which consisted mostly of the inhabitants of swimming in the northern rivers and lakes, a close kindred of his.


    ¡°Hope before we set off.¡± When he spoke those words, Priernuss and Aelfsigior looked at each other then the latter turned to Eadwald.


    ¡°That won¡¯t happen. We shall stay here and wait until the Draennith Praetoriir come to pick you up.¡±


    ¡°They can pick me up back at home.¡± Eadwald retorted resolutely. ¡°I won¡¯t leave until I confirm father is alright at home.¡±


    Aelfsigior straightened his posture while mustering his strength in tandem. ¡°As your current commanding officer, we shall stay here until they arrive. Then we may convince them to take you back with us to confirm whether he survived or not.¡±


    Before Eadwald could contest, Gna pushed his shoulder down keeping him in place. ¡°We both know Ead that he is a tough bastard. If he survived, he would flip out not just because traversing the north is dangerous, but because wasting the Draennith Praetoriir¡¯s time is not a wise choice, especially if you want to be amongst their ranks one day.¡±


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll stay but at least I want to send a message to home.¡± He calmed down and continued to munch on his breakfast. ¡°That we can do.¡± Aelfsigior added then continued their morning feast in a gloomy silence.


    **


    ¡°You have done well Brother Hevaeck!¡± Hevaeck stood alone in the dim room lit only by the candles circling around the nonagonal rug. On its dark surface, embroidered contrastingly was a lean figure of blindingly white epidermis, wholly devoid of features, hair or beard, its arms spreading and rotating periodically like a dial.


    ¡°I am unworthy of such praises. I can only thank the Almodo for the success of the mission so far.¡± He uttered while in a kneeling position, facing the rug with closed eyes, his beard hanging down while pushed against his dimly purple robes knitted from the finest of linens, its luster enhanced by the slime of southern oozes occupying the cavities of the deserts.


    ¡°Well said! Though it was surprising to hear that the Queen of the Damned attack on the monastery. Are you sure she was aided by the Nightscale?¡± The tall man whose deep, sonorous voice accentuated each word with eloquence echoed through the space and trembled Hevaeck as it evoked the memory of his friends, his few students forced into an accursed existence.


    His warm breath streaming from his large nostrils rustled his graying beard as he stared up into his eyes burning with conviction. ¡°I am most sure of that. Only he could elevate that wretched specter to destroy the wards of the Amber Lord!¡±


    ¡°I believe your words my friend. Though my doubts lie more in the fact of your belief his servants lurk in the city.¡±


    ¡°I have no concrete evidence yet, but I believe they are responsible for ailments of the city. Which is why I¡¯d like to request increasing our agents watching over young Eadwald. Now that he is here, they shall most certainly will try to eliminate him like the boy in the south.¡± Hevaeck said with a solemn tone as he reminisced of the perplexing forest of crimson grown where once a small quaint village rested amongst the vibrant dunes.


    ¡°So be it. Though it may take time, so try to find them and eliminate them before they can act.¡±


    ¡°I shall do so. The next time I¡¯ll report I promise I shall be bringer of good news.¡± Hevaeck said and exhaled tiredly when the projection before him faded into the darkness of the room. He walked to the nearest window and glared at the menacingly mounting walls of Dhaugruz beneath the gathering black clouds.

 Chapter 71: For Whom The Bells Toll III.

    Eadwald slowly slipped into his loose, leathery coat with furred trims and angularly funnel shaped collar covering most of his neck, his blade resting in its sheath thrown over his back. After the breakfast he remained on the ground floor ordering a few more drinks and asking the lievhen bartender with a deep earthly complexion and ursine facial features after the others have left to their suite then headed out to the training grounds to kill some time.


    From the bartender he learned the city only had one gate leading out from the city lessening a bit his determination as he was sure the guards were probably notified to not let him pass. Though he still resolved himself to slip out as the lievhe said there were quite the many vagrants, traveling merchants that entered daily in the dozen. Hiding amongst them was his only choice at the moment, that he recognized.


    He also recommended a few places to visit in the city, like the House of Deossos in the opposite side of this district, a nonagonal structure made from froststone mined in the northern colonial province, a strange fusion of stone and ice usually polished and carved into slabs that resemble marble but instead of a pure white, possessed a marvelous ice shade and sheen.


    And he also warned Eadwald to keep a weapon to himself and watch his surroundings as for the past few years, vagrants, adventurers and travelers disappeared without a trace as he pointed at one of the dry paper signs inscribed with phantasmal words and vague drawings constantly shifting.


    ¡°Where are you heading?¡± Eadwald¡¯s body tensed up as he descended the stairs and noticed both Aelfsigior and Priernuss leaning against the pillars near the entrance door.


    ¡°Just a little sight seeing stroll around the city. If I have to stay here for months, at least I want to be familiar with the place.¡± He lied quite not naturally and the two accepted it with a sigh though as he walked through between them, both lurched onto his shoulder and Priernuss said with a cheeky smile. ¡°Well, don¡¯t mind us tagging along.¡±


    Eadwald turned at him with a forced smile and replied gritting his teeth slightly as he revised his plan to escape, including an option to convince the two somehow. ¡°The more the merrier as they say.¡±


    To signal to him they were onto us, Aelfsigior galloped before him, opening the door while Priernuss remained close beside him, his right eye glowing with an otherworldly glow as he kept more than one eye on Eadwald. ¡°It is also better. Seems like some folk in the city may not be to keen on having visitors.¡±


    Whilst they stepped outside, Eadwald¡¯s mind was racing through the words deep and reasonable enough for the two, or at least for Aelfsigior. ¡°I know. The lievhe bartender mentioned it as I asked about the places to visit in the city.¡± Aelfsigior turned back and stared at him inquisitively. ¡°What places did he recommend?¡± Then asked not wanting to dwell on that subject.


    ¡°He mentioned the House of Deossos built from froststone on the other side of this district.¡± Stepping out Eadwald stated as he hurried through the wet, muddy ground swallowing his feet and came to a halt in the sweltering light violet and amber daylight. His hands curled into first, pushing into his sides as a strange relief washed over him while rotating in the direction of the House of Deossos, his eyes directed upwards along the wall that seemed to never end.


    ¡°He also mentioned wandering merchants whom native to the vibrant deserts that arrived just a few weeks before us.¡± Priernuss added. ¡°Good, we shall finish the day there if that is fine with either of you.¡± The two nodded and set off in the sloping street with a paved road of gloomy stones of asymmetrical silhouettes sunk deep into the ground.


    Giving up for the day to escape, Eadwald decided to truly familiarize with the city and his gaze wandered across the angular buildings of multiple floors. As Priernuss noticed it, he explained that originally these were homes the same size as Vonschneithars¡¯, though as more and more folk migrated southwards, refugees of the Dhaugruz Basin from the fallen kingdom, the homesteads were expanded, altered into elevated, stretched cubicles rising straightly, reaching almost the top of the walls.


    Whilst originally there were space for alleys and gardens between and behind them, as more and more people flocked to the city, these additions faded and now each floor belonged to a family smaller or matching in size to Eadwalds¡¯ with a singular staired corridor on the left and right side. Some gardens to remained in a different form. The mansions, houses closest to the palace district possessed large balconies overlooking the city, large enough for one or two trees and a flowerbed or two for harvests or native flora to be grown.


    In the districts themselves, drawn out and angular archways grown from the walls and segmented the districts, runes carved into the touching keystones far above their heads, sifting the shadows with a faint iridescent tint on the mundane level. On the arkhaine, Eadwald felt as if he passed through an unseen, intangible web which for a short moment, latched its tendrils onto his soul, searching for something and then retreating with the same velocity after it found it.


    ¡°A checkpoint. There are magusos in the towers keeping note of any irregularity in the soul and body.¡± Noticing Eadwald halting and staring back inquisitively, Aelfsigior explained. ¡°Mostly they look for signs of a veil that alters the outward appearance or well in some cases the mark of augmentation not registered by the Order of Maghia¡¯s Truth.¡± Priernuss expanded on as Eadwald was not the brightest spark when it came to matters of arkhaine, maghia.


    ¡°Or in the case of criminals, they usually carry the Mark of Justice the inquisitors of the Order embed into their soul.¡± Aelfsigior added as they continued onwards the House of Deossos in the small garden segment where birch trees with veiny cavities and white bark rose on the sides, bearing crimson and deep violet leaves while filling the air with a temperate, pleasantly scented air. Between the rows of trees the same road continued on, hurting the experience of this calming place Eadwald thought.


    At the end of it ¨C as the lievhen bartender said ¨C laid the entrance to the House of Deossos in all its frosty magnificence. Before the great nonagonal edifice, the road widened greatly with elevated gardens on the sides ornated with mesmerizing flora, shrubbery. The greenery lit up occasionally in a shifting, melding mixture of ruby, sapphire, amber and chestnut emanating from the circling, swirling, twisting petals of the various strange flowers protruding or slanting timidly forth the emerald or dull green shrubberies while grass bright and white as snow stretched in the cubicle space separated by the crossroad.


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    At the center of each crossroad, a large fountain arose spewing pristine cerulean water. Sculptures of the deossos and their undying servants decorating the angularly curving trims while the central pillar spewing forth the water from the rhombus aperture consisted of the same shape stacked neatly into and against itself growing forth the dark grayish stone submerged beneath the unblemished water.


    The House of Deossos itself was moated by emerald shrubbery with statues unfamiliar to Eadwald erected periodically before the mosaiced windows glinting in the light of the illius. Aelfsigior named a few whom he himself met during his days in the legion centuries before.


    ¡°That was High-Mystriir Erenco of the Septurriost Circle, a great magusos whom I accompanied on a hunt for a great kraken terrorizing the eastern shores.¡± He said with a nostalgic gaze focused on the carving of the masked figure in long layers of loose robes eternalized with a draught of air passing through them, the only merkin distinction the webbed hands raised as he tamed the element of water.


    ¡°The wind I still feel carrying the malodorous stench of the corpses stuck in the spikes of teeth arrayed in that sickeningly round maw, how Erenco wrestled control from the beast over the waters, the whirlpool it created to suck our ship into itself. And the triumphant relief that followed as he forced the kraken into a bubble lifted it into the air while we hurled javelins, shot it with arrows and spells yet not a single one of them could penetrate its scaled black hide, only the pressure of the deep brought an end to its terror once and for all.¡± The two listened silently, staring at the statue with various expressions ¨C wondrous, reverential for Eadwald, dazed off for Priernuss who imagined every details, present or absent.


    The three stood silently before the statue, then after Aelfsigior muttered a prayer to Erenco¡¯s soul, Priernuss walked away to inspect the others in hope to evoke a similar memory from Aelfsigior. Though in the end, it was he who was flooded by old memories from the far south he hailed from, from the days he first joined with the legion. ¡°Is it someone you knew uncle?¡± Eadwald asked noticing the solemn, lost gaze in his eyes. Priernuss simply nodded.


    ¡°Ryathus. A friend of my father and one of the reasons I began to study the ways of arkhaine and became a magus so many a days ago. I fought under his command many times after father passed away against the many threats lurking in the domed vistas of the far south.¡± He began with half a smile while his eyes pasted onto the lifelike sculpture of the aurhe draped in long embroidered robes and pieces of armor strikingly of southern style. ¡°It may be absurd of me to say this, but he was a second father though we only spent a fracture of his or mine life together.¡±


    His chest bulged, a crescent smile formed on his face as he exhaled in a strange relief. ¡°Fate must have truly took pity on me to bring me here, to satiate, to cease the tolling thoughts that born in my mind ever since he stepped out of my life, of my mothers¡¯ life so many a days ago.¡±


    ¡°What was he like?¡± Aelfsigior asked as he stepped against his other side with folded arms. ¡°Kind as he often showed compassion, sympathy for bandits and raiders whom took up that profession out of desperation and treated every folk with equality.¡± He stopped for a moment, closing his eyes, evoking memories of the days spent in the searing south of myriad shades standing before the pleading enemy whose mind Ryathus probed for the truth. ¡±Clever as he always knew what to say, and well of course proved proficient in the arts of Illusion as often he would act as judge and jury in the fate of criminals and those who earned his sympathy were forced into an endless blissful world of their mind instead of one filled with nightmares and suffering which they themselves metered out against their victims.¡±


    ¡°It is no surprise then he may have come here in hopes of swerving back those pariah folk to the path of the Empire.¡± He said in a whispery tone while balling his hands into fists, gulped the pebbles weighing his throat with pain and relief. ¡°A goodman to the end.¡± Hot air breezed his lips then expunged the pain with heave of sigh.


    He turned to the other two with their hands on his shoulder, their fists on their abdomen where the central arkhaine point of all living and mortal beings laid, calmed down once more and adopted a cheerful manner. ¡°Now shall we head in?¡±


    **


    Though as all three believed they could spend a few hours in the House of Deossos, in the end they only spent an hour before they visited each shrine dedicated to the Ur-Deossos. Even Eadwald who prayed the longest for the well-being of Ulrich reached the shrine of Almodo before hour of midday. Though in the end, whether because of the weight of his sword or because of the long path they walked, Eadwald felt the crawling voidness of his hunger accompanied by the grumble of his stomach.


    The moment they stepped out, they all unanimously decided to head straight for the market to buy luncheon instead of visiting some other segment of the city or the training ground where the others waited for them while practicing with golems. By the time they reached the market, all of them were weakened mildly by their hunger, though a certain uncertainty grappled their decision making on what to eat upon assaulted by the cavalcade of tantalizing scents in the grand space of the market place, a collection of spiraling kiosks of both northern and distinctive southern kind, large stalls shrouded by colorful velvety tents, bathed in vibrant shadows of crimson, golden all condensed into the center in a spiraling formation.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Eadwald pointed at the hovering golden and crimson runes above the southern stalls and kiosks, patting weakly Priernuss¡¯s side.


    ¡°Aether Signs. You have to pour mana into your eyes and focus on them, will them to reveal their meaning.¡± Priernuss said then suddenly stopped before continuing. ¡°Though most of these places serve food way spicier than you could handle it I believe.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see about that.¡± Aelfsigior chuckled heartily at the firm declaration of the boy. ¡°I bet three hundred daeniir that you won¡¯t be able to handle more than three spiced and shrunken crocodile legs.¡± Relieved by the attitude of Eadwald, Priernuss invited him to the challenge and the trio headed straight for the tent at the tail end of the spiral. Though their chance of entering fizzled for the moment, when shrieks increasing in number reached their ears, and Eadwald without thinking grabbed his blade and rushed to its source.


    The rush of people impended their way in, though folk pointed Eadwald towards the center when they noticed his peculiar blade and the determination and anger in his eyes. At the center, the ghastly figure of an undead turned at them, halting in its search through the stalls, surrounded by three merchants¡¯ corpses. It lunged with its long claws, stretched jaw laden with dagger sharp teeth at Eadwald, though neither reached him as the undead monstrosities¡¯ head flew off by the swift and precise strike of Eadwald.


    ¡°Everything¡¯s fine.¡± Hearing movement from behind one, he rushed and leapt onto the wide stall bereft of goods, though he lowered his blade pointed forwards for a short moment in which he recognized the dwarven child with a metallic epidermis of brass clutching a toy. He sheathed his blade, assumed an affable look and reached out to the girl. ¡°Let¡¯s find your parents, shall we?¡±


    With the kid in hand he leapt down just as Priernuss and Aelfsigior caught up to him, their weapons drenched in the ichor flowing in the veins of restless dead. ¡°Was this the last one?¡± He asked the two and they nodded then sighed a relief just as the earth trembled by the heavy steps of the approaching custodiir of the city.


    Leading them was a tall orkh clad in the dull, white armor of the Custodiir, flailed helmet under his pit as he approached Eadwald. ¡°I¡¯ll take it you are Eadwald. Please come with us.¡±

 Chapter 72: Promises and Pledges I.

    At the trembling of the earth, the little dwarven girl¡¯s crying strengthened as she buried her head in Eadwald¡¯s stiff yet somewhat soft chest whilst he calmed the girl, whispering that it was aid heading towards them as he noticed the ivory plated custodiir approaching them, cutting through the kiosks and tents swirling in the center.


    On their front, a stalwart orkh led them with pale brownish dry epidermis, a face that just made the dwarf girl bawl her eyes even harder, a chained breastplate hugging his bulky form while the red garments wrapped beneath onto his form. His sunken pallid white eyes glowing in the skinny craters surveyed the three and upon recognizing Aelfsigior greeted the trio and asked Eadwald to follow after him before he bombarded the other custodiir with orders to secure the perimeters and search for any sigh of nekrotic matter.


    Vainly, he hoped that an uncareful nekromancer was behind the event, though deep down he knew that was probably not the case. ¡°Before that, we should at least find her parents and search the sewers.¡± Eadwald said as the girl finally calmed down, mesmerized first by Eadlwad, then by his aevhen companions who forced affable, soothing expressions onto their faces.


    ¡°Akul, go notify the merchants that we found one of their children.¡± Whilst Saugh-Ohrim yelled for a djinn subordinate Aelfsigior introduced him to Eadwald and recounted how the old orkh served as the Arch-Tribuniar in Ulrich¡¯s and Gna¡¯s regiment a few decades before they settled down in Vonschneithar.


    ¡°So he served under you uncle?¡± Eadwald murmured to himself as he eyed the orkh giving out commands as more and more custodiir poured into the market square of the city. Aelfsigior nodded and added on that the three of them grew quite close during a scouting mission in the Vesgeriath Woodland hunting a raiding party of the Host that found a tunnel coursing past the forts at the foot of the mountain. A mission which took them several weeks and ended with them burying the aperture through which the raiding party mostly made up of a few nekromancers and their undead, and Ulrich almost loosing his leg to advanced nekrosis when a nekros leapt forth the aperture and dug its venomous teeth into his leg.


    ¡°I can still recall that awful, putrid smell that emanated from your father for at least three months. You should thank Septurrion for delaying the fateful day of their meeting as I have no doubt she would have kept her distance back then.¡± He added lastly with a cackle noticing Saugh heading towards them with his angular, close visored helmet beneath his pits, massaging his wide forehead adorned with multiple deep lines like a crumpled piece of textile or paper.


    ¡°We found her parents. They shall be here soon. Now, it is good to see you here Praefectiar!¡± Their massive arms locked with a loud bang and for the first time Saugh let a smile form on his face. ¡°And you must be Ulrich¡¯s son. Just as if I was looking at him while his leg rotted away.¡±


    Before Eadwald greeted him back, he noticed the two golden figures in lavish emerald and crimson garments rush through the mud, not caring for the mud flying up onto their extravagant garments as they rushed to their daughter. ¡°And just as noble.¡± Aelfsigior added softly, and Saugh nodded along whilst Eadwald excused himself to reunite the family.


    ¡°Do you have any idea who may be behind it?¡± As they noticed Eadwald getting bombarded by the grateful family of dwarves, Priernuss introduced himself then asked as they stared at the grizzly form laying vacant in the mud. ¡°Officially, no.¡± He stopped with a grim expression. ¡°Unofficially, we suspect remnants of a war part hiding in the city, or beneath the city.¡± He added staring at the grating occupied by vicious darkness and a foul, emanating scent.


    ¡°But for now, my only order is to take him back to the castle. The dwarf that came with you fears the boy is the target.¡± For a moment he stopped with a pensive look then turned at Aelfsigior. ¡°Was there any suspicious folk following you on your way here?¡± The both aevhei shook their heads in synchrony. ¡°The moment we arrived and headed to find something to fill our half-empty bellies, the screaming began and Eadwald rushed across the crowd and as we followed them, we noticed a few more of the undead already chewing on some folk.¡±


    ¡°So are we heading down?¡± Just as Aelfsigior finished, Eadwald free from the hugs and kisses of the two dwarves who promised him great wealth and aid he declined as politely as he could returned hearing only parts of what they talked about. ¡°I am afraid not so. As I said you¡¯ll have to come with me to Hevaeck in the palace.¡±


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    ¡°But¡­¡± Saugh raised his palm. ¡°Besides if we go down, we shall just get lost in that accursed maze of a sewer.¡± Eadwald looked at him with the mixture of disbelief and confusion in his eyes. Noticing the confusion, Saugh continued in his raspy voice. ¡°Going down without a map equals suicide my boy, trust me on that one.¡± He pointed at the dead laying in the mud. ¡°That one was one of my investigators looking for the vagrants and adventurers whom also believed they could solve the city¡¯s issue by going down.¡±


    **


    The wooden blade made an arcing sweep, passing just a few centimeters before Ashnan¡¯s pale and scaly visage held back whilst he answered the swing of Azugh in kind by thrusting the wooden spear forward, with the arkhaine points in his arm burning. Azugh let out a groan as the strike¡¯s force traversed through the hide plate over his chest and sent him flying a few meters, where he landed on his knees and elbows panting for air while raising his left hand in surrender.


    Ashan grabbed it and with a swift pull aided the young orkh onto his feet whilst pouring his mana into him, easing the pain he himself caused. ¡°Thanks! A little break?¡± He asked with half a smile while still one hand over his abdomen, his inflexion nearing towards the lows as he still, mildly struggled for air.


    ¡°If you need it.¡± Ashnan said half-mockingly as his webbed hand let go of Azugh¡¯s. The two walked over the edge of the training ground, a large circle with a thick and wide wooden railing with a flat top. Behind them oblong edifices grew forth the dim fortifications with equally gray walls and obsidian roofs which glinted in the mauve, faint amber and cerulean light of the day.


    Facing them was the secondary training yard where Gna wrestled with a golem conjured and built up from the muck, ice and snow all hardened by maghia that kept the form moving and gifted it the ability to perceive the incoming strikes of Gna¡¯s fists encased in galvanized gauntlets with sharp rivets emanating a translucent mist. Though whilst it managed to dodge a few of the strikes, Gna still managed to land a hit or two on the golem¡¯s left elbow joint, severing the lower part which quickly went back to its previous states.


    The other strike landed at his abdomen, creating a minor dent, a crater of sorts spreading cracks resembling the masterfully sewn web of spiders occupying corners and joints of the beams. A few of the stationed legionariir and custodiir slowly circled around and cheered when Gna swept his fists across the featureless face of muck and ice, they cheered when the golem swept his legs and sent Gna onto the ground, then its leg cut through the air downwards, aiming for Gna¡¯s chest protected by the thick brownish gray plate of ogre hide.


    Thanks to his quick reflexes ironed into him by Aelfsigior and even Saugh, Gna leapt onto his feet, narrowly missing the feet that trembled the peaceful earth previously beneath him. He ducked down as the one remaining arm came towards him, and pumping spells into his arm, giving them strength beyond his limits, he thrusted the right forward. It quickly went through the golem¡¯s waist severing the animated muck, ice and snow with a single strike that left him reeling with pain as he drunk too much and reached the first stage of the Rage of Acheryoth thanks to the regret of his own weakness, and the fatherly impulse of not wanting to appear weak before his son whom he just noticed amongst the cheering crowd of soldiers and magusos.


    Though he meandered whilst the golem crawled towards him, he managed to soothe the Rage which felt like his muscles exploding whilst seared by heated iron, salt poured on it, though only for a moment, for a moment to crush the head of the golem with a forceful stomp of his own strength. In that moment as the pain coursed through the sole of his feet, he wanted to scream out as loud as he could, he held back by gritting his teeth, biting onto his tongue to the point he almost severed it. He achieved to keep the fa?ade although a single tear still slithered down his prominent cheek bone that desired to penetrate through his thick skin.


    ¡°That was amazing father!¡± Hearing those words made him smile, which almost made him cry out of the pain. Ashnan noticed it a chuckled at the foolishness of his friend then grabbed onto his shoulder while forcing him away from the dispersing crowd. ¡°I know you orkhin have your pride, but next time lose. There is no shame in that old man.¡± He whispered while helping him down onto the railing while his palm lit up in a soothing warm light of the dawn.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t out of my kin¡¯s pride.¡± He whispered as he noticed Azugh approaching them after retrieving a bucket of water to sooth their thirst and wash of their sweat. ¡°Still, its better for him to learn that some battles, you can¡¯t win.¡± Said Ashnan as he rose onto his feet to take the bucket and chugged a bit before giving it to Gna.


    Then as he was about to retort, he halted the words amassing in his mind and throat as the legionariir and custodiir lined up at the triangular arch. ¡°Seems we missed out on something interesting.¡± He said as they noticed Saugh walking in his typical disciplined manner that evoked feelings of nostalgia within Gna and then saw Aelfsigior, Priernuss and Eadwald following after him with various expressions ranging from delighted to awkward.

 Chapter 73: Promises and Pledges II.

    A heavy and rotten silence lingered in the encampment as Orhadin casually strolled through, sticking the lower end of his peculiar staff deep into the blood soaked ground. His ophidian, gaunt visage of serpentine scales and pallid epidermis of the elevated dead contorted as he sniffed in the fresh air permeated with the malodorous and saccharine ¨C to him ¨C scent of finality.


    Frivolous tents that beamed with the signs of struggle stood quite disorganized in the dim glade of the woodland. Some collapsed onto itself, accentuating the various furniture brought along by folk not prepared for the dangers of these blessed wilds. Some stood valiantly, frozen in the moment the legionaries accomplished raising them to an acceptable state per their scrupulous protocol, the soft doors flapping as the cold autumnal wind of the north swept through, yet when it reached Orhadin hunched down, his robes sewn from the night itself remained stiff while swallowing the leftover blood of an auxiliary.


    Yet beside the scent of finality, he also felt a frustration of the olden days as his small, slit eyes lit up in a sinister Arkharuine glow, a faint blue mixed with a sinister green and before him, the unseen revealed itself, yet not the one he expected and desired to tame and control. Hints of death floated in the forms akin to falling snow flakes in the calming tones of nekrotic matter, a deep purple with black outlines, yet there were no corpses around the knitted tents, no souls wailing in their torturous, sleepless existence.


    For a moment the thought of a nekromancer not pledged to the Host had prevailed the dead before him or may even be the cause of the imperfect footsteps still deepened into the mushy mud covered in melting snow as the mauve and cerulean lights filtered through the gaunt branches bereft of dim leaves. The cold hands of fear caressed his spine as the envious thoughts shifted towards paranoid ones, as he feared being discovered so soon.


    Yet as he further walked into the large encampment in the dead center of the blessed Vesgeriath Woodland, this conjecture and the accompanying fear faded in his mind when he noticed the lavish tent lacking in signs of struggle, or even the myriad blood of the people who fought till the end. Not even a small scratch of a wild ghoul, the slice reconstructed undead appeared on the soft, almost silky red and white walls appeared, yet there was no doubt that the leader of this expedition no longer walked amongst the living, but amongst the dead as a heavy cloud of nekrotic matter still whirled around the tent.


    The whirlpool of torn out resentment, haphazardly carved love and empathy and mangled humility were proof enough for this fact, as no self-respected nekromancer would not use these ingredients in forging the contract of subservience bringing the dead into their ever growing flock of dead. All these leftovers signaled that whatever reason led them into the heart of Vesgeriath came to them earlier, and now they walked amongst their forces.


    Though one thing still deepened his curiosity. Within the whirlpool, within the tent embroidered with the insignia of the draconic insignia of the Empire, Orhadin noticed a faint, translucent disturbance in an outer facet of Elhyrissian¡¯s reality that pulsed and spew forth small tendrils reaching into the ground. The more he tried to correlate it to any of the matters, any of the Umvraothok¡¯s or Aydvroeghek¡¯s mark, he could not find an answer to why the heart that no longer beat in his chest began its fearful rhythm once more.


    ¡°There are many things that shall always be beyond the understanding of the mortal races, including the enigmatic aetherkiin who reached the ends of existence centuries before the Age of the Dawn came to an end.¡± Grimslaukh voice echoed in his mind, as the old memory of his teacher, the greatest of Aydvroeghek imparted a hint on the vastness of the planes, on the vastness of the Almodo¡¯s world. And like then he found it excruciating once more.


    ¡°But do not see it as a cruelty of the Deossos, of the Almodo, see it as mercy.¡± Then he closed his eyes and felt a voidness devour his remaining senses, calming him as he recounted what He told when he voiced his frustration. When his eyes opened, the disturbance was no more, in its place only the expensive carpet remained stretching across the altered space of the tent and the wood beneath his feet softly groaned as he left.


    Once more, his gaze surveyed the desolate camp of Legatious Gnaeuth, 133<sup>rd</sup> son of Terrianis, and left further into the belly of Vesgeriath, to invoke the pledge the Lords of the Woodland took more than seven centuries in the shadow of the Nightscale.


    **


    Both youths¡¯ eyes glistened softly by wonder as they entered the large palace, the grandest edifice from which the inner fortifications protruded and squared around the courtyard which served also as the training center for the stationed legianoriir and the custodiir at the same time.


    The first section they entered served both as the entrance hall but also as the throne room with thick pillars supporting the ceiling garnished with the svelte depiction of Mineirvia, The Sagacious Challenger and Protector of Cities who gifted the arts of battle ¨C both martial and maghieth ¨C upon mortal kind. Further in the vast hall remained mostly empty with the sides lined by the personal praetoriir of Gnaeuth wearing heavy, ivory plates with angular segments and symmetrical curves, and prismatic tunics, kilt and breeches containing enchantments amplifying their well-honed strength built up through the seven decades one has to serve under the banner of the legion to be eligible for the rank.


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    Yet they remained devoid of their liege, in his place on the throne facing the ornated gates sat a petite niuvhen maiden whose delicate silvery silhouette was kissed by the lavish clothes sewn from textile chrome or at least close to it regarding sheen and smooth surface in which their reflected form stared right back at them. On the bottom it circled evenly, hiding her feet wrapped in metallic sandals while on the top her neck was lost between curving funnel which rustled as the gentle gust which entered with the group reached her almost divine form capturing the attention of both Azugh and Eadwald who remained standing even as the others got on their knees.


    ¡°Excuse them, Lady Isoshira! No doubt they were enchanted by your beauty!¡± Then the familiar voice rang through the hall and Eadwald turned to Hevaeck appearing from one of the doors leading up to the upper floors.


    ¡°Oh I am aware my friend. And I don¡¯t mind the Chosen of His to bow before me.¡± Isoshira said with the smile of a sly fox on her mesmerizing face with striking blue eyes gleaming with luster of chiseled sapphires whilst gesturing to the two to stop as they were about to get down on their knees. ¡°Next time at least, refrain from sudden meetings if possible.¡±


    ¡°I will do so my dear. But for now let¡¯s talk somewhere private.¡± The few custodiir ranked lower than Saugh bowed before leaving then the whole group headed up to the Regent¡¯s chambers.


    **


    On the highest level of the palace, only two rooms occupied the altered space not counting the long corridor connecting them. The counselors chambers where most decisions regarding the order and daily comings of the city came to be, which Regent Isoshira tended to even before Gnaeuth set out to reclaim his lost honor and prestige. Most of the counselors of Vhoragos were made up of the representatives of the various guilds, be it of the commerce kind or of the local adventurers guild, the wealthiest of the patricii and the common folk who tended the fields within the walls engulfed by a barrier allowing the seeds of various vegetables and fruits to grow in the harsh northern climate.


    The other were his chambers now used by Isoshira who moved in there, though left most of the military decorations like the three different armors, several blades and spears hung onto the walls, and trophies of the various beasts and monsters stalking the north including even the grisly head of an developed Drekavac ¨C a nekros with a distinct and deformed canine traits including a stretched head with unnatural contours, sunken deathly eyes and small horns numbering at four with a half spiraling curve ¨C staring right at the bed as its severed head was welted to the gloomy stone between two rhombus windows.


    Whilst Azugh stared envious at the weapons lining the walls, Eadwald pushed away his childish curiosity and stood at the front of their little group facing Hevaeck and Isoshira. ¡°I know it may be hard and sudden but I beseech you young Eadwald, stay in the city. I promise to notify lady Mirdbruil that no harm has come upon you.¡±


    ¡°I thank you for that, but I already accepted my fate.¡± He lied knowing it was not the time to devise clever words of convincement. ¡°What I truly want to ask is to let me aid the city¡¯s protectors in apprehending whoever is behind the attack.¡±


    ¡°What attack?¡± Surprised, Isoshira asked turning to Saugh who stood silent before the windows.


    ¡°An hour ago, three undead possibly raised crawled forth the sewers killing at least six of the merchants of our city and the visitors.¡± He stopped for a moment as his throat dried feeling shame at his own failure. ¡°One of those undead was the Chosen has cut down was one of my investigators who disappeared months ago as he believed the culprits hid in the tunnels below the sewers.¡±


    Eadwald turned inquisitively towards the old orkh. ¡°Tunnels?¡± He blurted out. ¡°The Host has employed many tricks to thaw away the peace of the northern colonies. One such endeavor of theirs was expanding the Veinways of the Dhaugruz Range which now extend below this very city.¡± Isoshira explained smiling as she saw an opportunity for herself and possibly for Gnaeuth.


    ¡°Though with the aid of Hevaeck and his associates, we managed to seal them off barring the accursed inhabitants from slipping into the city anymore. Though it may seem like they found a way through.¡±


    Hevaeck nodded grimly. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t this barrier be the same that alerts us if their bands pass through the forts?¡± Gna asked whilst he stroked his chin gently.


    ¡°That much is true, but the thing is the last time they also took a few people. It is possible, the descendants of those who were taken were sent to infiltrate the city.¡± Eadwald curled his hands into fists upon hearing those words and the thought of leaving faded, replaced by the deep desire to free the city from this menace.


    ¡°Now regarding your wish, I personally wouldn¡¯t advise you to go out, these enemies are more capable than the revenants of the woodlands.¡± Hevaeck said as silence settled on the room as they felt Eadwald¡¯s anger manifesting mildly.


    ¡°I believe so too. But regardless holding him back now could be a grave mistake. Though the people is unaware of his existence, what will they say once the news are out that we held back one of the Chosen from restoring order. You yourself should believe that this is not simply our good fortune that he stepped into the city, but it is the work of the Deossos who decreed his first test ¨C liberating the people of Vhoragos from the menacing shadow looming in the corners.¡± Isoshira interjected calmly.


    ¡°Though at least I¡¯d like Saugh to join your group Chosen Eadwald. And if you worry about his wellbeing, I¡¯d recommend you stay by his side Hevaeck.¡± Then she added as Hevaeck sighed with folded arms and looking down at the floor pondering. ¡°You and your azure tongue is right. Though I want Aelfsigior and Priernuss to be by his side at all times, they proven their mettle many times, though I don¡¯t want to throw mud at the capabilities of the others.¡±


    ¡°None landed.¡± Gna said with a light cackle. ¡°Same, this way we could skulk around easier. But I wonder, won¡¯t he stand out to the enemy?¡± Ashnan added.


    ¡°Well I could do a bit of sculpture.¡± Priernuss said as he seemingly measured their faces. ¡°Though I can¡¯t promise it will be painless. I am a bit lacking when it comes to flesh maghia.¡±


    Isoshira clapped her hands and assumed an affable expression upon hearing the faint growl of their stomachs. ¡°That can wait. For now let¡¯s plan things out at repast. You all must be starving by now.¡±

 Chapter 74: Promises and Pledges III.

    Three days since the incident, Eadwald, Hevaeck and Priernuss headed out from the Scrupulous Phaerun as they continued their hunt for the culprit behind the attack. His whole body still sored from the sculpting and weird as he still not get used to the short height of the dwarves, though he still fared better than Hevaeck who now resembled a gaunt orkh, a tall one at that. Priernuss himself chose to go with a Szeakhrin¡¯s appearance, with long dark mane and coral like extensions akin to horns growing from the side of his head.


    Though whilst Eadwald desired to venture down into the sewers, he held back at the realization that getting a map of the vast labyrinthian system proved harder than he thought first. First, they headed for the aevhen patricii who settled here centuries ago, and aided in the construction of the fortress that grew into a full-blown city, then capital of the north.


    Through them, they learnt that the sewer system was constructed many decades after the city itself came to be as the legionariir tended to just take care of their waste through arkhaine means instead of recycling it into nature or transmute it for agricultural purposes. Because of this their investigation derailed as they began to single out the other patricii of different kindred starting with dwarves believing one to be responsible and maybe still possessing the drafts.


    But to their surprise, the sewer system was actually built by the family of immigrants coming from the east, particularly from a Xirong, the human tribe who settled on the eastern islands now ruled by the Niuvhei family of patricii and consulos. A family which initially aided the nixhei rebellion and after their fall and exile, they revoked their rights and were banished to the North.


    After a day of questioning, the trio managed to learn and locate all three Xirong families living in Vhoragos, and decided to visit the first who now operate the vast archives of the city containing mostly tomes of local folklore, history and travel guides for adventurers, wandering merchants and vagrants including detailed description on the inhabitants of the northern wilds, their weaknesses. Besides those they also proudly own grimoires brought from all over the world, though as they learnt from another bookstore owner, those are mostly just low-grade grimoires covering spells to heat your food or pot.


    Eadwald and Priernuss for a moment felt suspicious regarding the shop owner as the bookstore owner also pointed out him seeing numerous victims of the disappearances visiting the place, though the custodiir chalked it up that Da Yun¡¯s ¨C the owners¡¯ business ¨C brought thrice as many customer than the Ursion¡¯s. Hevaeck himself said the same after they left, believing that it would be foolish of Da Yun to kidnap and possibly kill those who were seen entering his shop.


    The two somewhat agreed, but still decided to at least focus on the Xirong bookstore owner before dropping him. ¡°Just keep still and the nausea will go away Hevaeck.¡± Priernuss said as he placed his hand on the broad shoulder of the now orkhin resembling Hevaeck, pouring iuboron matter to soothe the after effects of flesh sculpting. ¡°I feel like I¡¯m too old for this clandestine endeavors.¡±


    ¡°Give it a few seconds and it will go away.¡± Priernuss said with half a chuckle. ¡°You said that yesterday and I threw up at least twice. Well, at least it wasn¡¯t as painful as you indicated it.¡±


    Eadwald feeling a bit bad walked up and aided in the soothing of the arkhaine ailment assailing Hevaeck, with what little knowledge Mirdbruil passed onto him, making him promise to heal Ulrich whenever he would get lost in the heat of battle. ¡°Thanks son. Now, let¡¯s depart as the day sadly won¡¯t wait for us.¡± The two lifted their hands off and set out on the sloping streets, heading for the bookstore in the outermost district.


    **


    ¡°It is so strange.¡± Azugh murmured whilst they walked through the crowd as he scissored his webbed pale webbed fingers. Gna and Ashnan followed after him, sculpted into an aevhe and a faun with snow white fur and a dusky complexion.


    Whilst Eadwald¡¯s group headed to look around and investigate their lead on the bookstore owner where most of the vagrants flocked for maps and information, Aelfsigior and Saugh made another round questioning the merchants who were attacked, the trio headed for the second outer district where the families of the stationed legionaries settled and lived for the past centuries.


    Their aim was to question the few legionaries who lived there since the establishment of the city, and even participated in the battle when the horrors poured forth from the Veinways stretching below the city, hoping to learn and gain information on those who were taken on that fateful night. ¡°It is probably late to bring this up, but shouldn¡¯t we have brought Priernuss to save some time?¡±


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    ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± Gna asked as he led through the crowd, barely maneuvering through the thick flock filling the wide space of the street. ¡°Well, the aevhei have great memory, so if he draws them, we may have an easier time finding the culprit.¡± Azugh bumped into him as Gna halted while looking pensive.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, but at this point let¡¯s just find those who remember the events and the people taken.¡± With that they continued down the sloping street in the shadows of the oblong, angular edifices showing no sign of their age.


    The illius¡¯s mauve, cerulean and amber sundry lights grew dimmer as they navigated through the vast maze like streets while reading the notes compiled by missing predecessor of the Regent who accompanied Gnaeuth to his ill-fated expedition. They stopped at a few edifices only to learn that many of the old legionaries followed their liege, though they forego documenting it as they believed the expedition would bore fruit quite summarily as all the Damned Lords of the Woodland¡¯s courts were located by the few survivors who stumbled upon them and achieved escape from the clutches of doom.


    The few who did not take off with Gnaeuth on the other hand either were distant from those taken, barely knowing how they looked, the only thing they remembered were their names as Gnaeuth¡¯s 19<sup>th</sup> Legion even back then numbered in the thousands. There were only a handful who could give them descriptions of the victims, describing most who were taken as humans of the central tribes subjugated early into the First Age and one niuvhe who fought in the civil war of the eastern archipelago.


    The group halted before the edifice with pointed roof, banners of the Empire and the eastern colony hanging between the few windows and the protrusion facing the window. Ashnan led and knocked on the door, and showed their brooch identifying them as members of the custodes before they began their questioning of the old niuvhen man called Uchitemar whose silvery white epidermis glistened as the soft shadows of the interior parted from his handsome visage when the triumvirate of daylight fell onto it.


    He invited them inside, into the vast and warm belly of his home as he began to recall the events of the night. Gna and Azugh eyes focused on the peculiar eastern dress draping over his wiry aevhen body effortlessly, bearing a deep hue of red while the trims and the overlapping lapels bore a pristine shade of white melding in with his skin while the smooth and dull linen surface bore the Niun Runes of his kindred across the back and the loose cuffed sleeves, giving him an air of a wise and erudite veneficiar whilst he stroked his long chin beard braided together in a northern style with thick, leathery beads.


    ¡°Yes, I remember that night. It was terrible, I remember my dearest trembling with fear as those bizarre undead broke through the earth. I still remember their screaming growing distant as they were dragged into those dark apertures.¡± Uchitemar, the elderly niuvhe said after he invited the trio inside his home. A quite spacious edifice with a long hallway adorned with eastern memorabilia including statues of the archipelago¡¯s spirits including one hewn from silver resembling a large fox with a terrifying visage and nine swirling tails frozen in time which picked Azugh¡¯s and Gna¡¯s interest a little as they walked past it into the living area.


    A large room with an angular and windowed corner facing the wide entrance door, staring out at still busy street in the early hours of dusk where the sky began the process of darkening. A large carpet stretched across the floor of shifting birch, in the center two leather bound futons faced each other with a low height oblong table stood between them beset with a silken sheet of crimson and frilled white trims, a few cups and a large eastern jug steaming, filling the room with a nicely bitter scent with a caustic hint of the heated tea.


    ¡°Do you remember any of their faces?¡± Ashnan asked a bit awkwardly after he accepted the tea from the old niuvhe.


    ¡°Sadly yes, though I haven¡¯t recalled them in a long time now. They bring much pain to me as many grew into proper adulthood before my eyes and under my tutelage in Joreid¡¯s case.¡± He said with a solemn expression. ¡°Though may I ask why question about them now? Is it related to the attack?¡± Gna and Ashnan looked at each other while Azugh nodded lightly out of a strange reflex as the tea soothed his mind and he felt a bit tired after the long day of tracking across the city ¨C he thought.


    ¡°How could they be related to it? Unless the attackers were ¡°them¡±?¡± He said as he tucked both arms under the imposing and loose cuffs of his robe. ¡°Well they weren¡¯t the attackers, but we believe the culprit may have been a descendant of theirs.¡±


    ¡°Right. If that is the case¡­¡± Then as he began, he stood up and headed through the door behind him and brought out a slab or at least a wooden object resembling a plaque filled with white sand against the dark wood casing. With his eyes closed, palm held over the smoothened sand, the air blurred in the space between the two and a dune resembling the face of a mesmerizing young maiden rose from it bearing even the scar running across the left blind eye lacking in accentuation. All three looked it and whilst Ashnan managed to etch the image into his mind, the disguised orkh pair failed as all thoughts in their mind could not manifest for more than a few seconds as an invisible weight pushed upon them.


    ¡°It is a shame really,¡± Uchitemar said with a sinister low inflexion in his smooth voice. Then he stopped and watched the tired expressions with confusion and curiosity as Azugh collapsed back into his seating in tandem with Gna. As Ashnan remained awake with a dreadfully surprised expression, he leapt up and channeled his mana, though not in time as he found his body encased by a cloak of pure mana ruthlessly tightening around his faux form.


    ¡°The tea almost got cold by the time you guys got here.¡± Uchitemar said with a menacing tone as he sipped the poisoned tea and sighed a relief. ¡°And now because of you, we must act in haste.¡±

 Chapter 75: Promises and Pledges IV.

    The trio of Eadwald, Hevaeck and Priernuss arrived to the bookstore around late noon as they themselves too got lost along the sloped streets of Vhoragos as the outer districts proved vaster than the inner districts. Though while in name it was called a bookstore, in truth it resembled an archive as the edifice stretched far and wide and consisted of at least three floors with the roof being the pagoda style of the east.


    The almost blindingly white walls themselves stood out like a sore as the bookstore was wedged between two gloomy stores selling fish brought from the nearest river and lake or the far shores of the north. On the other side a blacksmith set up shop, with weapons and armor visible through the large and barred windows waiting to be claimed by their new owners. Eadwald could not help but compare it to their settlement¡¯s blacksmith¡¯s work. Compared to that, these weapons appeared quite dull both in luster and in sharpness, though they still could cut through the thick hide of most monsters, but even he could tell these would bounce off the limbs of a hill giant.


    ¡°Maybe another time. For now focus on the task.¡± Priernuss brought him out of his momentary stupor and the trio headed straight for the steps leading onto the bookstore¡¯s door. Like with the tavern they stayed at, the bookstore too had an elevated ground floor, through which one had to enter through the ornated door bearing the bizarre figure of Septurrion, who sewn eyes seemed to stare right into Eadwald¡¯s eyes as he entered first, pushing open the door.


    Within the grand hall of the bookstore, they were greeted by the xirong man himself, Da Yun an exotic man with short, well-kept dark hair, wide and slit eyes that seemed to be closed as he genially greeted them with a smile and a light bow. The quite slender man dwarfing before the three altered men was clad in a naturally flowing dark gown embroidered with symbols of Septurrion¡¯s domain ¨C on the back a spindle with eight sharply riveted spokes, on the sleeves and trims intertwining threads slithering along the soft linen.


    Beyond the short man whose triangular face was covered in a thick beard and a peculiar moustache, laid the dozens of towering bookshelves, protruding from the wooden floor up to the bright ivory ceiling decorated with the painted on sphinxes of Septurrion who guard and share the knowledge of eons to all those who could answer the three questions of theirs, though he also spotted the dim and grim servitors of Dhaekenia, Carrier of Souls, Listener of the Fading.


    The place itself was lit by the effort of Illius¡¯s light seeping through the pristine glass of the windows, and the arkhaine bubbles floating aimlessly high above their heads, occasionally half submerged into the ceiling which itself lit up with the warm glow of amber they emanated.


    ¡°How may I be of your service!¡± Da Yun asked in his sibilant voice, and in a low tone which clearly reached them as the silence within the bookstore, library was quite palpable. Priernuss stepped forward and bowed lightly before he stated their business. ¡°We came from afar and are planning to stay here. Is there a section on the city and its history?¡±


    Da Yun stroked his beard as his eyes opened slightly, revealing the yellow, piercing eyes with a cross shaped pupil similar to the sphinxes depicted on the ceiling. ¡°Come follow me.¡± Not far from the center were two stairs facing each other as they took a weird turn to the second floor where Eadwald halted for a moment. Da Yun looked at him and chuckled quite childishly. ¡°First time?¡± He asked while standing on the phantasmal projection of raging waves beneath his feet, stretching across the middle of the second floor.


    ¡°Or just afraid of his domain and its deep secrets?¡± He asked as Eadwald remained speechless while his heart beat with an unnatural pace while nausea tinged his throat and eyes. Da Yun¡¯s fingers loudly snapped and at once he felt the nausea fade, the pace of his heart regulated once more whilst the waves disappeared, in their place a picturesque vista blanketed by pure white snow and towering trees blooming shades of white, mauve and crimson in the corners.


    ¡°Sorry, honestly was the first time I gazed upon his domain.¡± He apologized. ¡°No need, everyone has their curses. I myself can¡¯t stand the heat of my homeland, even in the colder seasons. Now come it is not far.¡±


    After he led them to the section on the history of the city, he gave them a bell with the instruction to shake it lightly when they found what they look for, shake it heavily if not and are in need of aid. What felt like hours to Eadwald passed as they went through each book near in their elevation. Though most only delved on the subject of what came before, lived before even the 19<sup>th</sup> legion trampled over the snow blanketed land.


    Then there were the tomes that also mentioned the various places around the city worth seeing for visitors, including the House of Deos they visited where those lost in the last battle of The Exodus rested, dreaming their long dream. Or the Garden Parcel, a large arkhaine botanical garden created by the Selvriost Circle¡¯s druids who visited the city many a decade ago, leaving their mark in the north-western section of the residential and commerce district.


    As time passed, Eadwald got quite lost in the books, and subconsciously began to search for information, be it small or hefty on the Dragon Praetors of the city ¨C as he recalled Ulrich talking how each colonial city and capital has a Wing of the Order chaptered usually in the cities¡¯ military district ¨C though the more he looked, the more dejected he got at seeing them, as it seemed the capital had none as most of the northern Wing were sent back to Nidumiath, though no reason were given as even the authors¡¯ of the book questioned this decision or at least veiled them as theories of what may have led the Elhyrissiar to decree their departure from the North.


    ¡°Nothing. I found nothing yet.¡± Priernuss heaved a sigh as he leaned against the separating spine of the bookshelf with arms folded. ¡°Should we ask?¡± Hevaeck feeling just as frustrated asked while shutting a red, leather bound book on the recent history of the city. Priernuss who took the bell pulled it out from his thick coats¡¯ pocket and stared at it, still not fully trusting the xirong man.


    But just as he was about to ring it per the instructions, Da Yun glided over the glass panel reflecting the phantasmal image embedded into the floor, carrying stacks of heavy books. Noticing them he stopped and asked with his usual genial attitude. ¡°Have you found what you looked for?¡±


    ¡°We found quite a few interesting ones, but is there a book containing an extensive scripture regarding what lies below our feet?¡± Da Yun looked pensive for a moment, then placed the stacks of books on the nearest table and hovered up in the air and picked up a book on a higher elevation of the bookself. ¡°This, it even contains drafts of the architect.¡±


    Priernuss took it without hesitation, then signaled to the two to pick up some others¡¯ as they began to study it while Da Yun left with a smile under his beard.


    **


    ¡°Well, we can do this the easy way or the hard way!¡± Uchitemar said as he towered over Ashnan wrought in menacing shadows as the light of the few candles that lit up the room barely bathed his pale silvery form draped in the eastern ceremonial garments. ¡°Why betray your people?¡± Ashnan asked while gritting his teeth, trying to buy time for himself, Gna and Azugh.


    ¡°There is no betrayal here. Now tell me where is the Chosen. I know he arrived to the city, and I know he was escorted by the custodiir three days ago.¡± His tone changed, his voice became gravelly as he leaned closer and the tip of his finger touched Ashnan¡¯s faux forehead of dry dusky skin and fur faintly hung over it. Then he screamed as he felt invisible leeches penetrating through his skin, skull and appending themselves to his brain.


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    ¡°I see. That explains why the poison did not work.¡± His cry grew louder when he felt his bones once more rearranging themselves, his flesh and skin contort, his sinew loosing the little mass gained by sculpted into the muscular form of a faun, a cold pain coursed through his mouth as his teeth sharpened back.


    ¡°You do have quite the erudite magus if he is capable of this much altering. I wonder if he is a Whisperer himself.¡± Uchitemar wondered as he stared blankly, breaking through the innate mental defenses of Ashnan who was assailed by many pains of differing degrees, though his screaming lessened amidst the ecstatic sensation tinging his soul and body. He felt like his mind was on the brink of shattering amidst resisting the memory sapping leeches and him veiling his efforts of a risky effort that may backfire.


    Though he knew that it was better to die than let the traitor learn of Eadwald¡¯s altered appearance. ¡°You know it will be just worse for you if you resist?¡± It was not the first time he had to split his mind, his will. Decades before, he first met with Ulrich and Gna during a small mission of hunting down a group of bandits holed up in a deserted village. Feeling confident wearing the enchanted armor of living alloy, they strode in unprepared without scouting the number of the bandits and without confirmation whether they had a magus or not.


    All these foolishness led to their comrades to be slaughtered, and the trio to be captured for interrogation, resulting in their minds probed by the bandits¡¯ magus who himself was a deserter of the 7<sup>th</sup> Legion. At that time, he devised the trick taught to him by an old demikin veneficiar, a trick of showing memories reformed. And like then, Uchitemar screamed out loud this time and leapt into the back of his futon while drenched in cold sweat.


    For a short moment, he stood face to face with a Scylla¡¯s tentacle resembling a grotesque, deformed lupine head split open akin to a ravenous worm, bearing fangs and appendages serving the purpose of restraining and dragging the prey of the amphibious beast. And like back then, Gna locked the magus¡¯s neck and began to put pressure on it as his muscled arm thickened.


    Uchitemar struggled for air, then as his momentary fear subsides, his hands latched onto Gna¡¯s faux arms who gritted his teeth before letting go and falling onto the table, breaking it and the contents on it. His now fair aevhen appearing flesh gained a darker, rotten color reeking with the malodorous aroma of decaying flesh and epidermis. Ashnan still bound by the spell, propelled himself by generating a mild gust of wind and sent the niuvhen down onto the floor as his secured ankles swept through his.


    ¡°Quick, now!¡± He yelled and not wasting the opportunity, Gna bit off the tip of his tongue completely, and leapt pouring his mana, shaping it, into his fists which gained the distinctiveness of galvanized alloys, and with downward swing planted it straight into the floor as Uchitemar proved quicker rolling out from the way and back onto his feet unbalanced.


    ¡°Damn it!¡± Gna cursed as he felt the coldness of finality condensing before the niuvhen. His fist planted deep into the floor, and possessing not just the distinctiveness, but also the heavy weight of galvanized alloys, maybe even heavier than them thanks to the sudden conjuration of the spell as his arm barely fidgeted from the floor as certain doom took a vast amorphous shape before Uchitemar.


    Just as he was about to accept his fate, he felt the spell wane behind him followed by the thud of Uchitemar¡¯s body hitting the floor, a part of the broken table sticking out from his chest. The heavy breathing of Azugh filling the silent room, staring at the lifeless form, his hands shaking from excitement and regret born from the extinction of another¡¯s life, a feeling Gna himself experienced a few times before it felt distant, almost non-existent.


    ¡°Stay still.¡± Ashan now freed with his captor¡¯s demise leaned closer and held his palm over the blackening flesh and skin. ¡°Take deep breaths son. It will subside slowly.¡± Following his advice, he sat down facing them and closed his eyes though only for a moment, as Uchitemar¡¯s haunting form stared back at him.


    **


    The soft crackle of the campfire broke the eerie silence of the accursed woodland as the trio of adventurers posted on night watch stared, watched with dreary eyes as the stacked woof slowly crumbled into ashes while sparks flew towards the portentous blackness above swallowing the gaunt branches of the overhanging gnarled trees. From the gleaming textile surfaces of the tents, the amber light expelled the creeping darkness waiting at the bony foliage infested threshold swallowing even the snow that would expand the warm light if not for the tyranny of the Night.


    Wind gently breezed through, sweeping in the soft layer of snow while a soft munching tenderly echoed through the almost silent camp. ¡°We should have continued.¡± Herius, the truscian man of a deep olive complexion said as he straightened his stalwart form before the fire.


    The mesmerizing aurheven sorceress with long lustrous silken black hair and a complexion of dawn red and pink shook her head. ¡°I know how you feel Herius, but traversing during the night with our tired minds and limbs would have been foolish.¡± Heshe said as she stretched her arms kissed by the deep violet dress robe¡¯s long sleeves ending in forked sleeves with golden embroidered trims.


    ¡°She is right. The woodland is even more dangerous during the night, especially here in the deepest parts where other horrors lurk in the dark besides the revenants.¡± Borulath said in his sibilant, serpentine voice as the warm light reflected on his glistening scaled head whilst he tore off a piece from the bread and offered it to the man whom freed him from slavery two decades ago.


    Herius sighed as he himself agreed with the two, yet his instinct screamed at him to leave the woodland as soon as possible hence his desire and reluctance to stop before they reach the tree blessed by the clergy of the Amber Lord. ¡°I am aware. Though it may be foolish of me to say this, but I regret embarking on this journey.¡±


    The trio set out in a large expedition of adventurers from the small town of Guttlian situated near a river flowing towards the eastern shores ¨C their aim to rid the woodland of the Queen of the Damned, one of the weakest of the remaining Lords. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we have the numbers and the experience.¡± Heshe touched his knee with a reassuring smile on her enticing visage framed by the dense locks cascading down her gleaming, high collared attire.


    It calmed him a little, knowing that the aurhe on his right was quiet famous in the far-south where they first met in the capital, Nukhtamos where they were hired by the local consulios to rid the city of a coven of dementia-magusos conjuring forth horrors from their madness poisoned minds after peering foolishly into the realm of Urhggoth, terrorizing the citizens.


    The image of her conjuring forth a spell of the highest grade, a spell mimicking the potent searing of the Illius to incinerate the leader of the coven mutated into a horror of impossible delineations and features too many for practicality as he joked after their payment in the tavern. For a moment as he recalled that heat, the cold that trembled his body even through the thick layers of clothing and armor halted and weirdly soothed him.


    ¡°Well I trust you two¡­¡± Before he could continue, he stopped and listened to the palpable silence which descended upon their camp. No snoring, no murmuring of the sleepers remained besides the crackling of burning wood before them. Then he heard the soft sound of metallic sheets sliding over one another and the wed thuds of footsteps in the mud, the tender creaking of dead foliage stepped on.


    Hearing this too, the other looked sternly in the same direction whilst already on their feet, kicking over their makeshift oaken seats with weapons and spell ready. Then as they saw the dark silhouette in a dim silver armor of with a surface of sculpted draconic scales and a robe sewn from the darkness of night with a large shapeless hood rustled by the gentle wind of dusk, Herius tightened his grip on his long blade before a flash of dim violet blinded them for a moment and he and Heshe collapsed into the mud, their vacant eyes staring at each other.


    ¡°Sit. Let¡¯s talk my friend.¡± Orhadin said as he the makeshift wooden chair Heshe sat on hovered behind him and he slowly sat on it, his ophidian eyes affably staring up at the basiliskian demikin. Borulath¡¯s hands shivered with anger and sorrow, yet he could not move them to cut down the seemingly vulnerable man before him with a scaled, ghastly epidermis lit up by the gentle flames.


    ¡°There is nothing to talk about.¡± He yelled as his yellow eyes lit up for a moment and then lunged at Orhadin before he too ended on the ground devoid of life. Orhadin sighed while fiddling his clawed fingers before the fire whilst his peculiar staff¡¯s trapezohedron top lit up with a sinister violet and black shades sending large motes of nekrotic and aevoron matter into the dozen corpses laying around the camp.


    ¡°Poor child of Dusk. May you find salvation in the Blessed Life under her care.¡± He murmured to himself while the dead rose onto their feet as their shackled souls raging with anger calmed by the magnanimous oblivion granted by Orhadin. ¡°What a beautiful night it is.¡±

 Chapter 76: The Will of Dusk I.

    ¡°Nothing in this makes sense to me.¡± Eadwald uttered frustrated as he stared down at the collection of maps folding out from the enchanted pages of the tome on the history of Vhoragos. There were at least six different drafts reaching the threshold of the wide and long table in their room, chalked black lines on white twisted, turned in angular proportions, often in ways Eadwald could not imagine them.


    Even Priernuss and Hevaeck who both were familiar with complicated maps stroked their chin and beard while their minds overworked themselves to decipher the maghieth runes penned besides the edges of the drawings signaling sections, crosses deemed important enough to navigate through the vast system that took care of the waste water of the city flushed down daily by the residents. They all agreed it was way too complex of a system for such a simple task.


    Eadwald even theorized that it may serve a different purpose, maybe it was built by their enemy or at least their ancestor to conceal their forbidden activities beneath the city, away from the vigilant eyes of the legionaries and the custodians who patrolled day and night. Though both of his seniors shot it down, citing that the real reason probably had a more protective nature as most of the further levels were built after the kidnappings a few centuries before.


    They themselves believed the purpose of this labyrinthian system served to confuse the enemies and wild monsters of the Veinways in case they would found their way up to the city. ¡°Then how did a few undead achieved reaching the market?¡± Eadwald asked as he folded his arms and stared at the two inquisitively.


    Hevaeck continued stroking his beard, his lids shut down as he seemed to meditate on the answer. ¡°My current theory is that the nekromancer probably mapped out the sewers, maybe even saw these drafts.¡± He answered then pointing down at the table. ¡°We may ought to question the bookstore owner once more.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure its worth a shot. Even if the perpetrator visited to study the layout, probably many other did so too.¡± Priernuss interjected whilst leaning onto the table, his eyes engulfed by translucent mist of yellow and blue as he sharpened his mind, expunging some of the strain put on it after hours of staring at the papers. ¡°Also, we should wait for the others to return, maybe they learnt something more¡­ palpable.¡± He then added after etching some of the runic words pointing at the shifting directions on the lower levels of the sewers.


    ¡°Speaking of which, I wonder what takes so long for them.¡± Eadwald murmured as he turned to the window reflecting the darkened world with the unsettling endless blackness stretching across the sky whilst the Lunius silver form hovered just out of sight while its cold rays reached into the crevices of the city. The snow that started melting on the steeped roofs froze once more, the slush turned into hardened mud on the streets once again revealing the clanked steps of approaching folk, the doors creaking as they entered their homes and the Scrupulous Phaerun.


    ¡°That must be them!¡± Priernuss said as his half knife shaped ears twitched picking up the muffled croaking of the wooden floors. As the door opened with a soft moan, they halted in their greeting seeing the haggard looks of the trio and Eadwald rushed to them, concern visible on his dashing face. ¡°Are you guys alright?¡±


    ¡°For the most part.¡± Ashnan answered as he dropped onto the bed. Though at first Priernuss hesitated, he snapped his fingers canceling the spell which resculpted their forms, which increased the tiredness of the trio whilst accentuated the soulless expression on Azugh¡¯s face who simply sat on his bed and stared while his tremulous hands rested in his lap.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Eadwald asked as stood unsure on what to do to console his friend. Though as he saw the runes shimmering with the vibrant warm shades of dawn appear on Eadwalds¡¯ arm as he approached, Azugh raised his hand. ¡°No need. I doubt dawn spells could calm my nerves.¡±


    ¡°First kill?¡± Azugh nodded at the question thrown from Priernuss leaning against the table. ¡°Rather unlucky to experience it this way.¡± Eadwald not understanding turned to him and asked what was on his mind as usual. ¡°The place and time of the first kill for mostly everyone begets different reaction. When I had my first, my mind focused on simply surviving a battle against rebel elements remaining believing in the return of the Black Pharaoh of Khadrath.¡± Priernuss went silent, eyeing Azugh before continuing. ¡°For him, it must have happened momentarily and probably in his mind wanted to incapacitate yet his body made a decision to kill instead.¡±


    Though before the others could have confirmed it, a pair of trampling brought their attention to the still open door, on the other side Aelfsigior and Saugh approached hastily, worry and then relief on the former¡¯s face as he noticed all of them back and mostly unhurt.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°What happened? Do not leave out any detail.¡± Saugh spoke up first as Aelfsigior side stepped and leant against the door closed behind him. His eyes first wandered once more across everyone, engulfed by golden and bluish violet aethereal mist as he checked on the well-being of the others once more, not wishing to see anymore than the three weeping friend of his waiting back, still in the dark on the fate of their beloveds.


    For a few moments, silence settled onto the spacious suite of the establishment¡¯s second floor, then the first to break their silence was Priernuss reporting on their findings in the bookstore owned by the xirong man. Eadwald interjected, bringing up their theory that the nekromancer may be is the owner himself as many of the vagrants went there before they disappeared. Like Hevaeck, Saugh shut down this theory too when he confirmed that they themselves suspected the bookstore owner out of sheer desperation when they ran out of suspects.


    With a contingent of veneficiir, he visited the shop and they all skimmed through the place, looking for psioron matter leftover from spells to erase, conceal either remnants of spells used to kill and dispose of them, or ones that simply were used to conceal hidden apertures, doors or even corridors hidden behind a wall of pure illusion. ¡°There was nothing there, except for the residue of spells that keep the place lit and warm in these freezing temperatures.¡± Saugh said as kindly as he could as deep down, he had the hunch that the xirong man was responsible. This tinging he felt right now, even the One and the Eight tried to lead him on the path to catch him, he told himself.


    ¡°And you guys? I heard you took down old Uchitemar.¡± He said that name with a bit of solemn, the question building towards a lie, a lie that would ease his mind was on the threshold of his lips. A lie that was also supported partially by the frozen Azugh whose hands trembled in his laps while staring with almost vacant eyes out the windows, lost in a seemingly endless torpor he seen one too many times on the faces of his subordinates.


    Silence followed once more, then Ashnan and Gna began at the same time their explanation of the events that unfolded two hours ago¡­


    **


    ¡°Killed by a juvenile.¡± Uchitemar¡¯s old friend wearing a metallic mask carved with the vague resemblance of a dragon tittered from behind it after he heard the report. ¡°I told you, you should have left Vhoragos with me.¡± He added after he calmed down a little and stared coldly at the withered vessel Uchitemar¡¯s soul inhibited.


    After his death, the nekrotic and spatial runes he carved into his own soul flung it across the city and down in to dark intersection of the sewers¡¯ several layers beneath the earth, where the pungent odor of the undead permeated the cleansed air. Though at the time the corpse was still fresh, devoid of scars and dents, at least three centuries passed in which even the runes of time could not fully halt the breaking down of the cadaver, though for the most part the aevhen corpses take at least a millennia to reach the same state as the other races¡¯ corpses ¨C except for the aetherkiin whose bodies made up of pure mana simply just disperse upon their demise.


    ¡°So should we proceed with the plan?¡± His hauntingly dashing visage turned at Da Yun¡¯s projection on his left above the flowing water devoid of the impurities. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t recommend it. Just wait until their arrival.¡±


    ¡°What happened with your ambitions? We have the chosen here, we should act upon it before the draenith praetoriir take him back to the capital.¡± Uchitemar said his tone poisoned by frustration at the state he was forced into. ¡°Oh my ambition is well and good. But the Master willed for our patience.¡±


    ¡°He did. But I doubt he would anger himself in the case we manage to kill the boy.¡± Da Yun said as he stroked the horned chin of his glinting silver mask. ¡°But he shall so if we waste the undead, we amassed.¡± The one behind ¨C tall and bulky like a standing bear ¨C said in his deep, echoing voice.


    ¡°We don¡¯t really have to waste all of them. Maybe a quarter is enough to draw him down to his doom.¡± Da Yun said ponderingly. ¡°Draw him down?¡± The masked aevhen nekromancer asked seemingly leaning forward as if he misheard it.


    ¡°He and two of his companions visited by during the day, clearly searching for our meeting place. By now I believe they may have deciphered my clues.¡± Da Yun answered with a firm, sibilant tone. ¡°You should have at least informed us on your plans. That may have saved Uchitemar¡¯s life.¡± Uchitemar¡¯s neck creaked as he nodded in agreement.


    ¡°Well I thought my own greed would lead them to me.¡± Da Yun said apologetically as he hovered closer to the center platform of the intersection. ¡°And what happens when he comes down? Will you leave it to the dead or do the deed yourself?¡± The aevhen asked, his eyes piercing.


    ¡°I shall do so myself.¡± He answered without hesitation, staring right back at the projection. ¡°Then it is fine by me.¡±


    ¡°Same. Though just in case you two fail, I shall refrain from participating, though I may the Dusk protect you in your endeavor.¡±  The ursine demikin said, his tone clearly laced with his expectancy of their failure. Uchitemar turned to Da Yun as the other two¡¯s projection dispersed, his dry, cracked lips moved as he forced words through the emaciated throat. ¡°What about his companions?¡±


    ¡°If they come down, you can have your revenge.¡± Just as he prepared to cancel his spell, Da Yun stared into the eye holes occupied by deep violet and black matter. ¡°We may even have a better vessel for you amongst them.¡± He added before he disappeared, leaving Uchitemar looking confused, then pensive before he disappeared in the vicious shadows of the northern arch.

 Chapter 77: The Will of Dusk II.

    Clammy shivers twinged Eadwald¡¯s body as perspirations cascaded slowly down his wiry form beneath the thick winter garments and snow white plates of perfectly symmetrical angular curves. His arms stretched forward as his hands, fingers wrapped tightly around the sturdy oaken handle of the practice sword, still shaking from the tremors beget from the forceful strikes aimed at him by Aelfsigior¡¯s long birch spear, most blocked by him thanks to his natural reflexes instilled by Ulrich.


    His legs stretched, his feet sunken into the slowly freezing slush lit by the multifarious shades of early evening as the cerulean skies darkened slowly. With his gaze focused on the towering, stalwart form before him somewhat leaning forward, spear held out waiting for Eadwald to make the first move while his face lacked in emotions, perfectly calm making it overall hard to decipher what the old aevhe¡¯s next move may be.


    The golden pearls embedded into the ivory pond bounced left and right, up and down as Eadwald took a better look, searching for a weak point in Aelfsigior¡¯s stance as he began to make careful, but somewhat quick steps circling around him standing almost to the center of the training ground whilst the others surveyed from beyond the low railing including Azugh who came out from his trance from two days ago.


    Whilst the public received the news about the death of the nekromancer who infiltrated the city and the culprit behind the attack on the market, they believed Eadwald was the one who dealt the killing blow and not Azugh, which left a bad aftertaste in his mouth. Especially as he still believed there were more than one, though he could not tell how or why this thought born and lingered in his mind other than it must have been planted by either the Almodo or one of the Eight.


    Even the others, the authorities of Vhoragos believed that Uchitemar did not act alone as he lacked the nekrotic stain of controlling multiple undead as they were well aware that all those kidnapped folks shared the same accursed fate. And they knew not out of simply divine signaling, but from how careless was his suspected partner, Da Yun. But because they lacked enough evidence to arrest him for his crimes, besides being admired by the city¡¯s folk for contributing a sizeable part of his earnings to constant renovation, upkeeping of Vhoragos.


    Amidst these thoughts, Eadwald readied his arms to parry the incoming thrust and let out an astounded yelp when the birch weapon elegantly altered its trajectory from the center of his chest covered by the breastplate to the gap on his sides, aiming for his ribs barely protected. Pain suddenly surged through his form and he flew to the sides in the slush, the crowd gasping in surprise at his defeat.


    ¡°Third time you lost your focus. I guess we¡¯re done for today.¡±  Aelfsigior walked up to him with his practice weapon held downwards, then plunged it effortlessly into the ground before holding out his hand pulling Eadwald up. ¡°I can still go.¡± He refuted with his face still grimacing from the pain. ¡°I have no doubt about that, but only if you can clear your head.¡±


    As the crowd dispersed slowly, Azugh and Gna made their way around while Hevaeck and Priernuss bid farewell as they planned to visit the market for supplies before the hour of midnight. And to visit the kiosk selling the famed spicy beverage of the far-south both greatly like.


    ¡°Thanks.¡± Azugh handed him the jug filled with a bitter tasting water that eased the pain, then headed into the ring with Gna where they stood face to face five steps away from each other, the cold wind brushing their greyish, ghastly epidermis with their thick bones protruding even though the heavy muscle masses.


    ¡°So what is a niaxhe?¡± When the father and son began their bout with loud bangs reverberating through the mostly silent training yard, Eadwald asked as the word lingered in his mind, somewhat predicting what the answer may be, but still he could not hold back his curiosity.


    Aelfsigior folded his arms and kneaded his chin beard hanging and dangling as the autumnal wind swept through it. ¡°Didn¡¯t Ulrich or Mirdbruil taught you about it?¡± He asked furrowing his brows then sighed when the Eadwald shook his head. ¡°About them, not really.¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Where should I begin.¡± Aelfsigior murmured under his chiseled, delicate aevhen nose. ¡°As you might have guessed they are a fallen kin of ours, living in the Basin.¡± He stopped as a loud bang reverberated through as Azugh landed a hit on his father left cheek hardened by maghia. ¡°Are they like the¡­ teneavhei?¡±


    Aelfsigior nodded as he watched Gna retaliate with a hit to Azugh¡¯s packed abdomen, sending him sliding across the muddy and melting snow covered field. ¡°To the point that their forefathers and mothers came from the House of Dusk, though unlike what you saw on Priernuss¡¯ painting, they had white and silvery scales as they descended from the first mate of the Nightscale, quite the magnificent dragon she is.¡± For a moment his attention turned from the bout before him, reminiscing of the time he visited the far eastern shores of Vhalleryon and graced upon the hallowed grounds of an eastern temple on one of the jagged plateaus hewn by the raging waters below. The cyclopean sculpture still filled him with awe, casting its silvery and white tinted shadows onto his youthful form wearing the traditional garments of the eastern part of the plane.


    ¡°And unlike our darker kindred, they chose to fight on the side of the Amber Lord and our Magnificent Mother, against their progenitor and his maddened master.¡± He added eliciting a slight surprised gaze from Eadwald who watched as his friend was grabbed by his father flailing as he was thrown across the yard like a sack of potatoes.


    ¡°Good.¡± Aelfsigior muttered in a low voice as he watched Azugh get onto his feet while Gna rushed towards him, preparing to strike in a moment¡¯s notice. ¡°Though the event that led to their exile happened not long after the war came to an end, and before the Nightscale settled in the heart of Dhaugruz. I lack in proper knowledge about the events, but all I know that a select group of niuvhei revolted against the ruling family of the archipelago, they failed spectacularly as far as I heard and whilst their leader and his family was executed before the masses, many of theirs escaped to the north. Their name came to be during the execution, and if I am correct, it pertains to their revolt, their agenda being as fragile as the snow on the archipelago.¡±


    Eadwald turned at him with his brow raised in question. ¡°Oh, the eastern colony has a pretty warm climate, snow rarely falls there if at all even during the winter seasons.¡± Aelfsigior slowly rose as the bout came to an end between the two after Azugh evaded the fist headed straight for his head, and pummeled his fist into his father¡¯s abdomen, sending him a few meters away, gasping for air.


    He slowly approached him clapping then held the flask of healing water out to Gna who took it with a faint smile on his face before spitting a bit of his blood into the mud. ¡°They grow up fast.¡± He said after chugging down the water and grimaced at its taste followed by a relief filled sigh as the pain eased into nothingness. ¡°They certainly do.¡± Aelfsigior said as the two watched Eadwald and Azugh bumped their elbows as the former congratulated to his friend.


    ¡°Though an earnest victory would have been better.¡± Aelfsigior added while gazing over Gna when he noticed one of the attendants assigned to them exiting the barracks with a sack of bakeries which tantalizing scent reached their noses. Before they could celebrate this minor victory, a cold shiver tinged Aelfsigior¡¯s body and his twitching long ears picked up on the distant sound of footsteps with one side avidly chasing with a vacuous pace trailed by a faint putrescent odor, the other hurried, running away laden with panic and fear, slowly decreasing in number.


    ¡°Get your weapons!¡± He turned to the others and yelled as the distant screams several streets away reached his sharpened, aevhen ears whilst the others still remained unaware of the brewing distress within the city. Though they did not question his words noticing the stern look on his face and he himself running towards the northern barracks where they left their gears.


    Saugh himself stepped out with a few of his custodiir already clad in their snow white armor. ¡°What happened?¡± Eadwald halted and asked while the others continued. ¡°Dozens of undead poured forth the sewers, their numbers are growing.¡± Saugh answered hastily as he continued marching and yelling for the resting troops in the barracks to awake. His voice spiced with shapeless mana boomed through the square. Lights lit up in the windows as the custodians and legionaries stirred in their confines, then rushed to the armory.


    ¡°Eadwald. Hurry!¡± Aelfsigior yelled at him whilst Eadwald stared past the walls, the worry he felt when they arrived resurfaced as he turned back and rushed into the barracks as distorted shrieking of the undead mingled with the helpless screams of the people.

 Chapter 78: The Will of Dusk III

    A buoyant atmosphere inhibited Cascading Fossegrim tavern and house of joys as Ashnan ordered a second round of drinks from the payment they received for striking down Uchitemar. His small, round black eyes reflecting the drunken merriment soothing his mind as he regaled the tale of their journey through the Vesgeriath Woodland, the battle against the hordes of revenants and undead raised by the Queen of the Damned, his company a few old comrades from his days in the legion and four courtesans¡¯ for each of them, the finest women one can found in the city per the marketing of the establishment. Which proved to be correct in his drunken mind.


    Though the gaiety of the city, of the Cascading Fossegrim came to an end as the joyful laughter of the courtesans, the comrades of his got drawn out by the screams of the people, and the warped shrieks of the undead crowding the streets. His old dwarven comrade, always keeping a weapon on himself rushed to the door as a demikin faun undead broke in, and its claws swept through the throat of an aevhen courtesan, spilling blood onto the wooden frame of the door and its grotesquely decayed visage.


    Before the stout dwarf could reach the undead, runes of dawn carved onto Ashnan¡¯s left arm while his vines glowed in the same shades through his pale scaled skin and a spear of pure iuboron matter flew out from his smooth, veiny palm right into the undead gorging on the corpse of the slender aevhe. Its scream rang through the space of the house of joys as the radiant energies devoured its distorted form, cleansed his tainted soul.


    Without needing to say any word, the rest of the patrons, courtesans and servers rushed to the stairs and locked themselves onto the second floor while Ashnan and his old comrades rushed to the chaos tenanted streets. Screams came from the windows of the houses and the streets where the few custodians fought back against the undead rushing from the direction of the marketplace. Ashnan cursed under his nose as he quickly sobered up to the nauseating smell of the dead saturating the streets.


    He rushed down behind the dwarf before an emaciated ursine demikin grabbed him with his bulky, gaunt hands and hurled him into the alley. Out from instinct, his arms glowed in amber and light mauve as the undead threw itself onto him, its small mouth ajar beyond its limits. He pressed his webbed hands onto its still black sinewy abdomen dripping coated in black ichor and a dark violet mist of nekrotic matter.


    As the two primal energies connected, he felt the coldness of dusk and the warmness of dawn intermingle as both scorched him from within and grew piercing chilling needles. He felt his fingers growing numb whilst the iuboron matter broke through the layers of nekrotic runes binding the cursed soul of the ursine whose gratefulness soothed the terror of finality sweeping over him as the dim yellow fangs neared towards his face.


    When he looked up, feeling to curse at his old comrades, he held back his words when he noticed them. The dwarf evading and striking back, cutting the undead down of near infinitude quantity. Dawn and flame spells hurled from the niuvhen comrade of his, incinerating, devouring the pouring dead whilst the orkh torn to pieces with his head hurled at a nearby custodian with a force that tore off her head from the neck.


    On the ground near his feet sinking in to the blood and ichor soiled mud and snow, Ashnan quickly reached down for the short blade that once glistened with a white luster resting near the torn remains of a brace and youthful skaeze whose face frozen by the terror of death. The moment his hand gripped the smooth handle, Ashnan swung with his amplified might as his dim veins glowed through his arm and sleeves. The blade ran easily through the weakened, moldy form of the undead plant-folk while channeling iuoboron matter into the sharp blade.


    Whilst running with his old comrades towards the training grounds to join forces with the others, possible even alert them in case the chaos haven¡¯t spilled into upper levels of the city, Ashnan folded one arm before his chest, the other placing the blade onto it, pointing before him as he thrusted  forward straight into the head of the approaching dead whilst his sides were covered, protected by the dwarf and the magus whose fair pinkish hands of unblemished skin hurled one spell after another, showing no sign of the Rage of Acheryon yet ¨C making Ashnan envious as the warm tinge he felt started to torture his insides with an ignominious scorching.


    Paired with the burning of his thighs¡¯ muscles, and the few dead looming in the now silent and ascending street¡¯s houses vacant of life and tenants, greatly diminished their marching upwards, and though he wanted to question his old comrades how many vagrants, mercenaries, merchants were taken he decided to hold back on those words as few dozen of the undead appeared from the dark recesses between the towering gloomy houses. ¡°Just like in the Irstaeinn Valley.¡± The dwarf muttered out in his nasal tone, recalling the day their unit was surrounded in the deep glacial valley of the far eastern shores of northern Vhalleryon.


    ¡°At least there no nekros leading them right.¡± The aevhe said jokingly as his amber energies swirling around his arms burst into radiant flames searing both Ashnan and the dwarf while the nearby leftover snow melted away at its conjured heat. ¡°No nekros, just a nekromancer probably.¡± Ashnan said as he changed his stance, forming a round shaped ward of bright dawn red and golden whilst he bit onto his lip as the iuoboron matter began to gnaw at his soul.


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    ¡°Nekromancers are the worst.¡± The dwarf said with a chuckle. ¡°You think you brought them down, but like their minions, they just get back up.¡± The other two chuckled whilst said minions slowly approached towards them like ravenous hyenas surrounding their prey, then lunged at them at the very same second when trampling came from the north, turning a few of their attention to the approaching group of custodians, legionaries led by Aelfsigior and Saugh.


    **


    With an almost voracious gaze, Azugh watched filled with wonder as the belts unbuckled around Saugh¡¯s large hammer fastened to his back and lifted it easily lifted it over with one arm and swing at the enervated triumvirate of charging dead whose withered, dry forms shattered into at least six pieces as the somewhat angular part passed through them with great force and velocity and stopped before it would land on the shields of the auxiliaries and custodians engulfed in radiant iuboron matter.


    In that moment, as he looked back at his own weapon, a long axe dripping with the black ichor of the undead man laying before him once more unmoving, young Azugh knew what weapon he would one day use when setting off to the wider world with Eadwald, Sigi and Amiriniel when the time came. ¡°To your east!¡± As he was lost in thought, Eadwald pulling his glowing golden blade out from the rotten body yelled to him, pointing at the hulking oghrin undead whose rushing steps trembled the ground beneath their feet.


    Its distorted bellow sent a deep terror Azugh never felt in his life, a terror of primal fear as in a moment he found himself frozen akin to the trance he found himself in after killing Uchitemar a few days prior. As the towering undead reared with each passing moment he felt an eternity, his fathers and Eadwald¡¯s yell brought him out from the frozen state, in great part thanks to the former sensing the moats of nekrotic matter floating in the putrid air spewed by the undead.


    Even though his legs were still tensed by fear¡¯s hoary needles, Azugh achieved jumping out from the club held and aimed at his statuesque, wiry form encased in the ivory plates and dark reddish thick hide tunic devoid of balance when he landed on his sides, his weapon slipping from the loose grip of his still tremulous hand. He quickly reached and grabbed it once more, and swung while instinctively pouring mana and forming a dawn spell around its curving blade, the ecstatic sensation that warmed his soul banishing the last remnants of the planted fear.


    With a swift strike, the blade went right into the gnarled trunk of an ankle, slicing the rotten, blackened sinew left to form the tendon, then as he watched it turn towards him, he rolled back onto his feet. Relief settled in his heart, soothed him further when two more legionaries came to his aid, their long pikes penetrating the soft, yet still thick festering grayish hide and a second bellow followed in vain as the resolution of dawn gripped their hearts, thrusting away at the unseen forces of dusk.


    Though the pikes stroke truly and deeply, their tips emanating a mist of warm golden, amber and violet, the raised kin of Azugh remained still, and its bulky and gaunt hand grabbed the pikes and lifted the Illius-baked aevhe up and slammed him onto the cadaver of his comrade. The impact dented his breastplate, broke his rib with the broken off pieces lancing his lung and heart.


    The second truscian man flew into one of the edifices, his form breaking through the robust walls, still alive thanks to his shield raised in time to lessen the force. Though he remained in the land of Oneiron whilst his stalwart form remained on the oaken floor, limbs stretching in all points of the compass. Amidst all this, Azugh threw his axe into the back of its sloping head seemingly lacking a neck and rushed opposite to the way of the incoming club.


    He held his hand out and the after a few twinges, squirms the axe detached from the mushy flesh, from the wound a dim violet mist arose, leaked trimmed by the darkness of the night sky towards it headed while equally dark ichor flowed onto the ground, yet through all this the undead remained unfazed, swinging the club in a circle trying to land a hit on Azugh who drew him away from the others occupied by the seemingly endless number of undead.


    Baited by him, the rotting oghkin followed him into the narrow recesses, barely fitting as chunks of flesh scraped off his degrading body, his bones screamed like metal or nails drawn across polished boards. Whilst his eyes remained on the oghkin, he occasionally looked behind hearing the few approaching undead whom quickly met their second doom as his axe cleaved them either in two or even three when they continued crawling towards him.


    Then when he reached the end of the second recess, his back still turned to the mass of rotting flesh and sallow bone focusing on the ravenous, starving undead lunging at him, he suddenly became aware of the absence of tremors created by the forceful steps and turned around to see the oghkin stuck between, squirming which proved weakening as with each twinge, large lumps of blackened flesh fell off, and even the pallid bones showed cracks.


    Led by this, he tightened his grip and charged back, pouring more and more iuboron matter infused mana into his axe which shined as brightly as the Illius as he raised it almost overhead while leaping to strike into the large, gaunt and brutish head now exposing the pallid skull wreathed in shadows and dusky violet. With as much as force that was in his arm feeling a slight searing in it, he plunged the axe into the skull, shattering it in two and revealing the stained dark soul still encased in the collapsing body.


    As the spell overabundant of iuboron matter infused mana broke into the undead oghkin, the night shrouded world turned a white blur before Azugh as the blade¡¯s shimmering cumulatively risen to the heights of the Illius, almost. With a white blur remaining before him in that moment, still hanging onto the metallic hilt of the axe, he felt its release as the towering rotten form crumbled into stony firm ash, he felt the weightlessness of the short fall softened by the corpse of a vampyr custodian.


    The sounds of battle lessened as the dim world returned and Eadwald reached his arm out to help him onto his feet while complimenting him, then asked him of his well being while the first milder signs of the Rage reared their head. ¡°I¡¯ll sleep it off.¡± He said grimacing as he experienced for the first time the indescribable pain of the soul.

 Chapter 79: The Will of Dusk IV.

    The battle in the narrow segment of the district adjacent to the headquarters, palace district slowly came to an end as the number of the undead dwindled. Before the group would have continued onwards, following the trail of grizzly corpses, a small contingent of healers caught up to them on the orders of the Lady Regent of Vhoragos, ready to patch up the wounded, replenish and soothe those on the threshold of consuming by the Rage of Acheryoth.


    First to be rejuvenated were those far from the threshold, and they took of led by Saugh whilst Aelfsigior remained behind with the few legionaries and custodians incapable of continuing with them which included Azugh to the somewhat relief of Gna who marched behind Saugh with his battleaxe firmly held in both his hands no longer bleeding from the deep, blackened wounds left by a hawkish undead whose sharpened gloomy nails easily sliced through his thick, hardened muscles and thick layer of hide tunic¡¯s long fur cuffed sleeves.


    Along the way down the sloping street, they eliminated the small groups of undead still left behind whilst their accursed comrades seemed to flock towards the market square where the attack went down almost a week ago. ¡°I got a bad feeling about this.¡± Gna said to Saugh as he dislodged his battle axe from the split open head of a gobokh undead whose bony tail winded beside him, sunken into the mud.


    Saugh grunted in agreement as he lowered his heavy hammer¡¯s head into the mud and reclined onto the flat, pentagonal end of the grip as he stared into the distance of the winding street beginning a new ascent just a few dozen meters from them. ¡°Definitely a higher undead trying to lure us to itself.¡± For a moment, he turned back and looked if the others began to march after them, but when he saw nothing but the vacant street with a few terrified folk staring out their windows, a bit hopeful at seeing the band of legionaries and custodians, he sighed then gave the order in a manner of boosting the high morale of those surrounding troops including Gna who sniffed in a handful of the cold dusky air permeated by the rotten scent of the dead.


    The metallic thud into the snowy soiled mud echoed through the streets as they picked up on their pace, swinging their weapons half-blindly at the few undead shrouded by the dimness of recesses between the edifices whom waited for the group, in a twisted way hoping to surprise them and take down at least a few of the custodians in the least before they reached the market place a few blocks away from where they stopped. Though one almost clawed out Gna¡¯s left eye, but sensing the cold energies and his senses twinging he bent backward his whole upper body in a feat he was unsure if he was ever capable of, then pumping a combination muscle strengthening and bending spell, he swung his heavy axe through the waist of the undead barely recognizable at what was it was. The avian demikin tribune behind him with a long spear pierced through the gaunt head, ending the accursed existence still focused, crawling towards Gna following behind Saugh while ignoring the pain of his upper body bending backwards.


    At the last archway before the marketplace the little group faltered before the dozens of undead in a square formation, silently waiting before they circled around the group whose sole veneficiar remained in the center, conjuring a barrier of dawn shade of amber and crimson while the rest formed a half functional shield wall thanks to Gna and Saugh choosing two handed weapons, even though the latter held it in one hand. Unlike the almost mindless with rage revenants of the Woodland, the raised dead waited patiently as their yet to be seen commander formulated a plan.


    Although, in the end it chose a similar tactic, loading the weakest of the undead with nekrotic spells and commanding them to throw their decaying forms at the wall. Upon impact, a loud roar emanated through not just the block, but the whole city as their enervated forms erupted into black, dim violet and dusky crimson flames spreading onto the translucent wall of the barrier and upon the sixth or seventh suicidal undead, cracks began to appear on the glass smooth astral, domed barrier.


    And through those cracks, a wickedly chilling and acidic gale broke through, and Gna found himself staring down to the ground where shadows creeped closer and closer towards them whilst he struggled to keep his eyes open amidst the caustic pain and welling of tears flowing down his gaunt, brutish face. ¡°I did not miss all these.¡± He yelled with an awfully optimistic tone that made the others instinctively smile and even chuckle despite the situation they were in.


    ¡°Funny, I¡¯m on the opposite. I missed these situations, with the excitement of theirs that truly make you feel alive.¡± The avian demikin veneficiar said in his resonant, yet not too deep voice as he closed down his eyes with feather like brows above them, then slapped his palms together and conjured a shockwave of golden flames from the barrier, sending a few of the miserable dead charging and loaded with self-destructive inscriptions into their own, lessening their numbers.


    ¡°Nice.¡± The young haubrian merkin said as his bulging eyes were incapable of closing thanks to being devoid of lids and was already used to the constant moistening of them by his body. ¡°It may sound foolish, but can we actually strike through it?¡± Gna asked as he began to feel a bit bored, and the thought which lingered in his mind since his enlisting surfaced once more, this time choosing to voice it out.


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    ¡°You could, but they can pull you out so I wouldn¡¯t necessarily recommend it.¡± The avian demikin said as his face contorted in a mix of joy and pain as he slowly meandered towards the threshold of the Rage. ¡°What is life without a little excitement.¡± Saugh interjected before his fellow kin, Gna could utter the same orkish proverb. He boldly stepped forward, and swung his battle hammer with both hands this time, pouring inscriptions upon inscriptions into its head which upon impact sent an earthen wave towards the lines of undead waiting and charging towards them. When it reached them within the next five seconds, they all were thrown into the air like stringless puppets thrown from the crate, and landed just as Saugh altered the spell and conjured forth a dozen spikes onto which many of the undead ended up impaled or shattered into large pieces.


    ¡°That works too.¡± The avian whispered as his momentary terror of the barrier breaking upon letting a second spell phase through it changed to astonishment. Gna similarly stared while he furrowed his brows, trying to decipher the inscriptions to repeat the spell, but gave up and simply swung his axe out, severing the head of two conjoined undead rushing awkwardly thanks to their state.


    When the last of the sacrificial undead numbers reached null, the air grew heavier and colder, an aethereal frost appearing on the barrier¡¯s dented form and uncertainty which shall bloom into fear seeded their hearts. ¡°I guess it finally decided to show itself.¡± The avian murmured furrowing his brows of ivory  slender feathers with the tips hanging down as he looked up to the sky and saw on the top of the wall a decaying colossus emanating deepest darkness of the dusk from its three conjoined heads, one once a proud niuvhen warrior famed for the felling of numerous beasts terrorizing the northern settlements now rid of its dashing appearance, in its place a ghastly one staring at them in utter horror; the one in the middle a lupine head of wolven demikin half fully rotted down to the bone; and the one on the left staring at the city stretching towards the frozen precipice slithering around the threshold of the city, a once foolhardy barbarian of the northern human tribe who set off to solve the problem of vagrants like himself, yet now in the place of his eyes a vicious darkness lingered with a dim violet flicker in both its centers.


    Below their gnarled, thick neck a body at least four to five meters tall of welted together bone, flesh and grim plates held the triumvirate of severed, tortured heads with minds fully wiped of their previous personality, now melded together into a singular one with a singular aim to carry out the will of Dusk and the one who bellowed the first hours of darkness onto all planes of mortal existence.


    ¡°Prepare yourselves. This will be a long night.¡± Saugh said as he stared daggers with the middle head of Bredhuogr, an undead abomination welted by the hands of practiced nekromancers, crafted for war.


    **


    ¡°Hasten your steps!¡± At Aelfsigior¡¯s command everyone pumped lightening inscriptions into their ankles and thighs, combined with muscles strengthening as they all increased their pace of rushing through the seemingly empty streets. At first, they walked with a slow, careful pace upon witnessing the hundreds of corpses littering the streets, but as they reached nearer to Saugh¡¯s group, Aelfsigior felt a chill akin but lesser to the self-proclaimed queen of the Woodland hitting against his face, his soul gnarling his nerves.


    When they reached the block where Saugh, Gna and the six other legionaries and custodians were halted by the disciplined dead, Eadwald and Azugh trembled mildly as the draught of otherworldly chill breezed through them. The two still inexperienced and lacking the protections carved into the souls of legionaries and custodians, had a harder time facing the Decaying Colossus who wrought itself upon the group whose few members laid motionless in the mud and snow with their chest caved in by the hit of its bizarre mace made out from what looked like a transfusion of bones and stone with the luster of polished glass, shimmering with a sinister shade of violet and black.


    Before they could catch up and join in to aid Saugh and Gna dueling the Decaying Colossus, several dozen undead clad in silvery and black plates burst forth the arch leading into the market square and impeded into their way. The tip of his spear altered its shape as he swung it diagonally, mowing down, cleaving through at least four of the undead, while the fifth¡¯s thick round trimmed armor stopped the elongated blade of the spear. It grabbed onto the shaft and pulled Aelfsigior towards it rotten form. He curled his free hand into a fist and stroke towards its emaciated face missing its lower jaw. Amplified by magic, Aelfsigior¡¯s fist easily passed through bone, metal and dried rotten flesh and as the head seemingly exploded into chunks, the dark mist emanating within the distorted form dissipated into the night as it collapsed before his feet.


    Whilst he reached for the handle of his short blade while poking through two more undead, he took a quick glance at Eadwald cleaving undead after undead with his blade stemming with a thick and radiant haze that latched onto their bodies and soul cleansing the latter. Azugh on the other hand plunged his axe into the neck opening of another armor clad undead, then pulled it closer while crushed its head with his own before moving onto the next one.


    They slowly mowed through the columns of dead, losing a few of their own whose vacant eyes seemed to stare at his back as he continued to momentarily check on the well-being of the others to ease the slight worry in his heart.


    Then a scream reached his ears and as he looked over the rows, noticed Saugh lifted into the air, the massive arm of the Colossus forced through it with gut and blood dripping from the bony hand with sharp fingers. Parts of his ivory breastplate glinting in the mud and snow, then a crash followed as the accursed creature threw his cadaver across the undead and living, through the thick walls of an edifice where it landed amongst the lifeless forms of its residents who met their grizzly fate earlier in the night.


    His anger filled roar echoed through the streets as he gripped his spear and short sword and charged at the Colossus, all its six eyes meeting his tired old blue gaze of centuries, poisoned once more by the hatred of loss.

 Chapter 80: The Will of Dusk V

    Whilst he was seared by the flames of hatred, Aelfsigior also felt alive, youthful as if he was back to being in his first hundreds after he propelled himself into the air, leaping over the clashing living and dead beneath his flailing feet, his eyes forced onto the Decaying Colossus whose six piercing eyes glared right back into his, creating the chill soothing his hatred oddly.


    He surged with the refreshing energies of his youth, his mind virtually empty except for the singular desire to take down the Decaying Colossus, like how he was three hundred years ago ¨C give or take a few decades ¨C when he was brazen aevhen lad led by nothing but his feelings, which cost him, sculpted him into the aevhe he was on that fateful night in the great and gloomy capital of the north.


    His left arm holding the sword pointed forwards and rose quickly preparing to strike down at the long and bulky arm, the right wrapped onto the shaft of the spear, his forearms pressed against it as he moved it backwards while readying his muscles for the thrust, then when he landed the blade became pointy once more, brimming with an almost blinding radiant light as struck mud and snow instead of the armored chest or the outer ribs of the decaying colossus. And his blade cut no age old rotten flesh but instead cut the putrid cold air.


    Its mace with an angular head attached to a long chain rose from the ground and flew towards Aelfsigior¡¯s head, aiming to smash it to smithereens with one swoop. Rejuvenated by the conjured terror and his hanger combining, Aelfsigior instead of ducking down, used the flat end of his spear, creating a small ward before it as it smashed against the hard and dim surface of the mace¡¯s head using its own force to propel it into the direction it came from, smashing into another undead charging from the market into the fray.


    His lips curved into a faint smile, and he readied his blades while leaning forward as the mace came for his head once more, then leapt left and right sporadically when dark beams swirled from the two eyes of the middle head blurred by the great velocity. Two reaching their target dissipated with a loud chilling chiming upon impacting the hastily created ward. When he reached closer, two more landed on his breastplate after shattering the haphazard wards, and ricocheted off just as Aelfsigior raised his left hand into the air, swiping before the middle head, cutting off the oblong maw half decayed down to the bone.


    The distorted and rage filled cacophony of the Decaying Colossus dinned all their heads, giving a chance to lessen the number of legionaries and custodians, whilst it decided in that moment to retreat further in, blocking Aelfsigior from following it were a dozen undead with sightless helmets welted onto their ghastly heads. His blade tainted by the gloomy ichor of the undead swung towards the first lunging at him with a slender, long battle axe aimed at the left joint of his neck.


    He parried the attack with the short blade, then struck the spear into the chest, pumping iuboron infused small spells rapidly into the undead. Stretched sphered flew out from the tip of his spear as he turned at the remaining obstacles whose malformed bodies fell like stringless puppets consumed by radiant flames, then the one rotten meat shield fell with a quarter of its upper body sliced open after Aelfsigior forcefully pulled out his spear towards the seemingly endless, starless night sky.


    Calmed a little, though still his whole being twinging from the sensation of three different primordial matters brushing his soul with serrated soft feathers, Aelfsigior slowly walked in, cutting the few lesser undead impeding his way upon the commands of their superior. Though he found it strange that the rage filled undead escaped instead of intensifying its attacks, and when he reached a proper state as he often called it, he realized that he may walk towards a trap as he found himself amongst the deserted kiosks and tents they visited six days ago.


    ¡°Need help?¡± Then as he stared daggers into the two middle eyes, an astral spear shimmering with the soothing, warm colors of the dawn poked through the chest and a long bellow akin to one blowing into a trumpet emanated from all three welted heads which Priernuss stepped onto as he appeared periodically in the air while leaping through short distance portals and stopped on his right with a forced smile and tired eyes.


    ¡°Could use some. But more importantly, do you need aid? The healers should caught up by now.¡± Priernuss waved then reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial filled with a translucent, glowing concoction with a faintly iridescent and effervescent liquid which prompted a relief filled sigh out from him. As he stared down, Aelfsigior noticed the bloodied long blade in his hand hanging loosely towards the frozen slush. ¡°Came in handy twice. It¡¯s a long story but we run into a group of unlucky ruffians.¡±


    As he said those words with a somewhat somber expression, Aelfsigior took notice of the missing Hevaeck. Priernuss shook his head while staring back at their wounded opponent seething silently as the fully penetrated chest slowly healed, rotten flesh regrowing, the broken outer ribcages rejoining into their slanted curvature. ¡°We managed to held out for a long while, but a group of ghouls burst forth the sewage and took him down with them.¡±


    ¡°Then there is hope.¡± Aelfsigior said as the two sprung into action, cutting down for more undead charging at them silently, only to be mowed down in four slices.


    For a moment Aelfsigior felt a disquieting upon the sounds of battle dampening towards silence behind them and he took a short glance, noticing Eadwald, Azugh and Gna amongst the few remaining legionaries stomping towards victory as the almost hundred undead lessened in their numbers to two dozen.


    ¡°Let¡¯s finish this quickly.¡± Priernuss nodded as astral veins popped in his striking eyes and lifted his blade while gripping it with both his hands. The two charged at the still healing Decaying Colossus who effortlessly lifted the chained mace and hurled its angular head sweeping before him thoughtlessly, faltering the two who quickly regained their hastening pace.


    The two separated, running east and west while raising their palms from which a blinding radiant white glow blinded all six misty eyes of the undead. Its skeletal grip on the chain released and the weapon flew into the wall, creating a small crater in it while from its sides slits appeared emanating a vicious dimness forming into long and slender appendages with small childlike hands gripping onto the incoming blades, pulling it out of their hands with the force of a dozen bulls.


    Their faces contorted in slight, momentary frustration then Aelfsigior leapt away from the incoming bony fist which caved in the ground, creating a dim aperture in the ground. Priernuss leapt onto the spiky back and pierced the eyes of the left aevhen head, pumping iuboron matter infused mana into it until it overcame the nekrotic matter and exploded sending him crashing into a kiosk.


    Aelfsigior who hardened his leg to be as sturdy as marble polished by the crafty hands of dwarves, and swept it across the rotten muscled calves with a yell as he was assaulted by both mental and physical pain. His shriek mingled with the collapsing Colossus¡¯s whose middle head he crushed with the sole of his right feet sending it down into the aperture where it fell into the cleansed water still overflowing with motes of dawn energies.


    Its dampened shriek echoed through the square then silence followed as Aelfsigior laid in the mud and blood staring at the vacuous dark sky before Priernuss entered his vision with left hand held out he grabbed firmly whilst the metallic thuds of the others approaching followed. ¡°It is not over yet.¡± He said looking at Eadwald whose eyes looked for Hevaeck knowing what the youth will want to do, no matter what.


    **


    Uchitemar slowly raised his withered, dried arms which lost their vivid color decades ago and slowly wrapped his bony fingers onto the ladder whilst the undead under their control crawled like spiders on the dim marble walls of the sewer. He slowly followed after them, less sure of their plan when he felt the weight on his soul lessen as the blessed existences of their minions extinguished one by one.


    ¡°Bring one of his companions, and he most assuredly will follow.¡± Da Yun¡¯s words echoed in his mind forced into the dried husk of a fellow kindred as he peered out from the small grated aperture. Merchants and the few folk still awake in the hours of the night rushed in panic as they watched a few of their own mauled by their minions and the decaying colossus he built a few years ago when they received the sign of Dusk.


    As he saw Hevaeck and Priernuss fighting alongside the ruffians who moments ago picked them out as potential targets, he ordered the colossus to stay back and threw the lesser undead at the group whose numbers began to dwindle as most of the ruffians proved quite not so erudite in the martial arts alongside equipped poorly wearing haphazardly crafted hide armor and their only weapons being thick wooden shaft and daggers.


    What made him hold back the colossus was the two companions who were the only reason the ruffians haven¡¯t yet hit the ground with vacant stares, with both proving themselves experts at the maghia of Dawn, the greatest weakness of the undead, the last children of the Dusk. Though as the lesser ones proved to be inadequate at taking either of the two, Uchitemar pondered whether to order the colossus to move to their aid.


    In the end, his patience and overprotectiveness of his creation paid off as one of the undead achieved landing a hit on the dwarf draped in shapeless gray robes and swiftly dragged him out whilst Priernuss was occupied keeping the ruffians alive to not get overwhelmed by the numbers. Though he did notice Hevaeck dragged down into the sewers and his face reflected the conflict within of whether to follow or wait for the others.


    Uchitemar himself climbed back down and let the three undead carry the priest unceremoniously, but still carefully to not fall into the folk-made river of cleansed waste water. With them he returned to their hideout in one of the nearby cisterns with an escape route out of the city in case their plan failed. ¡°Just one?¡± Da Yun asked, his voice muffled, echoing through the draconic mask whilst he was draped in his dark eastern robes and a long pallid white cloak over it.


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    ¡°One should be enough if we go by the record of the previous chosens.¡± Uchitemar said with his slender arms with the bones poking through the pallid, colorless skin hidden beneath the soft fabric of his black robes¡¯ sleeves. His voice calm and raspy as it came out from the expressionless mouth as he noticed his comrades, old friends¡¯ son tapping his feet anxiously.


    ¡°For now, let¡¯s proceed.¡± He reached into his robe and pulled out a dagger with a blade sculpted after shape of a dragon¡¯s frontal fangs. With a swift strike, he struck it into the chest of Hevaeck and poured nekrotic and psioron matter infused mana into his body and soul, and formed it into a nekromantic spell which chained the will of Hevaeck beneath his. Uchitemar grunted as he arrived to blockage of runes implanted into the old dwarves¡¯ minds and looked at Da Yun, seeking his aid. At once the xirong nekromancer moved and placed his palm, pouring inscriptions of his own into Hevaeck and the two slowly watched as the nekrotic matter hastened the decaying of the corpse beneath them while the protections were slowly sliced off.


    Uchitemar tilted his head as he began to apply aevoron to halt the hastening decay leaving the reanimated corpse in a state where his blemished, creased skin gained a pallid earthen shade, his eyes liquified and in their place soothing, cold darkness lingered with a spark of mesmerizing violet as the parched lids rolled up never to be closed again. He rose back onto his feet and relinquished control over Hevaeck to Da Yun as he turned back to the dim passageway as he felt the weights of the dead drop from his soul.


    Then when he felt the heaviest belonging to the Decaying Colossus vanish into the aether, he turned to Da Yun. ¡°Seems the battle may have came to an end.¡± Da Yun nodded silently, still focusing on the undead dwarf before him as the memories of the dead flowed into his mind. ¡°I see.¡± After he walked over to Uchitemar and placed his index and middle finger onto his narrow, gaunt forehead, he witnessed the memories and felt ever more uncertain at the things he saw.


    ¡°Seems the Night has smiled on us.¡± Da Yun said as the two stood in silence, pondering whether to alter their plans or not. ¡°What should we do?¡± Uchitemar voiced the question. ¡°For now, grab a few more and impede their way.¡± Da Yun said as he closed down his eyes and watched through a conjured astral eye as Eadwald leapt into the aperture created by decaying colossus thrown against the ground.


    Uchitemar took off without a word, reaching out to the dead through the nekrotic link and called a few dozen near the cistern. With them he marched through the winding labyrinth of the sewer¡¯s second level though before he came face to face with the small group, he halted in his tracks. His mind twinged from a pain of thoughts being forced into his head. ¡°The Will of Dusk.¡± After the pain ceased, he murmured in his raspy voice as the revelation blossomed in his mind.


    He stared at the corner inhibited by thick darkness and hovered above the shallows crevice where the billowing water flowed out from the city. The dead who marched with him continued on without him and whilst he felt regret at sacrificing his old friends¡¯ child, the Will of Dusk came before such sentiments. From there, in the cold embrace of the darkness he watched as Eadwald and his companions charged, their weapons and armor drenched in the black ichor of the undead and after their steps grew distant, he stepped out and waited for a few moments before following slowly.


    Distinct sounds of metal clashing against crackling spell, the shrieks of tortured dead grew denser and louder in the narrow passage where danger lied at the threshold, yet Uchitemar stepped firmly and assuredly as he believed in the Will of Dusk, as the Nightscale soared the planes and between long before the deossos awakened into existence.


    Though he was not foolish enough to stand straight whilst watching the battle unfold in the lunius lit cistern where he watched the group struggle only for a moment, outnumbered by the undead whose numerical advantage counted nothing compared to the experience of the elders and the blessing of the Almodo and his children evident from the almost amber glow of Eadwald¡¯s blade effortlessly relieving Hevaeck from his short, blessed state of undeath.


    Even from the corner, from the far distance he saw the clear signs of hatred leading Eadwald¡¯s blade aiming for Da Yun¡¯s throat who blocked it with a quickly erected ward, then conjured forth translucent violet bony hands, grappled onto the youth¡¯s ankles whilst in his left palm held forward a deadly spell formed to aim of ending the chosen¡¯s existence once and for all.


    Those nekrotic bindings proved little as a strange blur framed the boy¡¯s radiant silhouette and lunged at the short nekromancer. Yet his life did not came to an end as Eadwald hesitated recalling the trance Azugh was in just a few days prior. Fate and Da Yun acting together forced his hand when the latter continued reforming the same deadly spell, leading to his lengthened death when the blade at the right of his neck entered through layers of fabric, flesh and bone not enough to kill in a moment¡¯s notice. Uchitemar listened only to the throttled shrieks of Da Yun slowly collapsing on to the cold floor, clutching his bleeding neck and throat after freeing them from the cleaving grasp of the blade. Seconds, minutes passed before they came to an end and when he peeked over, he noticed the others surrounding the petrified and quivering Eadwald.


    And without saying a word he took off not in Uchitemars¡¯ distance whence they came down, but the opposite where the exit to the frozen tundra of the north laid around the city. Aelfsigior and Ashnan tried to reason, to hold back the Eadwald with little to no success as he still the Seed reacted, bloomed to the cavalcade of feelings raging within his heart and soul. He evaded their calming grasps with the eloquence of the primordial Fae, when they achieved to grapple on to hold him back, he broke free sending them tumbling down to the floor littered by the vacant forms with the strength of the Elder Dragons, and when they tried to restrain him with spells, they bounced, dispersed against the durability, resistance of the Titans inhibiting the hostile, chaotic realm between planes.


    With each step Eadwald made towards the passage leading outside, the Uchitemar felt the trembling of the welted together marble all around him, he felt the city quiver before the manifested might of the Almodo and the withered vessel and his soul trembled in tandem as he experienced the awe and fear he felt centuries ago when he was allowed to stand in the shadow of the Nightscale.


    He silently thanked the Dusk for saving his life once more, and after their steps once more grew distant went to the cistern. Before he followed after them, he kneeled down at the corpse of Da Yun and touched his chest pouring nekrotic mana into it and watched as it slowly decomposed until it looked barely recognizable. ¡°May you find solace in His shadow brother!¡±


    Outside at the exit, he stared forward at the hoary bridge erected by the cruel nature of the northern elementals and after waiting a while followed the footsteps in the snow shrouding the pristine ice revealing the depthless chasm below.


    **


    As soon as his sole stepped into the snow blanketing the earth around the gnarled, hollow tree Orhadin felt the primordial nekrotic matter swirling thickly in the air. A feeling of cold refreshment made him groan in his gravelly, sibilant voice as a weight he was unconscious of dropped from his soul whilst the freshly looking, reanimated adventurers and the revenants sworn in silence to the Queen of the Damned flocked around him, their vacant eyes occupied by a vicious darkness focused on the visitor.


    As he glided across the snow covered road, one by one they stepped back in a motion reminiscent of waves parting by the potency of a great spell. Though as he walked amongst them, he felt and heard their thoughts leaking as they pondered whether he was enemy or ally to their gravely queen who inherited the place from the Fae of Death whom blossomed from the first corpse, given existence by the otherwise depriving breath of the Nightscale himself.


    Before Orhadin entered, or could have entered his silent steps came to end before the gate hewn from rotting flesh and tarnished bones, ornated with the brutishly torn of torso of a boar like demikin still wearing her hide armor with the high, rectangular collar pressing into her corpulent, almost non-existent neck as her faded eyes stared into Orhadin¡¯s slit pupils gleaming with a poisonous shade. ¡°What business have you in the Court of the Damned?¡±


    ¡°I came carrying the Night¡¯s Blessing! It is time for the Queen of this land to honor the pledge she vowed centuries before to Monarch of the Dead and Dusk!¡± He stated coldly and calmly and for a while the to torso stretching ever closer, her empty gaze digging deeper into his elevated soul, slid back and hung limply before it trembled along the lumps of rotten flesh.


    Within the confines of the hollow tree, the soft ringing of his staff¡¯s tip beating gently against the stone translucent as ice echoed through the oval space bereft of lofty furniture befitting of rulers, except for the throne at the end of the ascending steps. On it he glanced the hauntingly enticing pallid form draped in regal yet tattered robes and a crown of bones made from broken and welted ribcages of man, aevhei and dwarves.


    Bottom of the stairs, at the sides two figures stood in their ivory plates crafted by the expert hands of the Empire¡¯s smiths and tattered tunics and breeches protecting once from the cold adorned their withered, blessed forms adorned with blisters, dried blood and scars which would still bleed if blood would still flow in their forms. The right one, once a proud draevhe whose crimson scales faded to pink, the other a northerner whose striking, dashing face grizzled by her claws still recognizable to Orhadin who raked his brain where he may have known the man.


    ¡°Oh Blessed Queen of this Woodland! I came here by the Grace and Will of Dusk asking for you to honor your Pledge to his cause as time nears into the new age!¡± Though in the end he decided it was of no importance and focused back on the Queen of the Damned, a peculiar wraith he thought to himself, one who elevated herself to position of power when the Deossos still could exert their fading power in the world of mortals.


    ¡°Oh Child of the Night, of the Great Serpent of Worlds¡¯ Ends I shall vow once more to carry out His will as I have always done so. Though all I ask for is to give me His blessing so that I can enact my vengeance on my betrayers or at least their descendants.¡± Her sepulchral voice, resonant as the chilling winter wind rang through the hollowed space and his mind as she rose from her throne of ice and stone, and as he met her cold gaze devoid of anger even as she spoke with a tone poisoned by it, he felt no cold presence leaking from her contrary to what his friends, what his master Grimslaukh told him off about what it felt like standing in her presence. The cold which was gifted to her by the Nightscale himself.


    When she stopped before him, Orhadin nodded his head then lowered his staff until the peculiarly colorful trapezohedron on top of it reached a point where she could touch it with her hands adorned by bony, opaque fingers. ¡°I shall vow no Dawn shall soothe my soul until the Dusk governs its rightfully owned lands occupied by the deceivers hiding in the scorching embrace of light!¡± Wind chilling their soul swept through the walls, the shadows of the space lengthened and creeped on the gnarled walls adorned by dangling severed heads singing primordial rhymes, whilst the reanimated dead within shivered in awe and terror as the presence of the Night reached once more into the forest when the last word poured forth the phantasmal dark lips of the Queen.


    The trapezohedron lit up with the dim, soothing shades of dusk that slithered like serpents onto her long arm and into her heart as her head perched towards the blackened skies. Her lips stretched, her nekrotic epidermis cracked without bleeding as her form altered while staring into the cyclopean slit eyes of the Night peering into her.

 Chapter 81: Scion of Lunarius I.

    Waters of the great lake of Tiaali shimmered in the tender, soothing shades of dawn as the Illius high up in the infinite blue sky sprinkled with billowing clouds shone onto its azure pristine surface. Gleaming fish of great sizes disturbed solely the peace of the waters as they danced above before merged into the refreshingly cold depths with the bottom occupied by an unsettling darkness bereft of dangers besides a few ravenous leeches occasionally hunting to drain mana out from their victims, though these slimy beasts dwarfed to the sizes of not just the great worms of the far-south but to the other tenants of the lake.


    Surrounding the lake itself, a vast acreage of woodland spiraled across its sandy shores, consisting of multifarious trees like the exotic eucalyptus native to the warm climate of the worlds¡¯ middle lands; the dracaenor trees which gnarled barks resemble the scaled, majestic epidermis of the great dragons who are their namesakes as they were sowed across the planes Shepherd of Elements, the great elder dragon who was the chief architect of the planes. Then there were the solemn willows planted by the local settlers seven or eight centuries ago embellishing the sandy shores besides the more common oaks and birches planted by an ancient order of druids long since gone who aided in the spread of green and yellow ¨C almost golden ¨C grass to spread in the shadows of the trees own ruby, emerald, cobalt and amethyst painted foliage.


    Like the vast forest surrounding it, Tiaali itself birthed with the intermingling of nature and mortal hands. Thousands of years ago, during the final stages of the War of Twilight fought on the untainted lands of Elhyrissian, the crater that became the lake born from the clash of Tiaali, a chosen Iaunorh the Amber Lord and Mineirvia The Sagacious Challenger and one of the Thirteen Abominations, the so called generals of the Grim Sovereigns Undying Legions.


    For months the two¡¯s armies fought relentlessly, tainting the area with the rot of finality, the blazes and thunder of war aching the land beneath which retaliated to both sides leading Tiaali to send her army away and in a brazen, foolish act taunted the Abomination to a duel between themselves, beckoning him with the locks on her soul dissolved. For weeks the two fought without stop, though this time the elements waited patiently seeing through the veil of Tiaali and noticing her final resolution as she called upon the primordial essences of her benefactors culminating in spells beyond her reach, beyond her mortal limits which resulted in an arkhaine burst of unfettered matter wiping out the horde of dead waiting for the triumph of their master.


    A crater remained as the last mark of the long battle which through the centuries got filled naturally by the winding rivers slithering towards it, while the forest followed first naturally, then by the hands of the druids and settlers who slowly built their town of Malacirul on both banks of the Flaurdrenn River supplying the lake with the filtered water of the Haubrian Ocean¡¯s western waters.


    Though besides the settlers, the lake of Tiaali is quite popular with many a folk with multifarious intents. Folk who simply wish to ease the weights of cities by escaping their suffocating embraces and finding calm and beauty saundering the hidden, leaf and flora blanketed routes of the forest; those who went beyond and fully escaped the city to live in the forests to live by its grace and amongst its wild folk even on the isles; those who seek glory within the hidden secrets of the woodland, delving into its deep caverns or ruins left behind by ancient orders of magusos both benevolent and wicked or to hunt down threats lingering in the menacing shadows. And lastly but not least, the First Legion who each year send their promising auxiliaries here to prove themselves in the Trials of Elevations.


    The Trials of Elevations served as a way for the pure legions to elevate the best within each rank with numerous challenges each harder and more dangerous as the number of contestants dwindled with the last challenge taking place at Tiaali for the auxiliaries whom wished to reach the rank of Hastariar, the main line of infantry tasked not just with the protection of the Empire¡¯s settlements, but the very peace of it and serve to expand its territories when it¡¯s time nears.


    Tiaali and the forest surrounding it is the perfect for these auxiliariir to prove their mettle as for the most part, the forest¡¯s inhabitants consists mostly of goblinoids like the caublorumus native to the isles; minotaurs and ogres from the taller side; then there are the satyrs the crude cousins of faun demikin; the Fothin Spriggans maintaining the order of the forests¡¯ least threatening beasts and slowly spread its reach outwards with their soothing lullabies. Then there are the more dangerous but still in the range expected of hastariir, the wild gryphon who regard the woodland as one of their hunting grounds and lastly the undead in the dim, ghastly recesses of the south-eastern parcel wandering aimlessly, growing their numbers.


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    A sigh filled with relief beget of his muscles tensed by the three day march loosening, the wild storm raging within the anima veins left Isocrates¡¯ lips as his eyes basked in the beauty of the lake stretching beyond the limits of his vision on the 34<sup>th</sup> day of spring month of Seintrua, the spring season of nature, healing and the Wilds themselves in the 1264<sup>th</sup> Year of the First Age.


    ¡°Beautiful, isn¡¯t it?¡± The resonant, yet not so deep voice of his tribuniar whom he served under since his elevation into the rank of auxiliar after the battle against the cult reached his ears whilst the aevhe a meter or so taller than him cast his shadow over him on the right, while on the left he stood in the protective shade of a slanted willow with verdant emerald leaves hung above the water and sand. ¡°It is.¡± Isocrates concurred as his gaze returned to the idyllic watery vista before his eyes. His voice was low from both exhaustion, the warmth of the season as the rays scorched through his golden armor and crimson tunic whilst his mind was occupied by conflicting thoughts of regret and relief.


    The latter born from the past few years spent feeding information to the New Dawn where his true loyalties lied while pretending to be a stalwart auxiliariar of the legion carrying out the will of the Elhyrissiar. A duty which barraged him with both thrill and clammy horror as the cult¡¯s attempts at sowing discord, chaos and terror just intensified the past years as they sought revenge for the loss of one of their own.


    A retribution which reached beyond the citizens, the patrolling legionariir or custodiir. Even the Draennith Praetoriir was far from the reach of the cult after Augermil took off to the north, with at least half a dozen members from every Wing found dead either in their homes, in some dark, deserted alley where only the downtrodden scurry into when they notice the approaching custodiir tread, or more disconcertingly in their very own stronghold atop the mountains¡¯ ridge.


    Whilst the Order of Maghia¡¯s Truth remained free from the retribution of the enemy, their approval, status fell in the eyes after Isocrates shared the news with Naghig not long after the battle with Hunra. So much so in fact that during this year¡¯s celebration, only a handful of the echelons below the patricii showed up at the renovated cathedral ¨C though some also attribute it to Terrianis remaining in the Radiant Keep since the attack.


    All in all he felt a bit of relief as he now spent patrolling the cities, which then led to him facing off against the Radiant Circle ¨C as he learned their names after capturing one of their members not yet fully part of the strange flock. And whilst he raked up small triumphs, proving his worth to the legion, to the Empire, he also witnessed the horrors of war in the heart of the Empire in the form of the innocent lives lost, their vacant eyes seemingly staring right into his soul, asking him repeatedly why he could not act, why they could not vanquish this evil lingering in the shadow of peace and prosperity.


    And the former beget from his small desire finally blooming into form. One night two years after his elevation. as he was on dusk duty making rounds in the streets lit by warm hues of the dawn alone, he stumbled into Luelia running an errand for Mirayroth whom she now directly worked under. Since that fateful night, the two went on a few assignments hunting down the cells of the cult hidden across the city and even faced a faun magus with a Taerebussian pact.


    Knowing perfectly well that his elevation would bring him further into the belly of the Dragon, still he could not soothe the aching of his heart as her glimmering eyes, her soft face and wide and cushioned lips appear in a phantasmal image reflected in the clean waters of intermingling warm and cold shades.


    ¡°So what shall this challenge entail?¡± In the end he did what always helped him calm down after facing terror, closed his eyes for a moment as he inhaled the fresh, warm air caressing his lungs and throat before he voiced his question to Tribuniar Hektrahd whose long ears poked through the dark waterfall of silken locks.


    ¡°That shall be revealed tomorrow. For now just help your brothers and sisters setting up tents then rest as a long week shall be ahead all of us, trust me.¡± He said, firmly gripping his shoulder as the two turned towards the busy camp where at least twenty or so auxiliariir scurried hoarding supplies, raising the crimson walled tents whilst Albron a few of his dark armored praetoriir watched over them with austere expressions.

 Chapter 82: Scion of Lunarius II.

    ¡°Will you aid me out with these my Sparkling brother?¡±  Themmtryd asked when she noticed Isocrates nearing her. Without uttering a word, Isocrates nodded then leaned down to the height of the stout dwarf with a peculiar epidermis, a fusion of flesh, skin and the very soft and dark earth beneath their soles whilst her vivacious reddish hair flowed in curling waves even as most were bound into a high tail. His palm touched the metallic surface of the crate housing the necessary part of a tent in a space expanded beyond the natural breadth of the cubicle pushing onto the shoulders and head of the hogstol dwarf of near pure blood.


    ¡°Thanks, but I meant bringing those two or at least one.¡± She said while turning out and pointing at the stack that minutes before reached the textile ceiling of the tent erected by their superiors including the Draennith Praetoriir. ¡°Sure thing.¡± Isocrates turned, then focused his mind onto the top two as he forced them into the air and ordered them to follow him as they headed for the shimmering aperture branching open, though before the two could have exited the place, a tall figure darkened by the soft, internal shadows creeping outwards the two faltered.


    ¡°Told you to save your strength Aeson.¡± The familiar resonant, high voice of Ephaias came and Isocrates felt a bit awkward as the aevhe reminded him that this challenge shall not just entail combat which they were experienced in, but in reality, entails how they can manage their supplies like mana and healing elixirs, their food rations. ¡°It¡¯s not that demanding of a spell you know that?¡± In the end he chose to retort. ¡°And his other option is to exhaust his thin muscles.¡± Themmtryd leapt in with half a cheeky smile.


    ¡°I know, but at least two could have waited for us?¡± Ephaias said whilst he stroked his narrow temple above his prominent, slim eyebrows. ¡°I mean I was planning, but then this one got sentimental missing his lady and went sightseeing.¡± At Themmtryd words his cheeks reddened as he felt awkward, though before he could retort Ephaias gestured him to stop before he the same event unfolded when their little group making rounds on the streets ran into Luelia. An event of Themmryd proving that her fist was as sturdy as the earth beneath them when it shattered the ward erected by Isocrates in the heat of the moment as he noticed its approaching in the left corner of his vision. He still felt the aching whenever the memory floated into his mind, even though it went down years ago.


    And even now he recoiled a bit when he glanced down at the dwarf staring with a cheeky gloat at him. ¡°Hover that one to me. Let¡¯s go Skopas is waiting for the ingredients.¡± Isocrates turned away from the dwarf and commanded the hovering crate, relinquishing the inscriptions keeping it in the air to Ephaias¡¯s will before the left the soothing temperate confines of the large tent guarded by two hastariir who smiled under their helmet as they listened to the three.


    ¡°The joys of youth.¡± Said the aurhe whose gilded breastplate followed the curvature of her shapely bosom. The other, a truscian man sympathizing with Isocrates nodded silently as his he rooted internally for the young man to bolster his strength and speak out his feelings to the one, he held dear ¨C something he himself was incapable of even as the one dearest to his heart stood beside him guarding the same tent whilst he stared at the back of the three auxiliariir turning towards their yet to be raised tent.


    **


    ¡°There is nothing more refreshing than frosted aurinthian wine and this!¡± Albron gestured towards the calm waters, his massive back bereft of his dark plated armor pushed against the robust trunk of the willow with golden foliage shimmering in the multifarious light of the Illius while sipping the sweetened wine from the continent¡¯s heart.


    ¡°Personally, I much prefer the mead and beer of the Hogstol clan. The foam is so silky it practically strokes your throat flowing down.¡± Hektrahd said as he took the uncorked bottle crafted with a deep jade, dimly glassy hull of metal laced with chilling inscriptions keeping it refreshing in the warm season. Though his face still contorted as the saccharine beverage enveloped his tongue; braced against his tasting buds then flowed down in the steep precipice down his throat. He still preferred the bitterness of the hogstol¡¯s beverages whilst his gaze swept across the picturesque vista of dawn warm shaded water and forest in the far distance, not growing stale even after five hundred years ¨C give or take a few decades.


    The two old friends remained in silence, listening to the soothing lullaby of distant birds soaring in the thickness of foliage or above in the skies, the moaning of the gentle wind breezing through their dark manes, disturbing the peace of trees and the water in tandem with the occasionally leaping fish and the few fisherman heaving their webs to catch the unsuspecting denizens while standing, balancing on their long and slenderly oval vessels of sturdy wood.


    Albron turned his head slightly, staring into the scorching sphere far above and in the center of the world, integrating the many shades of red and green, even some rosy into its amber and golden yellows and strained his eyes, pouring mana into them as aethereal veins popped into the whites surrounding the dark slits resting in the center. He watched and waited as the shades grew dimmer, trying to not focus on the words of Mirayroth telling about their agent within the Legion. The one proving himself worthy of elevation, the one whose true name he almost uttered out one night of long and heavy drinking where he vented out his overt issues and the one who was clearly infatuated with his little sister which awakened within him an anger, he knew not a thing about before.


    ¡°I believe it is time to check on them.¡± Hektrahd¡¯s resonant voice faltered his mind from reaching the same darkness that propelled him to twist the young man¡¯s neck three or maybe four years ago when Mirayroth explained the history of the two to which he was oblivious to for a decade the least. ¡°Aye.¡± Still his gaze remained on the soothing vista whilst his ears twinged from the sounds of the patrolling praetoriir of his. And the auxiliariir walking, talking as they reached the finish line of the first minor task of raising their own tents.


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    Walking in the wide space of greenery covered road brushing against the shins of their plated greaves, Albron¡¯s eyes raced over the short tents of thick textile walls of crimson with trims embroidered in golden patterns mimicking the finely contoured scales of the Heavenly Host. On the steep roofs frills flailed in the wind, while the entrances clung onto each other before they were disturbed by the auxiliariir and hastatiir stepping forth halting in a straightened posture with their fists beaten against their chest upon noticing the two superior officers.


    Their small number were made up of men and women of the proud central tribes of truscianii and grecianii, the overly proud aevhei and aurhei populating the heart and far-south of Elhyrissian and the stout and diligent dwarves of the Hogstol and Phaegoorn clan respectively from the mountains of the same areas on the pan-continent. A congregation of the proud, triumphant races who birthed the Empire before Albron¡¯s time, but way into his adored uncle¡¯s.


    All draped in crimson of a refined velvet textile. A velvet which glistened in the Illius¡¯s glow with the sheen of coagulated molten glass and knitted with the perfected symmetrical angularity of aevhen style including the collar spiraling around their neck, bifurcating at its center. The trims themselves ornated with golden seam of the same textile, resulting in an almost regal, disciplined look.


    ¡°Not again.¡± Hektrahd sigh brought his attention to the tent at the far corner close in the shadow of the forest where Isocrates, source of some of his personal woes laid on the ground stroking his chin while Themmtryd stood over him with her fist possessing a firmer earthen texture. ¡°Told you to hold your words.¡± Skopas said with a wide smirk. A dashing truscian well into his thirties, only a few years the elder of Isocrates with a matching dark hair brushing against his nape and shoulders and proper thick beard adorned with brass beads engraved with arkhaine runes.


    Noticing the two approaching superiors though, he assumed a more affable attitude towards his comrade beneath in standing, reaching his arm whilst Ephaias calmed temperamental Themmryd who like many of her kin are prone to using their fists even for the smallest of things. ¡°What happened here?¡± Though this fiery attitude of her quickly vanished when Hektrahd firm voice echoed through the camp and the two suspects assumed a meeker stance.


    ¡°Just the usual teasing getting out of hand!¡± Ephaias answered before the two and whilst Hekthrahd stroked his forehead as he felt the approaching of headache, Albron tensed his facial muscles from springing his lips into a wide smile and assume the same stern expression on his friends¡¯ face.


    The usual which entailed Themmryd teasing Isocrates until he could no longer hold the dam from breaking. A weakness of his own incapability of self appraisal from the own appraisal of Albron which includes not just his inability to harden his resolve in the face of a little ball breaking, but his recognition of love bordering on obsession which when he is faced with by others, he responds with foolishness to.


    ¡°I¡¯d like if the two of you could refrain from doing so, especially as both of you know of each other¡¯s limits by now surely.¡± He stopped for a moment, calming his scorching senses. Then turned at Ephaias and Skopas, who went back preparing the meal. ¡°And you two from now on I expect you to keep the discipline of the team, and stop the kettle from boiling over from now on. Though at least the tent is in proper shape.¡± The two sprung into a saluting stance as they answered and apologized for their shortcomings firmly. At least one of them for the latter.


    ¡°Well a little bit of pain never hurts. Especially for those vying to be a veneficiar.¡± Albron stepped in when he sensed Hektrahd said what he wanted to say. The two before him seemed to forgot their mild griefs as his shadow enveloped them. Themmryd simply because her dream was to join the Draennith Praetoriir, Isocrates because he felt the same respect for Albron after witnessing him arrive with Augermil during the battle, and witnessing how easily he mowed down cultists in the intervening years since his benefactor left to retrieve the Chosen of the Almodo ¨C he heard from Naghig after much nagging as he grew worried at his first elevation.


    ¡°I¡¯d agree if it would not resolve in the loss of cohesion.¡± Hektrahd retorted as he longed for the headache soothing ¨C illusory ¨C effect of more alcohol. ¡°True cohesion¡­ no unity births itself in the face of dire adversity. Which I¡¯m sure they shall experience in the coming days ahead.¡±


    Isocrates raised his brow and while he wanted to hold back the words, he could not stifle the way he was, is and shall be. ¡°If that is true, wouldn¡¯t we be more¡­ less prone to this?¡±


    Albron chuckled a little as he stroked his beard. ¡°It is true the capital is dangerous these days. But only for the common folk, for us including all of you it is a playground where you can experience what it feels like extinguishing the life of another. But here, in the Wilds there are things more dangerous than most of the cultists whose knowledge, proficiency in maghia never passed beyond simple spells like conjuring water lacking the properties to even smother you to death. And their martial proficiency¡­ well you all stand here triumphing over at least a hundred of them.¡± Though seeing their confused expression, Albron stopped then pondered his next words.


    ¡°What he means is that all you experienced so far, what you believe is the fear of death, of the end was all deceptive. But here, you shall face threats born into a world ruled by the law of Wilds, the law of be killed or kill from the very first moment since the light of the Illius or Lunarius shone on them.¡± Hektrahd came to his aid with firm words and at that the four seemed to understand, or at least Isocrates faked after facing off against Hunra and later against the warlock.


    Though these words still proved enough for him and Themmryd to apologize before the two. Which blossomed a mild regret in Albron as they walked away to continue their investigation.  As the day went on, and dusk approached Albron¡¯s mind still laced with anger, disgust wandered to places, formed thoughts and he came to the conclusion of sharing the information with the group, even if it shall result in their demises¡­

 Chapter 83: Scion of Lunarius III.

    Isocrates and the others rose in the earliest hours of the dawn, wreathed in layers of thick woolen sheets whilst the cold of the early day still dimmed by the will of dusk swept into their tent which lacked in enchantments halting the march of chill. Like his fellows, he slipped into his issued garments, fitted the light gilded plates upon his slender, well-honed form and at the clasp of metal welting itself together, he fully stirred.


    As he stepped out, his attention focused onto the forest stretching seemingly endless wreathed still in shadows and the early dim light of day. Though as he strained his eyes led by a chilling belief twinging his whole being, he noticed a tall, pallid figure of strange proportions for a short moment, enough for him to chalk it up to his still awakening mind.


    After the warm breakfast created by the patricios Skopas, they all headed to the center square of the camp surrounded by the tents of Albron and Hektrahd whom finally laid out what the coming days, week challenge shall entail. A task which seemed simple upon receiving the words, yet the anxiety of contest bore its fruits in their hearts. Each monster, each inhabitant of the Wilds varied in marks they earned upon bringing back and presenting a distinguishable part of their cadaver ¨C or if possible, the whole.


    Though what bore the anxiety at least within Isocrates¡¯s heart was the fact that the number of marks varied by monster or by their quantity. For goblins, one mark was earned for at least five of their crudely sharp ears or five of their severed heads. For the satyrs, one mark was earned for pairs as they were higher in the hierarchy of the Wilds, often employing the latter as sacrificial shields against greater beasts. And one gryphon¡¯s or one bear¡¯s or one spriggan¡¯s part earned one mark.


    ¡°What about the Sphinx?¡± One of his fellows, a tall draevhe and distant sibling of Albron brought up the question that lingered even in his mind. ¡°A feather from its wing shall earn two marks.¡± Albron answered firmly, his arms folded. ¡°Though I wouldn¡¯t recommend it as his riddles will probably be beyond all yours faculties.¡± He added jokingly at which they all laughed in hope it brings them some favor.


    ¡°One more thing before you all disperse.¡± Then Hektrahd spoke up once more. ¡°Though we mostly mentioned the living, the undead earn marks in the same quantities as the spriggans and greater beasts. But be aware, reaching that segment may take more than hunting the others.¡± A cacophony of ringing thuds echoed through the camp, seeping into the forest as the auxiliariir dispersed and headed towards Malacirul.


    **


    Malacirul a small, quaint fishing town situated on both banks of the Flaurdrenn river flowing into the lake of Tiaali, a long curvy bridge connecting the two sides. Geometrically molded structures on both sides; rectangular households with two floors and steep angular roofs emanating a hoary blur as the peculiar arcane stones generate a chilling climate within their recesses; pentagonal marble headquarters for the adventurers seeking glory and fame or magnanimous for culling the dangers lurking at the foliage infested threshold.


    Isocrates and his group entered from the road rounding the lake on the sandy shores, filled with gravel crackling in their earthen laughter as their bodies weighted onto them in their walking before the village guard draped in matching golden plates halted them per the procedure ¨C to the annoyance of Skopas who was brimming with the spirit of contest.


    Entering through the arched gate with wooden, hexagonal trunks ending in sharp tips pointed at the sky, the Isocrates and Themmtryd looked with mild wonder at the busy winding street framed by the kiosks of the fisherman leaden with dead, tantalizingly glistening fish. ¡°Come on, we can buy reserves later.¡± Skopas said as he noticed fellow contestants already carrying sacks blackened by blood whilst the two instinctively meandered towards the kiosks, leashed by the scent of roasted and frugally spiced salmon, minnow and carp.


    ¡°Well, shouldn¡¯t we at least taste them and see if they are supplementing enough for the journey ahead?¡± Isocrates asked as he faltered with the dwarf. Whilst Ephaias smiled faintly, Skopas heaved a sigh. ¡°We can still check that after we decided on the destination.¡±


    ¡°Fine, but then we buy extra.¡± Isocrates murmured to himself as he followed after the two who already began heading towards the pentagonal structure which shadow stretched far beyond the small square. High above the ornated entrance, the symbol of Mineirvia hung, welted to the alabaster marble and sculpted, molded from processed Hogstol metal fashioned into the avian companion of the Deos of Challenges ¨C a fusion of an owl and an eagle.  As Isocrates met his gaze, for a moment he sensed the carven eyes following onto him, knitted the aquatic threads of fate into his soul which both bewildered and broached an unanswerable question into him ¨C at least not yet.


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    Inside the loftily furnished entrance chamber, Isocrates surged with a bit of excitement at the hurried steps echoing in the wide space of marble walls, floor and ceiling, polished to the point he could see their own reflection standing beneath them in an inverted dimension. Whilst he was a bit occupied by witnessing such lavishness, Skopas scowled under his breath noticing more of their comrades standing in line at the counters or lifting the bloodied sacks to the clerks who gave them small claw marks carved from a stone of either limestone or marble.


    Though his confrontational attitude shifted upon witnessing the mighty. gloomy stalwart form of Albron standing in contrast to the alabaster board hovering in the air, multiple slabs inscribed with runic letters glowing with an aethereal light seemingly pondering. Noticing his excitement and anxiety, and feeling bitter from yesterday he moved confidently towards Albron and before Skopas could utter any word to halt him in his firm tracks, Isocrates draw the elderly draevhe¡¯s attention onto himself with a light cough. ¡°My lord, could we be of some guidance?¡±


    Albron turned at him, enveloping Isocrates in more of his shadow, holding his disgust perfectly as he pretended to ponder his next words, his eyes falsely surveying the youth. The others followed up to him, well aware of his intentions with Skopas and Ephaias both formulating ways to apologize for the insolence of their comrade. ¡°Possibly.¡± He uttered with care as he stroked his silken, dark beard curving sharply above his sturdy bosom hidden behind the dark plate with a dragon carved masterfully onto its smooth, gleaming surface.


    ¡°Though I am aware of young Aeson¡¯s proficiency in maghia, the three of you are still an enigma to me Could you vouch as firmly as my uncle for their greatness?¡± Regret surfaced within Isocrates as he fully expected the draevhe to turn them away with some bit of advice, so it took him a bit of force to nod to the question as he felt their inquisitive gazes upon himself.


    Though as he tried to enforce his anxious nodding with words, Skopas pressed forward and opened his mouth once more with a smug expression. ¡°Excuse my bluntness my lord, but isn¡¯t our presence here in the last trial proof enough in itself that we may prove worthy for your aid?¡± The corners¡¯ of his lips curled softly as he tensed his muscles as his draconic eyes narrowed at the unctuous patricios.


    ¡°Well that is true.¡± Albron muttered as he looked down once more pondering. ¡°And the task that bothers me do involve a threat the four of you may face in the near future.¡± He added as he once more stroked his dark beard with his clawed fingers covered in glinting gloomy scales. ¡°All the better I say. While it may speak out against us, as most of us faced reckless cultists as expert in the arts of killing as the citizens, the whole point of this trial to have us face true challenges.¡± Themmtryd said in one breath, and as lowly as possible as she noticed the eyes of their fellows heading out to the forest sweeping through the peculiar group reflected by the floor. ¡°So what I want to say, there is no better time to prove our worth to the Empire then now.¡±


    This time, Albron could not hold back his smile, filled with respect towards the dwarven maiden ¨C masking his darker joy ¨C who reminisced him of Moirstyria who set out into the wider world with a similar conviction at the tender age of a hundred and twenty-five. Or at least that was what she used to convince Terrianis to let her go before attending the academy.


    Noticing this smile, each of them felt different upon witnessing this widened smile that complimented his overall respectful, threatening appearance. Themmtryd was reciprocating with her own haughty smile cracking her earthen face; Skopas too felt thrilled at possibly not just elevating to be a hastariar but also possibly entering the wide view of Albron; Ephaias himself felt wholly indifferent as he was assured that even if this proves beyond their limits, he can aid the group enough for all of them to escape the grasp of death. And lastly Isocrates whose regret turned to relief in the prospect of getting back to the capital sooner, possibly.


    Now Albron felt a tingent of regret, uncertainty born out of nowhere as he felt a cold touch on his back, though he remained stoically still. For the short interim, he intended to go back on his plan, but upon witnessing three of their resolves, he reached into his pocket. ¡°Just in case take this and pour your mana into this if it proves beyond limits?¡±


    Skopas took it, which led to the cold needles pushing deeper, though he smothered the cry born from the mild pain while in his thoughts he assured Him it shall work out in their favor. ¡°Is it about the undead?¡± Skopas asked with his voice tensed as his resolve shook a bit. Albron simply nodded his head as the pain lessened, then when it finally vanished, he said. ¡°Specifically, a nekros that settled in the old druidic ruins.¡±

 Chapter 84: Scion of Lunarius IV.

    Shades of emerald, crimson and rosy grew dimmer as they slowly reached the threshold of the eastern parcel, where even the foliage lost color, the trees appeared ghastlier with their gaunt hands reaching to warn the passersby. Dead twigs rested in the blanketing, withered leaves whilst the wind beckoned the indomitably marching group in the opposing direction they came from.


    Upon stepping through the threshold, Isocrates was assaulted by a cold sensation, he felt completely wary and thought back onto the figure he saw the day before in the early hours of the morning. Now he believed the opposite, that it was not the fabrication of his waking mind, but the nekros Albron talked about, one Augermil himself faced on the ancient battlefields of now long dead worlds, one of the eldest nekros.


    Hearing those words, their resolve faltered a little, though Albron assured them that the Nekros they shall face is shadow of itself thank to partially Augermil¡¯s strike upon its accursed form, curses placed upon him by Terrianis and the Amber Lord, and even the primordial beings of dusk and finality whom he rebelled against not long after the defeat of the Grim Sovereign.


    Sparks of lightning surrounded his arms as he treaded with Themmryd behind him, Ephaias before, the foliage of the high rising bushes scraping their armor. A heavy, cold air lingered, chilled his nostrils and throat while his body sweated from the small noises of the forest settled by the denizens of twilight. In the corners of his eyes, Isocrates noticed the small insects hanging on the edges of the branches, emanating a sinister dim mist of black and purple.


    The further they treaded into the forest, heading straight towards the ruins home to the ancient nekros, the undead insects stirred and moved from branch, always just a little away from them. ¡°What is it?¡± Noticing the faint sparks, his inquisitive, unnerved gaze Themmtryd asked. ¡°I think it is aware of our presence.¡± He said in a low voice facing at the back of Ephaias towering over with only a head¡¯s length.


    ¡°And how would you know that?¡± Skopas inquired with an inauspicious manner whilst his hand curled over the think hilt of his blade passed down to him from his father. ¡°Don¡¯t you all feel it in the air?¡± Ignoring his manner, Isocrates stated taking deep breaths to calm his alarmed senses as his eyes focused now on the rustling, withered foliage, his muscles prepared to direct the way of spells at the threshold of manifestation.


    ¡°Well the air is definitely unpleasant. But that could be just the taint of the night.¡± Themmtryd spoke up as she occasionally stared into the distance, hoping for an undead to charge at them out of nowhere. Yet each time she dejected at seeing nothing more than the somber branches and dying leaves shrouding the bones of the unfortunate wolves who walked into their certain doom out of hunger.


    ¡°Aeson is right. Undead insects fly and settle on these branches, following us since we stepped into.¡± Ephaias came to his aid feeling the cold gaze stretching across space. A sensation that sent the slithering grasp of chill across his spine and put him on alarm as the mana occupying his soul and body flowed effervescently like water in a rivulet. Waiting for the hand, for the basket to hoist it out from its natural place and spray it out from the confines.


    ¡°Those are just insects waiting for their meal to stop and be vulnerable.¡± Skopas retorted calmly as they reached a crossing, a small clearing in the pathless road of the parcel. ¡°They are leaking with nekrotic matter.¡± Isocrates added as the motion of his feet came to a halt and Themmtryd focused on her surrounding bumped into him.


    ¡°It definitely waits though for us to be vulnerable. A good sign I believe.¡± Ephaias said with a confident look as he surveyed the area, then pulled back his cloak and let the cold wind breeze through his completely sheared down head. His head twitched then turned towards the south east and as he turned back facing Skopas, the group renewed their marching like the undead insects who hopped from one branch to another.


    Halfway through, they faltered suddenly when Skopas raised his fist. Leaves cracked impetuously in a pernicious manner; the trees moaned in agony as the malodorous wind blew past them and the rotting inhabitants of the parcel marching towards the group. The sparks around his arm grew sporadic as he watched trembling from fear the disturbed adventurers and fellow legionariir moving with awkward steps.


    All their eyes carved out from the holes, in their place a wicked, vicious darkness lingered with a dim violet light lit in their center. With their loss, their expressionless gaze met the groups whose form shimmered in a dawn amber and golden glow as Ephaias struck his palms together. Their arms revealed and hidden by torn vambraces, tunic¡¯s sleeves reached for their rusty weapons and their strange pace quickened as they neared. Distorted cries and shrieks followed as the animalistic dead charged at them, and Themmtryd finally felt satisfied, though still a bit dejected as in her molten eyes, the three undead seemed no more a challenge than the cultists themselves.


    ¡°This should be quick. Take the furthers rough hand.¡± Skopas rushed after Themmtryd with his long, gilded blade unsheathed, shield held before him as it broke through one tree, sending a forcing a few of the undead insects into a panicked fly. Frowning, Isocrates complied and focused on the tall and gaunt orkh adventurer. Above the forest, where Albron flew on his mighty and graceful dragon, clouds flocked over the parcel and the menacing cold wind grew intense.


    Sparks hopped their ceremonial dance around his arms, his veins glowed through the layers of arkhaine velvet and living armor bending like tender sinew before stretching before him as he pointed his palms at the undead orkh adventurer. At once, lightning slithered down from the sky, traversing quick as focused serpent at its prey, and stroke right through the dented head where skin decayed away revealing the thick cracked skull. Though in the short span before the thunder¡¯s blue and violet tip broke through a third crimson shade of the awakening Illius appeared in the mingling colors as he woven the primordial matter of Dawn, Iuboron into the spell.


    The charred remains hit the floor in tandem with the other two sliced by sword, shattered by a large, ornated hammer swung with dwarven inelegance. ¡°Ough, that smell.¡± Its large angular head fell onto the ground, shattering the cadaver further as Themmtryd reached to pinch her nose as the odor of death quickly spread and strengthened from both theirs and the charred remains a few steps away.


    ¡°At least they went down quick. I wonder why attack us now?¡± Ephaias murmured under his breath as he focused his mind away from the awful stench. ¡°I believe it was more a chance than intent.¡± Isocrates theorized although was no expert on nekromancy and the risen or raised dead. ¡°I believe so too. We were just unfortunate enough to head into them making their rounds.¡± Skopas added as they began their march anew instead of collecting pieces from the undead.


    Their steps quickened, their presence faded as Ephaias wreathed them in spells dampening the scent of soul, stiffened the steps on the fallen foliage, bargained with the wind to not carry the echoes of their voice, of their whispers as they marched in the shadows of the parcel ruled by Dusk. Yet even feeling all these fading into oblivion as they made their way towards the ruins, slowly appearing over the decaying trees Isocrates¡¯s heart beat with an increased pace, his body in a clammy shivering from the cold sweat of his unexplainable fear towards the undead, the unnaturalistic disposition of them as their hollow gazes still locked onto their marching forms erased by complex spells.


    Deep down he felt another¡¯s gaze within theirs, one not fooled by the spells, aware and wishing for their unimpeded way by its enslaved servants whose minds screamed for freedom, for the soothing embrace of death and the lands that awaited beyond, where they minded not whether their eternal dream was blissful or nightmares. Isocrates feared that they too shall be forced into this state, taken from the cycle metered onto them by powers predating the Queen and King of those exhausted by life. And the prospect of never seeing her terrified him the most, to not hear her soft, melodious voice calling his true name, the flowery and fruity scent that ever followed the Luelia even after an arduous day where her fair, delicate form was draped in the saccharine sweat he oh so wanted to taste.


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    An eternal existence bereft of these would be a sentence most outlandish, most distressing to Isocrates whose fear born of bereft his obsession slowly shifted into a conviction to reach beyond his best, and slay the ancient beast stalking these lands, amassing dead for reasons unknown but decipherable as Albron told little, yet somewhat enough of the history of the beast, sculpted by the gaunt, divine hands of the Grim Sovereign to be a beast of war, a war that would bring an end to all existence. A war that never ended for this scion of the lost sovereign, punished with banishment into the realms unknown from what little Isocrates knew of these legends since his enlistment into the legion.


    ¡°Finally!¡± Themmtryd¡¯s exclamation brought him out from these thoughts and at once, he found himself facing the decrepit obelisks reaching upwards matching in size and curvature of the great Charybdises sleeping in the darkest depths of the Ocean, waiting for their prey to approach, to swallow them into their maws hungering for armadas. Darkened stones stacked and welted by maghia rose slanted with a sharpened tip of a scorpion, roots and branches twisted themselves onto the cold silhouette while between the seven, hewn steps led to a circle fashioned in the disk-like appearance of the distant Illius, Lunarius.


    Stone seating rose around, each at lower elevation as it went further and further towards the disk center. Fading nature slithered onto it, skulls of decapitated heads sang ancient melodies glorifying the first silver light of the Lunarius showering a now nameless world. As Isocrates focused his ears onto the strange, warped lyrics he noticed a breakage at the end of each verse, a breakage not of sudden silence but as if the word or name they wished to utter existed no more.


    Their dim violet, pointed eyes followed the Isocrates, and the others slowly moving down the stretched, flattened stairs with cracks and stone humming with their steps, yet whilst he took his gaze from the center, the others focused on the tall figure with his back turned on them. A back cloaked by regal attire darker than the night with trims brimming ethereally like the lunarius.


    At its center, the strange, otherworldly textile torn by an ancient blade wreathed in the flames of the first life revealing a corpse like flesh frozen in the middle of rotting, yet it still possessed a regal air, a divine texture amidst the long wound which broke the curvature of the thick, bony halo. As they reached within a few steps, Skopas prepared his blade and lifted it into a striking position, in his mind aimed deepen the wound left way before their time by the hands of Augermil.


    His blade stroke true, yet could not reach its intended destination as the figure grew in size, hulking over the young patricios with his pallid, bulky hand clutching the blade, his divinely decayed epidermis halting the sharp edges in their ravenous dig.  The softly triangular face as horrid as the back, sculpted with sunken eyes of the final stage of wasting away, empty holes in the center of the dark craters lacking in the same light as the undead¡¯s. A face devoid of nose except for three branching slits, a wide mouth beset with gray fangs and fetid muscles dripping with a black acidic ichor marring the stone beneath their feet as the creature smiled wickedly at the now terrified Skopas.


    ¡°New, volunteering children for your flock my Father!¡± Came the deep, sepulchral voice carrying the malodorous breath of death, seeping into the bones and hastening the beating heart towards its end as it lifted Skopas high up in the air, preparing its other hand wreathed in cold energies hungering for life. ¡°Or they are lost, idiotic blind to their fate You metered out for your new design?¡± It said calmly upon receiving the thunder of Isocrates, evaded the hammer of Themmtryd with the elegance of graves as it form turned translucent, glided like specters and wraits bound to their resting places.


    Then its long fingers ending in claws of obsidian curled onto his softly chiseled chin as if pondering, the two pointed and flattened horns of crescent engraved with runes oozing with ancient, cold energies of dusk, carving by the fangs of the First Night himself as Ephaias and Isocrates noted astral veins of myriad shades grew in the whites of their eyes. ¡°It matters not. They shall serve in your reborn legions once more when the Hour of Night hangs above the world once more.¡±


    ¡°Seems this one¡¯s pretty crazy.¡± Themmtryd said as she lurched her head back besides the collapsed, tremulous Skopas whose blades¡¯ clattering echoed through the ancient area. ¡°Calm.¡± Ephaias whispered as he placed his palm onto his head and sapped the motes of terror out from his mind, reforming them into flames he splattered before them as the nekros slowly approached them with its long ethereal, braided beard dangled before its chest of protruding ribcages.


    As he froze behind them, Isocrates suddenly turned back upon hearing the soft crackling of vines and roots slithering surreptitiously, barely audible thanks to the endless singing of the skulls. ¡°Watch your feet.¡± He yelled at them as streaks of lightning danced around his arms before rushing towards the vines, forcing them back into their natural, motionless state smoldering and blackened.


    When he turned back, he watched as the flames separating them from it vanquished, blackened and purple for a moment as it walked straight through with a listless expression. ¡°Do not be afraid my children. The lies of the usurpers shall no longer taint your minds. Your true elevation to eternity is at hand.¡± With a sweep of his arms, a wave of unease propelled Isocrates to force a barrier around themselves, as the trees rustles then shrieked with the deathly wind chugging life out from them as it swept through. Even the whitened skulls halted in their singings as their reduced forms crumbled into dust, carried away towards the skies as the wind began to circle into a whirlpool.


    Without the need for words, all four knew they had a singular chance for victory, a single strike to take down the shackled, wounded nekros carved by true evil. Even Skopas looked obligingly at Isocrates as he got back onto his feet calmed and clear of fear. ¡°Themmtryd strike either at its feet or head, if possible, Ephaias endow me with the protections of dawn, Isocrates I beseech you for the blessed swiftness of thunder and lightning.¡± Even his deep voice once full of conviction felt meek like a child¡¯s seeking for their parent¡¯s aid.


    Though he held no love for the man, Isocrates nodded and cleared his mind from his own fears that ailed him in this accursed place. His astral hand reached and welted onto Skopas¡¯s firm back, pouring mana twisted, molded into inscriptions lacking in the desire, will of wounding, marring and maiming, brimmed with the velocity of nature¡¯s wrath.


    Similarly he reached out to Themmtryd gifting her the same qualities of thunder and lightning whilst also layering inscriptions of lessening her weight. Slowly the barrier eroded around them as the two brimmed with the gifts of the two magusos, and stepped out without fear, their shouts laced with thrill as their weapons rose towards the creation of Dusk and Finality, devoid of fear, brimming with its own maddened conviction of triumph as it held out its long, hulking yet slender arms welcoming the two as one stroke its head, the other thrusted its glinting blade towards the swirling blackness at the center of its hollow abdomen.


    Whilst the two charged at their target, Isocrates and Ephaias slowly tumbled, fell onto their knees focusing their will onto the creation of small wards halting the rotting of their own flesh, the decay of their armor and garments losing their luster with each passing moment. Their hope faded for a moment as Themmtryd¡¯s hammer simply passed through the head turned translucent, though it resurfaced soon as she forced it back with the near the same strength forced into it and the creature recoiled devoid of shrieks as tumbled back.


    Skopas¡¯s blade moved inwards the darkness, halting as if it stuck in stone, then he yelled as he felt the scorching pain of dawn as iuboron matter revealed itself spiraling around the wide, angular blade clashing with the blackness. Though to their dismay, roots rose from the cracked stone and lunged towards Skopas. Isocrates noticing them first, forced the same spell upon himself, and appeared besides him as he shielded his comrade from the lash laced with death.


    In that moment, he smothered his cry as his arm blackened in the seconds of a moment and fell in tandem with the bones, they all embraced in the assembling cradle of the womb. A choice which brought enough time for Themmtryd to notice the wounded beasts hands moving, her hammer parrying them whilst Skopas pushed through the sturdy darkness until it penetrated the core of Scion of Lunarias whose howl towards the dim skies echoed as its tainted life slipped from its accursed form.


    Isocrates fell, bleeding, sweating as nausea took him suddenly, and he starred into the vacant eyes occupied by emptiness, for a moment he witnessed a glint of azure in them, before blackness swallowed his world.

 Chapter 85: New Dawn I.

    The early light of dawn entered first between the imposing gray and white twin peaks of Draemons, a sign of the Amber Lord¡¯s kindness as He smiled first upon the capital of the great empire of Elhyrissian. A gift as the overzealous, the ones brimming to start a days¡¯ work as early as possible liked to believe. While others simply believed it was just the nature of the Caesselis Isles after the Amber Lord bled first and last in his long existence after the trident of Dusk struck into his cyclopean form leading to nature altering, gaining shades of an eternal golden spring unabated by the changing of seasons.


    Bar the light of the Illius and Lunarius itself, a creation of all the eldest of Deossos who woven parts of themselves to share their own gifts with the world and its myriad denizens, wild and cultured alike. And in this season of Selvinia ¨C precisely on its closing week starting with the 31<sup>st</sup> ¨C the corresponding spring shades danced around the amber and golden of the day. Lights and colors which were swallowed and digested into an ethereal, faint glow upon reaching the polished surfaces of the edifices risen and molded in the rigid style of perfectly symmetrical angularity of aevhen geometry. A sight which was both mesmerizing while also carrying menacing traits; stirring feelings of unease and wonder within visitors of these sovereign lands or those of distant colonies of the greater continent.


    Amidst one of the recesses, an alley still occupied by the soothing shadows, the air grew heavier, the fabric of reality torn itself as motes of strange colored matter floated before dispersing back into the void they born from. And at once where there was nothing but the polished pavement and marble walls dimmed by the shadows, slowly lit by the little light entering the narrow space between the two establishments where the good folk flocked after a hard day, Aurelithae manifested out from the nothingness. Or precisely from her room.


    Wreathed by the same arts that brought her across space without the cruel dilation of time she herself was subjected too to an extent, her tall slender form was altered. Her silken, lustrous long hair knotted into a bun hanging over her fair peach colored nape in a rich oaken shade, her chromatic slit eyes lost their sharpness, angularity and lost all most of their bright shades except for the azure. Her clothes fitted more an elegant vagrant set out from the confines of a vast mansion, still not conspicuous enough to raise eyes as the light brownish tunic with a angularly round collar reached her tapering, faultless jawline with a chiseled, yet soft chin scraping against the tips of the fastened tunic.


    As she headed out to meet up with Naghig and Mirayroth, she tucked the few loose locks back in place, smoothening them to the rest with a faint mist of processed mana leaking from her softly padded tips. ¡°Morning Miss Luelia.¡± At the door, the hired guard, a tall demikin with striking ursine and human like features greeted her in his deep, gravelly voice that felt like a whisper even when he spoke in a normal tone.


    ¡°Morning! Are they inside?¡± The demikin nodded his large, oval head with the outer rims possessing a darker shade than the area occupied by his muzzle leaning a bit outwards, covered in the same needle sharp fur with the durability of medium grade metals. Whilst they were now on good terms, Brutius still bore the scar inflicted upon him when Aurelithae first returned from her self-imposed exile where she immediately headed for the Sleeping Nereid to meet with Naghig and Mirayroth to explain herself as she felt strangely guilty for the death of Ivor ¨C her rational side knowing well he was beyond saving, probably.


    With the cult¡¯s continuous attacks¡¯ which grew in density since the death of Hunra, many of the merchants owning these businesses began to hire muscles across the capital, across the isles and even the continent. Although the demikin himself was a member of the New Dawn, from a cell working across on the continent, he was naturally oblivious to the existence of Luelia which led to their short but devastating brawl in the streets upon manifesting in the same valley. A brawl which the two got scolded heavily by Naghig for drawing the attention of the custodiir making their rounds only a few turns away in the lower district.


    Naghig still broke their balls over the incident, of course occasionally which helped mending the two¡¯s trifling relation as the orkh often said to Aurelithae sulking about her return resulting in a fight with a member of the movement. ¡°Brother Naghig already on his fourth drinks.¡±


    ¡°Just like he prefers.¡± The two joked before she bid her farewell upon entering. It was quite well-known the elderly orkh began his day with four different meads served in the Sleeping Nereid only thanks to the patronage of the Middias Family. Each more bitter than the other as he prefers to liken them to the segments of day itself.


    And like as always, the pallid white orkh adorned with even more scars sat upon a tall chair, elbows on the polished oaken counter with a lesser dwarven behind the counter, levitating to reach the high top he complained many times before about. The only solution he received from the family were the two enchanted ankle bracelets fitted around his bulky legs creating a childish illusion of small gryphon wings while the actual spell simply lifted him up in the air, a motion which first propelled him into the ceiling of the cellar where they first tested it, a tale which made Aurelithae lightly chuckle each time she envisioned the scenery of balding dwarf¡¯s head breaking through marble and wood.


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    ¡°Still ever the punctual are you girl.¡± Naghig said as he heard the soft chuckle of Aurelithae traversing the short distance between them. Though in the first few years he was always grumpy, this time around she began to notice the faint curving of his lips on the gaunt visage which filled her with fear in those days. Now it was oddly soothing, welcoming. ¡°The result of years.¡± She said vaguely her eyes faintly pointing at the dwarf busy washing dishes.


    Naghig nodded faintly, then gulped down the mead and made a bitter expression paired with a relieved sigh as the cold beverage brushed against his insides on its journey to his stomach. ¡°Come, the sooner we begin, the sooner this day nears its end.¡±


    **


    Terrianis¡¯s soft steps echoed past the vast corridors of the Radiant Keep. His gaze focused on the wall carved by careful hands of the greatest masters at bending all aspects of earth. Masters¡¯ who beyond their call of shaping stone, dirt, wood and roots also possessed a peculiar mind, a peculiar imagination where they could easily recreate scenes from the memories passed through word not spell.


    At each fresco he halted in his steps alone in the lone hallway per his will forced upon the attendants, his myriad children, his praetoriir guarding the peace and quiet of the Keep. His chromatic eyes glistened with envy and excitement as he stared at the figure of his eldest brother still walking the mortal realm in a tainted vessel. On each piece of brilliant artwork his dashing, stalwart shadow spread on the marble canvas of a unification of colors, gloomy, dull and vibrant all mingling in perfect harmony.


    Even though the piece he stopped before was of a memory painful, the Battle of Astaril, the former capital of aevhei, humans and dwarves who first banded together under the guidance of the Iuanorh shimmering over the horizon, blinding the horrors of the Grim Sovereign forming a wide river of rancorous darkness, Maerhia their Magnificent Mother weeping at the heavens at the toiling, suffering of the people who awoke in the middle of twilight to the malodorous scent of risen and raised doom of theirs, Septurrion whose threaded hands soothed her grieving heart whilst the others guided the blade and heart of Augermil, Mineirvia whom fought beside him against the nightmares, manifestations of the Almodo¡¯s own fears, Selvinia who patiently waited for the pyrrhic victory and to seed the remains of the once capital, and let its rotting carcass be taken by her Nature.


    A victory and loss that came before his time, before the birth of Elhyrissiar, before his mother was chosen to be carrier of the Empire¡¯s future. ¡°Was I truly intended to be the Elhyrissiar?¡± He murmured out the question ailing his mind since the departure of Augermil whose form he stared, whose form evoked the image of his father, his grandfather whose marbly form burnt into his mind when he was first informed of his destiny.


    ¡°I am. We were!¡± He said firmly as his gloomy mood swung out from the encroaching darkness. Then he moved whilst his eyes remained on the long fresco shifting from the battle into the grim state of the capital, with Augermil and his grandfather tired, on their knees surrounded by the first deossos and the corpses of their comrades, the citizens and the horrors. A most grim vista, depicting not just the persistence of the Empire even in its earliest days, but even a perfect illustration of the Will of Dusk.


    As he continued onwards, the polished, smooth marble turned sore and bristly, wet from the river of blood washing over the once brilliant Astaril¡¯s streets filled with life, yet as it stood before him it was bereft of any except the Nature of Selvinia growing, spreading as it voraciously reclaimed what once was hers, gifted for the first anthropoid races of humans, dwarves and aevhei elevated to their perfected forms by the Deossos before the madness of their eldest.


    ¡°Magnificent trick.¡± He said as his eyes surveyed the ruined edifices on the slanting street, hewn and carved in perfect symmetry, both in allocation and contours just like in the new and present capital. ¡°A trick that may work on any other than us.¡± His voice echoed, carried by the air that even to him felt more real than any illusion he was thrown in before. It was cold, carried a wicked stench of dusk, the open graves of the dead left to be devoured by the elements and nature¡¯s inhabitants.


    Yet he felt not annoyed at the trick of the enemy out from nowhere, but simply felt grateful and eager at seeing what has been taken from him. The opportunity to experience the city in which many of his siblings claimed by time and definiteness in the long centuries since the conclusion of the great war which ravaged the dream of the Almodo.


    Terrianis even found himself bereft of the weights of everyday; the news on the cult unabated by the First Legion, the best amongst the twenty-five, and the Draennith Praetoriir whose members began to show up dead in their homes, in their offices, on the streets deceived by the very cult; the silence in the north either from Augermil or from his foolish son who left the Vhoragos for some foolish errand which mattered nothing in the grand scheme of things. And the movement beyond the jagged, gloomy ridges.


    Problems he could just snap away at a moments¡¯ notice. Yet if he done so, it would turn him into the figure he hated most, the one who took this beautiful city from him. None of these mattered to him at that moment, as he found himself sauntering and whistling beneath the clear blue skies where clouds danced and a sun spread a warm, soothing light. Whilst in reality a mongrel of a rotting small dragon tiptoed, staying to the shadows as its sunken empty eyes followed the Elhyrissiar in the ever expanding network of corridors.

 Chapter 86: New Dawn II.

    The naked footsteps of Rhenathorhia echoed through the near empty corridor as he made turn after turn, step after step climbing the steep stairs of the cathedral housing the Order of Maghia¡¯s Truth and its pious branch. The angular, pointy ended dome ornated in chromatic marble spreading the glow, mixing it with the shadows on the surrounding towards and the walls of the mountain in the carved space housed not just the upper echelons of the order, but served as house of teaching for the members of the ruling family.


    Here the children of the Elhyrissiar on the threshold of proper adulthood were sent to be informed on worldly matters, the state of the colonies and the dangers of the continent across the azure waters of the Haubrian Ocean the isles floated on for centuries, eons even. Most of these facilities were molded into the top levels of the angular dome whilst the topmost level held a vast library where the tomes of the greatest magusos of the planes flocked onto the myriad shelves. Adjacent to the vast library of an expanded space sat the office of the highest member of the Order, the Urhdemos ¨C the title held by the Elhyrissiar within the Order.


    Although since the death of the Terrianis¡¯s predecessor, the office was passed onto the Sectarch, the title held by Angura for his many accomplishments throughout his long years spent with the Order. The advancement of the cleansing runes in the sewers across the great cities of the Empire; the refining process of living alloys strengthening the pure legions guarding the peace and prosperity of the southern colonies; minor improvements on the greigor gates connecting the cities and towns which before took twice as long to traverse through; and now his Talos Endeavour aiming to further improve the military might of the Empire as the shadow of War and Discord looms over the great Elhyrissian Empire.


    Feats that awoken envy within the heart of Rhenathorhia as he followed a few decades in the footsteps of his older brother, and rose through the ranks of the Order, even becoming the head of the Maerhiost Circle as he always held a fondness for the Magnificent Mother of aevhei kindred, the one who gifted the possibilities of forcing one¡¯s will upon the world, maghia itself on all the races, with Her favored children receiving the most. A gift he wished to utilize as he felt the limits of his bodies reaching their end as clammy shivers ran across his slender silhouette after climbing through a thousand and more steps.


    Yet he could not do so. Even if he is one of the purest child of Maerhia, he had to prove his worth to Iaurhon who molded their initial, draconic forms into their present state, a form they had to maintain through rigorous exercises like ascending a thousand or two steps without the aid of maghia ¨C be it spatial or ones strengthening their resolve, their body. Though at least his lavish robes eased this occasional process with their cooling enchantments, keeping the saccharine, clingy sweat from enveloping her majestic, gifted vessel.


    ¡°Is everything alright Septarch Rhenatorhia?¡± The moment he rested on the oblique ledge where the warm, almost soothing light of the Illius cascaded in, a young aurhe member of the Mitriost Circle called out to him, noticing him heaving deep sighs, yet still divine looking as the young maiden¡¯s gaze immediately fell upon Rhenathorhia.


    Like her fellow Sisters and Brothers of the Circle, she wore a long, pleated and scaled mail lacking in sleeves, which nicely accentuated her lithe, honed form with an additional silken tunic with a sheen and metallic texture and a triangular, thick collar of a deep berry blue while the rest of the garment shimmered in a blazing red. Her mesmerizing aevhen visage of a fair amber complexion veiled by the angular helmet evoking the image of both a stalwart eagle and a wise owl with feathery, pointed ends resembling wings protruding at the back.


    For a moment, his eyes squinted as she passed through the entering light, reflected strongly, almost violently upon the smooth, scaled surface of her long armor reaching down to her hip at least where the layered skirt continued protecting her shapely, delicate legs. At the same time a primordial desire raised within him and he forced his trembling hands behind himself as he strained his being, straightened his posture to mask his struggling ¨C not out of his own will.


    ¡°Oh I¡¯m fine Sister. It has just been sometime since I had to ascend to the top.¡± He said firmly as he forced those words out from his throat and lips in an imperious but also kindly manner as he offered a smile to guard who lifted her helmet off to reveal her enticing visage ¨C well within his untainted preferences. A gesture he was glad for as it aided him wrenching back control over her gifted vessel. Or maybe it was just an illusion as his hands continued their quivering and the pain of his soul shredding into motes of primordial matter, each miniscule mote carrying a memory and a piece of him.


    ¡°Oh I see. Just preserve yourself Septarch. Sectarch Angura is haven¡¯t returned yet from his business.¡± She said still drawn to his presence, to his looks as her soft hands touched his bosom and he felt the gentle warmth of dawn easing his suffering. Not a primal, lustful beckoning more of a devotion worthy and aimed towards a Deos. One that awakened her primeval anger.


    Rhenathorhia forced a smile as he felt the pain fading ¨C or maybe him getting used to it at last to his horror ¨C and thanked the guard who excused herself fitting the helmet back into its place, her soles echoing through turning corridor whilst Rhenathorhia watched her back before continuing his long journey in a silent suffering, whilst his thoughts moved towards the hope that his older brother shall finally notice.


    **


    Aurelithae slowly followed in the footsteps of Mirayroth and Middias as they traversed through the winding hallways of the latter¡¯s mansion. The two arrived not long at the height of noon when the lights scorched the brightest and vibrant on the alabaster streets bereft of life. People still avoided certain areas as the tactics of the cult seemed to shift.


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    Instead of randomly attacking in the streets, forums and markets¡¯ they shifted their attacks on residential areas of merchants, patricii and patricios, the junction point, headquarters of the First Legion and the Order. At least when it came to self-immolation of great range and length, they were still attacking the common and poor folk by simply stabbing or by spells before fleeing from the custodiir. A tactic that seemed to leave a mark as deep as seeing the blackened forms of their beloved on the alabaster pavement.


    Aurelithae herself questioned Mirayroth and Naghig for meeting with Middias ¨C who upon her return showered him in praises as his gratitude was overflowing for saving not just him, but his children and beloved mate for life ¨C here where there was a large chance, they would get interrupted and seen by the Legion or the Custodiir. Each time the three adults shot her down saying that they would not meet before precautions were setup for such inevitabilities.


    ¡°Bring them the beverages!¡± As they reached the top floor, the aging yet still good-looking head-steward Munatius closed one of the doors and bowed upon noticing the trio with a kind, elderly smile on his face and still dense hair showing the first wrinkles and grays. Upon receiving his orders, he quickly left in the opposite calling for the dwarven maiden as they entered the spacious office of Middias looking out towards the street.


    Out of instinct, she meandered mildly towards the windows ¨C still a bit dizzy from the astral tunnels the New Dawn used to traverse the city unseen ¨C and glanced out through the thick, soft curtains of deep reds and purples with golden trims. Her anxious nerves soothed as she noticed the few New Dawn members on the roofs keeping watch, wreathed in medium grade spells erasing their silhouettes and presences.


    ¡°Told you, no need for worry. The best of the best within the New Dawn makes sure no one disturbs our meeting.¡± Mirayroth said, his voice leaking clearly through the white mask of eastern origins Aurelithae concluded as she still tried to decipher the enigmatic niuvhe whom was barely mentioned in the journal of her sister. At this point, her only theory was simply he was the sword-dancer companion of Moirstyria, yet the way he looked deviated from the image reflected in the penned words. In addition, she knew one could alter their whole being in any way, evident from her uncle Augermil who was now a bipedal dragon.


    ¡°Your Highn¡­ I mean lady Luelia?¡± Her thoughts were broken by Middias holding out a padded, cushioned daybed that beckoned her legs, still not tired but nearing towards it slowly. She kindly refused as she leaned against the section of the wall between the windows, with her arms folded. ¡°Currently, I¡¯m here as a bodyguard.¡± She added cheekily staring at Mirayroth already making himself comfortable in the large daybed just as the cold beverages soothing not just their perched throats, but their dizziness arrived on a silver plate carried in the still firm hands of Munatius.


    As soon as the head-steward left without uttering a word, the two wasted no time and began talking in veiled words. For the most part, she pretended to be enamored by the stacks of books and tomes on the shelves breaking into the walls; by the paintings of masterful strokes of those no doubt the previous heads of the family whose name spread across the continent as she learned not long after returning to the city. A family who owned a small army themselves comprised of renowned adventurers and mercenaries who wrestled with great beasts like hydras and chimeras assembled by magusos and faernologists lacking in ethnics.


    When their first talking point of logistics, of Mirayroth wishing for supplies ¨C both smithed and alchemical ¨C rebuked solemnly by Middias as it seemed the colonies had their own problems. Cults and covens appeared in myriad colored deserts of the south, some revering the long deceased Black Pharaoh; savages and witch covens allied themselves using the Wilds to destroy supply and merchant roads in the heart of Vhalleryon; and what made her twinge with subliminal worry was the north where rumors spread with some conjecturing on the cults of the Nightscale bearing their fangs, the lords of the Woodland moving as if they were preparing to break through the defenses erected by his father and lastly of forts fallen already to the surreptitious Host. Whilst Middias showed a little concern with small movements, twitching of his fingers, Aurelithae noticed Mirayroth¡¯s strange calmness.


    Yet she remained silent, and a bit more excited when Middias changed the topic towards the Metilian District and how the cult possibly dug one of their cells in the low district overlooking the great forest stretching on the steep lands towards the southern shores. ¡°Seems a shepherd of the Magnificent Mother showed himself amongst the poor residents, his words spreading like a mind plague as more and more flock and began to rile up. Just this morning my agents reported the murder of two patrols in the district.¡± Hearing those words, Aurelithae could not help but jolt her head towards Middias almost spilling her precious cherry beverage sweetened by southern crystalline sugar giving it an iridescent faint glow in the light besides increasing its saccharinity. A kind smile adorned his face upon noticing her reaction.


    Mirayroth remained wordless, pondering behind his mask he lifted occasionally to sip his drink. ¡°We shall do so. I was planning of investigating it myself.¡± He said calmly, then turned towards Aurelithae who nodded in agreement with an almost listless expression.


    ¡°Then that should conclude our current business.¡± Middias said as they all finished their drinks and the ivory specter rose from his seat. Aurelithae followed as he glided seemingly across the wooden floor, making little to no noise approaching the door opened by Middias holding it for them. ¡°I did not want to bring it up as it maybe beyond my business but, if possible, I¡¯d like to show my gratitude for your friend who saved us too.¡± At those words, Aurelithae froze a little then turned whilst Mirayroth stood in the shadows near the turn.


    ¡°I am afraid lord Middias for now that won¡¯t be possible. But I shall inform him when the chance shows itself!¡± She said in a low voice to the man feeling a bit dejected as he deciphered from her lowered intonations and faint twinges of her widely contoured eyes brimming with a faux azure tint. ¡°I see. When he arrives here, say that if he ever desires a fine treat or desires fine garments or panoply, I shall offer the best of my family¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°I shall convey your kindness! Be well Lord Middias, I wish you all well!¡± She said with a smile before she turned around when she heard Mirayroth¡¯s soft steps descending the stairs. ¡°And I wish you both the same, Lady Luelia!¡±

 Chapter 87: New Dawn III.

    The Metilian District, home to the downtrodden of the gleaming alabaster city of Luth-Astaril. Home to the many orkhin ranging from the ape-like, short gobokh; the gaunt, muscular orkhs; the hulking, desiccated ogrokh in hiding in the alley¡¯s shadows from the rays of the Illius. Szeakrin meander in the dried, half-dirt half-paved roads carrying jugs of water created from their own sweat, transmuted and cleansed for healing the sick and the thirsting children and elderly. And the foolish Skaeze whom migrated down from the north, escaping the lengthening shadows of dusk in fear of their brethren¡¯s vengeance.


    All Pariah folk promised peace and prosperity in the lands of the Empire, in the heart of the Empire centuries before many of them had enough of the empty promises of freedom; the stripping of their names and the shame metered out upon them for sins they never committed. A promise made by the namesake of the district, whose crumbling, eternalized form of granite and metal adorned the center of the district surrounded by the stretching shadows of the cyclopean walls, the hexagonal towers marshalled be custodiir and legionariir whose piercing gazes carry centuries of distrust.


    A hero, a chosen of Mineirvia whose clever words persuaded their ancestors to leave the dwindling forces of the Monarch of Ends, The Grimm Sovereign whose shadow still darkens the North. Melitia was her name, a name Aurelithae heard a few times, read much more in the journal of Moirstyria in the first few pages which instilled the desire of slipping down, out from the Radiant Keep barely more than a decade ago. A strange devotion her sister had for this chosen of the Deos of Valor, of Mortal Challenges, the first to use words instead of blades, spears and spells to attain a victory seemingly far or non-existent, yet one that proved essential for the victory against the one desiring to end existence.


    As she exited the crumbling, desolate appearing house filled with dwindling life, she looked around the square filled with enervated forms with rings loosely hanging around their necks. First, she felt nothing for them, even to the children whose sunken eyes stared inquisitively at her, enamored by her handsome face, shapely features gifted by the Amber Lord and the Magnificent Mother of aevhen kindred.


    What stirred the desires of Melitia whom protected the ancestors of these people from the vengeful spirit of dusk, the one known as the Extuingisher of Bloodlines? What made her sister awaken to a desire so different from their families, yet strangely fitting for their kindred, to unite all the refugees of Elhyrissian instead of shackling those who held different beliefs, who were shackled by the Will of Dusk centuries, millennia before? These questions lingered still in her mind as she was pondering on her road to and after her ascension to be the next Elhyrissiar.


    As she leaned against the fractured, faded alabaster wall below the garbled window waiting for Mirayroth ¨C another enigma in her life still alive ¨C offering his aid, mending the sickly downtrodden. Though at least she suspected it was not simply out of a kind heart, but to gain followers, warriors whom shall aid in his realization of a new dawn of the Empire.


    Though feeling a bit awkward whilst in her thoughts, Aurelithae entered the edifice and stifled her sensing of the awful odors permeating the dim hallway ornated by collapsing tables, unevenly hanging empty frames with names and dates of birth and death scratched onto them. A dire faceless portrait she concluded as she headed towards the stairs, then entered the room where the white wraith, mender of the downtrodden as some whispered in the recesses whilst she entered.


    She took a few more silent steps upon the wooden floor whose moans intermingled with the child basking in the shadow of Mirayroth. A small orkhin whom she could not tell apart whether it would grow into a form like Naghig¡¯s or one of the ogrokh¡¯s whom she saw eyeing her across the square, shrouded by the dimness of the alley. A child that must have been in his teens ailed by the Rage of Acheryoth evident from his limbs showing cracks like the dried earth, yet devoid of the grizzly reveal of tendon and bone.


    ¡°A foolish kid reaching beyond his limits.¡± Sensing her faint presence, Mirayroth whispered as his hands engulfed in dawn amber and golden shifted between his wrists and ankles, each time the cracks seemed to close. ¡°Or maybe just desperate.¡± She whispered surprising a bit herself. Looking at all the edifices, it was clear to her that most here were maintained not by the capital¡¯s officials versed well enough in the facets of earth like marble and limestone, erudite in their very natures and ways to tame them besides knowing well the ravages of time upon their magnificent forms.


    But the locals, who had to do all maintenance to survive in a district on the threshold of crumbling were erudite not in any of these arts. They could only hope their imagination and will working together would prove enough keep roofs over their heads, roofs protecting from the elements at least.


    And by his age, she could deduce the little orkhin pushed beyond his limits, though still not enough where his form would have crumbled like the few edifices near the walls. For a moment as she envisioned the orkhin crumbling into earthly dust, a singular spark ignited a flame of anger, though not for long as the door slapped open just as Mirayroth finished healing, soothing the Rage of Acheryoth consuming the boy.


    ¡°Thank the Deossos!¡± Said the disheveled man of northern blood whose few dry strands of hair flowed over his wrinkled, sunken face of blemished skin and eyes circled by dark patches, his slender starving form wrapped in tattered robes as he approached Mirayroth hastily. Though his exclamation wasn¡¯t towards the mending of the orkh or ogrokh, but for seeing Mirayroth.


    Without saying a word, shadows darkened the walls, the floor and ceiling and tendrils wrapped around his ankles and wrists, stretching his limps as he was lifted into the air. For a moment, the glow of metal squinted her eyes as the blade in the skaeze¡¯s hands dropped and stuck into the floor. ¡°I had no choi¡­¡± He could not finish or even start his pleading as a shadow passed through his throat with the haste of thunder, severing tendon and bone like adamantium blades of the First Legion.


    ¡°There is always a choice.¡± Mirayroth whispered into the air whilst things registered in Aurelithae already reaching for her own dagger. Though instead of questioning, she turned towards the walls sensing four more approaching the edifice, leaking with the taint of Taerebus she familiarized with through the past few years of hunting cultists.


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    Without uttering any word, Aurelithae left as Mirayorth turned back and approached the others within the room, scared at the sudden demise of one of their own. ¡°No need for fear. The fool chose the easy way.¡± He said in a soothing, kind tone whilst conjuring a small basket of goods whilst Aurelithae watched before continuing onwards, before the four entered the edifice.


    Towards the four encroaching the home, she felt grateful for their brazenness as only they remained on the pentagonal square. The children, the orkhin and the szeakrin all retreated into their crumbling houses offering little protection in the fore coming clash. Time seemed to slow as she flipped through her memories of spells engraved by decades of Prisceirith¡¯s teachings, instinctively. And with a sudden instinct, she opened her eyes and altered the way of mana flowing into her arkhaine points, changed her astral attitude of relying on her indomitable draconic will to impose upon the order of the world, and instead tapped into the primeval desires of the soul to have agency.


    As the four pariah kindred approached draped in colorful garments unfit for this home of the destitute, a coldness older than time, a warmth preceding the dawn effervescently cascaded across her being. And at once, her azure eyes opened with roots of a color beyond mortal comprehension crawled towards the gleaming pearls, while runes whose true meaning evaded her, yet had a vague sense of their assembled intent carved into her arms beneath the sleeves of her tunic.


    First to fell was the descendant of the exiled Virdr folk whose flesh began to move, disturb like waves bursting as rocks, pieces of the steep granite and limestone shores fell into them. The silent cacophony of his tendon tearing, bones tearing echoed in the square, drawn out only by his bloodcurdling scream which faded into oblivion when his body torn itself into six gory segments.


    The one he considered friend and vice versa followed, a corpulent orkh who lunged swiftly towards Aurelithae with a long golden club crafted with serrated surface in hopes of saving his fellow with whom he survived in this deossos forsaken place. Before he could reach and deal the finish blow upon the delicate form wreathed in illusions and strange energies, matters the top half of his corpulent, pallid form disappeared revealing the tendons of the nether area and below.


    The remaining two ¨C a young szeakrin maiden and her partner ¨C met their doom in tandem. Their scaled, pale torsos, necks, limbs and heads twisted, spiraled into themselves until their mortal shells reached their limits and imploded into bits and pieces of tendon and bone right beneath her feet. She stared at the four carcasses, or at least what remained of them and felt nothing but the disgust as the scent of dusk overpowered the stench of the destitute.


    Though this emptiness was subsided when she felt the fearful gazes upon her bloodied form. ¡°I see you¡¯re done.¡± Saved from regret, Mirayroth commented as he carefully avoided the gore adorning the barely paved road in a cold tone of his own. ¡°Do not feel bad. For now they may fear you, but with time, they shall hail you.¡± A momentary smile brightened her visage and she ignored the rising regret of choosing brutality over magnanimity as the four may have been forced by desperation ¨C and the Beautiful¡¯s cult.


    ¡°Do you have an idea?¡± She asked taking her thoughts away from the piercing gazes. Mirayroth nodded silently, sauntered past the silent square, towards the north-east.


    **


    ¡°What a beautiful lie.¡± Terrianis said as he sauntered through the windings streets of old Astaril stopping at marks he heard many times from the lips of his father and eldest brother. The square arranged in a perfect pentagonal layout with buildings magnificent even in their crumbling state, slowly reclaimed by her Nature; the old temple of the Amber Lord and his siblings brimming still even after eons passed in the seconds of the great illusion; the great market where the merchants flocked with their peculiar goods from the distant lands of a now dead world; the towering structure where the greatest of human, dwarven and aevhen kin assembled and created the First Legion still protecting the peace of the Empire.


    ¡°Yet all lies must come to an end.¡± He whispered expecting the unseen ears of his captor to receive them even in their low intonations. Yet the end seemed far in the distance of the faux vista of the city built onto the side of the great alabaster mountain which peak reached beyond the cloud infested sky. A place where his family came into being thanks to the Heavenly Host offering the greatest of their flock for reformation, for the elevation of the form preferred by most of the Deossos except for the chaotic sculptor and the eldest driven to madness.


    The one whose sculpted form reminding him of all things coming to their end still adorned the crumbling interior of the great temple erected first for the devotion of Dawn, the opposite of him. The beginning of all things, the reminder to all mortals that the dusk of all things is inevitable, it can still be delayed if one holds out for long. A simple, but rejuvenating notion he though of now and many times before.


    And like the lies, his patience thinned and neared its end as he climbed tirelessly the stairs leading to the peak, to the birthplace of his kin, where the first Elhyrissiar came into a new form before he received the essence of the Eight. ¡°Finally.¡± He exclaimed listlessly as his chromatic gaze fallen upon the back of his great grandfather, yet as he stared his firm back towering as Augermil¡¯s, he felt a twinge of cold beget of a fear ¨C no, an uneasiness of a hidden revelation.


    Led by his millennia old curiosity, Terrianis hastened his steps as he followed the phantasm climbing towards the great palace on a molded plateau with dim, aged marble of alabaster and golden stretching across the nonagonal structure the palace was built upon. A palace with an angular dome and many towers evoking resemblance of the both the Cathedral and the Radiant Keep within Terrianis. A piece of excellent artwork always missing from paintings, frescoes of great, creative minds of painters and masons of the earth, stone and wood.


    Desiring to see its inside, to etch its magnificent recesses into his mind dampened the anxiousness ailing his own heart and mind, though not for long as he found himself hurrying past Traquis Manitae whose awe and fear overflown in Terrianis as a freezing draught breezed through his long hair, concluding the perfect order of straightness imposed upon them by his resolute will; a deep shadow lengthened over the darkened, ageless marble swallowing the fading white and gold whilst the sky ceased to be, in its place a starless emptiness stretched as far as he could see; and as he turned around the awe and fear grew twofold as his own senses awakened before the gargantuan form of etheric flesh and scales visible even in the near complete darkness.


    For the first time in his existence; for once again he felt small like a mice standing in the shadow of its mighty predator and as insignificant as a mote of dust wiped out from existence by a simple towel, or by the hand of an unaware child playing, adventuring in long forgotten ruins. This sensation of awe and fear compelled his eyes to glance only at the claws of obsidian reflecting his form in their utter darkness, the size of the cathedral¡¯s pillars holding roof and balcony, dug effortlessly in the robust marble.


    Then came the much desired conclusion, just as he fully took in the dark form of the Nightscale before himself, before his grandfather Traquis. A poetic end as he concluded himself in his erratic mind in the silent hallway still lit by the early noon¡¯s glow.

 Chapter 88: New Dawn IV.

    A modest building amongst a pile of crumbling ruins that was shone as brightly as the other districts cast its shadow over Aurelithae and Mirayroth. Before their feet, corpses of the poor initiated who gave their souls for empty promises laid, they blood congregating into a singular lake shrouding the destituteness of the road beneath their hollow forms.


    ¡°It has been bugging me only a little while, but I have to ask. How do you know they were here?¡± Aurelithae voiced the question that gnawed at her mind ever since they passed the square.


    ¡°Because it was here that we all started out.¡± Mirayroth stopped for a moment relieving the distant and not so distant past. ¡°Even with your sister ¨C Moirstyria, this was where I met her for the first time as strange as it may sound.¡± Hearing those words, even more questions came into being within Aurelithae, but for now she let them linger, float amongst the many others.


    Except for one. ¡°So chose this place for the New Dawn too. Quite the sentimental choice.¡± She added while crouching down with a vial containing ravenous insects bound to her will. Upon uncorking, they streamed forth and sipped up the crimson, mauve and grayish green fluid, vitae while also devouring the corpses even though neither of them expected a patrol to come this way.


    ¡°Sentimental? No. It was the right choice at the time.¡± Mirayroth said as he waited for the insects to quench their seemingly ceaseless thirst and hunger. ¡°Starting in the central districts would have been foolish, vain in those years as often those on the threshold of societies ladder tend to retreat into their bubbles ¨C bubbles neither horrific or paradisical. I and Naghig would have seen as fools, as servants of unneeded chaos and would have just ended up mindwiped by the Inquisitoriir.¡± Then he held out his hand and swept it in a circle towards the dilapidated erections. ¡°Here, we had the hopeless and those on the brink of it, those who were willing to ignite the first, little spark of change necessary for a better future in this paradise.¡±


    Then he relapsed into his calm, listless manner in the shapeless eastern robes melding eerily into the dulled whites of the district. ¡°But enough talk. The enemy is waiting for us.¡± He said shushing Aurelithae and heading straight towards the warehouse where his path truly began a few decades before.


    Entering the warehouse, the two halted for a moment as the vast interior revealed itself, lit by the dimming lights of the Illius. A mockery of palaces Aurelithae concluded silently. Dented floor hidden by torn rags clearly stolen from the other districts; pillars holding the steep ceiling adorned with moldering, derelict baubles barely held by dirty threads winding across the dried, cracked wooden surface, clinking and breaking further as the gentle spring wind carrying the foul odor of the district passed with them. And straight ahead of the two, a throne assembled from crates, shrouded with dirty, torn sheets greeted them with the out of place silhouette of a djinn.


    ¡°Welcome to my humble kingdom!¡± The faernalist deep, melodious voice with a haughty tone greeted them. His pale form with a slanting head of owl like proportions with slit nasal cavities, thin and small lips, large oval and oblique eyes devoid of a pupil, occupied by the abyssal darkness matching his etheric locks running in the center of his head, collapsing to both sides and the horns sprouting from the sides, pointing at the two with a golden spiral against the dark, jagged surface. His lithe, slender form adorned in scanty royal robes of crimson and purple, golden trims and ornaments like the ten rings beset with rubies and amethysts, a cold gilded collar engraved with taeberian runes evoking a sense of familiarity and disgust within Aurelithae.


    ¡°I am the great Balasi, Chosen of our shared and grand Mother who gifted us with excellency!¡± He quickly rose and towered from the distance even as he courteously bowed before them. His robes waved magnificently as he walked down creaking steps of wooden, then soft thuds of his plush, marble white soles echoed in the mocking space.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take care of this fool.¡± Aurelithae whispered to Mirayroth who answered with a simple nod of his shrouded head. Then stepped back and watched as Aurelithae stepped before the djinn Balasi who scraped his chin adorned by braided astral mist, held together by metallic beads of power.


    ¡°Before we taint this peaceful abode, let us solve our problem with diplomacy.¡± Then he spoke out and Aurelithae faltered out of instinct as she felt a strange, beckoning power, tendrils curling and wrapping around her mind, binding her limbs. ¡°Then speak.¡± She said as she wrestled against the hold, scorching the tendril with etheric, unseen flames.


    ¡°You may not be aware of this your excellency, but our goals match the same. A new order where all shall be equal beneath our true Mother who gifted us our enchanting forms.¡± The djinn faltered, sensing the resistance of his prey. ¡°I doubt our goals align. Otherwise you may not rely on terror and violence.¡± She retorted.


    ¡°Sometimes to awaken the content, tools of extremities are needed. In the present they may view as evil, agents of chaos but in the near future, they shall see the truth, see that fruitful progress requires these abhorrent tools.¡± The numbness began to fade, and her arms seemingly frozen besides quivered softly. ¡°I believe those tools shall achieve nothing, but fear and hatred both against us, and you and your vile Mistress.¡± Then she spoke those words, clearly angering the Balasi who beforehand assumed a calm, poised demeanor.


    ¡°Well, it was worth a try at least.¡± Balasi whispered with a primeval anger and disappointment not of his own. Then his arm raised, but the killing spell he formulated within his mind and arkhaine points and veins shifted into a ward, the strongest he knew as he felt cold, familiar energies converging before him within the delicate form. A ward that proved little against the strange power that hurled him across whilst golden flames wreathed, devoured his fine clothes.


    Aurelithae tensed her stance, one arm held out with her strange runes glowing through the sleeves graven into her tender flesh. With expectant eyes sensing the mana within the smoking, rising Djinn escaping from the palms, knees and chest in the form of myriad astral threads unseen to the naked eyes and shaping into spells of destruction and restoration as the agitated Balasi fixed his burnt attires. ¡°Like your Sister, you do not play fair.¡± He said with a venomous tongue.


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    ¡°No point.¡± Came the simple answer accompanied by spells taking the shape of golden flames framed by an aura of the strange color tearing through the air with speed barely perceptible. Wards erected before his palms, but instead of swallowing the materialized flames of dawn and beyond, they ricochet off from the transparent surface of a wicked mauve and golden and hit the roof where they quickly began to spread to satiate their unending hunger.


    Burning pieces fell, yet the three remained in place, waiting for the conclusion, the next step or attack. Aurelithae¡¯s faux azure pearls rushed right and left, up and down, to and from the boundaries of her eyes as she deciphered the wicked mana of Taeberus forming into infaernic runes, inscriptions which at once faded to oblivion only to appear right beside her. Before their destructive effect, a sweet smothering air compelled her mind and body to halt its necessary functions activated, she leapt while wreathing herself in an all-encompassing aura of sealing, dismissing the vile formulas¡¯ from ceasing her life.


    Formulas that followed her like slithering serpents in the air, their shivering intent chilling her spines as she felt the approaching twilight of her life unless she made the correct step. Instinctively, she wiped her arms before her, focusing and clearing her mind to in simple words, wish away the approaching formulas. Then she recalled the spell that bound her just moments ago, deciphered the nature of the wicked tendrils and reconstructed them by recounting the blurring, shifting words etched into the Black Book gifted by the pale figure.


    ¡°What in the?¡± Balasi¡¯s voice faded as even his speech was impeded by the Aurelithae¡¯s own tendrils, one that evaded his senses as he looked puzzled as his limbs stretching, head pulled back by invisible hands devoid of impressions. Her draconic heritage slowly awakened, a deep assuredness beyond the influence of the Beautiful compelled a grin from Aurelithae, then her palms reached towards the Djinn and pulled him towards. Palm onto the exposed half of the bosom, she desired, wished the flames of the Dawn Before to penetrate through the wicked walls of runes protecting the restrained Balasi, and upon doing so, his mouth opened agape while flames raged within his body, consuming him until nothing, but ashes remained.


    Claps brought her out from the short trance as she took deep breaths as she expected the first mild signs of the Rage to rear their head. Yet nothing came, just an emptiness slowly filled by the joy of exultation as she glanced coldly at the pile. ¡°An excellent work though I believe we should leave.¡± His cold touch made her turn and be aware of the collapsing roof of charred wood and the distant cries of the custodiir and legionariir who witnessed the smoke spiraling towards the endless skies dimming at the approach of dusk.


    **


    Collapsed on the embroidered carpet with the oval silhouette of a mirror, Rhenathorhia twinged and twitched from the sudden assault of pain. Pain of his self being torn bit by bit, memories fading. Memories of Angura encouraging him on his inauguration within the Miarhiost Circle; the smile of Prisceirith and the self-imposed pain of his own weakness at not telling his feelings towards her, but instead promising her greatness within the Circle. And many others floating as blurred moats in a sea of ravenous oblivion.


    The pain he felt years before hours after he and the dark figure instructed the tainted Hunra, the once innocent Hunra who was destined for greatness but was robbed from it by unseen hands of primeval horrors whose games slowly unfolded, misinterpreted by his family and he, once brimming with endless confidence of his now eroding self, could do nothing about, just play along as the Beautiful tugged her along like a puppet.


    Was it equal? He found it strange that amidst the suffering, this question could form in his head, in his mind no longer his own. Rhenathorhia definitely felt the death of another tainted by the essence of the Beautiful, but even as she tore and grinded his self to primordial motes of anima, this death felt different, distinct. He felt her near infinite mind looking away whilst still remaining as his tousled golden locks gained a more divine sheen while his unblemished skin turned even more smoother. The soul tainted by her essence, fell into her dream-like realm of near perfection where it shall experience the same pain, suffering before becoming an eternal servant, manifestation of pride, arrogance.


    He felt joyous at the prospect of another sharing in his suffering, and let out a laugh of his own volition for the first time in decades since the dark one appeared before him, on the night when the Heavenly Monarch vanished, taken by this very nameless one ¨C a true manifestation of the end he concluded after years of being jailed in his confiscated body.


    Then as he got accustomed to the pain, remembering only of his name uttered by his father whose face melted into itself, a sudden stronger wave rushed through him and he spread limply across the carpet, tears flowing in his glistening, vacant eyes. ¡°Should have done so sooner.¡± Came the uncaring voice of an elderly with deep timbres and the echoing of a distant emptiness in the recesses of gloomy mountains, spreading in the loftily furnished office as the aetherkiin of utter dimness sat draped in his flowing robes of a pious magus with scarlet stoles rounding the hood, flowing down on the knitted together front.


    The Beautiful rose slowly onto her feet, and stared at the cushioned palms, then rotated the hands and stared at the golden ring ornated with an obsidian devoid of the light that once occupied it. ¡°Is she worthy of your adoration?¡± Rhenathorhia¡¯s own melodious, soft voice enveloped by a distorted feminine laden with a beckoning, an invitation towards devotion, each inconsequential word carried an air of primordial regality and confidence worthy of agelessness.


    ¡°I adore no one.¡± The anger filled voice of a child overlapped with the calmness of the fading elderly as they poured forth the darkness occupying the imposing hood with trims of a menacing, dim scarlet. ¡°But her death is still early and would be pointless to break his resolve. Wait until the boy returns.¡±


    The Beautiful stared out the windows, glancing at the Illius fading as dusk approached and tainted it into the Lunarius. ¡°Such a shame. He would be the perfect vessel for my dear brother.¡± She said with a distant desolation whilst lifting the golden cup to her lips adorning a now androgynous mortal face blessed with the distinctness of a divine, primeval exquisiteness.


    Then He rose and appeared before her. Hands reaching towards the androgynous face and touched the sharp chin between the perfectly tapering jaws. Yet she felt nothing; not a coldness or warmth; not the tickling of mist or haze or whatever kind of matter fabricated those utter dark hands with clawed silhouettes swallowing the light falling upon them; she felt the nothingness touch her.


    ¡°Just wait and amass your forces. The twilight of their rule is nearing. A new dawn is on the horizon.¡± The austere, raspy voice of an elderly woman poured out into her mind and for a moment she felt, seen the world flicker all around them. A feeling of hurled from the fabric, yet still within its boundaries, took over her and felt the trembling of existence as if fear and anger filled it upon the steering of all of its occupants before it came to a sudden end and she sat alone within the confines of Rhenathorhia¡¯s office.

 Chapter 89: Tool of Time I.

    The snowy vista stretching far into the distance shimmered in the white and grayish colors in the waning days of 1265<sup>th</sup> of the First Age. The foreboding season of rebirth, self-judgement and the end ¨C the end which in its chaotic nature heralds a new year full of uncertainties mortals plow through with resolve, resolve both unbroken or weak as a piece of rotting wood.


    As Mirdbruil stood at the southern gate, watching the back of Priernuss and Sigiwaer who grew into a handsome young man with a mixture of aevhish and human features; ears with sharp aevhen contoured tip; chin tapering yet still softly angular as his fathers¡¯ and Priernuss¡¯s; skin bereft of any blemishes and lastly but not least hair long and naturally lustrous even with its dark color reminiscent of the feathers of crows and ravens ¨C dire messengers of the great Gray Monarch of Asphodai the city where all the dead find their last piece or their misery as Mirdbruil was thought centuries before she migrated from the south.


    A south that lingered far in the horizon, brimming with its vibrant colors enriched by the whites, grays and blues of the season¡¯s gifts to the Illius, whilst the towering city of Pyrghos slices across at the center of it in its twisting magnificence. Her old home which she promised to visit with Ulrich, with their children for decades, a thought that twisted her heart, dampened her breathing just like the day Eadwald returned questioning whether Ulrich returned.


    Even though the answer was written on her face, welled up eyes; trembling lips; her hands twisted over her bosom with nails cutting into her soft hands, Eadwald could not accept this grim fact. So much so that it took weeks to convince him that another venture into the woodland would have taken him from Mirdbruil, a fact even more hurtful and the one which nearly broke the dam she erected over herself as Amiriniel and Sigi needed her to be strong ¨C and later Eadwald too.


    Yet she still pondered whether her reaction, the choice of not crying her eyes out were the right. Was it not cruel of her to not weep like the children, like the parents of Lioba, her siblings, her friends as they stood before the funeral pyre devoid of the corpses of their beloveds? Will they think her love was never genuine?


    Questions, thoughts which seemed infectious spreading across her being each night she stood over the empty bed still bearing the mark of his wiry silhouette, each night spent lying sleepless, staring at the spot while the void spread within her, yet her thoughts still lingered. Was it a wicked notion, conviction that she expected the man she loved for only a few decades to pass before her into the city of Asphodai?


    A wet clasp echoed softly through the snow blanketed, sloping meadow as she engulfed her small, fair hands in freezing water and slapped her cheeks. ¡°Now is not the time for these thoughts.¡± Mirdbruil inhaled the cold air bereft of any scent except for the chilling, spicy snows crunching beneath her feet as she turned around hearing the approaching steps of Amiriniel still a small form compared to her younger siblings, one of the blessed inheritance of aevhen kindred ¨C or baleful.


    Baleful in the sense that like her own mother centuries before, she too wanted to lock her hands with Amiriniel, but being in her fifties, she now refused like her younger brothers. A choice that hurt equally as it was reassuring as a mother, the first minor sign of independence manifesting within the youth. ¡°Hmm?¡± To her surprise though, Amiriniel relented and made the first move as soon as the two lined up beside each other. A small kind gesture as unlike her brothers, Amiriniel saw through the fa?ade her mother put up for the past six years.


    Unlike the two, she seen her worry many a time when Ulrich set out for the monthly culling of the revenants whose numbers barely dwindled in the centuries. She spent many nights staying awake beyond her curfew, talking with Mirdbruil, vanquishing the notions that Ulrich may never return as long as she could, a gesture that faded after the birth of Eadwald and Sigi, then the latter¡¯s loss of an eye, and life almost.


    In each case, before each managed to walk by themselves Ulrich volunteered for simple guard duty, making rounds within the village, or around where the revenant¡¯s rarely wandered thanks to the protection of the Elhyrissiar. And maybe thanks to those years spent free of worry, Mirdbruil would no longer be ailed by the night terrors showing visions of Ulrich¡¯s vacant form merged in the thick snow or walking, infested by the darkness of dusk.


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    At least until six years ago, on the day they set out to escort Hevaeck and Eadwald to the monastery where the two should have headed to Vhoragos where a delegation would have took Eadwald back to the capital first. Even the night before they departed, grim visions altered her realm within Oneiron, where before she had pleasant dreams where she spent hours, days with a phantasmal image of her family or reliving the exciting discoveries of maghia from the days of her youth. Visions that stayed on her mind even as she watched their silhouettes get swallowed by the wicked shadows of the woodland.


    And it formed a regret that stayed with her to this day. Would Ulrich still be with her if she spoke up, if she told him the truth decades ago or even then that their meeting happened by the will of her former divine patron, the Gray Monarch of Asphodei. Another thought that occasionally flourished since the day Sigiwaer was attacked with Azugh in the woodland, the day since she felt a cold, distant presence in their homestead, directly in his room, one that was familiar from the olden days she spent within the Mhaegriost Circle of the Order of Maghia¡¯s Truth.


    **


    Right in the center of Vonschneithar stood one of the few structures erected by the 19<sup>th</sup> Legion before refugees of Virdr and a few southerners settled around it when mostly large tents surrounded it. A structure which at the time served as the headquarters for the top brass of the regiment, now served as a meeting place for the residents and the place where the drinking, cleaning water flocked beneath the meager sewer system. Specifically at the cellar where numerous runes of dawn, time and elements were carved onto the pillars and the alabaster wall.


    Unlike the gloomy edifices serving as the homesteads, this Village House was built from limestone mined in the western regions of the north. Polished slabs whitened to the point they meld into the snow surrounding the small square, blanketing its flat roof with steep edges with six pointy corners standing even on the sloping ground.


    Amirinial and Mirdbruil stood in the shadow of this towering structure. The latter raised her right hand and knocked twice with her fist infused with a meager amount of her mana. Each soft knock sent soft waves across the entrance hall, alerting the village clerk behind the counter ¨C a tall feline demikin with an ursine silhouette ¨C who quickly but still somewhat smartly rushed towards the gate and grasped onto one of the metallic rings before he opened the gate and welcomed the two in his deep voice.


    ¡°Should I escort you two down lady Amiriniel?¡± He asked with a calm expression whilst crossing his thick fur covered wrists behind his back. ¡°Thank you, but it won¡¯t be necessary.¡± She said with a warm smile and the two headed for the winding corridor.


    Being here for the first time, Amiriniel gazed upon the mannequins clad in the old, ivory plate armors of the 19<sup>th</sup> Legion; the few paintings of the previous heads of Vonschneithar who inherited the management of the place after the regiment left for the nearest southern fort, the sculptures of all three Elhyrissiars whose every part was chiseled perfect precision, recreating each lock of hair melding in a flawless unity; skin without any blemishes; striking yet still delicate noses; wide, expressive eyes oozing with austerity; a perfect breadth of jawline tapering to the prominent jawline; the faintly draconic bone structure and scales of their draconic heritage and their right to rule and guidance of every race. Features that all drawn her attention, and deep within her awoken envy of these features carved out from her.


    ¡°Ah there you¡­ oh you bought little Amiriniel!¡± At the end where the corridor took a perpendicular turn Shad¡¯Yrg and the elderly dwarf, Beucanor greeted them with a wide smile on his dented face steal bearing deep, burn marks left on it centuries before. A tale he recounted quite a few times, a tale involving his brashness that faded with time and the scorching claws of an elemental beast. With a swift strike, his once allegedly handsome dwarven visage became distorted by the spreading flames, taking his prized beard, a chunk of his bulky nose and right eyes where now his dry, wrinkled epidermis settled after more than fifteen decades. A face that scared little Amiriniel when the two met for the first time.


    ¡°Good day to you too uncle Beuch!¡± Not anymore as she greeted him with a wide hug, a gesture aimed both at the dwarf and at Mirdbruil. ¡°How nice it is to be still this youthful at almost sixty.¡± Shad murmured to Mirdbruil who nodded with a faint somberness in her eyes, seeing through the efforts of her daughter, still playing along to ease her mind before they leave.


    ¡°It is ¨C though if not for these moments, I would think she is some elderly, lone sage forced in the body of a little girl.¡± Mirdbruil joked as they watched Amiriniel showing this side, the excitement of a sage witnessing a spell they saw the first time when Beucanor held his palm out. Above it, stones formed out from the air and flocked above his palm battered by the elemental beast and the ravages of time, forming into a sphere then reshaping itself into a dancing star and a small figure. The little aevhe¡¯s eyes glistened with excitement as her questions softly echoed through the corridor.


    ¡°Those will have to wait. Shall we get to it?¡± Though instead of answering, Beucanor straightened his stout body and glanced at the two mothers who nodded firmly.

 Chapter 90: Tool of Time II.

    The weightlessness of her legs dangling beyond the threshold of the balcony filled Mirdbruil with a strange excitement instead of an utter terror lacking in the logic of survival. The perfect disciple dedicated to the service of Mhaugreus as her mother said often when she speak proudly about her to others. A trait she disliked utterly as it often led to her teachers placing her above the others, whilst her fellow would-be comrades glanced at her with disgust and envy.


    She often sat at the threshold, slipping between the floor and the thick marble rail and stared often at the clouds not far above, and the glistening whiteness and gloomy darkness of the North far, far away. Beckoning her in soft whispers with the sweet promises of a great destiny, a destiny many desire to be written down in the annals of the Empire. Whispers she accredited to Mhaugreus who seemed to favor her over many other of his devotees. A thought that scared her as the Gray Monarch tended to take them as his mistresses in the gray city of Asphodei. An honor on one side to be elevated into such a state of being, but also a curse as it deprived each one from the blessed rest and from entering the wheel of souls, the chance to walk these lands once more.


    Though it has been quite a few centuries since he has chosen to elevate a favored of his, since the war came to an end, like his elders he could no longer manifest in the promised land of Elhyrissian. A fact which eased her heart and mind, yet little so as her yearning to leave Pyrghos grew with each year, each decade and each century. By the end she saw herself as nothing more than shackled beast spending her days in the blissful illusion of her endless research, in preparation of another war in the land that promised peace and prosperity.


    Yet it provided neither in the two or three thousand years since the first people settled, since the first people earned victory against a foe beyond themselves. Those who fought under the banner of Twilight were shackled just as her, filled with empty promises that they knew shall never be delivered hence why many of them swore themselves to the Beast of Dusk, the favored pet of the Grim Sovereign who claws claimed the lives of millions, destroyed thousands of cities by cleaving the breadth of time in their destined existence.


    These thoughts lingered in her mind for decades, evolving to the point she feared voicing them out after the slaves, the pariahs rebellion. Even in Pyrghos many of the enslaved pariahs rose up against their masters, and she recalls the day when the dreaded children of Dusk wreathed the city, the clouds it penetrates in a vicious darkness while by the flapping of their winds, they generated winds sapping the life from thousands. The chaos, the terror of that singular night remained forever in her heart, and led to her yearning turn into a mild possibility.


    For many a nights after the revolt, the image of the undead, their malodorous, pungent scent burned into her mind, senses returning in the forms of nightmares. Nightmares that gradually soothed as she noticed a figure regal and pallid, wearing a long cloak worthy of monarchs calling out to her. A warning formed on his dry, desiccated lips of his handsome visage that she could not describe properly, yet she was drawn to it like moths to flames. Each dream supplemented the sprouting, the rebirth of this yearning. Yet they weren¡¯t the reason, but the glue for her departure, for abandoning her forced destiny to become a great veneficiar one day ¨C a destiny that would have led her down the valley of Dusk.


    A destiny that was noticed by eyes unseen and inquisitive; hands that were devoid of touch, warmth and cold; and a presence distant yet also present in her life, keeping watch over her, guiding her onto the road that would benefit the whole world. Because of him, the things she valued, the love she held and her desire to be the greatest, to be worthy of the Elhyrissiar were shut behind the jaws of oblivion, and in their place new ones sprouted guiding her to the north with sweet lies, with convictions her own, yet not.


    So she went to the North, leaving behind her friends, her family with only a single letter addressed to all of them, recounting her dreams where the Gray Monarch visited her. She told them about how fixing the temporal distortions left by the House of Dusk mattered more for the future of Elhyrissian than her studies, her research on the Greigor Gates¡¯s problem of lessening the passage of time spent in the wormhole connecting them. Two centuries of research abandoned overnight, and all those around her questioning her decision, the existence of these temporal wounds they heard nothing about. Yet these questions, like her ambitions, desires were swallowed into oblivion with each passing day, week and year.


    Wearing nothing but her tunic, her high collared robe enchanted with a heating effect so that she could survive the cruel elements. And her staff bearing the hourglass marks of Mhaugreus himself, hewn from Uhar three native to this very north, another sign to her that she was on the right path. Like a vagrant, she wandered the wastes, stayed only for a few days or weeks in the few cities and towns erected by the 19<sup>th</sup> Legion, she spent decades tracking the and closing the temporal wounds from which wraith of ravaged time poured forth, haunting the locales, taking children and the elderly to amass their own numbers.


    A threat beyond the eyes of Empire, a threat meager at that present, but in the future could have led to a dire loss of lives when the inevitable war rears its head. War she dreaded in the past, but with each wound closed she grew fond of in a strange way. Excited even as if she knew, her contribution to it shall be written down in the annals, excited at the thought that one day she shall be able to read it herself. A quite arrogant notion she noted after settling down in Vonschneithar.


    Though the locales began to learn of these threats, and through them the 19<sup>th</sup> Legion itself. And as she expected, though said that it took quite a long while, her name as the Gray Witch of the North spread far and wide in the cold north. When the last one was mended, Gnaeuth and his council met with Mirdbruil and offered her the post of a High-Veneficios ¨C one just a step beneath his own rank.


    From the 756<sup>th</sup> year of the First Age, she served as Gnaeuth¡¯s advisor on arkhaine matters, often sent to hunt down the few evolved revenants proving clever enough to walk past by the protections his grandfather erected against the evils that lurked since the first dawn of Elhyrissian in that accursed woodland. Against the ancient fae of dusk and finality, beckoning foolish mortals to their doom, to be enslaved in an accursed state to forever wander in the shadows of the gaunt trees. Umvraothus whose nightmarish presence twisted the air and fabric of reality of the eastern parcels to the point that high grade protections are necessary to traverse the land, otherwise one may be lost in the realms between, or even the dark realm these horrors originate from. The Crimson Praetoriar who fell centuries before under the sway of the Extinguisher of Bloodlines, thirsting for the material life essence of the living, and amassing an army of the bloodthirsty undead and strigoii, living corpses inhibited by souls tainted by His essence.


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    And many others even including the nature spirits twisted by the nekrotic matter pushing out most other primordial energies making up the fabric, rules and possibilities of reality. A place she was not too fond of, but she had to go knowing the will of her true Monarch beseeching for her aid. And so she went, fought numerous times against the horrors lurking in the shadows, bidding their time until the arrival of war, to carry out the will of their true, ancient lord resting in the belly of Dhaugruz after centuries of soaring the astral realms and the skies of Elhyrissian.


    A place where her true role in the tapestry of fate, of the Deossos laid cast upon her by her Gray Monarch. On the waning day of his season, near one of the dark, yawning maws spitting the refugees of the Virdr Kingdom out of itself after their arduous voyage. She saw it reflected in one of the refugee¡¯s yellow eyes. Eyes that once brimmed with a noble purpose, a brighter shade, still possessing the austerity of guiders of people. Yet there were hints of pain and shame in the eyes of the young boy no older than twenty, yet the experiences of his short life made themselves visible on his tired, wrinkled face ornated with healed scars.


    Still, Mirdbruil knew it wasn¡¯t time yet as she greeted them with the hundred legionariir behind him ¨C a confirmation that their most dire woes came to an end. A notion planted itself in her mind, telling her to be patient as the stars haven¡¯t aligned themselves yet, that her promised mate has yet to be conceived as what shall become him still lingered in the Wheel, slowly rebuilt for his own purpose in the Grand Play of the Deossos, the Almodo and the primordial forces who once reigned over creation.


    For now, in the 967<sup>th</sup> year of the First Age, on the waning days of the His season, she simply held out a hand towards him, drawn a genial smile upon her mesmerizing face while her long, dark hair hung before her bosom, abdomen draped in finely layered robes glistening with the refined sheet of silk as the gray, white and blackish light of the Illius fell upon her form. ¡°Welcome in the land of the Elhyrissian Empire. You have done well.¡± Her silken voice eased the tightened strings of his heart, and at once the boy let his welled up feeling show for a mere moment as a single tear flowed down his cheeks as he remembered his father¡¯s words before the Black Flames devoured his austere, stalwart form.


    **


    Amiriniel sat atop a large crate, her legs folded, her hands on her knees. Her eyes closed and bluish white mist poured to the quivering trims as she spread her awareness across the room, and below the floor, sensing not just the flowing underground rivulets, but also the mana twisted around them like coils of tightly knotted ropes pulled by Beucanor. His hands dripped with water as they gained a translucent, fluid texture as he held them down towards the ground and gently swept them north and west, south and east as he beckoned the water.


    Occasionally they also gained an earthly composition, paired with the distant, muffled rumblings as the earth beneath their feet rearranged, forming tunnels for easier access to the well in the center of the cellar. ¡°My dear Riniel, soothe the Rage!¡± As he felt the blood in his veins became thicker, slowed in their flowing and the ecstatic sensation of altering reality slowly changed to a pain that forced him to bite his tongue mid-sentence.


    Before her in the darkness she saw lit by branching and curling etheric threads, tendrils moving, dancing around her, she moved her owns¡¯ towards astral outline of Beucanor towered in the shadow of an amorphous beast lacking in true awareness, its maw opened and sharp and elastic needles piercing into the dwarf¡¯s silhouette. Though instead of clashing with the beast, trying vainly to pull it and vanquish it into the void it came from, her threads penetrated Beucanor and shared in his pain, took it upon herself for a short moment where the Beast felt confused and simply vanished out of its own volition.


    ¡°Thank you, my child!¡± She simply nodded her head and focused on the other two still far from attracting the attention of the Beast. Whilst Beucanor¡¯s role was to tame the elements, and beckon them across the village, Shad¡¯Yrg versed in Dawn maghia created a vastly stretching field beneath their feet, cleansing the impurities of the northern land. The motes of poison that found their way into the earthly veins from the roots of flowers ¨C some not even acidic or poisonous in nature ¨C or by the dead left to rot and freeze beneath the snow and earth.


    And lastly Mirdbruil who engulfed the room and below in a barrier separating them from the natural flow of time, hastening Shad-Yrg¡¯s spell. A high grade one that otherwise would needs weeks to properly activate without the necessity of her presence. Unlike Becaunor whose dwarven nature resulted in no more than four arkhaine points ¨C four strong ones still ¨C Shad¡¯Yrg and Mirdbruil could hold out and maintain their spells for several hours without awakening the Rage of Acheryoth and the backlash of reality altering them in horrific ways.


    Mirdbruil herself also helped in keeping it at bay, by focusing her will on the unseen anima thread protruding from their souls and locking onto the congregation of matters lingering in the air. Though it had its dangers as she practically created miniature vortexes of where time flowed in a much slower pace, halting the spread of etheric scent of Shad¡¯Yrg which would awaken the Rage of Acheryoth.  And the same spell extended towards Amiriniel, a feat that made, makes her worthy of being a pseudo-chosen of the Gray Monarch.


    ¡°Just hang in there. We¡¯re almost done here.¡± Mirdbruil said in a gentle tone. Whilst she herself was still far from drawing the Rage of Acheryoth, the muscles in her slender arms held out towards Beucanor and Shad¡¯Yrg burned to the point her saccharine sweat glistened on her fair, unblemished face; a few of her strands of her tied together hair freed themselves from the tyranny of the tight knot and her body began to quiver.


    Though she had to endure the scorching pain for two more hours. At last the two spells converged and separated from the Beucanor and Shad, forming into twisted cavalcade of funnels naked to the eye, stretching and branching like a proper sewage system.


    A loud sigh escaped her lips when her arms fell onto her sides, trembled when she swept off the sweat swathing her wide forehead. ¡°You should work out more Mir!¡± Shad said noticing her slight trembling which created waves upon her robes sewn from a linen based material altered and enhanced through maghia.


    ¡°Only if we have to do this on a biweekly case.¡± She said quickly before relapsing into silence as she sat down besides Amiriniel with a bit of aid from the latter who instinctively enchanted her muscles. ¡°Let¡¯s hope that won¡¯t come for years. Seems my arkhaine points began to weaken.¡± Beucanor said somberly as he reached into his coat and pulled out a vial of thick azure liquid and chugged it down in a moment¡¯s notice, easing the after shock created from the Beast latching onto his soul.


    ¡°Probably time to begin training your son.¡± Shad said as she too drank half of her vial than offered it to Mirdbruil who refused it, still oozing with the ecstasy of maghia ¨C that which eased the pain of her burning muscles. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m thinking of teaching Husstara. She has a much better affinity with earth and water.¡± The three looked at him a bit surprised. ¡°Makes sense.¡± Mirdbruil murmured while staring down pensively.


    ¡°Hopefully she also hits it off with Priernuss. It would be nice seeing some grandchildren before the Solemn Lady visits me.¡± Beucanor chuckled trying to mask his somberness ¨C with little success. ¡°I think that is a few good decades away.¡± Mirdbruil reassured him, though herself had a foreboding sensation since the day Eadwald and the others returned without Lioba and Ulrich.


    ¡°Well that is enough sad talk. Let¡¯s see some light.¡± The two agreed, and they all left the cellar, though Mirdbruil turned around as she sensed a faint and familiar presence, one that she sensed not since her departure to the north.

 Chapter 91: Tool of Time III.

    For the past three years, the same dream that starts as a nightmare and shifts into a constant echo of memories from less than a century ago, a few decades before the birth of Amiriniel. Each night she twists and turns tries to escape at first, back to the waking world as she recalls the clammy tremors she felt while treading under the shadows of the Woodland. Not alone, a fact which made it neither worse or even better as she knew in her bones that the lord of that parcel was beyond a would-be chosen and her entourage of legionariir.


    Mirdbruil still remembers the fear which she pushed into the deepest recesses of her mind. Still hears the breaking of twigs, the rustling of gaunt branches bereft of foliage, casting wicked shadows upon the snow in the hollow and pallid light of the Lunarius. She still hears the distorted whispers of tortured souls, their yelling muffled by wind and cold, unseen hands ¨C and the trembling of earth beneath the children of the White Terror stalking and ruling the parcel.


    Yet they never revealed themselves, kept their distance, waiting for the right moment to strike. Her right hand, a young demikin faun with white fur believed that they were in cohorts with the Host, who probably sent another of their warbands from one of the hidden paths beneath their feet. He said ¡°I hear them beneath our feet. They shall strike when we are asleep!¡± The words of a madmen she thought. It was only a few months before that a regiment of the 19<sup>th</sup> Legion clashed with a warband led by a vampyr capable of altering his own form into a more horrific one, she heard from her old friend Aelfsigior.


    ¡°If that is the case, why didn¡¯t they slit our throats, gorged on our bellies the night before, and before that!¡± Mirdbruil whispered each night these words as she relieved the memory in Oneiron, though devoid of the anger beget of her tiredness as she found no sleep in those rancorous glooms as she felt the stench of his children, the Waendiirnus. Nekrossus made from the corpses of fae and their servants in the wood reshaped into a horrific, bony silhouette of opaque epidermis of a corpse halted in the first stage of decay draped over large, bony silhouettes with elongated heads, a tortured visage with a wide mouth filled with crooked teeth and sinister anglers. that scraped against the gnarled bark of the trees, marking their presence to their prey.


    A wicked gesture that at first filled her mind with anger. How dared they had the audacity to try to instill fear in the great Her, a soon-to-be chosen of the Gray Monarch she thought for the first two weeks in their treading the accursed parcel. But the more hours passed, the more this anger slowly shifted into terror Mirdbruil felt centuries before, when the House of Dusk¡¯s prominent members visited Pyrghos and aided the revolting slaves in their escape. The tricks of these beasts of Dusk awakened these feelings once more, nevertheless she remained stoic on the outside ¨C the group she requested from Gnaeuth needed this from her as they too slowly lost their bravery.


    Then at last after nearly four weeks of traversing the pathless road, bereft of sleep and rest the wandiirnus attacked the group on thickest segment where the Lunarius¡¯s light could not penetrate the bony branches. A long and arduous battle unfolded as she had a hard time slowing their charging, her troops had little power even with their enchanted panoply and their blades barely made dents in the pallid skin of the beasts of dusk.


    Even though the beasts movement were slowed by her time spells, the exhaustion of their group amounted so much that many of her vanguard fell to the sharpened claws coming with a pace close to a snail¡¯s. A scenery unfolded before her which she found strangely comic but also terrifying as the tired legionariir¡¯s shrieks reverberated through the parcel for hours.


    So much so that even in that situation, she ordered retreat further towards the foot of Dhaugruz. The last scream echoed two hours into their slow retreat. At the clearing they all collapsed from the exhaustion, and desire for life vanished at once as she struggled even to keep her eyes open, knowing that closing them won¡¯t mean an escape from reality. She would have just veiled her sight in darkness.


    During those long moments, feeling the tremors of the nekrossus catching up to them, she pondered whether the choice was right or should it have been better to stay in Pyrghos, continuing her research on long range teleportation, on the creation of enchantments that could be graven into the body, halting the indomitable march of time, something that was against the tenets of her Deos. Maybe he sent him here to atone for such thoughts, ambitions and pay with her life for such heresy. A notion which seemed factual when the Gray Monarch stood before her, his layered regal cloak standing out in the blinding, deathly pungent snow.


    Yet even as she reached this conclusion, she found no hatred for her divine liege, but understanding and acceptance for her iniquities, and lifted her arms up, smiled weakly as the cold draught of finality brushed through the dense, raven locks of her cascading hair, tousling them as the rancorous howls and caustic breath of the beast neared towards from the shadows of the trees. Her small regiment all laid in the snow like corpses, except in their eyes a joy beget of the nearing end teemed with a cold light.


    But as she learned in that moment, she was wrong on her assumptions as the Gray Monarch vanished in a blink of her eyes; his Solemn Mistress remained far in realms beyond mortal life. And the metallic shriek of a blade pulled from its sheet, the wrestling of overlapping plates awakened hope in her and all of them who accepted the cold embrace of dusk and death. Though instead of turning and thanking their saviors mowing the wicked beasts, she collapsed into the soft embrace of the snow and looked at the stalwart, dashing figure whose dark mane escaped from the tyrannical confines of his helmet.


    As the last of the White Terror¡¯s children fell, he turned around and she felt nostalgic, to the day she first glanced those very same golden eyes, but now shimmering like the Illius. ¡°Careful. Your leg is wet and frozen.¡± He said in his soothing, almost melodious voice fit for a kind king and for the first time felt a desire far from ambition, but one of a fisherman or hunter towards the man whom she was destined, forced to meet with forces beyond her understanding ¨C at the time. She finally met with Ulrich whom captured her heart with a single glance.


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    **


    Not far from the grayish blue walls of Vonschneithar, on the steep land three large granite pieces of a pure blackness towered, bathed Sigi sitting in a meditative pose whilst Priernuss leaned against the largest of slabs. A former meeting ground for a circle of druids who settled in the times before the Legion settled here, in the times when the Vesgeriath Woodland¡¯s reach stretched further south. Though with time, the druids like fruits, vegetables and flora withered, spoiled by the etheric settlers who became lords of the woodland.


    Namely their devotion, alignment towards nature and Selvinia shifted to the Black Goat with a Thousand Young who claimed these lands, parcel before the legion came and conquered. Under their blades, spears and spells the nightmarish children of hers, and the former druids fell claimed by the curse. Allegedly, their rotting forms still flock to her new palace deep eastwards. And here, now the only remnant of their presence that remains is the three black granite slabs graven with symbols ravaged by the passage of time.


    ¡°At least let me put my robe under my ass! I can¡¯t focus like this.¡± He asked tensing his throat and opening his gifted eye, staring at Priernuss who himself seemed to be in a trance. The cold already penetrated through his thick breeches and broke through his tendon and skin, spreading its chilling tendril further across his folded legs. Besides it already numbed from sitting on the cold granite shaped like large pieces of cobblestones.


    ¡°Nope. Now focus and lock those lips of yours.¡± Priernuss said upon lifting his lids. ¡°And close that eyes of yours. No peeking.¡± Sigiwaer complied, smothering his complaints. From the earth beneath the snow, a slender silhouette rose, shorter than Priernuss, taller than Sigiwaer. Then it slowly became translucent, merged into the surroundings. Sigi¡¯s eye then moved towards Priernuss and watched as his fingers rhythmically beat against his forearm hidden beneath layers of thick winter garments.


    With each strike, he sensed a wave traversing across the space between him and the golem, which body swallowed the energies he felt faintly, and the torn piece of ego that he sensed faded in the same manner. Within the next few minutes, the presence of the golem completely faded. Sigi breathed in a handful of the chilling air that breezed through his hair and face, and erected a barrier around his form.


    ¡°Now focus your intent on seeing the unseen, sensing the unsensible.¡± At Priernuss¡¯s serious tone, he chuckled a bit, at the absurdity of them. Though then he pondered a while and voiced the question manifesting into his mind. ¡°Like the wind?¡± Priernuss nodded with half a smile. Seeing a confirmation in it, Sigiwaer focused his intent while pouring mana into his one remaining golden eye, shaping it into a spell that first just let him see the air itself blowing their bodies, their garments. Slowly he noticed a translucent whiteness, a mist but more fluid, more alive passing southwards. ¡°Amazing.¡± He muttered softly as he felt the living energy and sensed its recognition of him, and at once an innocent, excited smile brightened his pale visage, easing Priernuss¡¯s heart a bit as he himself was a worried about the boy who talked little about the loss of his father after the funeral pyre.


    ¡°Now let¡¯s sense the golem.¡± He whispered to himself as he calmed himself and closed his eye once more. This time he focused more on Priernuss, on the ego he torn, he burnt into himself while watching him tear it out from himself. Minutes passed as he focused on it, forcing more and more of his mana, then latching out to the energies surrounding them, beckoning them to his aid.


    Then he felt very faintly it stalking up towards from behind. And just as it leapt, he branched his will and called on the elements. At once, the draught grew stronger, aggressive even as it pinned the now revealed golem against the southern slab with a force that shattered its feeble form back to its original, calm state. Claps echoed through the steep acreage as Priernuss straightened his posture and walked towards Sigiwaer. ¡°Well done, Sigi. A natural talent still.¡± He reached out his hand and Sigi proudly took it as he rose.


    ¡°Not without your aid of course.¡± He said feeling a bit embarrassed at the shower of words. Ones that made him recall Ulrich¡¯s praises when he first conjured a fireball a few months before their departure. ¡°And even a humble one.¡± Though the rustling of his hair from the violent patting forced this memory back to the recesses of his mind once more ¨C along with the rising gloom.


    ¡°Still why this place?¡± Sigi asked, though he was aware partially of the choice. Here, beneath their feet the earth brimmed with power as chokepoint of the leylines was left behind by the druids. A point that strengthened the arkhaine¡¯s points reception and capability to tap into the elemental forces making up a part of reality, stretching their limits and threshold where the Rage of Acheryoth crawls over them.


    ¡°While I do believe you are natural talent, one that may stand side by side with the greatest of magusos, you are still young and the feat you showed now, would have had a greater blowback.¡± Priernuss said as they two sat down at the edge and watched the distance where flocks of birds and wild dragons soared the skies. ¡°I think at least.¡± He said softly whilst scraping the back of his sheared head.


    ¡°I see. I still feel the fuzziness of my mana rearranging itself. But its barely noticeable.¡± His palms stretched before his eyes as he stared at them, watching the chromatic veins pulsing slowly calm as the tender twinging of his whole being faltered. ¡°Wanna go a second round?¡± Then he asked while creating a small ball of mana he juggled between his fingers, keeping the twinging from fading. It kept his mind off from the reality he was still not used to.


    ¡®Will do. But for now let¡¯s just enjoy the scenery. It is rare for this place to be this calm.¡± Priernuss said as he pinched the sharpening tip of his ear. ¡°Should have brought your set.¡± Priernuss blew a haze of warm mist out and used his fingers instead of a brush, creating a dispersing piece of art within a few seconds. ¡°Maybe next time.¡±


    The two turned in chorus backwards when the sound of snow crunching beneath the steps of Eadwald and Azugh reached their ears. Sigi quickly rose onto his feet and greeted the two warmly while Priernuss stared into the distance for a few more moments before getting up. ¡°So how do practice going?¡± Azugh asked as he leaned against the northern stone.


    ¡°So far, we only did one round. But that went pretty well.¡± Priernuss said with his bosom held out proudly. ¡°I am a natural talent he said.¡± Sigi said while clapping his palm against his chest. ¡°Want to jump in brother? It will probably come in handy in the capital.¡±


    ¡°Sure. But before that wanted to ask if you want to come with us later. We shall make a short round in the woodland.¡± Eadwald stopped for a short moment, glancing at Priernuss who remained calm and silent. ¡°Not far into of course.¡± Sigi looked pensive for a moment and looked for approval at his teacher. ¡°I¡¯d love to.¡± He said eagerly.

 Chapter 92: Those Eyes of Twilight I.

    The four took at least half an hour ¨C or a mite bit more ¨C to reach back to the southern gate on the sloping road cleaned off by the guards with gentle waves of their arms spreading processed mana. Mana that was unseen to the others, yet sensed in their bodies as it passed through them. Sigi on the other hand watched with a calm expression, containing the excitement he felt still upon witnessing etheric waves wash across the thick whiteness reaching up to their knees ¨C almost.


    Their legs slowly warmed by the invisible force and energies parting the snow that began its rinsing over the sloping land of the whole North. Their soles still sunk a just a little into the slush melted as the spell generated by the guards contained a bit of dawn maghia. Just a bit necessary to soften the snow hardened by the cold climate biting their skin, slashing their throats as they took small and deep breaths as they exerted themselves traversing the short distance.


    ¡°What is it?¡± When they finally reached the shadow of the gate that moaned open before them, Sigiwaer stopped in his tracks.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you feel it?¡± He asked quite innocently, like he was still in his small, innocent form before receiving the enigmatic gift. The dark eye that can see beyond the natural world.


    Azugh and Eadwald looked at each other, closed their eyes for a short moment, trying to sense anything beyond the creeping nekrotic matter trying to overpower the others¡¯ including the Iuboron keeping it at bay. Yet even when they strained their sense, they felt nothing besides the guards¡¯ spell that slowly waned as their little group entered. ¡°What about you uncle?¡±


    Priernuss remained silent, and stared at the south, his face slightly contorted as he lengthened his vision. ¡°We shall have visitors very soon. We should put off the visit to the woodland for a little bit.¡± He said as he sensed gust of elemental energies reaching from at least hundred or two southwards. Eadwald and Azugh once more looked at each other, awareness of what the two must have felt showing overtly on their faces.


    Though that expression changed. Eadwald now looked concerned, but still excited at the prospect of the imperial delegation arriving at last. Though he felt even after six years of waiting, it may have been to soon. But he was now even more glad for not waiting around in Vhoragos, not knowing whether his mother, his dear siblings learned and were taken care of. For the past six years he had to fill the shoes left empty by Ulrich who went ahead through the gates of Asphodai ¨C a fact he had to face as they tracked uphill, through the shadows of snow blanketed forest: through the deadly moors where sinister elementals and their undead servants still lingered. A task he was not alone with thankfully, as Priernuss and Aelfsigior both aided in the healing of his mother whose fa?ade everyone one of them seen through.


    Long gone were the days of her full happiness, though she was no miser when it came after her beloved¡¯s passing. She still looked after Sigi and Amiriniel, prepared their breakfast, lunch and dinner though no longer whistling the tunes of old songs or reciting archaic poems written in the origin planes of the Elhyrissian Empire. She still taught the two the mysteries of maghia, showed them how to manipulate time to a very basic level to mend wounds, to force the body back to a state before laceration or the breaking, cracking of bone, yet her patience proved thinner when the two had a hard time mastering one of the hardest of aspects gifted to mortal kindred. At the end of the day, she apologized for her short and sudden burst of anger and sorrow as the raising of her voice led to the curtains being blown as fluctuations in her tone revealed themselves in those moments.


    And in those moments, they came onto the threshold of revealing their peering through the veil she cast over herself. When Sigi failed to properly flung his body back in time, before he made the small cut on his palm as per the training, he almost blurted out words he now knew he would have regretted even in those very moments. He thanked the Deossos for stopping the words coming from not his mind but his beating heart.


    In a similar case, even Amiriniel found herself perplexed and in the heat of her emotions she yelled back at her own mother, but managed to keep the words of revelation within her dented heart beating fast from emotions and the ecstasy of spells she cast, though failed to properly materialize in those minutes and hour. Unlike her brother though, her efforts were much closer, a toe over the threshold so to speak and whilst neither of them spoke of it, Mirdbruil was, to an extent aware at the possibility that her act had been exposed.


    Eadwald was the sole children of hers who managed to keep this from Mirdbruil, though he felt his own hypocrisy at putting up a mask pallid and desolate. He never uttered a word about Ulrich that would break the weir holding the tides of feelings welled up in all of them. For the simple and na?ve reason of believing, Ulrich was still alive but simply lost or in bondage of the revenants and their damned queen haunting the central parcels close to the gloomy and jagged walls of Dhaugruz, in her hidden court.


    In spite of that, Eadwald stared up at the skies ¨C revealed or hidden mattered not ¨C and squinted his sparkly golden eyes. Beyond his consciousness he tried to peer into what he witnessed in the wormhole which once connected the Greigor Gates of the monastery and Vhoragos; to peer into the realm of otherworldly beings where the souls said to traverse towards their final destinations ¨C the Realm of the Gray Monarch, Asphodai.


    Even now, whilst the others began to recalculate their plans for the little sauntering into the woodland, Eadwald stared in hope of seeing Ulrich standing before the pallid gates hewn from some etheric stone of a quality beyond even marble processed by the erudite hands of aevhen or dwarven kindred. Knowing deep down how much a foolish thought it was that the undead would take living captives. Still hope remained always in his heart, hope that the day he strikes down that accursed wretch, Ulrich would come back into their lives, even if only for a moment before they pass to the fabled isles where the Empire reborn within the boundaries of Elhyrissian.


    ¡°Have you ever seen a dragon of the Heavenly Host?¡± As he stepped forth from the realm of notions, thoughts Eadwald heard his brother drop the question towards Priernuss as they continued the mild climb on the ascending road of slush and cold earth.


    ¡°Only once if I¡¯m being honest.¡± Priernuss stopped for a moment as he answered the question, pondering as he recalled the fateful meeting with a dragon. ¡°Just about a decade into my adventuring, vagrant days.¡±


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    ¡°What was it like?¡± Sigi stopped for a moment to rethink his words. ¡°I mean, standing in its shadow.¡±


    Reaching into the crossing of streets in the southern parcel of Vonschneithar, Priernuss stopped and the others faltered and watched as his face grimaced. Slowly he dug into his mind, evoking the feelings of the day he first stood in the shadow of the mightiest beast who soar the skies and the astral sea between the planes of existences, mortal and eternal. ¡°It is a surreal experience, one of contending sensations of awe at the majesty and the air of royalty similar to the draevhei.¡± He began and as the last words left his lips, Sigi looked a bit puzzled and pensive as he recalled how he felt a bit afraid when he first met Aurelithae. Though he concluded it was more out of his meek nature back then that the exertion of the draconic heritage of the draevhei kindred.


    ¡°But I also felt a bit of fear. Fear knowing that dragons could simply erase my existence, my form in a simple breath of their chromatic flames that burn as strong as the Illius itself.¡± He continued evoking puzzled expressions from all three this time. ¡°More in the sense of allegedly close to it. There was this old magus Numearil whom we can thank for the Illius being kept so far away from the follies of mortal kindred. A foolish son of the previous Elhyrissiar, and an elder brother to the current who wished for a way for his people to fly like their forefathers. An endeavor that proved his doom as you all know now.¡±


    As he finished, they all stared at the Illius, and for a moment Sigi felt like it would be a worthy early feat to reach the same heights and beyond. To find a way to travel to the Illius and bask in its light without being burnt to crisps, to nothingness. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it.¡± Noticing the boy¡¯s wondering gaze, and the shifting of his thin dark brows and the triumphant smile, Priernuss brought him back to the cold reality. ¡°Not even the chosen of the Amber Lord like Numearil was safe from the heat of the Illius. One who carried the blood of his favored pet the Heavenly Monarch in his veins.¡±


    ¡°But what about a chosen of the Almodo? Surely we would have resistance akin to the eldest of dragons or maybe even the Titan who said to raise the Illius into the sky.¡± Sigi retorted, though his tone fluctuated as he was a bit unsure not long after the notion shew itself into his mind. ¡°There are things better left unknown. There are myriad other things to discover in this plane.¡± Priernuss said as he began their sauntering towards the southern square of the walled village.


    **


    Cold winds blew against their face as they slowly reached the threshold of the shadows beneath the branches bereft of foliage. Snow cracked softly beneath their withered feet as they made careful steps on the sloping, treacherous lands ¨C even for the two of them. Roots slithered under the heavy and cold blanket, towards their soles and even eyeing their ankles to wrap around them, and drag them further into their fold. Yet as they reached closer to the round hem which trims swallowed the little light that reached beneath the snow, they retreated back beneath the earth.


    Though they came to this conclusion. A revelation that came almost too late as they sensed the aspect of Dusk engraved into both to varying degrees. Orhading who was blessed and augmented by the essence of a great Aydvroegh whom himself was beyond in age than the trees, the world they all occupied. On the other hand, Uchitemar himself was an undead with the clear mind of the living free from the binding shackles of a necromancer, still in possession of myriad feelings, of notions a luxury for most raised or risen dead. Still shackled into a withered body not his own. One that since his departure from Vhoragos, tracking Eadwald and his entourage has since been improved upon by another Aydvroegh of seemingly greater standing in the hierarchy of Dusk, the executioner of the Nightscale¡¯s whims and desires.


    He carefully followed in the steps of the group, keeping an eye on them and binding the few vagrant undead Uchitemar run into, or in truth ones who evaded the blades, spears and spells of the group. Or simply bartered with the blessed spirits of the moorlands, granting him a small army of the dead he occasionally unleashed upon the six in hopes of taking down Eadwald who was exhausted for the first two to three months after he tapped unknowingly into the power granted by the Almodo.


    Uchitemar proved fairly lucky as the group seemed to had the single-minded goal of reaching back to Vonschneithar instead of trying to reason why all these undead were attacking them. Unknown to him, they simply thought it was payment for their decision of evading the villages and small towns found between their home and Vhoragos. Never once it passed their minds to investigate the source of their curtailing travel.


    Nevertheless, even after half a year of tracking through the dreary, sloping and snow-covered vistas, Uchitemar remained in the shadows, only sending a few of his recently acquired dead. Even when they finally arrived to Vonschneithar, Uchitemar remained in the shadows of the blessed woodland. He watched, memorized the pattern of the village guard making their rounds in the woodland, cutting down the few bestial revenants whom approached near the threshold whilst the ones belonging to the thinking races were swayed by him.


    Years passed with these monotonous days where he simply bid his time, waiting for the Will of Dusk to give its sign to him, to let him earn glory and recognition of the one who truly roared the first dawn into existence. But the sign never came ¨C at least not in the form he expected.


    One gentle night, he strolled around following a lone group of fresh revenants ¨C a group of woodcutters from a nearby settlement eastwards to Vonschneithar ¨C when chance, Dusk led him towards the pale figure cloaked in white, shapeless robes exuding an air of regality, yet were still somewhat mundane blending into the snowy surroundings lit barely by the Lunarius. He met Grimslaukh who was strolling around after concluding his meeting with the White Terror ruling the western parcels, whose territory stretched farther now with the demise of the Crimson Praetor a few decades, even centuries ago.


    In his eyes, he saw the purest form of Dusk shimmering darkly, one that he had read many times on the eastern isles when he was a little niuvhe before his family were exiled by the tyrants who fabricated lies about the Lunarius, conferring feats upon the Dawn Father, the Magnificent Mother of aevhen kindred and Fate-Weaver for the creation of Lunarius, for creating light in the darkest hours.


    Glancing upon the form, he quickly realized he stood in the presence of one most favored by the eldest of dragons, of all beings truly, the one who truly out of his good heart gifted mortal kindred of this world a way to traverse even in the direst of hours. Though at first, he stood in awe and fear before one that appeared no different from him, or well before he was forced into a withering vessel. But then, awe triumphed over fear, and he swiftly got on his knees, and bowed in greetings to the emissary of the Dusk, the one who knew the Will of Dusk without need for asking, patience; the one who immediately peered into his past and future and saw the great possibilities waiting on the ladder of time; and the one who seeing worth in him even just at a glance, mended and renewed his withering form and given him and Orhadin the most important task.


    To venture beyond the threshold of the Woodland, and destroy the Pillars of Dawn erected by the accursed Elhyrissiar to keep the dead, the blessed spirits in mortal husks within the boundaries, the tender, caring shadows of the Vesgeriath Woodland. A task most dire for their kindred, blessed by the Night.

 Chapter 93: Those Eyes of Twilight II.

    Oriseambar stood just a few dozen meters from the yawning darkness that occupied the aperture of the Dhaugruz¡¯s foot in the easternmost parcel of the Vesgeriath Woodland. An ivory fort erected two centuries after the hordes of slaves marched into the Veinways of the gloomy mountain range slithering about the northernmost lands of the great continent of Vhalleryon. A fort of hexagonal proportions standing on an already steep land, with a deep mote filled to the brim with azure waters with a glint of all the warm shades of dawn thanks to the overflowing of iuboron matter forming the base of spells, the first line of defense against those on the other side of the gloomy mountain and the horrors lurking in the forest behind.


    Further beyond the rivulet occupied moat, on the rising land betwixt the moat and sharply turning, six-sided walls stakes protruded from the frozen, black earth decorated furtively with snow. And at the highest point of the moderate hill started the ivory base of the wall. A wall of unctuously cohesive granite gleaming magnificently like the scaled hide of elder dragon kind, and just as sturdy against the tools and spells of war. On the top, meticulously placed, small cubicles grew forth the thick rail offering protection and the chance to safely hurl spell, arrow and stone against the rushing forces of the enemy.


    An enemy like the revenants who distorted forms hung on the stakes in the blackened, frozen earth or circled in the rivulet, slowly burning as Iuboron matter slowly consumed their degraded forms that began anew their decaying into nothingness.


    The few legionariir posted atop the pentagonal towers on each sharp corner pinched their nose and cursed the dead for their foolishness. A not so truthful foolishness as the pale figure of Grimslaukh stood in the shadows of the ghastly trees, his listless eyes glancing while wicked forms amassed behind him. ¡°I¡¯ll take half. You all take the rest.¡± He turned and spoke to the horror from times before the children of Deossos were elevated into proper forms.


    An amorphous horror of a fluid state wrapped around a haphazardly sculpted together frame of welted bones of those who felt brave ¨C foolish ¨C enough to venture into the parcel of the Black Goat with a Thousand Children. There they lost themselves in the maze of illusions, their minds slowly degraded into nothingness while their bodies were slowly devoured by these amorphous children who shared the remains of their preys betwixt each other.


    It gave out a sibilant, guttural sound answering Grimslaukh whose cold, dark gaze remained on the fortress only a few hundred meters from them. ¡°Do not worry child. I shall leave bodies for your kin.¡± He answered with a genial smile that sent made the bones in the opaque liquid rattle. They watched and sensed their surroundings as Grimslaukh walked towards the southern gate. They watched as the wind sweeping across previously halted in its relentless march before their liege, the snow melted not from heat but from the steps whose sound vanished in the moment of their birth.


    ¡°Time to instill the old fear into the young.¡± He murmured in the hard shadow of the great Yuhar gate. Yuhar one of the strongest wood processed carefully as these trees born from the union of nekrotic and naultic matter ¨C the primordial matter of Nature itself. Life and death, flames and ice, change and stasis in perfect harmony in a mundane vessel of nature ¨C that was Yuhar. But before Grimslaukh, this balance was thrown in favor of nekrotic matter, and the light hazel tinted gate crumbled at the blink of his tired eyes.


    And through its crumbling form, the few dozen legionariir who were alerted to the white specter before the gate watched bewildered as the protection that could withstood the onslaught of thousand beasts, the tools of war and spells of destruction crumbled not even into just pieces of ruin, but dust. They could not help but shiver as they stood before Him, before the second greatest shadow of Dusk, of Time that does not halt to the whims of mortals ¨C not even the great Elhyrissiar whom they swore allegiance.


    ¡°Just the halft.¡± He repeated to himself as he walked through the arch devoid of the once proud gate, keeping his promise as the half of the fort¡¯s personnel laid down onto the ground, their eyes closed with light extinguished under the heavy curtains. Few of the half leaned against the wall as they rushed down the stairs, as they glanced one last time onto the walking white and mildly dark form staring vacantly, everlastingly. And the rest watched as their brothers and sisters extinguished, but were denied passage to the gray city where they shall finally rest peacefully.


    Fear froze their bodies like the cold draught breezing, permeating through the fortress, breaking through relentlessly the windows of the headquarters, through the residence of the local tribuniar whom was promised great glories when war arrives, yet he found nothing but the coldness of dusk, the grasp of death itself. The final twilight descended on the fortress, and the children of the Black Goat followed, their joyous sibilant and guttural cries echoed for hundreds of kilometers, mingling with the final throttles of the once brave and ivory legionariir of the nineteenth.


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    Oriambal, promised to stand against the onslaught of the Host for weeks, for months even fell within minutes before the might of Dusk and all its horrors as those who fell by the will of Grimslaukh rose onto their feet, their forms distorted and withered by the energies of time and dusk. Their souls ceased their beseeching of Grimslaukh, to release them to their promised rest, and now waited devoid of joy, of anger, of despair and were filled to the brim with the gentle void in service of Grimslaukh, The Great Emissary of Twilight.


    ¡°That is all. You have done a fine work my friend.¡± As he stood before the disciplined dead, the eldest child of the Black Goat leapt from the wall, landed right beside him and once more uttered words of a strange, inhumane tongue. Yet whilst the raised dead listened vainly, confused by the distant language of Urhggoth. ¡°Come my friends. We shall march towards south, your former home.¡±


    **


    A heavy thud, the clinging of heavy plates echoed through the silent square upon Augermil¡¯s landing from his winged companion, Jaculus who still hovered in the air unsure where to land his massive form. ¡°Beg my pardon good citizens of Vonschneithar for the impromptu arrival of ours!¡± His deep, melodious voice boomed through the square.


    The elderly merkin, the widow of the recently passed village head proudly walked forward and bowed before the shield and blade of the Empire itself. ¡°We are glad to welcome you, great protector of the Empire!¡± Her raspy voice easily cut through the heavy sound of wings flapping just a few meters before their head. ¡°Though we regret not finding a place for your proud, majestic winged companions.¡± Her tired, genial gaze focused on Jaculus who lowered his head in understanding as Augermil looked back at him and gestured with his head towards the south.


    Sigi watched, recalling the words of Priernuss and he felt a warm twinge of excitement and awe upon seeing the dragon heading not far beyond the precipices of the village. The tendons of his legs tensed, quivered lightly as he repressed his desire to follow after the majestic beast with shimmering, chromatic scales and thick, branching horns akin to an elks¡¯ or stags of the forest southwards of their village. For the time being, he had to quench his curiosity of drawing his palms across the scaled form, the curiosity to liken them to Aurelithae¡¯s whose scales he touched once in the land of dreams.


    ¡°Though I guess it is not a secret on what business we came.¡± Then his mind lurched back to reality upon hearing those words pour forth the muzzle of Augermil whose head was adorned with similar antler like horns. Words which awakened a cold scorching within his abdomen, one quelled by a deep sigh and Eadwald walking towards with an excited expression. One that matched most of the villagers, except for the few aevhei like their uncles Aelfsigior and Priernuss ¨C and their mother Mirdbruil. Both stared at Augermil with worried looks, their eyes covertly brimming with suspicion.


    ¡°What is wrong?¡± He asked in a low-voice leaning lightly towards Priernuss. ¡°We¡¯ll talk about it later. For now, just greet mighty Augermil.¡± Now he looked a bit puzzled as he thought that maybe Aurelithae was wrong when she told him her uncle shall come for them, and that this bipedal dragon was someone else. But the question had to wait as he followed Amiriniel and the two carefully maneuvered through the crowd forming a ring around the southern square.


    The two stopped behind Eadwald who stood before them, holding his body, quenching the shivers of excitement as he stood before Augermil, the one whom he heard almost a thousand tales, odes throughout his short life. All the recent years¡¯ aches evaporated as he mustered his strength and greeted the senior warrior with a courtesy fit for one of the country side, of the far north where cold and dusk ruled. One of his dream came true as the two¡¯s honed arms wrapped around each other in a firm greeting, and Sigi mischievously smiled when he noticed the faint tremble when his name left the muzzle of Augermil. It was like as if he stood before a proper dragon, brimming with awe and fear at the mighty presence.


    Amiriniel was a bit more mature, calm when offering her greetings like a noble lady. Motions hammered into her by Mirdbruil for the past few years. Though she too felt a bit excited, but not as much as her curiosity took the better of her and she began to question Augermil about his brother, the Elhyrissiar. As he listened and watched beside her, Sigi noticed the faint sadness lingering in his words, regret and envy colluding with it whilst his eyes remained kind and bright with the joy of an older sibling.


    ¡°A fine youth.¡± Augermil said just enough for those near to hear as their arms locked firmly together. Sigi once more wrestled to not let his face contort at the force of the muscles honed for thousands of years, forged in even more battles. ¡°You must be the boy my dear niece spoke about!¡± Then he said in a low-voice, though whether he smiled or not he could not tell. ¡°With the gift of my lady!¡± At those words, Sigi could no longer keep his face in a genial, calm contour and looked inquisitively at the elderly draevhe.


    ¡°We shall have plenty of time for explanations. For now, know we are kindred spirits so to speak.¡± He nodded and smiled, though he was unsure of why, but felt a tickling cold wind blowing against his face as Augermil¡¯s grip released. ¡°Now, I stole enough of each your times. Please ignore my presence and continue your lives!¡±


    As the silence came to an end amidst the murmurs of the villagers, Sigi rushed towards Augermil and spoke up in an excited tone. ¡°Beg my pardon my lord, but could I come with you. I am quite interested in your winged companions.¡± Hearing those words as she approached, Mirdbruil¡¯s calm, genial expression veiling her suspicions mellowed and the corners of her lips curved ever so slightly. ¡°Of course, little Sigiwaer.¡± Augermil said, and now he could notice the definite smile, aimed towards kindred ¨C a kindred of fates upon hearing the soft whispers of his lady, the Weeping Maiden.

 Chapter 94: Those Eyes of Twilight III.

    The moment they stepped out from the village gate, the accompanying draennith praetors greeted the group led by Augermil keeping the pace of the excited Sigi. Even his dark eye glimmered with a childlike fervor upon witnessing the mighty forms of the heavenly host, clearly dragon but with the faint lineaments of gryphons, phoenixes and the proud kings of the southern forests, elks and stags.  It took him a lot of effort to keep himself courteous ¨C hammered into him by both Mirdbruil and Aurelithae.


    For six years she prepared him for this meeting, and the next when the three youths shall meet with the Elhyrissiar, her father. A moment she was very anxious about, yet the source of it seemed to evade her still. Nonetheless, the two spent half their time in Oneiron practicing manners of the court, the need of self-control ¨C to contain one¡¯s excitement outside the boundaries of ones¡¯ home ¨C and of course the strange maghia both were gifted with. Although Aurelithae kept silent on the Black Book delivered by a pale stranger.


    Despite knowing, suspecting that the princess of the Empire possessing such knowledge had to have a source, Sigiwaer remained silent on the matter. Mostly because he knew it was improper to delve into the secrets of others. And because he believed that when the time comes, she shall reveal it to him ¨C and possibly to Eadwald and Amiriniel, their fellow kindred, siblings.


    As these thoughts danced around his mind, walking between Eadwald and Augermil ¨C Priernuss behind them with Mirdbruil ¨C Sigi¡¯s mind focused on the group of dragons and their proud riders in gilded plates of overlapping segments covering their whole and honed forms on top of the seemingly thin layer of lavish clothing. He surged with excitement, awe like Eadwald whose dream just entered into his world, a step away from him. Still, the two remained calm as they matched their pace to Augermil¡¯s.


    ¡°This one you had all seen. But let me introduce you my winged friend, the great Jaculus.¡± Eadwald unsure on the proper way of these things remained still listening with a mildly excited expression plastered onto his face. Amiriniel near him, excited more as she sensed a familiarity with the beast, on top of sensing the might of the dragon that faintly leaked from its body. Which Sigi himself saw in the form of a chromatic mist, opaque when he walked closer, translucent when they were still a few dozen steps away.


    Jaculus¡¯s presence drawn him closer. His hand raised, and without noticing it he walked towards the dragon, palm reached towards the muzzle with an avian lineament. ¡°May I?¡± Came the question while his eyes met the dragon¡¯s brimming jewels of myriad colors congregating peacefully in the wide frame. ¡°Go ahead my little brother!¡± And came the answer from the recipient himself, freezing the boy in bewilderment as he not expected the dragon¡¯s capability of speech. The bestial voice rang with a tone both bestial and regal, noble the least followed by a breath pleasant both in odor and the heat it generated upon the formation of words.


    ¡°No need to be afraid.¡± Augermil encouraged him in a kind manner that reminded him of Ulrich nudging him during their hunting trip. He took a mouthful from the frigid air and pushed on, and surprise dawned on his face upon sensing the scales pushing gently against his palm. A feeling he likened to touching velvet or silk but with the sturdiness, indomitability of metals. It felt pleasantly warm like the breath accompanied by the heat piling up within the massive form which shadow protected him from the pallid light of the Illius. The heat, the softness and sturdiness all delivered a sense of calm and empowerment within him, as if he himself changed into a dragon of the Heavenly House.


    Lost in this sensation, he almost walked into the baggage fastened to the enormous saddle hewn from the hide of another mighty beast ¨C he conjectured from the refined dullness of it. ¡°Ah, excuse me. Was a bit lost.¡± He said meekly to Augermil who was following behind, noticing the distant look on the boys¡¯ face as he was day dreaming, soaring the skies. ¡°No need for apologies. Seems even Jaculus felt it pleasant.¡± He pointed out the soft purring of the dragon who looked at Sigi.


    ¡°Can we too?¡± Amiriniel noticing too his expression asked whilst stepping forward. Augermil looked at Jaculus who nodded, then lowered his head with the same motion.


    ¡°Come Eadwald!¡± She yelled to Eadwald who stood beside Mirdbruil and Priernuss, both watching proudly, their woes lost to the moment. Though he was brimming with eagerness and even in a state of blissfulness, Eadwald maintained the fa?ade of a calm, measured man as he placed his palm betwixt the scaled epidermis, the domed area between the slit nostrils and at once Jaculus shared a tinge of his primeval essence. Like Sigiwaer he went through a series of ecstatic sensations, the weightlessness of a dragon soaring across the sky.


    ¡°His presence lingers truly in all of them.¡± Jaculus spoke up once more after they released their soft touch, feeling dejected as if a precious thing was torn from their very being. ¡°We should bring them to safety as soon as possible.¡±


    Augermil raised his hand noticing the stirring of the trio. ¡°We shall take them when the time comes for that. For now, let¡¯s just enjoy this gentle coldness of the north.¡± His words seemed to calm them for the moment. His head turned sideways upon hearing the approaching steps in the snow and his massive body leaned forward greeting their mother.


    ¡°I know this is not an easy time, we shall take off when their hearts and minds are in the right place.¡± Mirdbruil leaned closer, pouring a bit of mana into her throat, into her words as her lips parted, emanating faint sounds aimed only at Augermil.


    ¡°Brother.¡± She began but stopped in the very same moment as she looked pensive. ¡°Could you not take them the next morning.¡±


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    ¡°Why the hurry Sister?¡± He asked recognizing the touch of the Gray Monarch within Mirdbruil. ¡°Only my Liege knows, but for the past few months, he has been sending me foreboding dreams.¡±


    Augermil stroked his horned chin before answering. ¡°We shall see. But I believe it is best for these kids to stay at least a month. If anything happens in the meanwhile, I vow on my soul, on my body that I shall protect them even if the Nightscale himself ascends from the belly of Dhaugruz.¡± Mirdbruil looked into his eyes, and her worries faded at the strength of those words. She simply nodded then excused herself, and the three to let them unpack.


    ¡°Are you sure it is good idea to wait?¡± Jaculus asked as he watched the three of them get swallowed by the arched southern gate. ¡°I do. And time is still on our side.¡± He answered truthfully, confident.


    **


    ¡°So, this is it.¡± Uchitemar said with a retching voice as the two of them stopped before the Pillar of Dawn ¨C one of the four dotted across the north. ¡°How vile.¡± Orhadin remained silent, reaching towards his throat, unfolding the shawl wrapped around his neck from the same etheric material as the robe beneath his large, scaled plates.


    A piece of granite protruding from the blackened earth and snow, lacking in any striking feature ¨C visible to the eye at least. For the two though, it was unmistakable thanks to the invisible storm of overpowering iuboron matter making up the base of the protective dawn spell. A spell which seemed utterly complex even for Orhadin, the erudite nekromancer of the Host who studied maghandr for the better of his life, for almost a century. It almost looked to be woven not by a mortal blessed by the essences of all the Deossok but by the Deossok themselves ¨C specifically by the accursed Amber Lord.


    ¡°Do not approach any closer.¡± Orhadin tilted his staff, stopping the Uchitemar drawing near, ignoring the wave of nausea sweeping through his whole being. His hissing echoed and he at once stopped, noticing the bright, gilded cracks forming on the ghastly pale arms of his slipping out from under the sleeves, burning the conjured material itself even.


    ¡°Let¡¯s be done with this.¡± He said biting his rotten seeming tongue, spitting into the snow the dark ichor coating the insides of his mouth.


    ¡°We shall soon. But this spell of the Elhyrissiar is one foot out of the realm of mortals ¨C even us blessed with ascended forms.¡± For a moment, he lifted his arm up to demonstrate the unseen terror before them. His long, clawed fingers caught on flames ¨C or what appeared to be gilded flames of dawn ¨C contending with the overflowing nekrotic matter flowing within his form. After he pulled it out, he watched as his anima took the shape of his hand while marrow, flesh and epidermis grew back into their state before gnawed away.


    With a smile on his ophidian lips, Orhadin turned around and held out a small piece which looked like crystallized obsidian or even glazed basalt hanging from a thin line of rope dangling from the brink of his palm. ¡°Here, satiate your eyes and your heart, mind.¡± Even from the distance between them, from just glancing at the pallid palm where the piece of the claw rested peacefully, emanating a soothing, opaque mist dark as the starless night sky, he sensed the primordial essence of the Nightscale. It passed through him like a gentle breeze of wintry gust, calming, embracing him.


    Without even noticing it, his withered lips curled in exhilaration. Just with that single piece, he felt confident in raising a legion¡¯s worth of undead in the name of the Nightscale. He could face half the lords of the woodland, bind them to his will. Or simply face off against Eadwald in the state where he unravels with his gift, planted into his whole being by the Almodo himself. He was sure of all of that by just simply glimpsing the small piece of primordial piece of claw.


    ¡°It is magnificent.¡± He blurted out. ¡°I do agree.¡± Orhadin agreed.


    ¡°What exactly is that?¡± Uchitemar pointed at the pillar glowing in the dawn¡¯s shade of amber and golden as it sensed the two just five steps from itself. ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel like a piece of rock enchanted with some dawn spell.¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡± Orhadin said while curling his fingers over the piece of claw which now emitted a dark mist. ¡°Once upon a time, this piece of granite was part of the Veinways below our feet ¨C called forth by the Elhyrissiar not long after our ancestors retreated to the basin. From what I can tell, and was told to me, it is similar to our sentinels.¡± He stopped for a moment as he raised his hand forward overflowing with the poisonous, cleansing mist of primeval nekrotic matter. ¡°Souls imbued in a piece of rock. Quite funny if you ask me.¡± A chuckle mingled into his sibilant groan.


    As soon as his hand clutching the claw piece reached into the invisible storm, the mist raged against the storm of iuboron matter, reaching its own tendrils into the myriad draughts. At first the blackness whitened at the edges, and the few tendrils retreated back, amassing their forces for the next assault whilst Orhadin bit his ophidian tongue, his eyes brimming with fervor as he held back the immense pain of clashing forces. Uchitemar watched silently as his compatriot held his ground silently, emanating faint groans and whimpers, muffled cries from the pain.


    Then he meandered back at the sudden explosion of iuoboron and nekrotic matter contending against each other, the latter gaining ground slowly as Orhadin beckoned it to ignore the woe of his eroding hand, forearm. Utter blackness burst forth the claw, enshrined the granite pillar whilst the air around them grew darker, colder ¨C even pleasant for the two blessed by the ancient spirits of Dusk.


    ¡°What were they thinking?¡± Uchitemar blurted out as he approached slowly, sensing the spirits of the sacrificed magrorhok calm by the soothing etheric winds of Dusk. They no longer lashed out against the two, but beckoned them closer as friends, siblings all under the care of the Nightscale. ¡°Have they expected to attack before us? Or was he simply so confident in his own power, in the lies of the Deossok that he relegated the protection of this land to the dead?¡±


    ¡°My guess is good as yours Uchitemar. But I think he did not expect us to make the first move. Especially down at the very heart of the Empire.¡± Orhadin said as his hand once more reconstructed before his eyes, while the previous pain was nothing more than a distant memory locked deep within his mind. He took one more look at the pillar, chugging in the raging mist of the night. From it, the vague outline of an aevhe and a faun parted and hovered close to him.


    From the snow, the piece of claw hovered into his palm held towards the two floating around him, slicing through the air with muffled shrieks. ¡°Come, we better return.¡± With the part of the claw in their possession, the wraiths free from the searing tyranny of the dawn spell, glided into the distance ¨C beneath their opaque mist form, the snow and earth blackened from the presence of the Nightscale.

 Chapter 95: Those Eyes of Twilight IV.

    ¡°Feel anything?¡± Asked Priernuss as they arrived at the precipice of the woodland. Grim shadows stretched over the snow, created by the bony branches hanging over them portentously. Sigi¡¯s eyes ran across them, then shifted downwards and stared into the dim surroundings where the legions of gnarled and ill trees stood, waiting to crumble into dust.


    ¡°I sense a small group, maybe four or five more than us.¡± He said as the darkness occupying his eye hole thronged and the small pearl of violet that sometimes shifted into a cerulean tint grew vibrant. ¡°Though I¡¯m not sure if these are revenants.¡± He added as he sensed the swirling, rattling chain around their distorted anima.


    ¡°Nekrosus? Or¡­¡± Eadwald asked with his arms folded, rubbing as he shivered at the cold air that gradually dampened as they neared towards the woodland. Sigi shook his head before answering to his brother. ¡°Definitely undead. But they seemed to be ¨C shackled, bound to the will of well someone.¡± For a moment, he staggered by a sudden draught of frigidness ¨C one passing through not his body, but his soul.


    ¡°Do you see the thread connecting them?¡± Priernuss¡¯s touch vanquished this binding cold. He shook his head while an idea slowly planted itself in his mind. ¡°It goes far and I don¡¯t even see the halfway point.¡± Squinting his eyes, he noticed the line darker than the shadows occupying the wooden acreage, appearing more as thin slices in reality.


    Priernuss closed his eyes, then when he opened them, etheric veins appeared in a triangular shape, framing his pupils. As he swept his gaze across the trees, both triangles rotated slowly, their light growing tenser as he penetrated through the layers of reality, to see the same shackles that alerted Sigi. ¡°Either they are far away, or they well-versed in the cloaking of self.¡± In the end he gave up after the hundredth layer and said with the tone of one triumphed over.


    ¡°Should we call for Augermil?¡± Azugh dropped the question. Eadwald turned at him pondering for a while, thinking it may be a good opportunity to see the elderly warrior in battle. And on the other hand, a way to demonstrate his capabilities and get an evaluation before registering ¨C or even mentioning ¨C of joining up with the Draennith Praetoriir. When he stared back at Vonschneithar, and noticed the shadows lengthen over the sky and earth he discarded these thoughts believing there shall be better opportunities in the coming days, weeks.


    ¡°It is just a small group of undead. I bet you he would take them down without lifting a single finger.¡± He said with a bit of regret. ¡°Eadwald is right. Though keep an eye on your surroundings. And instead of me and Sigi being rearguard ¨C Sigi you stay in the middle, focus on restraining the undead and empowering Eadwald and Azugh.¡± Sigi nodded even though he felt a bit dejected at not having the opportunity to test out a few new spells Priernuss taught him ¨C spells of destructive nature.


    After much pondering, their legs relapsed into moving forward once more and let the shadows drape over their forms as they stepped through the brink. Under the branches, surrounded by the withering shrubbery, deathly-ill vines slithering onto the gnarled husks, Sigi noted the same coldness he felt from peering into the unseen layers of reality. A foreboding coldness that led to his gaze dance around his surroundings, his ears twitching as he listened to every small noise made around them, shutting out even the crunchy steps of the others.


    ¡°They are quite near.¡± Azugh noted as he stopped in the front with his shield and long hammer raised, ready to strike and protect at a moment¡¯s notice. His pale ears twitched too upon listening sharply and finally picked up on the crunching of snow, of bone and cracking, sallow skin shifting beneath decayed armor on top of the rivulet breaking the serene silence of the accursed clearing where a little light seeped through the barren foliage.


    Their faces contorted in disgust, bile streamed upwards from their stomachs and eyes welled up upon the malodorous scent reached their nostrils. The bitter, caustic scent of rotten tendon, withering epidermis, decaying bones invaded them in a moment¡¯s notice, just when they spotted the first of the undead aimlessly sauntering in the snow, dragging its weapon equally in bad shape. Once a young skaeze whose eyes brimmed with excitement upon the promised glories never delivered by fate, and for this lie anger fueled the taciturn gaze sweeping through the trees, the bushes, the snow and stone protruding from it.


    And at last, it stopped upon the four whom he viewed with empty contempt, envy even as they possessed what was stolen from him, a fate shared upon him by another of his. He groaned maliciously, spit black ichor that was once was possibly blood or saliva, while its arm veiling its true strength in the mask of slenderness raised its crumbling weapon devoured by the leaking dark energies of the night, of dusk.


    ¡°Remember, do as we planned.¡± Priernuss once more repeated himself in a low voice, fearing to attract the unseen owner of the thread. Sigi nodded while the two before him moved to intercept the charging dead. Their weapons raised with their ends in the elevation of their heads, firmly grasped as their tightened their muscles, pumping and shaping mana into spells to strengthen them against the possibility of lacerations.


    ¡°Thanks!¡± Azugh said, quickly taking a peek behind him as his hammer and Eadwald¡¯s sword lit up suddenly in the bright flames of dawn, vanquishing the creeping, soft shadows, beckoning the light of Illius ¨C its distant cousin ¨C in the dark folds of the woodland. A quite frugal trick he learnt from Mirdbruil and Aurelithae who showed him her own pure golden flames capable of eating away the dark denizens of the planes.


    For a moment, Sigi himself turned hearing a warped shriek of another undead who caught their scent. ¡°Focus on them. Need not to worry about me Sigi.¡± Priernuss said amidst the roaring of torrent of hissing flames swallowing the delicate undead, once a proud aevhe. As his gaze moved past the burning branches of the shrubs and melting snow framing the ashen silhouette, Sigi felt Priernuss¡¯s hand on his shoulder, the unseen tendril breaking through and connecting into his anima veins.


    By the time he looked back at his brother, the undead they first spotted laid in the melting snow, its decrepit form devoured by the golden flames of dawn, yet unlike the living only a faint moan could be heard. One filled with delight as the flames ate away the nekrotic matter forming the curse bindings its soul to its distant master. Sigi himself felt a bit dejected, wishing to peer through the link which faded into oblivion before his eyes while he and Priernuss slowly walked up to Eadwald and Azugh. ¡°Thanks uncle.¡± He said feeling the parting of his palm, and gentle twinge of his soothed mana.


    ¡°Was that all?¡± Sigi questioned as moments passed in the silent clearing, no more the stench of death lingered around them, no more sibilant groans, warped by maghia chilled their spines and limbs. Only for a moment as the dried branches of the bushes, shrubs scraped against withered armor and flesh. Whispers permeated the surroundings as the rest of the revenants neared towards them, sauntering with their weapons held proudly as in life.


    ¡°That is quite the few legionaries.¡± Eadwald noted as the fact that they all wore the 19<sup>th</sup>¡¯s ivory armor registered in his mind.


    ¡°I guess they finally found their place back.¡± Azugh added whilst they all changed their position while circled by the half a dozen undead. His hammer raised, the corners of his lips curved in excitement and fear. ¡°Sigi, will you manage to keep the spell up?¡± Eadwald asked as the whispering intensified upon their enemy reaching closer. Though neither of them could make out the meaning of those words, the tongue of Dusk. Yet to Sigi, it felt familiar, the rugged, resonant sound of it, the guttural tones akin to the growl of a distant thunder inevitably reaching and melodic intonations evoking the flow of mountain streams.


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    It felt wicked, beckoning to him as he found himself quenching the desire to approach them, to come with them. To come with them? The question came suddenly into his mind as he nodded emptily to Eadwalds¡¯ and Priernuss¡¯s words drawn out by the whispers of the undead. Yet he heard not what words were aimed at him, he still had the notion, the memory of what preparations they talked about before leaving the precipices of Vonschneithar.


    The allure remained, pushed away as he inhaled the cold air tainted by the bitter taste of Dusk which slowly became sweeter, soothing almost to the point that he wanted to close down his eyes and stride across the astral realms to the land of dreams. But he remained unrelented, and instead tapped grew his ethereal tendrils out from his arkhaine points and forced them upon Eadwald¡¯s and Azugh¡¯s arkhaine points occupying their lips.


    At once their fear dissipated as they felt power surging their limbs, feeling tipsy by the arkhaine inscriptions revealing themselves on their skins beneath armor and cloth. Azugh remained at his back, further supported by Priernuss who made the earth tremble as the undead on their side began their charge. Rotten vines sprouted forth the earth flailing around, striking like serpents as they latched onto the lean limbs of the revenants sending them tumbled down onto the snow and frozen earth.


    With quick and decisive strikes, Azugh crushed their heads. The golden flames of dawn wreathing the oblong end of his hammer marched onto the desiccated and frozen forms, spread within a few minutes. Yet they emitted no scream or even a sigh of delight akin to the first undead. They simply continued their whispering into Sigi¡¯s mind who found it harder and harder to resist it. He felt something¡­ someone calling out to him from the dark threads stretching into infinity.


    Sigi stood frozen, focusing most of his will upon the spell coiling around his mind. His hands tensed and stretched downwards, fingers curling and cracking as he strained them to cover his ears as the whispers drawn out all sound and turned into the ear bleeding shrieks of banshees. Balance nearly lost, he almost crumbled behind Eadwald who noticed his struggling as the golden flames wreathing his blade began to weaken.


    Finally hearing the voice of his brother broke him out from the dazing whispers of the dead. He dug into the snow and earth which cut into his skin beneath the nails whilst merging his mana with the surroundings, shaping it against the one undead with a singular remaining goat horn with the tip crumbled away. Its shriek sounded less pleasant, more horrifying to Sigi who reacted instinctively. Sigi held out his hand, gesturing Eadwald to stop as he turned to his aid.


    The undead betwixt the two suddenly exploded, the blackened, desiccated flesh splattered all over as an invisible force passed through its weak body clad in a weakened armor that shattered in the same manner. A force that was most similar to being punched by a northern giant who grew to the size of half a mountain, and a natural affinity to time maghia allowing them to accelerate their powerful strikes. ¡°Behind.¡± Sigi uttered while taking quick breaths, his tone laced with elated twinging of his soul and body, forcing him to focus whilst getting back onto his feet.


    By the time he managed to stand on the two, most of the undead that surrounded them laid in the snow, burning away by the gilded flames which no longer wreathed Azugh¡¯s and Eadwald¡¯s weapons. ¡°Wait!¡± Except for one who was cut in half by the latter who was raising his blade to strike down at the retreating creature of dusk. ¡°What?¡± He asked lowering his blade.


    ¡°Let me try something.¡± From beneath the snow, the blackened earth formed into tendrils reaching towards the crawling upper body, carefully wrapping around its abdomen to not crush it, then dragged it before Sigi whilst restraining its withered arms. ¡°Careful. One bite is enough from it to rot away your hand.¡± Priernuss said noticing Sigi reaching towards the forehead of the undead who like a rabid hound clashed its jaws with such a force and zeal that all four thought it would crumble after four or five more snaps.


    ¡°What exactly are you trying to do?¡± Azugh asked a bit impatiently as his eyes darted around their calmed surroundings. ¡°Whether it is feasible to see through the thread binding the undead. And to make sure no nekromancer lurks around here.¡± Sigi answered honestly, with a slightly cold tone as his veins popped out from under his skin and gloved with a dark violet shade as he felt the weightlessness of the astral realms lift his mind and soul from his body.


    ¡°Just be cautious. This can easily backfire.¡± Yet he still clearly heard Priernuss¡¯s voice and the touch on his shoulder from which layers of mental protections poured and molded over him. ¡°I will. Only want to take a swift peek, that¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Sigi, what happened?¡± Eadwald rushed to him as he began to shiver, his teeth clashing against itself. A coldness deeper, older yet familiar to what he felt before entering the woodland swept through him, its hoary tendrils penetrating towards his arkhaine points. ¡°I¡¯m fine. Whoever took control over them did so with the expectation of being discovered.¡± As they began to wrap around them, he faltered in traveling through the etheric tunnel and conjured the flame of dawn. He hissed at the pain of the Rage approaching, and at the tendrils flailing in anger before they retreated allowing him to continue onwards.


    ¡°They are quite far away.¡± He noted feeling the distance between himself and his body as he stepped onto wet stone. Granite or basalt he wasn¡¯t sure of either, but felt similar to the floor tiles in the palace of the Black Pharaoh. Except these were a tad coarser as he pressed his ethereal soles against them. ¡°See anyone?¡± Priernuss asked with a slight bit of worry.


    ¡°Nothing. No one, just utter darkness¡­ wait. I see a pallid figure materializing not far from me, though the threads seem to pass through him.¡± He stared at the back of the tall figure draped in pallid white, shapeless robes with the fringes charred by flames seemingly undented. For a moment he froze in fear when Grimslaukh turned back, his empty eyes staring right through and at him. He heard his name being called as they noticed his fingers moving by themselves as he once more began to shake with a primal fear as he watched the blackened lips surrounded by umbral blisters curve up at the corners.


    ¡°Sever it Sigi!¡± All three yelled at him, yet he could not. The fear he felt turned into a dim curiosity when Grimslaukh turned back towards the endless darkness and sauntered playfully forward, then stopped where Sigi noticed the edge, heard water breaking against a stony shore.


    Even in this utter blackness, Sigiwaer made out the black lake stretching for hundreds, thousands of kilometers. Waters that remained still, calm, peaceful as the ghastly white form bowed deeply, one arm held high. When he straightened his posture, let his blackened arms ending in bony fingers swing beside his hipbone waves of purplish foam flung themselves upon the stony shores.


    For a short moment a sharp tip rose, water flowing with fluctuating pace down while the surroundings before them grew dimmer. He could not move his astral body, frozen by the draught of dusk, the tendrils of fear wrapping around his unseen limbs, and the utter awe evoked by the presence of the one whose presence heralded the night itself. He could not force his gaze away as the darkness, the shadows parted before the all the hues of twilight pouring from the singular eye staring down at Grimslaukh with a single slit resting at the center, a border of vicious darkness swallowing the majestic shades purple, crimson and dim golden.


    The lone alluring and petrifying eyes of twilight which gazed into him seeing his past, present and future with contempt first, then with admiration thawing away the icy grip of fear, though not fully as he found himself staring into Eadwald¡¯s golden eyes relieved at the return of his brother. ¡°Next time, if I have such an idea, slap me in the face.¡± He said with a weak, fading voice while Eadwald chuckled. ¡°Same is true for you two.¡±


    ¡°What did you see?¡± Priernuss asked with a smile, a question that strengthened the hoary remains of fear within Sigi.


    For a moment, he contemplated whether to speak truth or not. ¡°I am not sure.¡± After a while, he chose to lie. ¡°But now I know what you meant regarding your first meeting with a dragon.¡±

 Chapter 96: The Offer I.

    Dark clouds gathered over Luth-Astaril, garlanded by the verdant green and dawn golden beams of the Illius on the closing 27<sup>th</sup> day of Seintrua in the 1266<sup>th</sup> year of the First Age. Heavy downpour of translucent blue and green cascaded upon the alabaster streets, forming shallow rivers washing away dirt and blood, cleansing the corpses of cultists, citizens and legionariir without a hint of prejudice. In the eyes of Nature, they were all the same ¨C remnants of civilizations¡¯ horrors.


    Long gone were the days of the grand capital of the Elhyrissian Empire when the good citizens could walk freely, ailed only by the fear of the next day; when children could reenact their favored tales in the tender shadows of the trees, in the soothing glow of the Illius tempered by the enchanted marble. When the polished edifices, shops, forums brimmed with life, with joy or in the worst case were poisoned by the jealousy of wives and husbands, by the envy of children not by the shadowy grasp of the wicked cult.


    Spreading lies amongst the folk of the uncaring draevhei living still within their walls, where peace and joy reigns unbroken. About the Legion whose gilded members strolled the city¡¯s upper levels since their own homestead was invaded, who slowly retreated to protect those who enjoyed the luxuries of their lives even whilst the common and honest folk toiled in fear, anger drawing them into the embrace of the Beautiful whom promised them a fair world of equals.


    A promised world much alike of what The Beautiful had taken from them, a truth buried away from them, both by the officials sworn to protect them in times of troubles who deemed it unnecessary for the folk of Luth-Astaril to be aware of the threat looming over the capital, and by the cult whose members wore frivolous garments found only on the Maerhiost Circle¡¯s members. Whose corpses neatly fitted besides the legionariir whose numbers slowly dwindled as the years passed since the peaceful days.


    Isocrates often found himself longing for those days. Days when he could saunter peacefully around the streets; greet each neighbor and friend without the fear, the anxiety that they shall be no more or worse. Or days when the most he had to worry about is the searing pain of his slender muscles after hours of working in the quarries or practicing maghia.


    He missed the channeling of his mana through his anima veins; groaning as he wanted to will the tools to lift up themselves into the air and strike against the dark walls that seemed to sweat like those striking against them to reveal the hidden natural treasures buried in their bellies. The overwhelming thrill he felt the first time he budged the handle of his small pickaxe still lingered in his mind as the memory of euphoria stirred him often still, the warmness soothing him back to the sweet dreams.


    And most importantly, he missed his arm rotted away by the primeval winds of dusk, devoured within a moment eked into his mind through the agony of his flesh breaking down into a black mass; bone pulverizing itself as nekrotic matter gnawed through it. Though he did not regret saving his comrade who would have taken the brunt of it if not for his timely intervention. Still, hearing the healer that nothing they could do would bring back his lost limb filled him with a cold, gnawing terror in his stomach which numbed his one remaining arm and legs as he laid in the soft embrace of the sheets with the cold, sturdy ground beneath while the silken ceiling fluttered faintly as the warm air breezed through it.


    From what he gathered after calming down and hoping to find an answer was that the spell of the ancient nekros reached beyond the physical, it not just brought an end to her flesh, skin and marrow but also extended towards the possibility of his arm being grown back to its former mundane glory. A spell much beyond the capabilities of novice and even expert magusos. An intermingling of dusk and time spell of utter depravity only those mortals could cast who forego the erudite study of all other aspects. Similarly, the spell that could have reconstructed the possibility of his flesh, bone and skin growing back stood in the same semi-divine realm as he learnt after two weeks of ceaseless searching and studying tomes of dawn and time.


    In the end he made piece and accepted the offer of an artificial arm embedded with arkhaine crystals which would tap into the arkhaine point of his lost arm, and was simply glad he and the others survived that encounter. ¡°Aeson whence the Illius rises, enemy pours forth!¡± For now, his regret had to wait for the peaceful days hidden behind the blinding glare of the Illius. His artificial arm whirred, the gemstones along the filigreed surface lit up as his mana and inscriptions flowed through it whilst thunder cracked on the galvanized gold and from the palm bearing the insignia of the Deos of Thunders and Storms bringing forth change, a purple streak struck forth towards the fancily dressed cultists dropping from the sinister portal swirling in the dim shadows, struggling for a mere moment on slippery ground as a shallow river flow beneath their soles.


    Reaching its destination ¨C a demikin cultist with a large bow drawn and arrow on the brink of release ¨C it violently burned through textile and the thick fur; tore through hardened, smooth skin and softly sturdy flesh of a vibrant shade of pink. The thunder¡¯s own screaming as it branched towards two more cultists drawn out their last momentary screams before their sizzling forms fell onto the ground. Then its sporadic tendrils struck against the thin layer of rain flowing downwards in the sloping alley towards the legionariir clashing against the cultists who leapt forth the buildings surrounding the Anterhil Square. With a bit more focus, he halted the march of thunder from claiming further victims even amongst their own ranks.


    He heaved a content smile while enjoying the rush of euphoria under the colorful statue of Anterhil, the namesake of the square on the middle district. An ancient hero of the Empire who battled against one of the great children of the Nightscale whose horrific reptilian form stood across with its hideously long jaw stretched open, and in any other day he would have complimented the stonemason who even hewn out the black flames of dusk pouring forth the jaws. But not on this day where the pungent, acrid odor of death lingered in the air as blood mixed with rain down on the even level.


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    His gaze seemed to follow the trail of corpses belonging to both cultist and legionariir. Folk whose faces seemed familiar, even from just a passing. Each laid peacefully, all gazing at the skies veiled beyond the gloomy clouds washing away dirt and sweat one last time; cleansing out the wounds which carried them into the embrace of the Solemn Shepherd. Then his attention sprung at the glinting long blade rising high and descending hastily to cleave through the soft garment and flesh of a vampyr cultist whose translucent, pallid blood graced the paved ground below. A blade which belonged to his superior, his tribuniar Hektrahd.


    ¡°In the name of dawn, when will their numbers dwindle into nothing?¡± Ephaias standing on his right asked, a question which often formed and lingered in the mind of Isocrates himself. Though in recent years his suspicion fell on the Order, sprouting from his belief that Hunra was not the only member tainted by the primordial essence of The Beautiful. And of course, from the pariah¡¯s district who were easily swayed with faux promises of not so dissimilar to the Empires¡¯.


    Yet a decade passed and the number of cultists hasn¡¯t dwindled, their attacks were still as frequent when he was elevated into the rank of Auxiliar. The question remained even as he and Luelia skulked around the capital, eliminated numerous hideouts believed to be used for initiations. No matter how many faernalist of the Beautiful they killed, it seemed to have no effect on the enemy¡¯s number and morale.


    ¡°Only half a dozen remains.¡± Themmtryd asked, the true meaning of the question passing by her as she lifted her hammer and practically smashed the ribs of a cultists into soft powder blending with his blood. The sound, the death throttles shivered Isocrates as he watched the young orkh fell before his eyes whom he felt pity towards knowing full well the addictive, suffocating charm of the taeberossian overlord from personal experience. A victim of higher being¡¯s politics.


    Ephaias sighed whilst raising his hands engulfed in a translucent azure haze, forming tendrils wrapping onto and swallowing the spells aimed at their group. ¡°Not what I meant.¡± The words passed by the dwarfs¡¯ ears as she let out a lion¡¯s roar filled with the thrill of carnage, her form disappearing in a haze of crimson when her hammer smashed shattered the hip of another, passing through like butter.


    ¡°Feel not bad for them my friend.¡± Skopas said as he glanced on Ephaias¡¯s face reflecting the mental exhaustion smothering the thrill of maghia.


    His blade easily pierced through the chest of another cultist whose corpse he pushed away with his large shield. Another leapt from behind, her crude blade bouncing off from his back plate brimming with a rich golden shade. With a quite meticulous and elegant motion, Skopas turned around swinging his sword which passed through her flesh and bone like a knife passes through butter, separating her head cleanly from the rest of her body.


    Feeling the raging mana within him subsiding slowly, Isocrates turned and watched as Hektrahd lifted a vampyr cultist whose neck he simply snapped then hurled his corpse against a few others. Upon impact the disgusting creature¡¯s form exploded, the force of it killing the three in one fell swoop. On the roof of the homestead casting its shadow onto Hektrahd he sensed the presence of a magus channeling their baleful mana.


    He closed his eyes and for a moment darkness remained. Slowly the etheric outlines of the legionaries formed in golden dancing to the tune of battle with the wickedly mauve silhouettes of the cultists. His face contorted, grimaced as the multifarious twinging of flowing, forming mana coursed through his being as he extended the range of his detection. At the center of the roof, the tall outline of a wicked mauve silhouette appeared in the utter darkness, though only for a moment as thunder roared through the battle once more.


    Not long after the demise of the conjurer, the battle reached its end. To the relief of Isocrates and Ephaias as the euphoria surging through them slowly shifted into agony from the overload of blistering mana of their surroundings within their anima veins. ¡°How many did we lost?¡± Even with triumph lingering in the air, most with the exception of Themmtryd were low on morale as they gazed at the corpses of their comrades littering the square.


    A place where once children played around, recreating the famed battles in the north, and the origin planes. Now it was a grim cemetery of oval and open grave of a dozen legionariir and cultists. Cultists whom his fellow legionariir recognized, Isocrates could tell from their disgusted, sorrowful and questioning expressions as they wondered what could have led their fellows down onto this path. Desiring no more to glare at this open grave, he turned and trotted carefully, stepping over the corpses with as much respect as he could. He halted behind Hekthrad who stood solemnly over the one who seemed to be the leader, the one who was struck down by the first lightning of Isocrates with a puzzled expression. One Isocrates feared he may one day cast if they not brought an end to the madness unfolding in the capital.


    ¡°I do not understand this.¡± Their superior murmured under his breath. ¡°With all due respect, what?¡± Themmtryd was the one who proved brave and foolish enough to bring up the question which lingered in all their minds.


    ¡°Have you known him, Tribuniar?¡± He voiced the question as respectfully as he could as he stopped and stared into the vacant red eyes of the aevhe before their feet. For a moment, he too seemed to recognize the dead aevhe, though he could not recall the time and place, but he was sure it had to be recently.


    Hektrahd heaved a sigh, his gaze pointed at the sky while his lips uttered silent prayers towards the Solemn Shepherd. ¡°An old friend.¡± Isocrates noticed the fa?ade of a proud tribuniar fall for a moment. ¡°And an old comrade before I left the Order and joined the legion.¡± He offered a prayer too, then turned around without uttering another word, slowly searing from anger as he knew the where the source of all these troubles lay, yet could not utter it.


    ¡°Everyone, line up!¡± After a while Hektrahd masking his inner turmoil turned around issuing his orders. At once Isocrates returned in line with the others. For a moment he stared back whence they came before the ambush, and for a moment he noticed a drenched and furred tail of a cat scurrying into one of the alleys. His eyebrow raised as he noticed the faint waft of mana leaking from the little creature, though he paid little attention to it as they began their march leaving behind the grim scenery to the approaching magusos draped in black and white robes with a funeral veil dangling, masking their faces.

 Chapter 97: The Offer II.

    The grinding of his welted together gilded plates echoed through the winding street as Isocrates made his rounds in his home district. Each time the armor crafted from living metal wreathing onto itself tenderly annoyed him to no end as he was still in deep thought regarding the sprouting notion seeded during the morning. His eyes from behind his metallic mask focused on the white marble walls surrounding him, graced by the verdant green and dawn golden light of the Illius reaching its noon stage.


    Each time he stopped, vibrant azure and emerald veins slithering about in the whites of his eyes with shadows cast over them from the mask resembling Maerhia¡¯s magnificent visage, fear increased the pace of his heart. His mind turned blank in each of those moments, hammered in by the instructors as he searched for any little disturbance lingering in the shadows of the alleys. Each time, an empty satisfaction formed in him as he found nothing but the occasional scurrying rodents attracted by the faint stench of death and discord, and the few homeless who escaped the confines of the Metilian and Riverside district.


    At this moment, he regretted joining the First Legion more than anything. He wanted nothing more than to move freely now his suspicion deepened towards the Order. In his mind, there were no doubt Hunra wasn¡¯t the only one who burrowed their way into the Order of Maghia¡¯s Truth, using it possibly to flock the poor and destitute with not just promises of power, but safety as the attacks¡¯ seemed to move away from the lower districts towards the upper where the wealthier citizens resided.


    ¡°Or maybe that is an effect of Luelia and Mirayroth taking care of their faernalist.¡± As he passed by an old friend¡¯s home seemingly abandoned with how tightly the windows and doors were shut. There was no doubt that the loss of the djinn faernalist in the pariah folk¡¯s district resulted in a big blow in their reach ¨C a fact that soothed his mind and heart. No more he found sleep hard in the headquarters, afraid of even just experiencing the harrowing vision of his family torn to pieces, staring into the distressed, vacant eyes of Euthymius and his newborn sister.


    Instead for the past few months since his return from the lake of Tiaali, he had stranger, less harrowing dreams. Dreams he accredited towards Septurrion who he believed set him upon this path, easing his mind a little in regards to his true allegiance.


    Glimpses of his near future he was most sure of them upon in the very first witnessing his own adult form staring back at him in mirror exquisitely framed in golden, graven with the symbols of the minor deos of Storms and Thunder, the eldest child of Septurrion and Selvinia. And the one he always felt a connection with since his discovering his affinity towards the element of lightning and thunder. And this first dream soothing his dreaming mind, he found himself in the company of golden eyed strangers.


    Strangers he had a familiar, friendly connection with he questioned little even as he recalled the dream after waking. One a stalwart man of northern complexion with visage possessing mild aevhen accentuations like the contours of his eyes and the voluminous dark hair of silken texture naturally flowing on his honed Isocrates felt a strong kinship towards similar to brothers molded by decades of grave adversities. Adversities which revealed themselves first after facing the ancient nekros.


    The same battle he fought this morning with a few exceptions including the Man¡¯s attendance which boosted the morale of the legionariir; the golden blade wreathed in golden flames cutting down the cultists; armor of the royal shades of red, blue and gold adorning his form honed through rigorous training. An armor which evoked a sense of awe and terror in Isocrates as he glimpsed upon it. He could easily recount the details of it, the trims of sharp dragon scales, each reduced piece graven with runes of power; the smoothness of primary segments reflecting the events unfolding like a mirror; the avian dragon head looking downwards at the epicenter of the chest and the angular neck circling around while the shadow of the helmet¡¯s curling lower trims hung above them. A panoply worthy of heroes eternalized in sagas, sculptures and paintings.


    Then there was the exception of the surroundings. The sculpture of Anterhil and the dragon still bearing the vivid colors he remembered from his childhood. Alabaster edifices bereft of the grimness of years, devoid of the wornness of the conflict ravaging the capital and its populace. And in their shadows, stood a mesmerizing niuvhe who shielded the few citizens caught up in the battle; a peculiar man of the far-south with silver hair, long knitted beard and deep ebony complexion using earth maghia to reduce the number of the enemy including the dreaded daermunus.


    ¡°Isocrates, on the roof!¡± The deep, melancholic voice of the Man echoed still as he pointed his burning blade¡¯s tip towards the roof, where the very same presence he felt in the morning stood. A warning which sprouted into the suspicion he held towards the Order. Born from this dream, yet it evaded him until this morning, until Hektrahd pointed out the corpse of his friend who was tainted by the cult.


    In the dream itself, he held the awareness towards their members being brought forth the provinces of Vhalleryon. He could recall the moment he and the golden eyed Man raided a warehouse belonging to one of the wealthiest merchants of the Empire who sold his soul to the Beautiful. Even the moment when they confronted the man himself, an act that seemed foolish as the two of them rushed there alone, yet in the end with his arkhaine prowess and the blessing of the One and the Eight, they came away near unscathed.


    As he thought deeper about this memory born in the land of Oneiron, he recalled a soft, yet regal voice preaching to them, chastising their rushed decision to confront the enemy without the proper investigation, without calling on the aid of the Draennith Praetoriir, her uncle Augermil. A voice which seemed familiar, one that sounded pleasant, mesmerizing even when it hurled wounding words laced with a caring anger towards him. Just like when Luelia chastised him after he returned to the capital with his arm decayed away.


    And just as he was about to step on the threshold of complete recognition, his gaze fallen upon the aevhen girl¡¯s form standing at his family¡¯s home, talking with his little brother whose shoulder was occupied by his sister who was quite mesmerized by Luelia¡¯s beauty herself. ¡°And here he is. Just as the topic reached you brother.¡± The two greeted each other with a firm hug thanks to Luelia lifting off Elodi.


    ¡°Come Elodi, let¡¯s leave the two birds alone.¡± Quickly he took his sister from Luelia and went inside. The two stood in silence, Isocrates still feeling a bit of unneeded remorse. ¡°Still making rounds?¡± Luelia broke the silence and he nodded.


    The two began to walk, Luelia matching her pace to his. ¡°Heard there was another clash in the morning.¡± As the sentence left her lips, Isocrates felt glad for the mask veiling his anxious expression gazing forward. ¡°Just a minor one. Though it seems like their numbers haven¡¯t budged yet.¡±


    He heaved a sigh focusing his mind, pushing his desires in the deep recesses of his consciousness. ¡°Have they found a clue who may be behind the cult?¡± Luelia shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ll be heading there later. Naghig is still skulking around the port, trying to find a clue who may supply them.¡± Isocrates stopped for a moment, focusing on the memory within the dream ¨C in vain. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Can I indulge you in something?¡± He asked meekly in his deep voice. Luelia¡¯s azure eyes pierced into his. ¡°Do you really need to ask? I am all long ears.¡± Her soft palms pushed against her slender, sharp ears protruding from her deep hazel hair as she cheekily added. Beneath his mask, he smiled a little as they made a sharp turn. For a moment he spotted the same feline stalker of his once more.


    A soft, hollow clang emanated from beneath his metallic mask as he heaved a sigh. ¡°You¡¯re right. For the past few months, I have these strange, warning dreams.¡±


    ¡°Warning?¡± Luelia interjected with a more serious look in her gleaming eyes. Isocrates nodded stopping a few blocks away from where the cat following him sneaked into one of the alleys. ¡°Dreams of the future I am sure, but also the present, a present different from ours I guess.¡±


    ¡°In what way?¡± Isocrates pondered, rubbed the feminine, softly sculpted chin of his mask. ¡°I dreamt of the battle today. But it was mildly different. There was this man clad in armor I am sure must have been crafted for the Elhyrissiar¡¯s bodyguards or one of the Draennith Praetoriir¡¯s wings. And his eyes were golden and brilliant like the Illius in the hours of afternoon, and he oozed with the presence of a hero, a chosen I have no doubt about that.¡±


    Luelia remained silent, calm on the outside but a little anxious as she listened. ¡°There were two others with a similar presence, including a tall niuvhen sorceress and a far-southern man with silver hair and beard utilizing earth maghia.¡± For a moment, he relapsed into silence, sensing the same waft of mana lingering in the alley. Then the small creature with inquisitive eyes appeared, its small silver furred form meandered towards them and brushed its delicate form against Luelia who yelped at the sudden gesture.


    ¡°What made it feel like it was a warning.¡± She asked while lifting the cat back up, her hands sweeping through its back while mana leaked from her palms, forming into a veiled spell. ¡°I knew all of them ¨C though I could not recount their names ¨C but I had firm memories of them. Including a time when me and the golden eyed man faced against a merchant.¡± She tilted her head like the cat staring at him with an undecipherable look. Yet remained silent, expecting the answer to came after the pause.


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    ¡°A merchant in bed with the cult.¡± Luelia let the cat down as it began to scrape against her coat¡¯s sleeves. ¡°Do you remember which merchant it was?¡± Isocrates nodded lightly.


    ¡°When will you finish?¡± After a bit of pondering, Luelia looked up at him and asked in a low voice even though no one skulked around in the street. Isocrates looked up and stared at the Illius which still shone brightly upon the Capital, vanquishing the shadows creeping into the safety of the alleys and edifices. ¡°I believe two or three more hours.¡±


    **


    A pop rang through the dimly lit, loftily furnished room. Mewing turned into hissing as the cork hit against the ceiling and bounced off to the polished wooden floor contributing to the dimness of the vast room. Then came the pleasant sound of bubbly wine flowing out from the glass encasement of a bottle into the glass. And the sonnet of thirst quenching came with the conclusion of claws scraping against the glass, followed by the silence as Proclus¡¯s silken fur covered paw like hand wrapped around the elliptical top framed in shimmering silver, graven with illius golden runes of the far-southern provinces.


    ¡°Pardon me my dears for this minor blunder.¡± His deep, lisp voice reverberated through his office after he licked his face, moistening his translucent, thin whiskers emanating a mild iridescent glow as the little light seeped through the curtained windows. Two felines hissed and leapt from the large chair onto his wide, ornated desk as he sat down sipping the wine while massaging his temples before hearing the soft swooshing of his silken robes of a vibrant purple and silver, pairing well with his dark fur.


    ¡°Good, I was about to contact you, my friend.¡± Not far from him, a tall aetherkiin draped in a shapeless, dark robe appeared, sitting down in one of his sofas of felled wild wyvern hide. His hood heaved over his etheric visage emanating a vicious darkness swallowing the light, lashing out with miniscule tendrils. ¡°What ails your mind my friend?¡± Came the voice of a young man, with tone laced in deceitful innocence triumphing over the whispers of thousands.


    Proclus heaved a sigh. ¡°I know there is a point to all this, and you know I have no habit to complain, but how long shall we support their fruitless endeavor.¡± He relapsed into silence while taking another sip. ¡°There are already suspicions cast over my agents over at the continent. And even within the city, those lizard riders began to question around my shops.¡±


    The Black Aetherkin lifted his ghastly dark hand, a wound in reality into the fold of his hood mimicking the great thinkers of Septurrion¡¯s flock. Though before he could answer their attention was drawn towards the window to the right of Proclus where the silver furred feline creature appeared out of nowhere, purring satisfied with the knowledge.


    It leapt into Proclus¡¯s lap and stretched its neck and head towards his owners, his masters¡¯ head who reached his index finger towards its forehead. Slowly the dark fur covered finger lit up in a bluish glow as the claw touched the forehead, right at the center. ¡°I see. Didn¡¯t you vow not showing what could have been to anyone outside our circle?¡± He asked amidst heaving a tired sigh.


    ¡°I did not.¡± A raspy, guttural voice answered accompanied by shadows darkening the room further, suffocating the words that may have flowed out from Proclus¡¯s thin lip.


    He rose from his seething and like a vicious specter, glided menacingly towards Proclus. ¡°And I only showed him visions necessary to keep her on the right path. Our path.¡± Before his desk, He suddenly halted and leaned closer. The warm air lingering within the room faded into nothingness, his anxiety faded just as when the two first met, when Proclus faced the tip of his former owner¡¯s blade aimed to take his neck, his life in the lightless recesses of his former home, back in the colonial town of Saithar.


    Occasionally, the grim scenery of his owner¡¯s corpses peacefully lying in their bed lingered before his eyes. Cats starving for the flesh of the dead sitting around them, licking their whiskers, their muzzles while also frozen by fear. Fear brought forth by the void presence of the dark aetherkin who without lifting a finger, brought demise upon the ones who bought him off from a group of slavers, former legionariir.


    ¡°But do not fear my friend. You are under my protection.¡± As he leaned over the table, the crimson stola brushed against the desk, going through logbooks brought to him by his clerk. ¡°They shall come for you, no doubt about that. But no hasty decisions shall be made, no she shall be the solution to your woes, present and future.¡± Before Proclus could ask further, he found himself alone, standing before his desk with the uncorked bottle in his hand. This time he carefully freed it from the tightening grasp of the bottle, just as three knocks reverberated through the room.


    ¡°Come in.¡± He said calmly.


    **


    Naghig slowly lifted up the meticulously butchered remains of a tarandrus stag native to the western woodlands of Vhalleryon, near the shores gazing upon the Caesselis Archipelago. Its seasoned smell lingered through the dimly lit recess of the butcher¡¯s shop, aided by the cold air keeping it fresh amongst its fellow who shared the same fate. ¡°Do you stand by your supplier? Did they truly bring forth the best?¡± He asked staring up at the plant-folk owner.


    As he nodded, Naghig¡¯s ears listened to every small noise, including the foliage like hair rustling against the haggard robes covered in patches of dried or drying blood. He let out a sigh and looked down at the piece of meat with a grim expression. ¡°Good. I¡¯ll buy this one¡­ and that too.¡± Then he put the meat on the counter where two large slices rested on top of each other alongside placing a hefty sack of coins the plant-kin took with a wide smile on his clean face.


    ¡°Things may have gotten out of hand.¡± Naghig murmured to himself in the shadow of the terrace roof held by four once pristine columns. Once adorned by golden scale decorations fastened to the marble, now only a shadow of them remained as he leaned against one in the near empty street. ¡°Well, better keep it to myself for now.¡± He threw the enchanted sack holding the meat over his shoulder and began slowly walking eastwards. His small, sunken eyes focused on the colorful, tiled rooftops while in their stretched edges noticed the three figures barely attempting to mask their presences.


    Which annoyed him a little, the lack of disrespect towards him, and not aimed at the three stalkers, would be assassins sent by the Beautiful who recently began to aggressively expand her sphere of influence. She annoyed him to no end, but what could he do, it was all part of the plan and revealing himself would have been more foolish than lifting the veil. ¡°Just a little bit more.¡± He increased his pace while still focusing more on the roofs, the edifices surrounding them in the street devoid of honest folk.


    Neither did the legionariir patrolled these levels in great numbers since the death of Balasi in the Melitian District. With his death the cult focused its attacks on the higher levels, slowly creeping towards the patricii and the wealthier echelons of the Capital in revenge. Initially it seemed like a fine trade to Naghig as it allowed easier passing of their branches¡¯ agents, though now the Beautiful decided to alter the plan and were keen on the elimination of rivals. A headache, but a useful one as he agreed with Mirayorth and Middias on the matter.


    ¡°This should do it.¡± Naghig¡¯s gaze swept through the narrow alley as he placed down the sack of meat. From his leg water poured out and carried it into a safe distance before he faced the three stalkers draped in dark, shapeless robes slowly approaching, cutting off the single escape route. His fist curled, his fingers cracked in preparation as they revealed themselves, pulling down their cloaks.


    ¡°For a new dawn!¡± The plant-folk said in a mocking tone as she approached ahead of her companions. Her face barely visible as her withered foliage of a long hair hung over half of it. Her bark like epidermis bearing the ravage of ages and deep scars inflicted upon her form by sharpened tools of torment. Beneath her cloak, a colorful set of garments adorned her slender, dried form oozing with lower grade enchantments. Rings imbued with rubies and amethysts glowing in a sinister light stretched a spell across the alley, preventing sound from entering and leaving ¨C the basic spell of assassins.


    Behind her, a skaeze whose half a body bore the marks of Taerebosian flames lifted a long dagger of an obsidian blade out from under his robe, revealing his own set of colorful, rich garments. The few remaining locks of hair decorating his head rustled against his prominent cheeks revealing parts of his marrow grown over by the last layers of his skin. His greenish eyes burned with a zeal, with a hunger for gifts promised for delivering Naghig into the embrace of the Solemn Shepherd.


    The last, a fellow orkh of his reached out his tremulous hand, leaking mana incessantly molded into a binding spell. Naghig remained calm even as he lost the capability of moving his limbs, his whole body when the invisible legion of threads wrapped and tightened unrelentingly around his pale form. Only for a moment, as he swiftly grabbed the skaeze¡¯s hand as it swung sideways to slit open his throat.


    ¡°Still should have sent someone better.¡± He heaved a sigh then broken the arm of the skaeze. Pointing the shattered end of the bone towards the skaeze¡¯s face, a spear of marrow protruded out with the velocity of a propelled javelin entering through the mushy eyes, piercing his brain and left through the back of his head. The sudden demise of their fellow propelled the two towards escaping instead of foolishly facing Naghig beyond their expertise.


    Slowly, his skin moistened as if pulled in and out from water as he lifted it up, aiming at the back of his own kin. A tendril lashed out and grappled onto the ankle of the sullen orkh, slowly creeping onto him whilst dragging him back, towards Naghig. The Plant-Folk on the other hand slammed into the wall when a sudden and strong gust charged against her, conjured forth of nowhere. ¡°Please¡­we¡­had¡­no¡­choice¡­.¡± she pleaded with Naghig who stared at her coldly, eyes devoid of any and all emotions.


    ¡°There is always a choice. And you picked poorly.¡± Suddenly her blossom expanded beyond its natural limits as a whirlwind slithered betwixt her lips, charging down at her lungs, expanding even her frail throat between the pressed out high collars of her tunic. Then her floral flesh and bark like bone exploded upon, towards Naghig who simply sidestepped from its way, letting most of it fall onto the orkh slowly suffocating within the watery coffin.


    When he gurgled his lasts, Naghig¡¯s arm dried up to its previous state and he leaned down, closing the eyes frozen in a state of utter terror. When he looked up, young Euthymius frozen in fear, holding a basket of bread cloaked in thick layers of linen keeping them fresh and warm. ¡°Fear not kid. Just be on your way home.¡± He said with a listless expression, knowing well a smile would have just worsened the situation. The adolescent boy gulped then nodded as he forced his legs to relapse into walking.


    ¡°Shit, almost forgot.¡± Naghig watching him turned back towards the alley, walked through the corpses and grabbed the sack of meat. By the time he walked out, Euthymius was far away, whistling an old tune taught by Isocrates to draw away the horrid images of corpses ¨C and the pale orkh surrounded by thick shadows.

 Chapter 98: The Offer III.

    Rain not abated since the morning, continued ever more zealously in its mission to cleanse the filth tainting the once alabaster city built onto the sides of the Draemons Mountain and the valley between its peaks. Small rivers flowed on the streets, scraping off the dried blood as the magusos versed in the tenets of the Solemn Shepherd followed in the steps of the few legionariir, collecting corpses of the citizens, legionariir and the cultists alike.


    Even the bridges connecting both sides once infested by life now hung above the gold and green depth solemnly, only a dozen folk walking across them, buying their necessary supplies to get day by day. Isocrates walked carefully, out of habit from the days when he had to jostle between orkhin, aevhei, dwarves, demikin and humans. All the races who had daily business on each of the One and the Eight bridges stretched across the long valley, in the brilliant shadow of the Radiant Keep hanging above, uncaring for the woes below.


    For a moment, he stopped in the middle of the bridge dedicated to Septurrion, as his eyeless visage stared from the periodic columns erected by erudite hands of dwarves and the pariah folks of orkhin and northern humans who all once fought under the banner of Dusk. At least so he heard from it from his father as they made their way across, getting dough for the sweet bakeries which saccharine taste still lingered in his mouth on these bitter days as he leaned onto the thick, azure rail and stared into the distance blinded by the heavy rinsing accentuated by warm golden and verdant greens.


    Since Luelia left to take care of some business given to her by Mirayroth, more of his dreams seemed to force their way out of the recesses of his mind. Dreams that gnawed more viciously than the ones of an alternate present of his. A dream in which he walked alone in a vast garden of myriad-colored flowers, foliage growing on trees he never seen before yet felt familiar just like the garden itself hanging above his head. Detailed to the point he could recount and retrace his steps if he would be allowed entrance within its premises.


    Besides himself, there were folk in segmented panoply of chromatic cavalcade where crimson and purple reigned utmost amongst the flock of vibrance and perfectly symmetrical angularity. Helmets of fine curves, of soft flail of varying shades gently dancing as a draught both cold and warm swept through them greaves and breeches grown into each, the former like gloves protruded forth vambraces ending in draconic claws. He walked the straight, ceiled pathway with a singular purpose of seeking one who seemed dear to his heart.


    From the ceiled pathway, he altered onto the earthen road grown over by silken soft grass of emerald green node and nightly golden seed and blades. Though before he would step onto it, he relieved his feet from the tight embrace of his own greaves with thunder ornamentation graven into its smooth, reflecting surface. An inelegant chuckle left his lips upon the grass brushing against his aching feet as he began walking, led by his intuition and an alluring and familiar scent hastening the pace of his heart.


    When he reached what he sought he picked up on his pace upon hearing the soft, feminine chuckle of his beloved whom he wanted to reveal the contents of his heart. Yet he faltered at the second voice, deeper and just as familiar yet he could not associate a name to it in the waking world. But he knew the owner of that voice was related to the golden eyed Man, and was a fellow good friend of his adding weight to his pain. His own curiosity flown into the land of Onaeiron, giving him the power to unveil the dense foliage protruding from the myriad branches before him.


    On the other side, he spotted a young draevhe of pale, snow white complexion whose enchanting, handsome face drawn in his attention and he felt his heart skipping a beat within the waking world and Oneiron at the same moment. Her slit pupiled eyes of flocked together vibrant colors gazed into the golden above her as she laid her head into the lap of the young man with golden eyes, aevhen and human lineaments and long dark hair knotted into a high and short tail. Both resting near a pond brimming with aquatic life while enjoying the soothing shadowy embrace of a tall, leaning willow bearing hanging leaves of onyx. Their gazes unified by love as strong as Maerhia and Iaunorh¡¯s, sowed by their own divine children, Rheathor Deos of Unions and Seeder of Love.


    Their murmurs laced with unabated love lingered still in his mind, gnawing away what little motivation remained within him to continue on with the day which end lingered in the unseen distance. ¡°Are you ready Iso?¡± Came the voice which pushed it deeper into the gloomy waters of incumbrance. With a forced smile aimed at Luelia, he nodded and the two set out towards the Sleeping Nereid Inn.


    **


    ¡°So, you say this, feline demikin merchant is the one supplying the cult?¡± Naghig asked raising his eyebrow, his low voice permeating the portentous silence lingering within the empty main section of the Inn bereft of life except for the agents of the New Dawn masquerading as drunkards whose liquid addiction overpowered their sense of survival. The three of them sat down at the corner table. Naghig listened through Isocrates¡¯s explanation, his recounting of the first dream and the memories he gained from it. ¡°I guess Septurrion and his kin are on our side.¡± He added while wiping off the foam from his lips and tusks.


    ¡°We should eliminate him as soon as possible.¡± Luelia said confidently while rotating her finger wreathed in mana above her keg of saccharine cherry flavored beverage. Naghig groaned before answering, his mind whirring through motions. On one hand he agreed with the bloodthirsty princess, but on the other hand he knew it was more profitable to have Proclus on their side.


    ¡°What are your thoughts on this boy?¡± Before he voiced his own piece, Naghig turned at Isocrates and asked. The question brought him out from his sullen stupor and he diverted his gaze away from his own reflection in the bitter mead which lessened the irrational aching within his heart. ¡°Honestly I am not fully sure. Killing him is a reasonable choice for his betrayal of the Empire¡­ but on the other hand if we could convince him to change sides, he could prove to be treasury of knowledge on the Cult possibly. And of course, he could gain us a foothold on the upper levels.¡± Naghig nodded along as he himself agreed on those points besides his own veiled before the two.


    ¡°Visit our friend and if push comes to shove ¨C then nothing we could have done about it.¡± After a long silence, he gave his orders. ¡°What about Mirayroth?¡± Isocrates asked. ¡°Do not worry boy. We are of one mind.¡±


    **


    ¡°Here, grab on!¡± Amidst a series of whirring, Isocrates stretched down his artificial arm to Luelia whilst the other dug into the robust, gray stalactite wall. As he stared down at her, he quivered staring down at the vibrant depth. She wrapped her fingers around the gilded metal, then threw her up with a single motion towards the top rail of the golden wall of limestone and marble circling angularly around Proclus¡¯s mansion. Then she stretched and strained his limbs, flowing mana into his arkhaine points before propelling himself beside her, clutching onto the ornated rail whilst the Illius¡¯s rays shining through the rinsing dimmed gradually.


    With soft thuds, the two landed on the thick grass covering the ground, their bodies completely invisible thanks to Luelia. Isocrates wrestled against his curiosity to ask on the nature of the spell as it differed vastly from the previous experiences. A primary difference being able to see Luelia, confusing his mind whether the spell worked or not whilst still being aware that his presence was veiled before others. Including the feline watcher turning at the right corner, staying far from the golden hedge rising high and permeating a sense of danger creeping into the two who stared at it.


    ¡°You sense it too?¡± Luelia asked in a whisper. Isocrates simply nodded hearing rustling of the spiky leaves before his eyes. Arkhaine veins slithered about within the white pond surrounding his pupils, amplifying his alertness to the vines moving surreptitiously within the shadows, waiting to lash out and grab any intruder. The two remained still, pondering on the best course to traverse across the hedge forming a maze around the isolated mansion on the mountainside.


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    Whilst Isocrates inhaled the pleasantly cold mountainous air lingering in the great garden, Luelia remained calm and confident once they made their way towards the right. Though it faded when she felt the wet, chilling embrace of a slithering, hissing vine beneath her sole. Though her gaze swiftly jumped from the shrouded vine onto the wall of hedge rustled, parting before vine ending in a closed petal unfolding itself. She quickly reached to pinch her nose as the putrid smell of rotten flesh assaulted her nose and quivered noticing chunks of flesh hanging from the soft floral teeth dripping with saliva.


    From the oval maw, guttural hisses turned into choking as an eye with oblong pupil appeared in hideous maw of a fusion between flesh and petal. An eye that glowed while veins similar to the ones adorning Isocrates¡¯s appeared while it swept around, searching for the two. Without uttering a word, Luelia looked at Isocrates who masked well his own fear, and they slowly relapsed into careful motion, their gazes alternating between the creature¡¯s small head and the vines slithering, hiding in the thick grass.


    A small whirlpool dug aggressively into the earth and lifted out a piece of it across them. Then it hurled it further in at which the vine jerked its head towards then retreated suddenly into the fold of the hedge. The two waited for the rustling to finally abate before they continued on, Luelia navigating them as the outline burned into her mind. Occasionally, they stopped at the sound of rustling coming from within the dense foliage on both sides, cold sweat forming on their skin when the stench of carrion permeated the narrow pathway lit by the dim lights of the phasing Illius.


    At long last, the two arrived at the courtyard surrounded by the wedge formation of hedge walls, each section a different shade. Emerald whence they came from and where the ravenous plant slithered waiting for its prey to reveal themselves, golden in the direction of the Illius and one dark as berries on their left. In the center a great fountain ceaselessly spewed effervescent water filling the marble pond. Both felt the mana faintly leaking from the marble blocks continuously reinforcing the spell cleansing and controlling the flow of water.


    Without saying a word, Luelia reached out and placed her soft palm upon Isocrates¡¯s bosom upon noticing the awkward movement of a dark grayish silhouette. She strained her eyes, her vision stretched towards the figure made out of polished stone possessing a vague, chiseled resemblance to an aevhe. ¡°Golems.¡± She muttered, and both of them stayed in place once more, realizing the usual tactics won¡¯t work on these guards. And realization dawned on Isocrates regarding his dream and why he and the golden eyed Man cut their way through the mansion instead of relying on subterfuge. To the point he began to raise his hand, channeling mana and focusing his mind to tame the clouds billowing far above them. Before he could call forth a thunder, Luelia stopped him and shook her head. ¡°We shall sneak past them and deal with them after we finish our main business here. In the worst case at least.¡±


    **


    Steam risen forth the ceramic cup bearing a sneaking feline figure of thick, black fur with a long tail reaching a near circle. Framed on the top in crimson, on the bottom a crimson with both surfaces transmuted into a glassy state reflecting Proclus¡¯s tired face, his pinkish small nose from which his peculiar whiskers protrude sniffing the stirring scent of the bitter tea. In his lap, a thick book in brownish hard cover laid, pages scribbled with profit numbers earned in the past two weeks.


    Then his attention turned towards his right on the long sofa near the door, a silver furred little creature of his appearing out of nowhere purring upon noticing its master. It elegantly leapt onto the sloping arm, its claws digging into the leather covering of a deep black fitting with the gloomy brownish wall behind it. From there with another elegant leap, landed upon the ledger while its mewing echoed through the office.


    Proclus held out his index finger and touched the gently sloping forehead of his cat, and as it blazed in etheric energies, fresh memories flown into his mind. Images flashed of the two creeping through the shadows, avoiding the golems he commissioned for his mansion. An occupational endeavor passed onto him from his unfortunate predecessor who himself believed in the cost efficiency of commissioning a set of these animated guards with sharp perception capable of picking up on the faintest draught of mana compared to hiring mercenaries, adventurers possessing the same ability. ¡°Though I shouldn¡¯t have skimped on them. Well in the worst case I shall order ones with higher grade perception.¡± He murmured to himself while looking into those lustrous, golden eyes.


    Then came a sigh as he pondered more on the smaller details. ¡°But I guess it would matter little if they got past the Ophidian Vine.¡± He relapsed suddenly into silence, sensing Luelia and Isocrates reaching near his office. With a snap of his fingers, the golem guards stopped for a moment, then made their way far from the office. ¡°For now, let¡¯s see if we can barter with her highness and her¡­ companion. Now my dear, would you fetch two more cups please.¡±


    The small, silver furred creature meowed a bit begrudgingly but turned around and held its paw into the air. On the drawer across them, just below a grand painting of his former home still ailing his dreams often, two similar cups rose into the air and gently soared across the dimly lit room. He quickly leaned forward ¨C to the annoyance of the cat ¨C reaching for the ear of the kettle to pour into each just as the two intruders of his mansion exited their stupor of the golem passing by and away.


    ¡°Welcome to my humble abode.¡± With a genial smile ¨C appearing surreptitious to the two ¨C he greeted them as soon as they flung the door open. Contrary to his expectation of the two hoping to surprise him, and slit his throat like most assassins, a sizzling streak of thunder approached swiftly towards his head. A sigh escaped his wide, dark lips and when he snapped the finger the two almost fell over.


    Amidst the moaning of the wood, the shrieking of thunder, the room quickly expanded upon its own space by his will, lengthening and widening at the same time. He slowly arose from his lofty, comfortable seating whilst keeping his balance faultlessly. Another sigh escaped him when he heard the roar of the floor shattering when the thunder following in the steps of its conjurer collided with the expensive elm wood floor he commissioned and brought forth from the eastern side of central Vhalleryon.


    ¡°Here I am, preparing my finest tea, and they bring harm upon my home. Quite the rude folk he gathered.¡± He turned to his hissing feline companion, agent. His middle and index finger clasped together, curved up while dark, infernal energies poured forth the graven Taeberossian runes beneath his dark, dense fur. With a flick, Isocrates slowly getting onto his feet flung against the hardened wall and groaned before passing out from the agonies inflicted by the impact and by the spell casted by Proclus.


    Whilst Luelia reached out to stir Isocrates, abruptly her hands battered against her sides, then curled and twisted behind her back whilst her legs simply halted at clinging against each other. Slowly she rose into the air and floated towards the approaching Proclus who continued sipping his tea which lost not a single drop during this minor incident. ¡°Honestly I wanted to begin this¡­ deal of ours on better foot.¡± He said calmly whilst the room croaked back into its previous length and width around them.


    He placed Aurelithae down into the couch across him whilst Isocrates was restrained by dark tendrils. ¡°There is no deal to be made here.¡± Aurelithae replied with a certain calm sprinkled by anger aimed at Proclus and herself.


    The feline demikin clicked his tongues, shook his head in disapproval. ¡°There is always a deal to be made. That much I learned through my life. And I can assure you, the information I possess weighs heavily on the scales.¡±


    For a moment he waited, expecting a reply laced with her well-hidden anger. ¡°For example, what the aim of the Beautiful is, and where she truly hides.¡±


    ¡°The Beautiful had been sealed away for a century now.¡± She replied suddenly. Proclus turned his head sideway whilst glancing at her inquisitively, reevaluating his previous and more positive perception on Aurelithae.


    ¡°Maybe I overestimated your highness¡­. no, no he couldn¡¯t be wrong could he.¡± He mumbled whilst massaging his widely inclined forehead. ¡°Well, I guess you only are aware of what your dear, dear father or the others have told you on what happened at Nidumiath.¡±


    For a moment he stopped, moistened his drying tongue with the bitter, warm tea. ¡°To keep this short, the seal had been broken and The Beautiful has ¨C let us say ¨C a better vessel amongst your family this time.¡± As the words registered, Aurelithae broke her own illusion for a short moment, but relapsed back quickly into her calm and regal demeanor.


    Nonetheless, she remained silent, focusing on the unseen bindings whilst Proclus waited for an answer. Sensing her attempts at breaking free, he heaved the third and last sigh just as darkness began to spread across the boundless sky and the Illius began its change to assume its pallid silver form. ¡°Tell my old friend, Mirayroth that I seek to speak with him. I shall relay all that I know for exchange of immunity from pesky attempts and of course for returning the two of you unharmend.¡± Beneath her a portal swallowed her before she could answer, then not long after she found herself and Isocrates on the white pavement lit by the warm glow seeping out from the windows of the Sleeping Nereid Inn.

 Chapter 99: It Begins With Her I.

    Where am I? I remember laying down in the silken embrace of my sheets my handmaidens tucked me into as always. I remember the tender sinking feeling of my soft bed pulling me downwards until I found myself in the precipice of the waking world and Oneiron. The weightlessness still chuckled me as I found myself floating in the endless darkness with a distant glow akin to the Illius floating in the endless vista. A color I have only seen in the many dreams that have flown back into my mind for the past five years. A color that shone brightly yet, failed to vanquish the darkness of the void between and beyond realms. A color that seemed to call out to me in its own silent way.


    Then instead of arriving in the usual realm of ours, where we built the great pyramid of Khadath with its pointy silver top reaching the endless blackness stretching into the boundless eternity, I became aware of the crushing waves of unseen waters below myself. A fear of being swallowed by these waters gripped my heart, yet it faded when the falling of my astral form changed into floating. Floating on the smooth, undisturbed, feral surface of a primordial sea, ocean of a realm forbidden to mortal kindred.


    As the waves of neither cold nor warm swept through my soul, I felt each particle, each mote conveying knowledge long lost or never delivered upon crawl into my mind. Knowledge that yet had to be deciphered as I felt uncomfortable suddenly. One bordering on the fear of lacking in perception, born of a primeval intuition hammered into us by the Deossos when they shaped our new, perfected forms. The survival instinct of a shipwrecked sailor carried by the chaotic waves of a chaotic ocean in which abyss, strange horrors lurk with a sense tied to the currents of the oceans¡­ like wind carrying the scent of freshly baked fruit laden cake.


    I felt such a horror suddenly, lurking and slithering beneath my soles. A fear which not abated even as I focused, soothed my mind, wishing and willing distance between myself and what I could not see, but feel. Minutes passed, hours lapsed, days meandered, weeks rushed, months soared in this state of ours before the I felt the end nearing. An end that registered more as the Solemn Shepherd presence nearing me to take me to the gray city of Asphodai rather than me nearing the threshold between this realm and the waking world where I shall open my eyes, staring at the wooden and silken roof of my bed.


    My only compass, the distant light of a strange color. My star, my moon, my Illius and my guiding Lunarius beckoning to safety from a realm I am must assured was never meant to be witnessed, experienced by any mortal ¨C be it me or even Father, and his father, and his father¡¯s father, the greatest of mortal kindred who walked the realms. Yet as I neared it, I felt an allure towards what lurked beneath, one of a morbid kind as I knew there was no escaping It, and might as well see what may be my end.


    A choice I regretted and not at the same time as I slowly turned, with a strange sense of direction, aware fully of where It was, where Its three shining eyes gazed into mine¡­


    **


    Aurelithae slowly stirred forth the strange dream. The sheets of dawn golden, ashen red and polished obsidian slipped off her form. She gently rotated her legs towards the edge, though before she rose back onto her feet she stopped suddenly, her gaze focused on the small spire of books containing the diary of her sister Moirstyria which guided her onto her current path, and which like the black grimoire found its way into her hands through strange circumstances.


    Though in recent years she paid little attention to it as her mind focused on myriad questions regarding her future. Questions which all pointed towards the Chosen soon to be taken back here, into the embrace of the capital. Which was why she burned within with the desire to finally end the terror brought upon it by the cult and their leader, whose name she had read in the diary. The last entry as she recalled it perfectly, where Moirstyria wrote a single page on her encounter with the Beautiful.


    A page which offered little explanation into the weakness of the Infaerni besides the protection of the Deossos. A protection she was unsure of whether she possessed at all, her only hope being the knowledge within the grimoire of an eerie, black hardcover with its pages containing knowledge of a power not meant for mortals. Yet whilst that power did not evoke the same, multifarious euphoria of maghia, the power it given her felt even better, even more tempting.


    Tempting enough that she found a way to bring it within the boundaries of Oneiron. Where she shared it with Sigi, leading to practices that lasted years, decades in the realm of dreams. And to the birth of a strong friendship between the two, born of their enjoyment, thrill in regards of the knowledge dancing esoterically on the pages. Pleasant decades passed in the realm of dreams where the two studied together, free of the woes ailing them in the waking world.


    Which led to the gaping pain, as if she was ridden of an organ ailing her after stirring in the usual hour. Or was it the usual hour, came the question when she noticed the vividness of reality all around her, beyond the precipices of the shadows lingering in her room. An ominous feeling came over her as she thought back onto Proclus¡¯s warning. Yet when she stared out her window and watched as the handmaidens and Impirith Praetoriir minded their own business, ignoring the weirdness of reality, she felt confused.


    Was it an after effect of staring down, the result of her instinct overruling her common sense? Her lids closed down as she began to take deep breaths, cleansing her mind and surveying the surroundings, and the deeper, unseen layers of reality. She abruptly lost her balance, her heart skipped a couple beats, losing conscience for a mere second while clammy shivers trembled her body. ¡°I have to go.¡± She whispered to herself, hurrying towards her wardrobe while still panting from the touch of the primeval essence of the Beautiful, creeping across the capital, reaching up to her home.


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    **


    A sweet, tantalizing scent spread within the dim catacombs stretching beneath the Grand Cathedral, built by the first magusos who established the Order of Maghia¡¯s Truth, in the days when they only revered the Magnificent Mother of aevhen kindred, the one who shaped them into their perfect, faultless forms. Winding roads reached far across the mountain, serving as an escape route and used to regulate the flow of mana pouring forth the nexus beneath the Grand Cathedral.


    As ages passed, this regulation evolved into branching. Many of these branches connect and empower the sewage system¡¯s cleansing and control of the water¡¯s flow itself; the Greigor Gates connecting the levels and the barrier which surrounds the city, protecting against possible incursion of hostile dragons of the House of Dusk and Chaos. ¡°Do you truly believe your rule shall last forever?¡± The Beautiful said as she stood in the shadow of the great statue erected by the ancient magusos when they began to dig further into the mountain.


    Here where they felt the condensation of mana the strongest, they built a magnificent statue to Maerhia, recreating her divine beauty through the shaping, molding of basalt ¨C one of the three divine stones, formed from the carcasses of great dragons ¨C polished until it gained a sheen of brilliance akin to the Illius, the greatest mana giant within the boundaries of Elhyrissian. On top of that, they augmented the statue with the rarest of arkhaine crystals imbued with spells to lessen the poisonous presence of the dense mana within the carved-out section.


    ¡°And shall yours¡¯ last till reality crumbles into dust?¡± The Beautiful turned around calmly, her eyes listless yet genial towards the Dark Stranger approaching her, speaking in the raspy, deep voice in a mirthless tone. ¡°I shall after I finally open their eyes, after I reveal their¡­ our lies.¡±


    The Dark Stranger remained still like the statue before them. ¡°What if they shall not care of your truth? What if the Elhyrissiar proves beyond you?¡± This time a sonorous timbre rumbled the room, rumbled her primordial essence of pride, of excessive divine-worth. For the first time in an eternity, she felt unsure. An agonizingly long moment before she mustered her strength, imposed her will upon the world using the authority granted by her birth, by her breaking away from the Almodo and taking shape, taking a name and carving out her own demesne.


    ¡°They shall have no choice. That was our mistake the first time, that is their mistake and why He managed to inflict such destruction upon creation. Choice is ours, and ours only shall it be, don¡¯t you think so, my friend?¡± She asked, but when she turned the Dark Stranger was no more, only the statue smiling at her, while the tender shadow spread over her vessel.


    **


    The bright light of the small faux sun vanquished the shadows across the whole oval throne room. Terrianis blankly stared at it, yet his eyes trailed after Aurelithae awakening, staring at a vacant spot in her room where every object, wall, ceiling, roof and window appeared more vibrant than before. A spot which poked at his patience as he felt something there.


    He sensed a faint essence ¨C old and revolting to his sixth sense inherited by his draconic ancestry ¨C lingering, swirling mockingly as if whoever placed it there knew of his tendencies regarding his daughter who shall one day inherit his title and power just as he did with his father. Yet no matter how much he forced, no matter how strong he desired to peer through the veil placed over such an inconsequential segment of the room, a will and desire predating his own molded by the Deossos halted his efforts.


    Efforts which he placed above beating back the Beautiful¡¯s taint spreading across the capital, bringing the millions whom he swore to protect a thousand or so years ago to protect and guide towards an eternity of prosperity and peace. Now they toiled, and fall to the primordial charm of the corrupting spirit who hungered for those like him, fated to be confident and always sure of themselves.


    Like Rhenathorhia who walked straight into the claws of this malevolent spirit, unaware that his ambition, his desire to prove himself in the eyes of Angura were not the benevolent ingredients of ascension into the annals of history, but a poison that slowly tainted and beckoned the wicked spirit that should have been sealed by his older sister. A process he himself followed whilst Aurelithae was still occupied with her royal studies, one he wished to stop, but when she moved out suddenly, just like he once did, Terrianis decided to entertain the possibility of chaos, of introducing a little bit of discord just as another failed rebellion against their rule was forming.


    If worse comes to worst like on this fateful day, he vowed to step in and banish The Beautiful back to her place in the dark realm she spawned in. For now, a part of his attention focused on Aurelithae who now stared through her window, her calm expression faultlessly veiling the realization of the danger hanging over Luth-Astaril. ¡°Let us see what you shall do. Will you be strong enough to make the necessary sacrifices to ensure victory?¡± He whispered to himself whilst his gaze moved onto the lake from which the marble platform arose, watched as little etheric tadpoles swam in the bottomless lake.


    Etheric tadpoles which one by one turned from a brilliant white into a sinister purple sprinkled with a revolting golden. Even their odorless state altered, now a sickly saccharine and pungent odor spread across his throne room whilst the silence was broken by insidious whispers beckoning him to relinquish his claim and his power granted upon him, his father and his grandfather by the heavens and those who came before.


    ¡°The nerve!¡± Chunks of his throne fell onto the floor as his claws dug deep, impeded by the Nature¡¯s Law of Strength decreed upon the marble. His voice gradually poisoned by his mild irritation towards the suggestion of the wicked whispers. At once, the etheric tadpoles in the lake began to shift in color as he lashed out against the Beautiful¡­

 Chapter 100: It Begins With Her II.

    Cries and shrieks echoed through the peaceful halls, corridors of the Radiant Keep as the servants leapt against the Impirith Praetoriir. Not long after Akaerith and her handmaidens arrived for the usual morning routine of dressing her and leading her to the dining hall, chaos erupted suddenly. At once she felt the primordial will of the Beautiful stretching across the city, reaching up to the Radiant Keep even wrestle against her Father¡¯s who swiftly noticed the presence looming over his brilliant fiefdom.


    Though it seemed to her that his father struggled to completely free everyone. The servants with weaker constitutions and mental protections remained under Her sway and now turned on their fellows. She felt the wicked energies of Taeberus course through their anima veins, erasing the distance between the Impirith Praetoriir ¨C the best of the best chosen to safeguard the Elhyrissiar and his family ¨C evident from their corpses littering the corridors, their myriad-colored blood tainting the alabaster marble floor.


    Even she had a hard time putting down Akaerith and the handmaidens who suddenly were capable of conjuring more than simple cantrips incapable of harming her. An hour passed as she incapacitated the younger handmaidens binding them with etheric ropes molded by the invisible mana lingering in the recesses of the great, hovering edifice that was the Radiant Keep. Akaerith herself proved more of a threat as she herself was relatively well trained and had a natural affinity towards Time Maghia which the gift of the Beautiful amplified to the point she could peek into the near future.


    Fearing she may reach her limit if she continued hurling spells after spell, Aurelithae tapped into the power gifted upon herself by the Black Book and by the pale figure. She tapped into the etheric tumor festering on the arkhaine point located right where the heart is and grappled onto it, tearing and tucking. With each attempt to pull it off, Akaerith shrieked like a banshee from the pain, and in the end lost her consciousness when Aurelithae decided to swiftly vanquish it by conjuring forth her golden flames.


    She quickly rushed to her caretaker, while invoking a gentle draught lowering Akaerith¡¯s limp and pale form onto the enormous carpet. Her eyes of a chromatic cavalcade of colors shimmered with worry, welled up with tears of dread and finally abated upon sensing her cold, sweet breath brushing against her face. Unlike the others, she knew Akaerith was free of bondage, and left her there hurrying to Terrianis. A road lengthened to preserve her strength as she came to a realization sensing the two Wills clashing against each, that even Terrianis alone won¡¯t be enough to beat back the Beautiful.


    She took a quick breath whilst draping her form in inscriptions of a false reality where she was a simple aevhe of still exceptional magnificence. And then vanished as she hurled herself forth the Radiant Keep, to the front door of the Sleeping Nereid Inn where she found Naghig, Isocrates and Brutius holding back cultists and daemurnus on the vividly brilliant streets.


    **


    Isocrates gently wrapped Euthymius in the coarse woolen sheets, guilt gnawing at him even knowing he had little choice. Yet the mark of his metallic fist remained on the soft cheeks of his brother who just entered the adolescent years of his life. ¡°Stay here. I¡¯ll be back soon.¡± He murmured to his brother, his words faltering from the pain. Passing through the narrow and short corridor, he took a peek at his parents laying unconscious, restrained by their own sheets whilst his little sister cried as her feeble mind was tainted, assaulted by the whispers which enticed Isocrates.


    A memory that just returned, a memory which cemented his own foolishness. The self-realization of it hurt as much as the action he had to take against his own kin. The image of the fetish in the old merkin¡¯s shop; Hunra and Rhenathorhia glancing at him with their visages of eerie handsomeness all flowed back into him, and he cursed his own name of not realizing their enemy standing before him. Yet not much could be done now, except cutting the head of the snake which slithered amongst the flock. A serpent confident enough to bare its fangs now evident from the rumble seeping through the walls, the closed windows.


    Battle unfolded beyond the precipice of his home, inhumane shrieks reverberated through the whole capital as the enchanted and those freed from the grasp of the Beautiful battled each, the latter still oblivious how in less than a decade the capital or even the Empire could be on the cusp of destruction. Isocrates took a deep breath, curled his fists as a strong gust gathered within the dim recess of his home, dancing around him before it opened the door violently, and lifted a daemur and a cultist up in the air before slamming them into the roof of the building across.


    Stepping out he noticed the custodiir pushing back and forth with the cultists, citizens whom they cut down without a thought, and the daemurnus¡¯s of eerie beauty. Clouds gathered above the vibrant streets as Isocrates focused and shut out the sounds of battle on both his sides. Then at once the wave of euphoria shifted into jabbing agony as micro cosmic sparks lashed out against his soul, against his tendon. Blood splurged from his lips as he bit down hard upon his tongue, focusing on the great spell of thunder and fierce, devastating draught.


    After placing in the last inscription, a wind swept through the streets lifting the cultists and daemurnus¡¯s up in the air where mauve and white thunder pierced through them, ending their existences within the boundaries of the mortal realm whilst leaving the enchanted citizens for the custodiir. The sudden blow of his own conjured wind blasted him against the wall where he sat coughing up blood. He took a peak, and opened his mouth to convince the custodiir to stop their disconcerting effort of bringing peace upon the streets with brutality against the unwilling citizens, but stopped realizing the futility of his unborn effort.


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    In the end, he realized he would do the same, and shall do. Mustering his strength, he rose back onto his feet spitting out the coagulated blood waving back and forth between the lining of his cheeks. He reached into his pouch and chugged down the potion calming the searing arkhaine points within his soul, then inscribed the speed of wind into his limbs before he charged through the winding streets overflowing with the saccharine odor of death and struggle, heading straight towards the Sleeping Nereid Inn.


    **


    Thanks to the timely warning, Aurelithae ducked down just in time. A long spear¡¯s metallic shaft glinted at her as it wobbled while its crystalline tip pierced through the thick, layered marble wall of the Sleeping Nereid. She turned quite eloquently at her attacker ¨C a fellow aevhe and a cultist draped in fine robes of a wickedly pious nature with a hint of elegance reflected in the choice of colors and the silken like material it was sewn from. A garment which proved little protection against Aurelithae¡¯s retribution delivered by her peculiar dagger she inherited from Moirstyria¡¯s collection she gathered up within her former chambers.


    Its long, tapering blade of a snow white and brilliant silver easily cut through the fine seams, the hardened epidermis closer to marble than the hide of mortals. As it opened a narrow wound, it chugged up the blood at the very moment it cascaded out from the body whilst its tip continued unabated, slicing marrow before it faltered piercing the heart of the aevhen cultist who had little time to realize, his doom hath come.


    Another, a young adolescent girl with eyes of utter fervor towards the Beautiful charged at Aurelithae, blade wreathed in brilliant, yet sinister flames conjured forth the Taeberossian realm of her primordial liege, a flame that said to posses a mind of its own, a mind reaching out to all gazing upon it, latching its tendrils onto the victims who all surrender their life for the glory of their new mistress. An event that failed to pass, as thunder struck down at her from the sky, burning her mildly, still enough to end her in that moment as smoke rose from her eyes and orifices.


    Naghig¡¯s yell drawn in her attention momentarily: his almost bestial bellow conjoining the death throttles of an elderly cultist who slowly withered away, skin darkened and full of blackened veins before the orkh released his grip on her throat. Though it seemed, the cultist shall serve a further purpose for Naghig. After he hurled the carcass at the nearby triumvirate of cultists joyously cutting open a custodiar whose own fading shrieks were muffled by one of their smooth hands.


    Upon impact, a sinister haze in an ophidian shape escaped from the empty orifices, swirling around each of the gleeful cultists. One by one, they fell grasping their throats whilst their innards burned as if acid was poured down their throat. Blood flowed forth their eyes, forth between their lips and nostrils before they laid down before their victim. Witnessing all this, Aurelithae felt glad the orkh was on her side and a bit of curiosity drawn her attention away from the horrid reality she was living through ¨C for a moment at least.


    Gradually, the cultist dwindled and only the enchanted citizens led by a few daemurnus of the Beautiful remained on the Sleeping Nereid¡¯s street. Aurelithae, feeling emboldened from the small victory, focused all three slave masters overlooking the streets from the steep border of the roofs. Creatures with a vague aevhen resemblance as she noted to herself. Near the same regal, graceful contours which made up her and Mirayroth¡¯s lineaments yet there was an infernal imperfection in each. An infernal mockery she thought to herself.


    Namely eyes stretched too wide with the corners bleeding purple into the marbly white skin surrounding them; lips smooth as silk yet ornated with sickly veins stretching and disappearing in the nearby areas; arms of uneven lengths with claws of azure and purple and of a texture reminiscing her if rare minerals often hewn into gemstones for lofty jewelry of the patricii and wealthier merchants whilst their curved horns of geometrical precision tearing apart their flesh at their foreheads resembling crystals more than marrow.


    Just looking at them filled her not with dread or mild fear; but with utter disgust at which the Beautiful sculpted her children, her minions not out of love like the Magnificent Mother of Aevhen Kindred, but to mock the superior being for her kindness to share her own beauty with one of the mortal kin. This mockery born disgust fueled her the spell raining down upon all three daemurnus. A spell swift as raging wind lit their bodies up in the golden flames of dawn, burning not just their sulfurous flesh but even their tainted souls, hurling them back to the darkest recesses of Taeberos.


    Down below, the last of the enchanted custodiir fell, their bodies encased in ice. An ice searing their flesh until they became charred carcasses within their embrace. Their gilded armor melted onto their blackened forms, facilitating the crumbling decay of their once proud, honed forms. The enchanted citizens themselves were restrained by Isocrates and Gnaeurian who was more versed in the martial art of spear than the arts of maghia. A strange quality of the aurhe that aided in the incapacitation of the enslaved folk.


    ¡°We could have saved those too Vel!¡± He complained in his silken, melodious voice to Vel ¨C a tall truscian man dressed in all black with a hood veiling his haggard, bristly face in shadows. A man who was gifted with the affinities towards the element of ice and fire which he combined into one during his long tenure in the north.


    ¡°And we would have lost precious time.¡± He counted in his dry, raspy deep voice while ice retreat into nothingness from his hands whilst looking over the carnage decorated street. ¡°He is right, now is time is off the essence.¡± Naghig agreed with him as he snapped his fingers and ordered the other agents within the premises of the Inn to retrieve the restrained folk.


    ¡°And what route shall we go? The streets are a battlefield and we shall clog up if we choose that route old friend.¡± Gnaeurian said as his golden eyes stared in the distance, his long sharp ears twitched as he listened to the distant sound of battle. The clash of steel ringing out, mingling with the crackle of arkhaine energies as spells ignited the air, glows painting the vibrant alabaster scenery of Luth-Astaril.


    ¡°I can take us to the House of Records. From there through the hidden tunnels, we can reach the Cathedral without possibly alerting the enemy.¡± Aurelithae spoke up. Naghig looked down, pondering before staring right back into her faux azure eyes. ¡°That will have to do. We shall lose less time that way.¡±

 Chapter 101: It Begins With Her III.

    ¡°How preposterous!¡± The Beautiful cursed as she reeled back from the onslaught Terrianis¡¯s will and divine authority eroding the pleasant spread of her primordial essence. Her mood quickly shifted upon losing nearly half of the capital except for the few who were either already bearing his protection or were protected by His mark etched onto their bodies and into their souls. Quickly she repossessed a miniscule part of her and immediately retaliated against the Elhyrissiar within the deepest layer of reality.


    The reality of Elhyrissian itself consisted of at least eighteen layers according to the Order of Maghia¡¯s Truth who began unfolding each during their erudite research aimed to solve the greatest obstacle in perfecting long-range teleportation. Whilst the solution laid elsewhere, they stumbled upon the vast web of inscriptions, formulas which they now refer to as the building blocks of reality itself. Runes which oozed with power beyond anything their feeble mind and will could fully comprehend, and could only deduct these were either left behind by the Almodo or by the Architect of Planes, The Monarch of the Elements and younger sibling of the Nightscale and the Heavenly Monarch.


    Within these layers the two began their relentless dance vying to take control over the oblivious citizens, legionariir whom experienced a wide array of sensations. Pain at being gnawed at when Terrianis tore out her essence and hurled it across the ceaseless voids; a soothing, warm sensation spreading a twinging akin to warm embrace in a cold winter when she wrestled the reins back over them; misanthropic agonies when they were once more deprived of her baleful essence and a myriad other, all within the span of a mere seconds as they clashed against those enjoying the freedom given back by Terrianis.


    In just one flip of a bird, a dragon flying out from the praetoriir¡¯s creche, the two tucked a hundred times over the minds of millions. Both driven by their divine privilege over the feebler minds proved created tempestuous tides in the chaotic waters of the astral realms between, disturbing its eon long harmony and beckoning myriad inhabitants drawn by the curiosity as many of them though The Beautiful was simply driven finally insane in the prison of her own making. Yet were mildly surprised at The Beautiful outnumbered by three brilliant, vague shapes spreading across her bewitching form.


    From the manifold legs dancing, merging with each other, etheric threads sprouted and concaved towards the gargantuan, pulsing shape alternating between a spherical and an oblique and oblong sack, darkening ulcer vortexes forming along its opaque surface of effervescent polychrome. Dim and vibrant just like the two vying above, whose celestial scuffle drawn more and more with each blow; each strike; each blast echoing through the eternities¡­


    **


    ¡°Guess she could not wait any longer.¡± Albron stood somberly, from his long blade the blood of his truscian subordinate dripped into the lengthening lake of dim blood. A youth who delivered quite mundane news just a mere moment ago, before he uttered fervent praises to an entity, he had no awareness of. Albron hesitated little as the blade was drawn from its sheath with the intent of taking his life for his lack of devotion towards The Beautiful. Compared to the draevhei, tardy as he was freed from the bondage of The Beautiful by a singular pierce through his heart.


    ¡°May Her veil protect you on your final journey, Brother!¡± He offered a prayer, met his vacant gaze before he gently shut down the muddy green eyes. The door burst open and two more of his readied themselves for a futile clash, though before they could hope to even strike, the madness from their gazes faded. Confusion and terror written on their faces behind the slim slits of their enameled ebony helmets with golden trims. Albron let out a sigh then collected his thoughts whilst approaching them.


    ¡°Calm down! Head down to the Cradle and make sure our winged friends aren¡¯t effected by this strange madness.¡± As he placed his hands on their shoulders, his mark flared up under the woven glove, pouring eldritch runes of protection into them. The two without noticing, except for a mildly warm soothing sensation nodded their heads and left his office. He rubbed his hand and looked back at the corpse one more time before sheathing his blade away.


    For a moment, regret reared itself in his heart. Regret more towards himself rather than towards Grimslaukh who delivered the ring holding The Beautiful. He now wished he was clever enough at the time to offer an alternative, though he was also aware that may not have saved the life of his subordinate. Before he could have dwelled more on the matter, the door once more flung open at the kick of his old friend, comrade whom stood by his side when he made the journey to the far north to find Moirstyria, who saved him from that horrid whiteworm lurking in the deepest recesses of the Veinways where she disappeared near a century ago.


    ¡°Albron! Thank the One and the Eight. What is happening?¡± Celsushar appeared like then: his stalwart, golden body clad in their ebony panoply drenched in gore, though unlike that time it came from their own flock.


    He let out a sigh and turned away from the corpse. ¡°She went ahead of schedule.¡± Was all he uttered, Celsushar understood with a grim expression. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t have trusted her.¡±


    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t have.¡± Albron whispered before he relapsed into a pensive silence. ¡°But I have no doubt it is still within his expectations.¡± For the time being, he had no choice but to believe as he had a sudden surge of awareness of Aurelithae traversing across space and time, down from the Radiant Keep, down to the streets.


    The two began moving out, hearing commotion down at the courtyard. ¡°It is quite foolish, but if possible, hold your blade as much as possible.¡± Celsushar nodded his head without uttering a word, seeing the faint, pained expression of the penitent. They hurried through the winding corridors of the gargantuan, hexangular tower casting its shadow over the ridges and jagged walls of the mountain, overlooking the prosperous city in flames. Strangely only a few of their brothers and sisters impeded their way, evoking a foreboding sense of fear within them.


    Outside, they arrived to the scenery of Nawfal holding back his blade, surrounded by his own Wing and theirs with many of them littering the gleaming floor with wounds not dire enough to bring them under the dark veil of Dhaekenia. Though the sight of gashing wounds held in a translucent, etheric bubble healing it just enough they won¡¯t bleed to death proved grim enough to strengthen his remorse, he was glad that Augermil left Nawfal behind a few years ago.


    Without words, the elderly Yhanubj Praetoriar augmented with the bones and blood of a dragon noticed the two and felt relief amidst the bizarre euphoria of maghia. The two joined the fray after formulating the very same spell before striking down at their fellows. First, they cut their way through the masses of praetoriir, aiming for the less vital points whilst applying the spell and a second gravitational holding them in place. At the epicenter, all three pushed against each other¡¯s back, blade held out firmly and in swift flashed struck down the few maddened fellows of theirs. Before long the bout came to an end as the number of the shackled dwindled, their agony leaden moans forming a strange sonnet.


    ¡°Are we the only ones left unaffected by this taint?¡± Nawfal inquired between breaths as his gaze swept across the courtyard. ¡°There are a few Father freed. But we are still probably outnumbered.¡± Albron answered whilst crouching down to a haebrian merkin praetoriar, his palm against the clammy forehead as he drained the vile essence out from her.


    ¡°What are your orders?¡± Albron looked at him mildly confused, but then stared at the dim corridor leading down to the Creche of the Dragons. ¡°We head to the Creche, from there to the aid of the legion.¡± The two nodded.


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    ¡°What about them?¡± Celsushar asked pointing at the unconscious praetoriir. ¡°Leave them be. They shall be cleansed¡­ freed first by Father.¡± With that the three hurried down the Creche where their winged companions awaited, thrilled by the events unfolding¡­


    **


    Isocrates stared down at the long stairs, bringing back the memory of the first arduous climb he felt glad had not been repeated as now new hurdles ornated, tainted the long set of alabaster stairs. Corpses of legionariir and cultists littered the steps adding to the grizzled cityscape brimming in an eerie vibrance. The smell of slowly rotting corpses in the illius caustically burnt his nose.


    The others behind him were slowly healed by Naghig and Curia, a fellow faun member of the New Agent with steel grayish fur covering her tall, statuesque body draped in light brownish robes with golden tips. Though unlike Naghig who seemed to be an expert on the restoration of body and mind, her focus laid in the more protective nature of dawn and mind maghia. Qualities which proved quite useful as whilst the battle between the Cult and the First Legion came to an end here, there were still those under the oppressive sway of the Beautiful.


    Not long after they stepped forth the strange portal Aurelithae hewn into their layer of reality, the enchanted guard of the House of Records wasted no time to reveal their own fall to the primordial charm. Though it was a short battle between the two groups, it still wasted good few minutes they wished to spend on finding the so-called Maze of Fates. A vast network of roads he heard a few tales about during his days in the academy.


    Roads which naturally formed into the Draemons Mountain at least according to one record he did not believe at all. A tale which hearkens back to the tale of two greatest children of the Heavenly Monarch battling against the Titan of Chaotic Waves, a battle the two dragons lost themselves leading to their gargantuan carcasses becoming the foundation of these great mountains he called home. For him it was a grim notion, which proposed that like the corpses of mortals, their carcasses too break down with ages, leading to his fears that one day the mountains holding the city would crumble into dust, killing millions including maybe even him or his descendants one day.


    He much preferred the actual tale of them being created by Cinciwen ¨C a former chosen of the Amber Lord ¨C battling an Infaerni who took a giant worm as their vessel. A battle which as usual lasted for days and nights and took the two across both mountains and the lands below the valley. ¡°Iso, wake up!¡± Aurelithae¡¯s voice brought her out from envisioning the tale of the magnificent hero clashing against a demoniac worm.


    He quickly turned around and noticed that Vel and Gnaeurian were healed back up finally. Though a minor surprise greeted them in the form of the Keeper who remained sane and blind to the tainted world around him. He greeted them in his usual genial manner and gave them a strange coin of brass and azure with no distinctive engravings on it except for the trims of serpentine circle.


    Isocrates let out a gasp when Aurelithae pushed her thumb onto it, then suddenly evaporated from the entrance hall. A chuckle followed from behind the counter. ¡°Do not be afraid to walk in the bowels of the mountain. It shall lead you all to your destinies woven by the Sightless Seer Himself!¡±


    **


    After pressing his thumb onto the center of the coin, Isocrates found himself hurled through time and space, swirling in a nausea inducing pace where his surroundings were a barely recognizable blur of vivid blues, purples and ceruleans merging into each other while retaining their distinctiveness. Compared to Aurelithae¡¯s portal which was the same mundane experience as stepping through a door, it was an experience he no longer wanted to live through if necessary.


    At last, he found himself caught by Naghig whose hands glowed in a dawn golden, decreasing his need to lay out the contents of his bowels onto the dim basalt floor beneath his soles. A floor with a peculiar quality the longer he stared at it whilst wrestling with his own body. At first look it resembled basalt like the mines beneath the mountain, though he noticed faint marrow like qualities in them. Smooth yet slightly porous surface with winding striations leading further in the wide passage where all six of them comfortable fit within. The walls curved, arced gently towards the ceiling like ribcages; sutured segmenting the wall and ceiling.


    The strangest of the road¡¯s qualities though was not found in its appearance, but in the fact that the air itself was fresh as if they never stepped into the House of Records, that as if they were still standing outside taking in the refreshing mountainous air sweeping across the erected plateaus of the capital.


    ¡°Come on boy!¡± Naghig grabbed his arm with his pale hands still wreathed in the soothing, healing spell, though he freed it himself as the peace settled once more within his body. Nevertheless, as they hurried through the sinuous road, his intuition told him they were no longer in the realm of mortal kindred. When his eyes fell on the walls, strained to pierce through the opaque veil, he seemed to notice wafts of etheric winds seeping in through the sutures and crevices inhibited by a primeval darkness that evoked a soothing nothingness. A sensation he often associated with death, an occasion which in the end was neither grim nor attractive for the recipient. It was just is for Isocrates.


    A notion that now walking this road creeped into his mind, blossoming into a sense of doom as he just realized their little group was heading to face a primordial evil lurking in the fiery shadows of existence well before the first of his ancestors were uplifted by the Deossos, granted a new perfect form to mingle amongst the other kindred. Strangely as he found it himself, the prospect filled him with excitement and terror at the same time, feelings that evaded him months ago. By the end of the long etheric road situated between realities, he was assured it was the day his name shall be carved into the Annals of Eternity like Augermil whose name shall forever be remembered for his thousand feats. ¡°This shall be my first in the hundreds awaiting me!¡± He thought vainly as they came face to face with a pristine mirror emanating an iridescent glow whilst reflecting only their dimly lit surroundings.


    **


    Madness fluctuated throughout Luth-Astaril. Citizens who dreaded the day they had to survive, praying to the One and the Eight to protect them in these dire days; vagrants who travelled from the distant provinces in hopes of finding work or making a name by putting their amassed martial and arkhaine knowledge to the test; adventurers who came with similar aims or simply came home for the altruistic reason of protecting their loved ones from the cult and the grasp of The Beautiful; legionariir and custodiir making rounds on the streets, searching and hunting for the surreptitious cult lurking in the shadows.


    All these good and bad folk now found their minds torn; assailed by a flurry of sensation including the joy of freedom, the dread of life slipping from them as they succumbed to their injuries, nausea induced by murdering their fellows in a sudden and pious rage towards an entity whom at one moment they dread in another love and worship even though the true name of the beast evades their mind. The only thing that lingers before their eyes, whether they are free from her grasp or fallen into it is the haunting beauty whose listless face gazes at them from a space beyond their promised realm.


    And amidst these madness infested lands, a dark wanderer of realms and realities walked without a sound, without a scent, without a presence. Not one of the people stared at him or acknowledged him in any capacity. They simply felt a draught of wind devoid of warmth and cold, yet strangely soothing. Many simply chalked this phenomenon up to the Solemn Shepherd or the Gray Monarch walking amongst their flock, waiting to collect the lost, the ones whose life came to a final halt in a cruel twist of fate, in a battle between titans beyond their comprehension.


    For him it was nothing more than a pleasant stroll. A chaos he much preferred after centuries, more than a millennia long stasis which calmly blanketed the realm. Though it wasn¡¯t his desire to unleash chaos in such manner, things still advanced towards his much-desired destination. At the center of the bridge ornated with the symbols and various interpretations of Septurrion, he stopped and turned his cloaked head towards the Great Cathedral erected a few levels above, with a long set of stairs leading up a few dozen streets away.


    His gaze pierced through marble, limestone altered by the erudite hands of dwarves, aevhei and human masons well-versed in the shaping of stones; through the vast space the Great Architect of Realms stretched, lengthened himself eons before the Deossos elevated the races into their current, bipedal forms they all envisioned in unison. He watched the group step through the portal and enter into the winding bowels of the Daemons Mountain hewn out by ancient magusos of the Order, and charged through a dozen proud members under her charm.


    He gazed even beyond, watched as the will of the Infaerni born from the pride of the Almodo clashed against Terrianis who traded his immortality for power that should have never been given to any mortal. A clashing which proved its worth, allowing the little group to reach their destination without alerting the one whose sole purpose is to pave the way towards the epiphany of the little dragon borne by his desire.

 Chapter 102: It Begins With Her IV.

    With each step they made towards the chamber deep below the cathedral, led by the gentle stream of mana in the etheric rivulet of the converging leylines, Aurelithae overflowed with the thrill of battle blossomed by her draconic heritage. To face a great being like a primordial, it filled her in those short appearing moments with a purpose, a purpose which evaded her throughout her short eighty years of existence. Yet standing before the Beautiful in the sculpted vessel that once was her elder brother from a different mother made her feel conflicted.


    New fronts of feelings battered against her. A deep desolation upon gazing at the form chiseled by their Magnificent Mother tainted by the wicked being whose envy towards Maehia was unending as she noticed the statue of the great deity broken into thousand pieces, yet reassembled crudely, mocking Her who was incapable of manifesting in the realm of Elhyrissian.


    And a primeval fear instilled into all beings that came after the first beings upon standing before a creature not bound to flesh, merely needing it for proxy as even She had to abbey the decree of the Almodo, the oldest and greatest of all lifeforms within the infinite expanse of his dream. Her hands trembled weakly as cold predating the antiquities of all worlds wafted through her being, as she felt the distant gaze piercing through her body and soul at the same moment they faltered in their steps within the domed chamber.


    Yet the thrill of the dragons triumphed over these assailing feelings as she tensed her shivering limbs and stepped forth. For a moment she glanced at her shoulder, feeling a touch devoid of coldness and warmth, firm yet gentle indicating the presence of her father. What she once feared, now empowered her against the creature of ancient times ignoring the presences of the others, allowing them to form a half circle as they planned out on their way here.


    Only Naghig remained behind her, prepared to heal their wounds the moment Curia¡¯s barriers falter against the power of a primordial forced to abide to the Laws of Elhyrissian. Without noticing it, the corners of her gleaming lips curved in excitement, and the notion of her fate beginning, unfolding at last blossomed in her mind as the motes of mana flocked into a serpentine line within her anima veins and marched towards all her seven arkhaine points.


    As they cautiously circled around the Beautiful like a pack of wolves thirsting for the flesh of a great bear aware of the danger before them and the consequences of making the wrong move at the wrong time, Aurelithae furled and unfurled her fingers wreathed in translucent golden flames. Slowly it slithered up on her arm, her faux azure eyes glanced at the others.


    First at Isocrates whose arms similarly cracked with purple thunder waiting to strike down at its target; then moved onto Vel whose body emanated a white mist searing the walls and ceiling behind and above him. Gnaeurian himself tightened his grip simply around his bejeweled long spear whilst his eyes darted up and down, back and forth betwixt himself and the Beautiful as he measured the distance and the necessary velocity, he needed to reach Her. Curia¡¯s iron fur lit up in an ethereal glow whilst her hands locked together, her clawed fingers interlocked. Motes of Iuboron and Psioron matter filled the air, forming large bubbles around each of them.


    Whilst her enthusiasm remained, her lids began to grew heavier and a mild nausea followed in its trails as each of them waited for the right moment to strike at the Beautiful who remained in the center, apathetic to their presence as if ants circled around the feet of a gargantuan human. The only being she noticed with mild anger and envy was the one standing unseen behind Aurelithae. Staring into the abyssal eyes, Aurelithae faltered her channeling as the terror of her first meeting with an Infaerni flooded her mind.


    Her gasp reverberated through the room as a sphere of mauve flames with raging white trims hurled out of nowhere, heading towards her with the speed of soaring dragons. Though whilst it never impacted her tender, delicate form wreathed in illusory spells, inscriptions, the force of its supernatural explosion hurled her against the ancient walls sturdy since the day they were hewn out by the magusos.  The shockwave and the impact sent nearly unbearable agonies through her, bringing her to the cusp of unconsciousness like the first time she came face to face with such a being.


    Owing to Naghig¡¯s swift reaction and the sturdy barrier of Curia capable of withstanding the blows of hill giants and even greater Daemurnus, she got away with the memory of the agony inked into her mind and wheezing as she grasped from air. ¡°Quite the shame. But I¡¯ll be able to cultivate talents like yours.¡± The Beautiful¡¯s deep, melodious voice rang through their minds as she turned towards Curia.


    Her last shriek echoed beyond the precipices of the chamber, traversed through the winding roads leading towards the surface. With her barrier shattered by the force with which the Beautiful passed through it, she hung in the air like a flayed animal, her throat crushed by the intense pressure of the marble white hands with fingers stretched beyond their natural length, tips painted a wicked, eminence purple.


    Seeing their comrade¡¯s corpse fell to the ground, Vel and Gnaeurian sprang into action. Slabs of ice sprouted forth the ground, crawling their way up towards Her ankles, binding Her in place. The listless expression mildly shifted as she hissed annoyed by the searing sensation, her divine tendon and skin sizzling beneath the thick, translucent layers. ¡°Cheap trick.¡± She uttered whilst Gnaeurian¡¯s spear ran through Her shoulder, from its shaft shackles sprouted and dug into her flesh, pouring inscriptions of Dawn into her vessel.


    Her listless gaze turned towards Isocrates who remained in motion, supplying the two with further mana. For a moment she questioned the reasoning behind it, but soon lost interest in it and grabbed onto the spear and broke it cleanly off while breaking through the ice which charred her legs black as chiseled coal.  Then as she fiddled the broken part between her long fingers, the piece vanished out from air and lodged into the chest of Vel who fell onto the ground motionless.


    Her arm swept with an unnatural speed, turning before a haze of pink and purple as it advanced towards Gnaeurian¡¯s head. The aurhe quickly ducked down, losing nothing more than a few of his silken locks swiftly swallowed by the taeberossian energies propelling the arm to unnatural rapidity. With a swift thrust, the broken spear once more found its way through the vessel after he sharpened its decrepit end through transmutation. A sibilant hiss poisoned by her frustration came from the lips, though before she could retaliate, crackling thunder lashed against her face, shattering off the flesh which fell in pieces like a crumbling pot.


    Flames imbued with the holy essence of Dawn followed in toe, grappling onto her form and swallowing, melting her flesh revealing the yawning darkness within where her horridly mesmerizing form lingered. In a liminal space borne from the clashing of anima and primordial essence of the infaerni. They all froze gazing at the white marbly flesh surrounding the strange eye shape resembling an asymmetrical star filled to the brim with fluid mist of a dim purple, ruby and a golden ember blazing with anger at the absurdity of mortals.


    The Beautiful did now waste this opportunity, vanished before clearness returned to the trio. ¡°Regret the day you were taken from my flock boy.¡± Isocrates gasped in terror as her hands wrapped around his throat. His legs trembled, kicked and swung towards her in a futile effort to free himself. Aurelithae leapt into action, flames wreathing her arms, a cyclone of golden flames amassing in her throat instead of the name she wished to utter as a surge of emotions swept through her, including the same fear she felt on the day she faced the Infaerni preying on anger and wrath.


    Yet not a single spark reached her. The sensation she felt in Proclus¡¯s office returned in even greater force as she lost her footing and slid downwards. She hissed and groaned as her clawed nails bounced off, tearing her tender flesh whilst the yawning hole swallowed her whole. Isocrates watched, his arkhaine points in his arms flaring up with mana forming into the lightning escaping his body.


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    ¡°Resistance is futile.¡± The rising euphoria abruptly changed into an indescribable pain within his body, a sensation his petrified mind likened to molten lava poured into his mouth and guided through his veins. From within, he felt as the wicked energies of Taeberus flowing within The Beautiful flown out from her vessel, and ravenously began to alter his bodily fluids. Though the ailment did not stop even as gilded tears poured from his eyes and down his cheeks, spreading golden sickness onto his skin, flesh and bone. ¡°Should have accepted my gift, I would have given you the fate He had taken from you. You could have had all your desires satisfied.¡±


    Her voice faded as his mind escaped into its deepest recesses from the agonies of alteration. He walked in the ethereal realm, embraced the phantasm of his brother once more, and watched as he grew into a man before him. He stood beside the Golden Eyed Man and his brother; a strange soothing warmth lingered in his chest as his fingers wrapped around the soft hands of whom he recognized as their sister. The one who he may had truly loved in another time, in another place. The princess whose genial smile bathed him like the dawn stood before him, the moment devoid of the pain he felt when he witnessed the two secret lovers.


    Though he seemed to be making a vow to her, the words were muffled as he felt a cold darkness approaching him, and felt the somber gaze aimed at him. A faint humming twinged his ears, and within this low melody he felt the remorse of The Solemn Shepherd whose cold, pale arms wrapped around his chest as his golden body shattered into a thousand pieces. ¡°Fate is cruel and whimsical isn¡¯t it.¡± The Beautiful murmured standing over the pile of dust.


    **


    After passing through the fluid, clammy darkness awaiting her at the bottom of the hole, Aurelithae found herself weightlessly floating just like within her dreams. For a moment the arduous day seemed nothing more than a nightmare, one ended by a childish joy she felt a long time ago. A memory which evaded her for decades, which only now returned strangely as she realized she wasn¡¯t floating aimlessly, but was guided by the same hands which held her the first time the Illius shone onto her polychromatic scales.


    Her lips moved and she spoke without words whilst a single tear flowed down her right cheek as she glanced the vague smile in the endless blackness aimed at her. Then a warmth spread as she noticed the hand belonging to the adolescent Sigi who came for her aid. His dark eye no longer stirred terror, but evoked a clarity of her mind, the kind smile of his eased her heart full of terror from the night she faced that horrid creature from Taerebus. Slowly, he took her to a pallid plateau of a strange rock where she landed by herself.


    Slowly, Aurelithae turned and gazed up, searching for a way out as the memories surged her mind. A few times she tried to peer into the deeper layers of reality, to find a tear, a hole leading back to Elhyrissian, but each time she had to realize ¨C she was far from home, far from the promised land. Though, she never moved from the center of the plateau, just stood, turned and gazed without being aware of her own, self-imposed immobility. Never she questioned it why her subconscious compelled her to stillness nor what knowledge it possessed not allow the seeds of her curiosity to bloom. Her rationale told her, there was nothing here except for this strange plateau and the utter silence which was broken only when an eternity passed in contemplation and oblivion.


    Broken by the falling star of purple, golden and a brilliant ruby soaring through the emptiness all around her. A presence revoltingly familiar the more she gazed upon it. Then when it landed, she once more remembered the fear and anger which swept through her as she watched Isocrates grabbed by the throat and Naghig reaching his hand towards her in a vain effort to catch her before she fell into the warp in reality. ¡°Or was it Mirayroth?¡± She questioned as the memory seemed to shift to a pale figure who seemed familiar.


    Aurelithae faltered, for a moment came close to lose her balance which stirred a bizarre fear within her ¨C namely a fear of floating away to be swallowed by the surrounding nothingness. Though invisible hands kept her upright and focused her mind on The Beautiful¡¯s towering, delicate figure draped in a layered robe adjusting to her bewitching form as she slowly approached. A peculiar, gaudy robe worn only by the highest members from the echelons of existence itself. Hewn from a fabric of an etheric nature evident from the various regal shades shifting one after the other.


    As The Beautiful drew closer, the fear and anger which returned faded with the same, queer suddenness. Her polychromatic eyes focused on the visage which gleamed with the combined brilliance of enameled plates; polished marble withstanding the cruelties of time and space; and tenderness of skin and flesh all painted by the erudite hand in a mesmerizing pure white. The lineaments perfectly aligned in a harmonious order, yet still accentuated the taciturn nature of the chiseled marvel gazing at her with a listless expression. Her newly borne devotion towards her new deity faltered not even as she noticed the unblemished skin alteration at the trims where it turned translucent with the refinedness of fireflies¡¯ wings veiled by the long, naturally flowing hair blazing with the soothing spark of dawn.


    ¡°What a peculiar creature you are my little one.¡± The Beautiful relapsed into silence as her soft hand gently caressed her cheeks. Aurelithae trembled from joy as the graceful, magnificent being acknowledged her. ¡°Makes me wonder why you? What was your fate before that enticed him so much?¡± Her strange eyes flared up for a moment, as she peered into the soul of Aurelithae, searching for the fate that shall not be. Then she smiled.


    ¡°Now I see.¡± The black wings protruding from her back stirred and lengthened, bathing Aurelithae in magnificent shadows as blissful essence of The Beautiful merged into hers. Her smile extended until the brilliant white flesh of her cheeks parted, whilst her voluminous, ordered hair stretched downwards the ethereal ground. As the long, clawed fingers with diamond nails dug into her flesh, memories seemed to fade, yet as they crumbled before her mind¡¯s eye, she focused her gaze ever more on the brilliance staring at her.


    First faded the image of Terrianis with a wide mirth, his lips uttering her name; then the day when she met her uncle who lifted her high, her laughter as she swirled closer to the sky became ever more distant. The murky, haggard face of young Isocrates crumbled, the day her healing hands touched and spread the taint of love onto his sweat and dirt leaden face crumbled before many other followed and with them the legions of feelings, good and bad went into the bottomless pit of nothingness as hatred, pride and a desire to be above all took their place. Though their departure, their voidness only lasted for a moment as she watched her own body collapse into a hoary mist of the prima materia from which the first creatures were formed by the Will of the Almodo.


    For a moment she saw all those memories, felt all those sensation return and mingle with the new, before utter blackness occupied her vision, and a primordial scream echoed through the eternities¡­


    **


    By the time she came to herself, Aurelithae found herself back in the great hall of the cathedral. Down on her knees, she hissed sibilantly whilst she struggled against the pain of her knees pressed by the sturdy marble floor and by the headache of a million memories flowing, dancing within her mind as chaos had not yet been reigned in. As she slowly looked up, she witnessed all the mosaiced windows shattered, a sea of colorful powder lengthening across the curving section where she stood years ago.


    She hissed and groaned and wheezed amidst a series of pains of her soul and body tearing itself, yet with her new found confidence she strived towards the simple act of straightening her legs bleeding blood and leaking the first matter used in the construction of souls. Though for a moment she sighed in relief as clarity calmed the storm raging in her mind, alternating snippets of memories from a time immemorial and from the early days of her infancy, she nearly collapsed back if not for the timely grasp onto the wooden pommel.


    Slowly she meandered towards the great gate shut down, and as the memories and feeling attuned, Aurelithae slowly became aware of the eerie silence surrounding her. Whilst the walls and gate were thick, woven with runes filtering not just the heat generated by the beams of the Illius, but also lessened the unwanted noises ¨C it still felt suffocating, distressing even. As she neared towards the gate, she began to question whether the distress came from the weakness of her limbs and or will and desire as she stood in the dimmer shadow of the gate.


    She stumbled a few steps back and almost fallen onto the cold floor as the moaning of the gate reverberated throughout the hall. Her eyes squinted and as primordial chiming rang through her mind, panic set in as her lids became unbearably heavy and she collapsed into the firm hands of Albron¡­

 Chapter 103: The First Step I.

    Awe and terror. I still vividly remember these two words he imparted on us when we first met mythical praetor, Shield and Blade of the Empire and his winged companion. Two feelings that deepened when I peered through the nekrotic linkage between the revenant and its primordial, glorious master. My dear master the Nightscale whose eye brimmed with the shielding grace of twilight, dusk itself. Two feeling which were exuded from master Grimslaukh too now that those memories are flowing into my mind once more. I still remember the many mornings following that experience, the cold thrill trailing about each morning.


    I stirred from the warm embrace of my old bed, even though I could not fully recall the meeting between the two great beings until I stood in the cold, embracing presence of master in the deepest belly of Dhaugruz itself. Incumbering my thoughts as I silently toiled to unearth the linkage and crawl back into the umbral presence of those who came before. To this day it fascinates me the effects a primordial¡¯s essence and presence possess on mortals, even from just a curtailed glance I could tell the vast knowledge they amassed through long gone eons.


    And it drove me into a light madness as I tried to unfold the veil blurring the memory. An endeavor that proved futile and foolish as it drawn my attention away from the growing shadows lengthening past the boundary of the woodland. More importantly it halted the progress of my erudite studies into the maghandr just when I vowed to impress the great uncle of my Pale Orchid.


    On further inspection, it also drawn away my attention from the fact that for the next few months whenever I arrived into our abode in Oneiron, her presence was devoid. I never really inquired on the nature as I suspected events of those days were not too pleasant for her as finding out her true purpose placed her in the nest of our enemies. But I digress as the point stands that glancing upon a timeless being, one who I could barely register in my mind had ever lasting consequences I wasn¡¯t aware until dusk fallen over Vonschneithar ¨C one malignant and baleful led by an old friend of the family whom my great-grandfather betrayed in desperation.


    When Night lengthened over Elhyrissian, the wheels of fate began their whirring in earnest, as death walked upon our precipices, leaving the ghastly embrace of Vesgiriath, striking when none of us expected it in the least. A strike bold and foolish in hindsight as they remained unfazed by the presence of the once heavenly dragons whose scales shimmered brilliantly before the Sign tore across the sky and the Illius. A night that still fills me with regret, remorse and glad for opening my eyes for my shortcomings plucked out from my mind and heart before further, deeper harm could have come upon me and those now dearest to me.


    Though the prize wasn¡¯t easy as for gaining insight and regaining what was taken from us, I lost my family and many a friend whose smiles made the frigid harshness of our lands bearable. The first steps which ensured the future of the Host and a new dawn where their tyranny ends at last¡­


    **


    Sigiwaer sluggishly stirred in the warm confines of his sheet as the silvery blaze of the Lunarius faded, molded into the vibrant amber of sparks created when the hammer of a smith strikes against the searing alloy that seeped and amplified the shades of dawn. So much so his lids trembled when the light reflected from a piece of obsidian Priernuss and Eadwald brought from their long and laborious journey from Vhoragos.


    As he stared at it, he recalled the tale of their group being surrounded by a wild pack of northern hobgoblins who crawled forth their deep burrows stretching across the steep land a month or so away from their little settlement. Recalling those words, the wheels of his mind stirred and envisioned the battle, the stalwart form of his brother holding his gilded sword wreathed in the flames of dawn. The sibilant growls of the pallid goblins whose primitive, coarse hide was covered by patches of snow-white fur whilst armor crafted from their lupine companions offered a faint spark of hope against the refined weapons of the group.


    A battle which was shorter than he envisioned staring with a slowly awakening mind half stuck still in the land of Oneiron. Every little maneuver Eadwald made with his blade; the grizzly sound of flesh parting, bone breaking and the death growls intermingling went through his mind, the grotesque nature of it slowly nudged him towards proper awakening. The last sprinkle to bring him into the waking world was the small piece of obsidian resting below the masterfully crafted painting of Priernuss, depicting the future he and Amiriniel both desired.


    Its eerie luster bequeathed a strange sense of curiosity and a suggestion that the object or the shard itself came from one of the old realms, a prospect which excited him as he envisioned the small journey it took through the astral seas Eadwald regaled to him that he himself lived through when stepping through the Greigor Gate. And as he looked at it, the frustration towards his blurry memories from two months ago reared themselves, though only for a short moment as the pleasant and pungent scent of fresh bakeries wafted his nostrils and the grumble of his stomach made him aware of his morning hunger.


    Like every morning, as he freed himself from the warm embrace of his sheets, he faced Amiriniel¡¯s empty bed. As soon as his soles touched against the cold flooring, with a sibilant hiss he pulled them back then channeled his mana whilst focusing on the warmth exuded by the brim breath of dragons he experienced the few times slipping into the camp erected near the southern wall, on an even section adjacent to the druidic circle.


    Hearing his name being called upon by the silken voice of Amiriniel amidst his usual morning routine of stretching his limbs, Sigi answered and tiptoed with a faint smile now that the cold stopped seeping into his body ¨C and because of the mild euphoria. He quickly went to aid Mirdbruil who was juggling with the wooden plate holding the stacks of buktas ¨C oblong bakeries holding various fruit jams and the dough mixed with the sweetened milk of tretean cows imported from the south western isles.


    When he took his first bite, a question which loitered in all three¡¯s minds surfaced after being repressed from excitement. ¡°Mother, why were you and Uncle Aelfsigior so surprised at the arrival of Praetor Augermil?¡± Though he saw Mirdbruil tear the bukta in two, he noticed the momentary tremulous jolt. Before an answer would have left her lips, she wiped the spilled jam with the ukta and let out a sigh. ¡°Does it relate to them not taking us immediately?¡± Amiriniel added as she found it quite strange the dragon praetors did not take them as soon as they arrived besides suspecting the dream maiden visiting her brother often in the land of Oneiron.


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    ¡°It is.¡± At last, she answered averting her gaze from the two. Slowly, she formulated the way to lay it out for the two just as they heard the door swing open and boots trampling before they heard Priernuss¡¯s greetings as he and Eadwald arrived from their practice. ¡°Told you another round would have made us miss the buktas Eadwald.¡± He said slapping Eadwald¡¯s back as they entered and sat down at the table where Mirdbruil set up two plates and a small wooden cup for emanating a white steam rising forth the warmed and sweetened milk.


    ¡°So did we interrupt something?¡± Priernuss asked as he noticed the pensive gaze of Mirdbruil whilst she was munching on her breakfast. ¡°Brother was just asking why did you guys looked weird at Uncle Augermil when he arrived? And why he didn¡¯t deliver us yet to the capital.¡± Amiriniel spoke up next after she let out a sigh after she finished sipping.


    Though at first, Mirdbruil fiddled with the idea of leaving the answer for when they depart, looking at Priernuss she realized it was proper time as he could fill out any blank holes she may have. ¡°I see. It is not an easy topic.¡± Priernuss said with half his cheek filled with the gnawed off bukta.  ¡°Want me to explain it?¡±


    Mirdbruil shook her head. ¡°No, though if I miss anything do feel free to correct me Priernuss.¡± He nodded. ¡°Now, where to begin. As you all aware, we aevhen folk are quite the blessed race in regards of not just our aptitude for maghia and resistance against the Rage of Acheryoth ¨C but in our looks. Looks which were gifted us by the Magnificent Mother and her dear husband and brother who both spent millennia reshaping our winged ancestors who rule the skies and the astral sea to this very day.¡±


    For a moment she stopped and looked at Priernuss as she lost her confidence a bit for having to utter these condemnatory words towards the one who sacrificed nearly everything to ensure a peaceful life for the good, common folk of the Empire. ¡°And as such, it is quite sacrilegious for our kind to change their work.¡± Though she wanted to utter more, as her lips opened her mind overworking in that short moment led to a short answer. Her gaze moved onto Priernuss for possible aid in case they found the answer unsatisfactory.


    ¡°So him going through the Rite means that there is a turmoil within the capital.¡± Amiriniel spoke what was on her and Sigi¡¯s mind. He already had an inkling something wasn¡¯t alright when during their meeting before a week or two before Augermil¡¯s arrival, she appeared quite tired in the land of Oneiron. Her honey-smooth voice appeared a bit raspy, and her gaze seemed absent as if she was searching for a solution. On top of them finding it strange that the right hand of the Elhyrissiar himself would recommend delaying their departure.


    ¡°That is right. Though whilst it¡¯s a bit worrying, I am sure no matter the situation if he shall be by your side, you all will be safe.¡± She said dishonestly as she could not win against her motherly instincts.


    **


    Orhadin¡¯s gaze slowly passed through each undead amongst the flock of the Queen of the Damned. With a deep curiosity, he peered beyond the layers and analyzed the strange runes stirring a queer sensation within him. They were nothing like runes tamed, controlled by the sheer will of mortals; neither was it anything the greater beings of Dusk attuned to alter reality to their whims and desires. Though he could not decipher their meaning, their origin instinctively he felt them devoid of the prima materia used to order the realms, the essential element of time imposing an endless state of change upon the world.


    The element which symbiotically existed; joined forces with nekrotic matter, the primal element of darkness and the finality of all beings and all things including the moment wind dies down; waves crashing against the shore calm into a state of stillness; when a spell fulfills its purpose imposed by the caster and vanishes back into the deep layer only a few chosen can peer into. Like the boy whom peered through the vast network binding all undead walking, meandering under the shadowy embrace of these blessed lands.


    ¡°Won¡¯t this be excessive for capturing a single boy?¡± He remained silent even as he heard Uchitemar approaching, snow crunching beneath his pallid feet of cadaverous flesh devoid of the prima element of time. His gaze continued focusing instead not on the barely visible, queer runes etched indelibly ¨C he could tell as the yawning blackness bled their blessed soul. And he felt something lurking in that blackness. The faint waft of will old and wise nearly identical to his divine patrons and the Nightscales breezed against him, yet unlike the two it whom evoked a sense of devotion, it trembled his augmented form.


    Noticing his attention focused on the dead ¨C which filled even Uchitemar with dread ¨C he spoke. ¡°Apologies Emissary of Dusk, but is it wise to peer at those runes? My knowledge is lacking compared to yours, but those runes I believe were not meant for mortal eyes to be seen. Not even to those like us, blessed by the prima essence of the Great Ancients.¡± He spoke as courteously as he could while tensing his throat and tongue.


    ¡°I am well aware of the dangers of maghandr beyond our realm. But still I am still ailed by a childish curiosity and a thirst for knowledge.¡± Orhadin went silent, his eyes scoured their snowy surrounding where the light of the Illius barely reached. Uchitemar denied it, but for a moment he noticed worry lingering in those ophidian eyes. ¡°And I have to be sure nothing shall conflict with our progress.¡± He whispered into Uchitemar¡¯s mind.


    Uchitemar understood as he himself had his doubts in regards of the Queen of the Damned¡¯s loyalty. He himself believed she was simply playing along, the sole evidence being the undead and the queer runes binding them, strengthening them. For the past two centuries he spent within the walls of Vhoragos, he studied the lord of the woodland, and whilst she only ascended to the position recently, there was no description amongst the tomes his comrades collected or received from the agents of the Host. They both the spell, the enchantment upon the souls were recent.


    Suddenly, a gulf of circumfluous black mist and pallid, translucent haze appeared signaling the arrival of Grimslaukh from the center of Dhaugruz. The two immediately got on their knees and greeted their pale liege who with a genial tone prompted them back onto their feet. ¡°Regarding your question, this much shall be need.¡± He started, answering Uchitemar¡¯s ignored question.


    ¡°I see. I had no intention to question your or our lords¡¯ decision.¡± Uchitemar bowed like an abashed child as he stood in the creeping, cold presence.


    ¡°Though you shall need not to worry, the reasons for such a force shall be taken care of by myself. So just focus on your task.¡± As he turned, Orhadin and Uchitemar followed him through the path where no snow, no ghastly foliage had grown in centuries, an earthly path of blackness.


    Whilst Grimslaukh stood upright before the Queen sitting atop her throne, the two offered half a bow in silence. ¡°Has the time finally come?¡± She asked in her mirthless voice poisoned by centuries of agonies.


    ¡°It has.¡± Grimslaukh answered simply. ¡°Though I beseech you to leave the boy with a dark eye alive.¡±


    ¡°Is he not a descendant of his?¡± She asked partially rising from her seat. ¡°He is, but he is more important for the future of the realm. And I promise you, the day shall come when he¡¯ll amend the mistakes of his ancestor.¡±


    She looked pensive under her ghastly dark veil, and for a moment her tortured mind gained clarity in a bizarre turn as she stared into the dark, listless eyes. ¡°I shall bring no harm upon this boy of yours. Now shall we depart at last?¡±

 Chapter 104: The First Step II.

    Snow gritted beneath their feet as Eadwald and Azugh hurried their steps across the sloping acreage stretching between Vonschneithar and the ghastly verge of the woodland.  The two of them slowed down to quench their thirst; warm their bodies as a strong current swept through the land. Within a few seconds they caught up to Priernuss and Ashnan nearing where the shadows lengthened beyond the hanging, bony branches appearing less morose in the brilliant, warm glow of the noon. Still a foreboding sensation settled on the four peering into the far stretching woodland where a dim ambiance ruled unabated.


    ¡°Strange to witness the peacefulness of this land.¡± Priernuss murmured as Eadwald stood beside him, noticing the half-aevhe¡¯s gaze fixated on the distance which filled him still with dread.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t agree more.¡± Ashnan commented just as the roar of Jaculus and another dragon reverberated through the skies, followed by distant, warped screams and the rage of consuming flames spread by the cold winds brushing their faces veiled by the shadows of their enameled, snow-white helmets.


    Then as they turned around the wind picked up and tore into their faces as the roars of dragons neared towards them. The two great beasts of the skies and astral seas landed quite elegantly for their beastly fa?ade, with Jaculus landing closer towards the little group. ¡°Uncle, this time I want a stronger golem if possible.¡± Eadwald¡¯s question was a bit abrupt, but Priernuss figured out what prompted the youth as he turned his attention towards the tremors created by Augermil whose massive form landed eloquently just a few meters away from them.


    Behind him followed Cassiel, a young aevhe with an equally stalwart form bathing in the brilliant shadow of Augermil¡¯s hulking silhouette with long, raven black hair of silken locks tumbling down her gilded panoply; shimmering eyes of a mesmerizing azure like the skies hovering above the grasslands of the south ¨C one whose mere presence prompted Eadwald to straighten his posture and appear vigilant as he took small, faux glances at the woodland as if he expected danger to strike at a moment¡¯s notice.


    ¡°Sure thing.¡± Priernuss answered feeling quite amused by witnessing this side of Eadwald. Feeling a bit relieved as it seemed the pain which he had hidden vanished seemingly when the two first met a few days after their arrival.


    **


    Eadwald shivered as the cold wind brushed against him, the soft snow flakes falling from the overcast clouds swiveled down onto his clammy face and shoulders exposed. Though it only registered faintly in his mind as he continued out maneuvering the golem¡¯s strikes aimed at his abdomen and right shoulder. His arms still ached from the four hits they braced with dark purplish marks painted upon them after the hardened mud and ice fists of the golem retracted when it noticed him changing his posture, aiming to go on the counter offensive.


    ¡°Not bad.¡± Augermil murmured as he watched from the distance, his reptilian small eyes glowing eerily. He watched the flow of mana Eadwald regulated adroitly, focusing more on protection rather than restoration like most folk walking the path of a warrior. Even he himself in the past chose spells which hardened his skin and did not pick up dawn spells of the restorative kind until the War of the Seven Siblings broke out where it was a necessity against the undead, nekrossus and Aydvroeghus they all faced in numbers not even seen during the Great Schism when their darker cousins broke away from the fold.


    Though he witnessed thousands upon thousands fighting for their lives; improving their techniques either for the sake of survival or simply because they enjoyed the thrills of battle, Augermil still stirred with a mild case of excitement watching another of The Almodo¡¯s chosen. One still in the early stages where they have little awareness of the possibilities brought by the essence which predates all existence, the essence which birthed the primordial beings and the Deossos. Witnessing the start of one of His chosen¡¯s growth towards greatness beyond any could dream off was a rare occurrence, even for him whom lived through seven millennia and thousands of battles.


    ¡°He is a quick learner.¡± Priernuss said as they watched Eadwald duck down, evading the approaching fist aimed at his jaw after he lowered his locked arms, ready to go on the offensive. ¡°They are. I remember Anshur ¨C one of His previous chosen ¨C mastering the flames of Promethean in less then two months whilst it took me half a century.¡±


    The memory of Anshur leading the charge of the first legionariir against the dreaded horde of twilight comprising orkhin whose once fair form was grizzled by the maleficent techniques of Dusk; their cousins who broke away and settled into a cold realm; dead bound to the will of the Grim Sovereign led by so called Death¡¯s Hunger ¨C the offspring of the Watcher of the Wheel, the primordial titan of Dusk and little brother of the Nightscale. A demigiant with myriad maws all snapping and growling endlessly on a hairless, featureless pale body. And in his step a shadow followed, viciously swallowing the light of the sun and The Flames of Promethean dancing on Anshur¡¯s body as he leapt high into the air, his voice breaking through the cacophony of the battle on the withered vista.


    ¡°Though they can also be quite reckless.¡± He added recalling the mild dread he felt on that day as the blood of his kin tainted his once fair form clad in dimmed golden panoply. ¡°Is he the first you met before reaching heights beyond the mundane?¡± Priernuss asked, well aware that the elderly draevhe witnessed far more than any other including his own brother the Elhyrissiar who once walked the lands of Elhyrissian before he ascended into his status.


    Augermil nodded. ¡°Aye, I met quite a few of his chosen, even before the day I was embraced into flock of my eternal, solemn Mistress.¡± He relapsed into silence. ¡°Nemetoria, was her name I remember. Quite the beauty she was and with a heart of gold as she often spent months hunting wild mandrakes, razing goblin camps even knowing that her time was fleeting compared to ours. It does make me wonder though whether He chooses them based on their nature or they simply blossom into valorous personages.¡±


    ¡°It may be bold of me to say this, but I firmly believe he chooses them instead of nurturing them into heroes of the annals.¡± Priernuss commented with an unwavering conviction. ¡°Eadwald himself proven his valor and bravery many times even before he grew into the man he is today, before he faced the nekromancer in Vhoragos.¡± The corners of his long, sloping lips curved hearing the endorsement of the youth. ¡°Though he definitely needs a bit of guidance as his bravery borders on foolishness.¡±


    ¡°Well, I believe we were all like that at the same point of our lives. A time when we all believed we were invincible no matter what menace lurked in our shadows or towered before ourselves.¡± Priernuss agreed silently as he folded his arms and trembled with a cold thrill as the golem shattered into a thousand pieces, from its quickly crumbling form an arkhaine mist of translucent blues flown out and chaotically blown into a shapeless mass hovering in the air before it returned into him, making him whole once more.


    ¡°How did I fare?¡± Eadwald asked lightly wheezing from the elongated bout, his voice trembling with excitement as he awaited the evaluation of the elderly praetor and Priernuss.


    ¡°Hmm, stance was a bit uneven. An undead may behave like a golem, but any other may strike at your legs so I would redistribute the strengthening there whilst layering a restoration spell onto the arms.¡± He said in a kind tone, Priernuss nodding along whilst also pointing out Eadwald¡¯s tendency to take the brunt of the hits instead of trying to evade all of them. Eadwald took mental notes whilst connecting the lingering iuboron matter in the air and forcing them onto his beaten arms and shoulders.


    He folded his arms and looked contemplating at Eadwald whose arms quickly healed up as motes of dawn golden floated playfully towards the blue and purple marks. ¡°Maybe it is a great leap, but what would you say we do quick bout?¡±


    **


    Amiriniel and Sigi sat silently at the center of their homestead¡¯s garden, their legs crossed, their hands on their knees as the ivory clouds began rinsing snow upon the two whilst Mirdbruil circled silently around them, watching intently. As she stopped, she peered through the layers of reality, watched as her children¡¯s mana slowly poured out from their arkhaine points in the astral section adjacent to their arms and legs and began slithering towards their palms and soles facing the sky and the ground. ¡°Do not hasten it Sigi.¡± She called out to him as she noticed the etheric line of pure natural matter moving with a rapidity, coated in psioron matter.


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    Though the two could already attune their minds on a subconscious level, they could only maintain this state for a few seconds before the two¡¯s thoughts began to collide and recoil creating a headache that effected their brains. A result which scared her when she witnessed their eyes and noses bleeding not just blood but even grey matter which could have had dire results if not for her timely restoration laced with a reversing spell. Regardless since that incident she had been vigilant and vehement on the slower pace forced mostly on Sigi who proved a quick learner thanks to the gift of the dark eye which seemed to not just allow a natural peerage into the layer where particles floated unseen, but also granted an insight and understanding into taming these primeval particles and the nature of spells.


    Not to say that Amiriniel herself was a slow learner, but as she matured slower than her younger siblings, she had a more patient attitude regarding the pace of her studies. She spent more time studying, reading the various tomes brought by the wandering merchants than in actual practice beyond these few hours they spent either at the training grounds or here at their home. And her slight envy made this situation a bit more bearable as she sensed the mild frustration emanating from Sigi whose will now focused on fluctuating the mana at the end of his astral limbs. Then he let out a sigh when he sensed her collected mana reaching their destinations.


    As the familiar sensation of a quiet thrill curved their lips as their minds connected and an immediate, shared clarity formed from the bonding of their minds. Like every other time, they lost themselves in the moment, curled their fingers at the same time playfully, using their shared mana to lift some snow up and hurl it against each other¡¯s cheeks. And as the soft coldness brushed against their cheeks, they both chuckled with perfectly synced intonations and volume. Mirdbruil watched feeling an unfamiliar weight loosen over her heart as she listened to their soft chuckles before she focused their minds with her next set of order.


    ¡°Now attune your minds.¡± Beneath them, the ground lowly grumbled as the frozen blackness arose from beneath the powder soft snow taking the vague shape of a man than an aevhe in a set of panoply matching the village guard¡¯s and the 19<sup>th</sup> Legion¡¯s. It bowed before them with a playful courtesy, then made a few rounds before it crumbled down and the whirling energies which belonged to the siblings returned into them in a chaotic, shapeless state.


    ¡°Now, with this today¡¯s lecture is over. Let¡¯s head inside before your brother returns.¡± Sigi aided Amiriniel as she stumbled a little whilst getting onto her feet, disturbed by a mild arkhaine nausea that followed the torn-out parts of her will.  Sigi remained behind and stared at the Illius as it began its self-alteration, its bright colors shifting to a taciturn silver whilst the sky all around it blackened menacingly. A cold, unnerving draught brushed against his face, awakening his instincts to return to the warm confines of his home.


    **


    ¡°Hmm, where are you heading?¡± Eadwald questioned Sigi as he passed before their home with Augermil and Aelfsigior, heading down towards the inn. All three still donned in their armor, their weapons at their sides as if they were marching for war rather than to alleviate their tired bodies and minds from the woes of the day.


    ¡°Meeting up with Azugh and Uncle Gna.¡± He replied nonchalantly whilst tugging his arms into the sleeves of thick fur coat which collar wrapped around his neck.


    ¡°Be careful out there!¡± Eadwald yelled after him as the sky began to darken, the Illius phased into its bright, pallid silver state. Sigi strode at the center of the village, his legs still a bit numb from the long sitting during their practice. Occasionally he stopped, feeling tired from lifting his feet from the swallowing slush and took small peeks at the robust edifices¡¯ windows emanating a homely, warm gleam as the shadows thickened. Still, he brimmed with excitement.


    Excitement begot from the prospect of venturing beyond the gates of Vonschneithar. One that he felt a bit embarrassed about when he became aware of it, but he shrugged his shoulders and continued his way until at the arch he noticed Gna, Azugh and Shad¡¯Yrg waiting for him. As soon as the three turned he waved at them with a wide mirth and picked up his pace. ¡°You know you need not have to rush Sigi.¡± Shad said with smile of terrifying proportions thanks to her sunken, deathly lineaments ¨C except for Sigi and the villagers as they saw past old grudges and or simply grew accustomed to it.


    ¡°I think he was just excited.¡± Azugh said in his friends¡¯ defense who was still breathing out mist mimicking subconsciously a dragon vomiting a swirling torrent of flames.


    As they passed under the moaning gate, Sigi stopped. An unwholesome wave swept through him, carrying the stench of night ¨C a sensation which felt familiar yet he could not place it in his mind. The phenomenon lasted no longer than a few seconds, as he continued forward with a renewed vigor, walking besides Azugh.


    **


    ¡°Thank you for this delicious supper.¡± Augermil said mirthfully, his gaze turned towards Mirdbruil sitting across her amidst their camp.


    ¡°It is the least I could do.¡± She answered half meeting his gaze with mendacious smile.


    ¡°How old is she? If you don¡¯t mind the question.¡± Augermil asked seeing through her, averting his gaze towards little Amiriniel conversing with two of his aides and the great Ladon, a dragon older and greater in size than Jaculus with more distinctive feather like growths ornamenting its near gargantuan form.


    ¡°Nearing her sixties by now.¡± She answered honestly as she cast her mirthful gaze at her daughter whose golden eyes glistened in the dimly lit surroundings as she gently stroked the horned chin of Ladon. Then turned back towards Augermil whilst letting out a sigh, forcing out her prejudices, worries that ailed her for the past few months in regards of the future, the future of her children.


    ¡°May I ask why you consume no alcohol like your fellows?¡± Though in the end she could not overcome the admiration accumulated throughout the ages of listening to the throngs of tales carried word by word for centuries, several millennia by the aevhen bards and artists. Instead, this mundane question left her lips noticing of the keg in his hands emanating a mesmerizing fruity scent.


    Augermil even cracked up abruptly at the question, but when silent as quickly. ¡°There was a time many a millennia ago when I myself indulged in the dulling joys of alcohol, but after the War of the Siblings ¨C I refrained as they dulled not just my woes or my senses but it poisoned my memory of those I lost. There are still hundreds whose names and voices I could no longer recall.¡±


    ¡°Is there a necessity for that?¡± Mirdbruil inquired. ¡°Excuse my question.¡±


    ¡°As a chosen of my mistress, I believe so wholeheartedly.¡± He gazed into the crackling flame vanquishing the dark as he relapsed into silence. ¡°When my time comes to join them, I want to tell them their sacrifices were not in vain, that their duty was honorable and aided in the good of the realm.¡±


    ¡°A noble thought.¡± Mirdbruil uttered lowly. ¡°Though I believe our duties should end in life, otherwise wouldn¡¯t we be stepping onto the delirious shadow of the twilight¡¯s king?¡±


    ¡°This may sound heretical as I am the last relic of those times, but his shadow was more¡­ unveiling, suggestive to the secrets and truths of our reality.¡± Augermil said in a low voice, nearing towards a whisper of the wind. ¡°Though it is a damning knowledge, as I owe more to it than to my own talents.¡± His gaze grew distant as he became aware of an eerie silence; the foreboding wind carrying a scent familiar yet one slipping under the hem of oblivion.


    Similarly, Mirdbruil and the dragons felt the approach and sensed the prima materia of Dusk marching high above the camp, the village. ¡°Stay here. Tertiupil, Marcus stay by Amiriniel¡¯s side!¡± Augermil quickly rose onto his feet and issued his orders just as Ladon rose in tandem and shielded Amiriniel from the forming spell above them. The two praetors unsheathed their weapons and stood in alert as they became aware of the small noises around them.


    ¡°What about Sigi? He is near the woodland.¡± Realization washed over her and Mirdbruil turned towards Augermil while channeling her mana. ¡°Favonia and Vopiscus are hovering there. But I shall make my way there.¡± Augermil with blade in hand began to walk towards Jaculus whose gaze focused in the darkness beyond their camp. His slit nostrils smelled the rotten scent of the undead nearing rapidly.


    His roar broke the tender silence of the night as the flames of dawn torrented from his throat. Warped shrieks reverberated, awakening the village folk in their homes as the flames latched onto the shrouded undead whom crumbled as the holy particles cleansed away the binding taint.


    They all turned their attentions away from the undead as the roar of spells clashing against each other followed the cacophony of dragons and undead. They watched as the swirling sphere of fluid darkness exploded like a water balloon spreading its ethereal muck onto the now visible barrier, eroding its translucent dawn golden wall. Ethereal glow reflected in their perturbed eyes as the barrier crumbled and the undead¡¯s warped cries of battle echoed through the alighted gloom.

 Chapter 105: The First Step III.

    Down she looked from the sky, hovering high above the peaceful village where his descendants fled and settled down after the long and arduous exodus from their homeland. Peaceful still as is as was their home where he promised the world for her, where he promised he shall always remain by her side ¨C promises fear took from him the moment they walked into the shadows of the Vesgeriath Woodland.


    The memory of cold marble¡¯s touch against her soles intertwined with the gashing roots and stone, the freezing snow and treacherous slush which rid of her balance. The smell of death felt pleasing now, though the terror it instilled her as she listened to her siblings being gorged on filled her with anger as she recalled the desperate, cowardly golden eyes glancing back at her pensively for a mere moment before he realized she would simply just hold him back as the ghastly twigs and low-hanging branches swallowed his once stalwart form.


    His betrayal stung deeper as her pleading eyes glanced upon the tenebrous smile of the wicked fae. And the sting ventured deeper as she watched the grizzly cadavers of her once fair sisters; stalwart and feeble brothers dancing around, tearing at each other for the amusement of the dark creature who himself filled her heart with terror and disgust. The creatures¡¯ laughter each night and day eroded her until she was a husk meant to be nothing more than a plaything for him and his wicked children.


    Though she was not sure why, the cadaverous fae decided to show him his queer mercy by tearing her tortured soul from the embrace of the Solemn Shepherd and shoved into the half-eaten remains of her mother. For centuries she toiled in the crumbling vessel, once cradle maturing life standing beside him, satisfying his mundane needs of hunger, lust and thirst ¨C each with their own twisted baggage. She twisted the necks of little critters like little sponges, their screams and primal pleadings were at first like knives scraping against boards, then as the decades passed turned into a sweet serenade as her mind remembered the boy who left her behind, and imagined his screams his pleadings as she twisted his neck, tore out his intestines and played with his organs.


    This maddening existence continued for centuries, ended by a fair maiden, a brave praetor wearing the same armor of those who failed in their task. Snow white, enameled plates welted neatly together with a ruby red tunic of fine silk or velvet beneath complementing the long, dark hair of the aevhen maiden. The one whose strike finally nullified the contract she was forced into at last. And the one who gave a fresh vessel to the wraith she had become to the wicked amusement of the Fae who sprouted forth the first corpse.


    Though at the time, she gorged on his corpse as peculiar, strange hunger overcame her upon forcing herself in the vacant vessel, a sudden desolation followed as she consumed not just flesh, but the more esoteric elements including the vow which was carved into the whole being of the Fae, the vow which once more bound her to the will of another, one who shall not satisfy her thirst for vengeance she knew whilst once more weeping under the shadows.


    At least not until the time came to march under his banner to reclaim the lands which by His divine right of claimant, belonged to the creatures, of the folk of Dusk. Whose emissaries visited her and taught her the ways to siphon the nekrotic matter which he had left behind in centuries advance and showed her how to utilize the curse to amass an army of the dead when the first sign of his shall arrive in an Ophidian Sorcerer wearing the fine garments of Night; the armor of Great Serpents and the staff of the Traveler.


    Her second savior came just a few years before the Pledge decreed onto her predecessor, her jailer was invoked by the Ophidian Sorcerer who filled her court with fresh macabre of her people. A dark stranger with a presence of utter emptiness of the ancient and enigmatic folk who walked the realm even before her ancestors. And the one whose dark light soothed her like the first light of the Illius on the days when she was still filled with hope, joy and love. Sensations which until gazing into the yawning blackness where two slits of a strange color shimmered under the shapeless hood were lost to her.


    Though he still expected patience from her, but gifted her with the possibility of enacting her vengeance against the boy who bore the resemblance to the one who had left her behind. The same lineaments, the same voice filled with regal confidence, the bravery of the huscarls of Virdr who leapt headfirst against the invading hordes and the horrors led by the shunned aevhei and dwarves who existed in the dark bowels of the dread Dhaugruz. The same golden eyes which shimmered with the brilliance of Illius, though pained just as hers when she lived with the chance presented to her by fate.


    Though she had her doubts regarding the stranger. Expectations blossomed in her paranoid mind when she was instructed to eliminate the order of magusos holed up in her territory. These notions though withered when her wrath was partially satisfied by the extinguishing of the boy¡¯s father who possessed the same regal eyes now occupied by the same yawning blackness as the others. One who marched amongst her minions head first into the small, peaceful settlement which barrier she broke down.


    As she watched his withered, feeble form trod the streets, searching for his own kin led by hatred, she felt the lips of her vessel curve into a tenebrous smile. ¡°At last!¡± she thought as the searing hatred abated, a cold twinging heralding the thrill of satisfaction she thirsted for centuries. ¡°Leave him to me!¡± She uttered the command, nearing downwards as dragon¡¯s fell from the sky as the Pallid One approached the camp of the Draennith Praetoriir.


    **


    ¡°Do you see that honey?¡± Shad¡¯Yrg asked as she noticed the white silhouettes approaching under the dim embrace of the woodland. Her first assumption was another wave from beyond the mountain, but as they neared towards her body trembled from dread and excitement.


    ¡°Something isn¡¯t right.¡± Sigi said and both Shad and Gna agreed as the meandering turned into a march, and the wind carried the whispery serenade of twilight into their ears.


    ¡°Stay behind us! Take small and careful steps, but do not take your eyes of. Sigi, you too report if you see anything." He nodded. Carefully they headed back towards Vonschneithar whilst keeping their weapons and minds ready, whilst Vopiscus and Favonia flew over the woodland. Their winged mount¡¯s flames lit the tenebrous surroundings, revealing the lifelike dead marching with the pace and mannerism of the living. And as in life, they raised their shields crumbling shields held by the same spell binding them above their heads as the polychromatic torrent battered against them.


    Suddenly darkness veiled them as the flames ceased to be as the two dragons suddenly fell into the ghastly embrace of Vesgeriath. As they neared towards the gate, they listened as the undead thrusted their blades into the praetors, and dragged them away to their master following not far behind.


    Sigi suddenly stopped, noticing vague silhouettes circling around them, halting before the gate. ¡°Behind.¡±  He yelled while releasing a translucent white and golden wave tearing off the shroud of the revenants whose dark gazes focused more on the walls rather than them. ¡°Perceptive.¡± Slowly, Orhadin¡¯s minions stepped forth the Vesgeriath¡¯s gloom, and through them his deep sibilant voice traversed the small distance betwixt them.


    Though his attention focused away for a moment as he felt the condensation of nekrotic matter high above Vonschneithar materialize into a highly potent spell of destruction and decay. ¡°Sigi, could you attune to me?¡± Shad asked as her clammy body began to shiver from the cold, nightly breeze seeping into her clothes. ¡°We have to regroup with the others as soon as possible.¡± Though the dread she felt came not from the spell, but from Orhadin himself who walked between his minions with a genial smile and manner.


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    ¡°Whilst I am here only for you, young Sigiwaer, the one favored by the true monarch of Dusk itself, I extend the invitation towards your companions as they are the beloved children of his too.¡± Orhading stroke the bottom of his peculiar staff against the snow blanketed ground at which all the dead except for the eerie revenants sheathed their weapons and formed a line around them, cutting off all chance of escape.


    Behind him Uchitemar followed with a calm, listless expression as he eyed the one who rid him of his own flesh a few years ago. The hatred he felt towards Azugh ceased to be, queerly turned into gratitude as he concluded those events culminated by the Will of Night. Still his presence ¨C even though neither Gna or Azugh recognized him ¨C shook them as he exuded an inhumane, chilling presence.


    Gna looked back at the two. ¡°This shall be a long night.¡± He said mirthfully as his blood boiled from the thrill of battle. ¡°As soon as you two see an opening, rush back for aid!¡± Then he added as he turned back and raised his axe. ¡°I see, it is regretful.¡± Orhadin said with mild sorrow in his voice just as the barrier shattered behind them, Gna and Azugh¡¯s cry mingling with the arkhaine roar. Snow risen up in the air, alternating into its fluid state with the deadly qualities of blades and axes; great balls of golden flames rained down towards the undead mowed down by the two orkhs.


    Orhadin watched with a mild grin under hood sewn from the prima materia of the Night itself.


    **


    A vile stench permeated the once lively inn. Once a place where the good folk of Vonschneithar could wind down after long day of work just, a place where his father could escape from the woes of their reality with the aid of bitter beverages which he himself had an aversion of initially. But the more time he spent amongst the cheery folk regaling old tales ¨C with many inconsistencies thanks to the alcohols mind warping properties ¨C he himself grew accustomed and loved the place. Less so what followed in the mornings, but it was a worthy sacrifice he often concluded toiling in his bed with a major headache quite often as he had yet to realize his own limits.


    Yet, within a few moments all this sweetness was drained out of the place and now it was a grim reminder of their realities, of the grueling life they had as the place turned into a graveyard of the good folk and the revenants who broke through the barrier and the walls which stood for centuries. He felt glad of always keeping his gifted blade on hand, drenched now in the putrid vile of the undead who rested once more motionless at his feet whilst the haziness slowly faded, his mind sharpened.


    Slowly his gaze turned from the ghastly corpse laying before him and slowly swept across the ruined, dim vista where screams broke the peace and joy, and stopped on the torn corpse of the half-dwarven owner whose vacant gaze met his, seemingly accusing him for not saving his life in the heat of the moment. ¡°Eadwald, come!¡± Aelfsigior¡¯s voice broke him out from the stupor induced by his own remorse. With a tightened grip around the handle, he rushed out to the streets which laid silent moments ago, now chaos unfurled as the villagers struggled against the hordes of dead swarming through the northern gate.


    As they slowly mowed through the undead, a heavy knot coiled in the pit of his stomach, churning uneasily with a cold and hollow ache that seemed to tighten with each passing moment, with each strike cleaving through the withered, warped forms. One born not from the fact the undead seemed to pick him out from their group, led by an antique loathing, but from their darkness yawning in their eye sockets, gaping maws. A darkness which seemed to distressingly whispered into his mind, confirming a woe and worry which ailed his heart and mind for the past few years since his return.


    ¡°Can¡¯t be!¡± He froze amidst the battle for a mere second, allowing a blackened arrow to pierce his shoulder. Both ailments strengthened when the answer to them appeared in the rotten form of Ulrich, whose hideous, half torn off visage oozed with a mocking hatred aimed at him. His golden eyes he shared with his children was no more, in their stead the same yawning darkness glared with an empty loathing back at him, and a warped shriek left his unnaturally stretching jaw as his ivory and blackened fingers wrapped around his sword. Even as he approached quickly, Eadwald could not find the strength to break free from the binding numbness instilled by the desolation of reality unfolding before him.


    ¡°It can¡¯t be.¡± He repeated endlessly. Tears welled in his closing eyes as he ceded himself to the cold embrace of merciful death to deliver him away from the veracity of the night. A delivery which did not arrive, in its place a forceful blow came from two sides. One from the right, and one from the left which sobered him out from the sudden and utter gloom which poisoned his mind. ¡°Have you lost your damn mind! Do you truly believe he would have wished for you to throw your life away even in a moment like this?¡± Aelfsigior¡¯s shout boomed through the shrieks and wails, the clashing of blades and spells lighting up the starless night.


    As his jaw ached and he bit his tongue from both hits, he answered silently with a flat headshake. He looked down, watched with a certain relief borne from his liberating death as the golden flames released a heat soothing the aching of his heart, and focused his mind on avenging the one responsible for the enslavement of Ulrich. The one who floated across the darkness, out of the reach of rising flames seeded by the flames of the mighty dragons. His fingers cracked around the handle as he glared at the Queen of the Damned, meeting her veiled and infectious dark gaze.


    **


    Augermil¡¯s blade swept through the feeble torso of the undead, severing half-rotten flesh and brittle bones. The dim flames dancing on the edges of his blade scurried onto the once proud aevhe whose blackened soul screamed in silence as they marred away the taint and soothing darkness, reminding him of the bliss of the natural cycle that was ripped from his arms by the Queen of the Damned. Though he wished to offer a prayer to the soul which returned to the cycle at last, he and his blade had yet to rest as half a dozen of her minions intercepted him as he pushed through.


    Though their forms slowed as Mirdbruil wreathed them in an aura, slowly ripping them out from the regular flow of time allowing the elderly draevhe to cleave his blade before them. Flames detached from it, and at once a wall shot out from it, altered hastily into an imposing wall which swept through and immolated them and at least fifteen more impeding their way towards the southern gate where a group of villagers and guard struggled against the hordes of Dusk.


    Mildly frustrated, Augermil turned and searched for Jaculus whom he found flapping his great wings with feathery growths at the trims creating wind infused with the matter of dawn, torrenting the dead with each flap. Yet their number dwindled little. ¡°Jaculus! Here!¡± His deep voice boomed through the shrieks; the clashing of blades and the roar of spells hurled by Mirdbruil, Amiriniel and his fellows. The dragon hearing his call stopped the continuous spell and soared down towards him, though he arrived in a distressing manner.


    At once he seemed to lose his faculty of flight and tumbled into the ground, flattening a few dozen undead and more as he swept through the tents and faltered only a few steps from Mirdbruil and Augermil. Led by his instinct, Augermil turned around quickly and held his blade just as an old, familiar glint blinded his sight for a moment. A blade he himself gifted to his nephew who was downtrodden at the escape of the hordes of pariah folk and at the loss of his sister who was devoured by the black flames of the Nightscale¡¯s firstborn.


    His sorrowful gaze met the yawning blackness occupying the empty holes, and grief rode on the tides of nausea as the smell of death reached his nostrils after it vented from the ever-grinning mouth from which flesh withered and blackened. The once brilliant scales he inherited from his niuvhen mother were no more visible, only the clammy black flesh beneath it pulsated with the anger which drove the blade to strike at his once beloved uncle.


    ¡°What is happening?¡± Jaculus¡¯s confused cry passed besides his ears as he struggled against his own who seemed to posses the strength of thousands. Augermil hissed sibilantly from the sudden surge of pain when the tainted knee thrusted against his abdomen. A strike which seemed to care not of the radiant, polychromatic armor adorning his new form. ¡°Stand!¡± Came the cold voice of his nephew, warped by strange spell binding and empowering him with more than the might of Dusk.


    ¡°I am truly sorry,¡¯ Augermil said, forcing the words. ¡°I shall free you from the grasp of the Darkness and give you your deserved rest.¡±

 Chapter 106: The First Step IV.

    Slowly she hovered closer to Eadwald and his group holding the tide of undead from swarming further southwards, giving a chance for the few survivors to escape into the encampment of the Draennith Praetoriir ¨C yet to notice the lack of dragon¡¯s roars as they struggled against Grimslaukh and his regiment of revenants and horrors.


    Though the desire to torture the boy who bore resemblance to him remained, she was liberated enough in her current state to overcome her undead instincts to give in. She had no doubts about Grimslaukh and his capabilities to hold back Augermil whose ancient presence she felt even from center of Vonschneithar, but she was also aware that the pale stranger had no intention of killing the elderly praetor who was a living deos himself, equal to the Elhyrissiar whose invading presence still twinged her tainted soul.


    Seeing the same searing hatred in his gaze still felt satisfying. Tasting this pacifying joy, she stretched her arm out and exerted her will across the winding streets. Every single undead changed their trajectory and marched against the companions surrounding Eadwald. His attention changed, rushing to the aid as he cleaved through the undead bound to her will. Lost in the moment, he failed to notice the surreptitious tendril slithering towards his leg and even from the far distance between them, she could hear his gasp as he faltered and nearly toppled from the forceful tucking of the shadowy tendril.


    Noticing his struggle, Aelfsigior hurled his spear across the short distance before he turned back and conjured forth a strong wave of iuboron matter. In a matter of seconds, the frail undead crumbled into putrid piles of dust carried away by the wind. ¡°Damn it, where are the dragons?¡± Ashnan yelled as his long axe shattered into pieces as a ghoulish undead snapped through its hilt. Led by his hasty instincts he jammed the broken wooden piece through the exposed skull of the creature, ending its accursed state by transmuting the wood into a mass of dawn energies eroding its warped form.


    Knowing there must be something greater holding Augermil back, Aelfsigior remained silent as he retrieved his spear which he quickly altered into a quarterstaff of pure metal. Whilst he pumped it full of purifying dawn spells, he collected his thoughts and kept one eye on the Queen of the Damned solemnly floating in the sky, not far from them. ¡°Should we regroup?¡± Priernuss brought up the question as he conjured forth a stream of flames ¨C combining dawn and elemental matter ¨C and guided it through the stumbling undead evading its searing, swirling reach.


    ¡°How long shall you wait up there?¡± Before he could answer, his attention went onto Eadwald who shouted high up, standing amongst hundreds of rotten corpses, drenched in their bile, pointing his blade towards the hovering wraith. Sensing the cold winds of dusk gathering in the streets, Aelfsigior rushed towards Eadwald and pushed him away as a dark circle incised into the soil beneath his feet, beneath the cadavers. A pillar of utter darkness rose towards the endless darkness, and when the beam ceased its existence, Aelfsigior was no more.


    A guttural roar reminiscent of dragons emanated forth Eadwald¡¯s agape mouth as his mind was swept by the tides of wrath. Abruptly he leapt high into the air, and with sporadic kicks approached the Queen of the Damned with his blade wreathed in polychromatic flames. Arcs of flames volleyed towards her as she retreated backwards led by a fear she hasn¡¯t experienced since stepping into the woodland. Thin, dark etheric walls appeared and shattered in the very moment those eerily bewitching flames passed through them.


    A scream escaped her lips of etheric flesh as she felt her very soul scorched even though none of the arcs hit their mark. Driven by a survival instinct, she twisted around and an all-devouring blackness in a muddled crescent shape propelled from her long, pallid arms of a cadaverous facade. As it tore and gnawed at reality, blurring the the space lit by the strange flames devouring the houses beneath, an explosion lit the whole night in a strange color unseen before in the mortal realms, blinding both of them.


    The resulting force sent her crashing into the nearest house whilst Eadwald remained unfazed as he brimmed with the durability of titans. She slowly rose from the rubble of stone and wood; her fear drowns out by her wrath as her gaze met his. Though at first, she desired to utter the name the unbridled anger keeping her mind intact through this accursed existence resulted in a shriek which tore through the surroundings like myriad blades of ice, clawing at the minds and souls of the few village guards and even her own undead bound to her will. Their forms warped into grotesque shapes whilst blood poured like a river out from their eyes, mouth and ears, then at last, they all exploded into gory puddles of tendon, marrow and blood.


    But not the one whom she desired to extinguish the most. The one who approached inexorably, impervious to the supernatural shriek which destroyed everyone and everything around him. Led by his resolve, led by the gift of the Almodo he lifted his blade and vanished before her sight, only to appear before her, blade plunged through her vessel wreathed still in the bewitching flames ¨C or energies as she took a better look at them whilst confused at the lack of pain she awaited.


    No longer she felt the flames of anger searing, irritating her soul and felt the loosening of her being as if a weight was lifted from her ¨C a weight she had no sense of. ¡°Eadwald?¡± She uttered as black tears flowed from her eyes, flames spreading from the blade onto and into her vessel, gently weighting her soul into the final dream. Eadwald looked perplexed, bereft of his own anger then he felt her memories flow into his mind, before his eyes he saw the once kingdom beyond the mountains thriving before a great shadow lengthened and black stars arose.


    He felt the terror she felt looking out the windows, witnessing the host of dragons whose scales were blacker than onyx or ebony, bleeding a vicious darkness which painted the sky, brought an end upon the light of day and heralded the twilight of their fiefdom. Terror froze him as he glared at the vast, dim ivory belly stretching across the eternal sky and like her, tears flowed down his cheeks as the eroding flames of Dusk crumbled the lively, prosperous city. As they latched onto the frightened folk, he watched as they aged and withered into dust in the span of moments.


    He felt her agonies of leaving behind their homes taken from them by the hordes of pariahs whose ancient oaths still thrived towards the tyrants of the night, watched as the dark folk of Dhaugruz crawled forth their dark pits in their dark, dreadful armor in the company of horrors worse or akin to the woodland¡¯s. He watched as she wept for their people in his own lap, felt a bit of relief at his own smile then the anger he was driven by mere moments ago reared its head as he watched himself leave her and her family to the mercy of those horrid beasts and their gleeful master.


    When he finally returned to the waking world, he felt conflicted. Ashamed but also relieved his ancestor escaped the clutches of the Fae who tortured Styrlaug for centuries, who forced her to exist within the rotting vessel of the shield-maiden whom always stood at her side ¨C a second mother even he thought to himself. ¡°Eadwald!¡± Azugh¡¯s worried yell turned him around as he noticed the young orkh wheezing and rushing with Ashnan and Priernuss by his side.


    ¡°Come, Sigi is in trouble!¡±


    **


    After a parrying a brutal series of slashes and thrusts aimed at his joints, Augermil found himself feeling nostalgic, reminded of the olden days of the War of the Siblings. With each strike, each impact their blades clashing generated, he felt a wave passing through his soul and body, carrying it through time and further from the woes of present. Woes which grinned at him, revealing a vicious darkness in the feral revenant of his nephew whom he last saw centuries ago.


    Back then he regretted not standing up to Terrianis who blamed the inadequacies of his child commanding for the failure, though both knew deep down he had little chance against the kin of the Nightscale, and he had no way to aid the battle between the two primordial dragons whose battle scarred the northern land. Augermil blamed himself more for the disastrous result of the battle and its consequences leading up to the present day. And now this remorse altered into another flavor of poison flowing in his mind, numbing his arms holding his blade as he and Gnaeuth circle around in the sloping terrain.


    His small nostrils expanded as he breathed in the gangrenous and cold air of the night and prepared himself for the lone strike meant to free his nephew from the clutches of Dusk. Instead of parrying the next few strikes, he simply dodged, sidestepped each strike fueled by nekrotic matter and something vile, unknown to him. Or at least it felt familiar from the night the Heavenly Monarch was taken from the cradle erected for his rejuvenation. But he knew it had to wait.


    As the creature came to strike at his left joint betwixt his arm and shoulder where his gifted panoply offered little protection, he once more sidestepped to evade the poisonous strike, and swung his blade, hastening his arm with a minor time spell. Contrary to his expectations, the blade halted midway through the frozen, rotten flesh and sallow fangs protruded from the grisly trims.


    Held by the bizarre maw, he struggled with all his might to free his blade and had to release his grip when the cacophony of shifting flesh and bone alerted him to the incoming blade aimed to take his head. He hissed, feeling frustrated at the unforeseen trap whilst taking a few steps back with his fists held up, the vambraces blocking and halting the blade which approached in a greater haste than what his nephew was capable of imbuing them in life. Feeling unease from the mild transformation, he hastened time ¨C vainly as he had to lean out from the blade¡¯s way.


    Twice more he tried in vain before he gave up and mustered the mana within his soul and body to strengthen him further and naturally gain speed against Gnaeuth¡¯s revenant. The first layer strengthened his scaled body, infused it with the prima materia of dawn and flesh. The strike against his neck rebounded and Gnaeuth stumbled, leading to the last strike of his fist wreathed in dawn golden and amber spell appearing as sizzling flames whilst he used only the strength amassed from his own muscles honed through seven millennia. Aimed at the head, it landed and passed through, shattering the horrid visage and spreading the spell which consumed the warped, distorted form and released his blade from the queer bondage of the queer revenant.


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    Turning around he noticed Mirdbruil and Cassiel approaching after slaying a dozen revenants impending their relentless march ¨C one to prove her worth in her idol¡¯s gaze, the other led by motherly instincts. After they caught up to Augermil heading upwards to the gate, they came to a sudden halt. The dread of death halted their steps and they stood froze until a few more revenants came for their lives. ¡°I am afraid, but for the time being, that is as far as you all go!¡± Before them, the pale figure of Grimslaukh materialized, smiling genially as he stopped a swing away from Augermil.


    ¡°It is nice to meet the famed hero who fought against untold horrors, who triumphed against the elder dragon Promethean and witnessed the banishment of the Grim Sovereign. I truly wish we could have met in more amicable circumstances.¡± Mirdbruil and Cassiel moved first, free from the sudden terror of death which stunned them, yet they reached not far as Augermil halted them. Mirdbruil stared at him confused and anxious.


    ¡°Whom do we owe this pleasure of a meeting?¡± Augermil asked, forcing those words out as for the first time in centuries, two millennia when he first witnessed the horror of the Grim Sovereign first hand as he extinguished the lives of thousands by his sheer will and presence. Grimslaukh¡¯s smile widened as if he smelled his fear.


    ¡°Grimslaukh, Emissary of the Nightscale himself!¡± He said while mockingly bowing before them. ¡°Though I believe you might have guessed it already though not my intentions.¡±


    Augermil soothed his senses and tightened his grip as if he prepared to strike at Grimslaukh, aiming to finish him off even quicker than his nephew¡¯s revenant. ¡°Humor me servant of the ghastly Nightscale. What are your true intentions if not to hurt the dear children and chosen of the Almodo?¡± First though he decided to soothe his opponent vastly beyond him, a challenge he deep down wished for.


    ¡°I assure you; we mean no harm upon the children. We simply desire to invite the youngest, the most promising one into our fold where he can truly thrive, where he shall walk a safer path, devoid of his impending doom.¡± Neither of the three believed the truth spoken by the dark mouth of the Nightscale.


    ¡°I never believed that I shall live the day when I hear of the fears of the Night itself.¡± Said Augermil mockingly as he prepared to strike, yet when he willed his limbs to move, his instincts refused to comply and alerted that certain doom awaited beyond the unseen threshold consisting in the five or so meters betwixt them.


    ¡°Every being has their fears.¡± Grimslaukh said calmly. ¡°Even The Almodo.¡±


    ¡°Blasphemy!¡± Cassiel yelled in her deep, velvety voice.


    ¡°Is it? His children crawling in the darkest recesses of existence are proof of that aren¡¯t they?¡± Grimslaukh tapped his chin covered in the umbral blisters playfully. ¡°But I digress, I shan¡¯t tarnish the creator and dreamer we owe so much.¡± Suddenly, the battle ceased for a mere moment as the night brightened in strange cavalcade of colors than stopped.


    Grimslaukh turned and stared satisfied. ¡°Well, I enjoyed our first meeting. And do not worry, I shall take good care of little Sigi.¡± He said and as he vanished all three felt the dread part with Grimslaukh, thawing away the chill binding them in place. Without wasting any seconds, all three charged through the gate, Augermil and Cassiel cutting through the deluge of dead on the streets.


    **


    The wild, snow-white barrier whirred feverishly around Sigiwaer, keeping the fresh dead of Orhadin at bay. They stood still awaiting the order of their ophidian master whose small, serpentine eyes glowed in the dark with a sickly purple haze, his hand tightly wrapped around his cold, metallic staff with the peculiar top. They darted left and right, following the trajectory of the chaotic inscriptions lashing out against his lifelike minions the moment they stepped a few meters in. He was a bit fascinated by the youth who managed to conjure forth such an impervious barrier, one that not even most of the legionaries he faced throughout his life could have.


    One who for all he knew spent most of his short life in the walled precipices of a small northern village. Though he was well aware the gift of the Almodo played heavily into the strength of the spell belonging to the maghandr aspect of ice, which should have been ineffective towards the dead who preferred the cold over the cruel searing of flames. ¡°Quite the terrifying will, isn¡¯t it?¡± He remarked slightly turning towards Uchitemar who was surprised as he was not expecting his superior to tear away his focus from studying the spell.


    ¡°It is.¡± Was all he could utter as he forfeited any effort to peer into the spell which was beyond even his knowledge accumulated through a few centuries. ¡°But shouldn¡¯t we hurry up, the orkh shall definitely bring reinforcements.¡±


    Orhadin silently agreed, feeling a bit dejected that such a peculiar occasion witnessed only by a few must come to an end. Led by his intent laced by a desire for triumph, he surveyed the legions of infinitesimal, etheric runes tamed and constructed by the near indomitable will of the youth, he spotted a weak point, a rune containing a less compared to its peers. With an abrupt injection of his own semi-divine will and essence, the domed storm calmed then faded into nothingness as the elemental particles returned to their passive state.


    ¡°Once more, I offer you a peaceful resolution to this night. Will you come or resist that could lead to further tragedies?¡± Sigi reeling from the pain, listened and for a moment, looking at the cadavers of Gna and Shad leaned towards surrender. But the more he looked, the more he remembered the sorrow and anger in Azugh¡¯s voice, he shook his head and straightened his posture. ¡°Such a shame. Then, show me the best you are capable of as proud sorcerer.¡± Seeing the resolve burning in his eyes, the determination to hold out Orhadin felt a tad bit more respectful and annoyed at the reluctance of the boy. He knew it would have been better to leave him to Grimslaukh, but he also understood the necessity of holding the dragon praetors of the Empire back.


    Nonetheless he felt enthusiastic for the first time in years spent on the southern regions at the prospect of facing the Chosen of the Almodo ¨C even despite him being young and quite unexperienced for all he knew. A weirdly steady rhythm of the dead warriors mingled with the distant cacophony, their once enameled plates bereft of their snowy luster produced a low, metallic hum whilst from their parted pallid lips, a deep and warped groan emanated as they parted towards the settlement searing in the black flames of the Night.


    For a moment, Sigi¡¯s muscles compelled him to turn in their way and unleash a torrent of spells to annihilate them, but he stopped as his instincts screamed danger and realized he would have played into Orhadin¡¯s hand. ¡°Clever.¡± The ophidian magusos noted with his serpentine lips curved into a smile. ¡°Prove yourself worthy to be worthy of his gift!¡± He slammed his staff against the snow blanketed ground and at once Sigi sensed and saw the particles of wind halt in their relentless march imposed on them by primordial decree. And once more he felt the same dread that permeated throughout his body on the day, he lost one of his eyes.


    A white haze penetrated and floated about in the darkness he felt encroached around him. Hardly any a second passed since the undead departed, but as his mind flipped through the pages shown by Aurelithae, it felt like an eternity passed. Confusion ¨C nay uncertainty added to the foreboding sensation ailing his soul and body in tandem as to the intentions of the dark magus standing before him, lacking in any intent to cause harm yet leading a horde of undead that may slay one of his friends, one of his dear one. Cold sweat began to formulate on his forehead as he recounted the few spells Aurelithae taught her for self-defense, the way to tap into the primal element of fire to burn through not just mundane things but even the ethereal.


    ¡°Flames¡­¡± Orhadin murmured. ¡°Not quite what I expected.¡± Though he still got surprised by the velocity the chaotically swirling sphere coming forth Sigi¡¯s palm hurled towards him. With a slight turn downwards, the flames of a searing amber, brilliant golden and mesmerizing azure extinguished as thin Aura of Dusk silhouetting his armor-clad body ceased the anger fueling the brightening flames. ¡°Clever.¡± He stumbled a little when the earth shook beneath his naked feet and ghastly roots wrapped around his wrists and ankles, ravenously sapping out the mana lingering in the ethereal sheen overlying between the space of his flesh and soul.


    A sibilant hiss followed as mild pain akin to leeches digging their miniscule fangs into the first layers of flesh and skin, followed by the wild instinct driven osculating of the critters. His gaze still remained on Sigi whose dark eye darkly coruscated, as brilliantly as the dusky scales of the House of Dusk and its primordial liege who arose from the darkness which came before all. With a dire suddenness, he registered his divinely augmented form trembling as he felt a warp in reality, as every facet and fiber of it coalesced into a spell which blew the cold winds of dusk in his course. He had no doubt about that.


    With an unassuming vibration laced with nekrotic runes empowered by his semi-divine essence, the roots released their grip and fell limp into the snow. Forth his forearm a darkness freckled with regal purple slithered along the sewn blackness and enameled plates fashioned in the large scales of dignified dragons, crawled up along the cold surface of his staff and swallowed by the trapezohedron imbued with the blessed distillation flowing in the etheric veins of Grimslaukh and the Nightscale. Inscription which he could not fully comprehend, simply possessed an instinctual understanding of their final result whirred persistent in the liminal space carven into the recesses of the strange d¨¦cor which fascinated his imagination the moment he inherited the staff.


    Sigiwaer neared the assembly of the spell, a mixture of maghia and the primordial authority incorporated into the seed of the Almodo. A chaotic cavalcade of raging and calmed particles blinded his vision further, as a primordial storm built over them. Without noticing, a maniac laughter emanated from him as overwhelming wave of euphoria and intoxication from the authority swept through him unyielding. Blood and darkness poured forth his eyes and the latter spread cracks across his frail form, his mind overflown with myriad thoughts of myriad ways to annihilate all those who robbed him of the peace.


    The snow, the frozen earth around them shifted by the whims of the chaotic spells clashing, vying to fulfill the imposed orders of their masters. From a soft, near powdery state the snow altered into a white lake surrounding the now decrepit village, then into a solid earthen, stony state thrusting against their soles; the cold air turned scorching, hotter than the south¡¯s and suffocating as the treacherous waters surrounding the continent and its myriad isles; the night sky turned into day, then into an endless lake of blood, a maddened legion of shapes, silhouettes including dragons, gargantuan titans and abnormal horrors lurking at the threshold, led by an unknowable desire, an utter chaos prized by Daemeiorvoth.


    With the same suddenness a pillar of utter, yawning darkness rose from the trapezohedron and contended against the chaos, banishing the shapes and bringing an end to the spreading chaos. The relentless change of their surroundings came to a final end, and returned to their natural state yet in the air Orhadin and Uchitemar felt a unwillingness from the laws of their reality, one borne from the lingering madness still thriving within the elements, the particles of primordial matters still silently flocking around Sigiwaer as if they recognized him as their one and only ruler. Even the undead seemed to hesitate in carrying out his orders of grabbing the dreaming boy before their feet. Through his mind¡¯s eye, he witnessed strange motes of energies dancing around the nekrotic particles forming his nekromantic spell, nevertheless it seemed to be a fruitless endeavor as they lacked the intent of Sigiwaer to fully shatter his hold over the undead.


    ¡°What a sight it was to behold!¡± Uchitemar uttered, stricken with a madness induced by a deeper understanding of the nature of their world, their existence. His whole augmented vessel trembled with terror and excitement, yet Orhadin found it strange he himself wasn¡¯t going through these same emotions, shivering himself. ¡°For now, it doesn¡¯t matter. I thank thee my lord and protector!¡± He offered his whispery gratitude towards the Night and its true monarch whilst carving a portal into the fabric of reality.

 Epilogue: ...Dreams in their Empty House

    The sea stretched out far into the seemingly endless expanse, a desolate expanse of blackness and somber, calm yet pristine waves. Even as the murky protoplasmic waters seemed to move, strange pebbles stirred the pristine surface, it remained devoid of even the faintest of whispers. There was no breath of life, no gust of wind, only a cold stillness that pervaded every inch of this desolate existence on which the dark traveler stood unmoving in his shapeless dark robes and dim red stola.


    Above him the empty sky imitated the utter desolation where infinite possibilities reformulated themselves shone down its black light as the strange stars arose over the horizon. Before him, gargantuan edifices arose keeping the queer peace of the waters and the air; no drops cascading on its spires twisting into themselves, leaning east and west, burrowing south and north in maddening courses.


    Some rose beyond the threshold of the primordial ocean bereft of life, thriving with an existence shimmering darkly and unseen. And some of these edifices continued their ascent before his strange slit eyes until they reached the gloomy heavens. When they all stopped in their formations, he at last moved on the path formed from translucent stone and opaque slime of the eldest kind, leading him further towards the flock of the spires. At the flock¡¯s epicenter he once more stopped, in square filled with trees bearing crystalline foliage of the same strange, indescribable shade like his eyes hidden under his hood.


    As he walked on the serene abyssal waters where unseen, shapeless things lurked mimicking the habitual creatures living beyond the black wall risen beyond the quaint town in the voidness. A wall, a breathing bosom which flattened and sloped; murmured, fluttered in a warped tongue since before time began its unwinding, flow within the boundaries of Elhyrissian, The Elden Planes and the Aether Between connecting all planes, mundane and divine, when the first serpent awoken by visceral decree of The Almodo.


    When The Nameless One stepped beyond the ever-shifting boundary of the town, etheric trees manifested from the emptiness barks smooth and fluid yet sturdier than the soft waters beneath where their roots stretched. From their branches crystalline leaves blossomed and danced to the music of possibilities and will predating the antiquities of all existences. No wind blew, but they rustled and pointed towards the path he desired himself, for which he wished for. The roots beneath twisted and turned, slithered like serpents and tendrils following as he walked in the ivory shadows of the imitated structures following the geometrical contours of feeble arkhaine circles, their forms ushering a semblance of order within the acreage of chaos.


    At the end of his journey, an egg of absolute brilliance awaited, embraced by the tendrils and roots growing across its everchanging surface. They moved and danced, sung songs of distant, soothing melodies whilst their protoplasmic ichor seeped into the egg, shaping the creature dreaming within. When he faltered before the etheric egg, it throbbed at his hollow touch and at once a great wall, a mural arose forth the emptiness ¨C a mural half finished.


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    The Nameless One slowly approached the mural and his hood slinked back as the yawning blackness and the two slits of eyes gazed at the center piece where the protoplasmic ink bleeding from the stone formed a maelstrom of the myriad paths through which they shall have to walk until the new dawn arises over the vast continents and oceans of Elhyrissian. The dark aether which constructed his delicate, slender form stirred as if excited, as if anxious knowing well victory was yet to be certain as he fingers connected to the shifting ink.


    Though beneath and above the centerpiece, murals carven by erudite, primordial hands depicted the fates of the lost. Those who calmed the dim aether as their threads have been severed, their seed had been returned and their souls returned into the cycle as promised.


    First he gazed upon the top segment where the southern boy with a striking hair of silver who dreamt to walk in the footsteps of his father, and would have reached beyond amongst his true kindred, leading the legions into the final fray to stand upon the peak of death where the first serpent would have laid slain. Now a forest stretched across the many shaded dunes of the far-south, creeping towards and devouring whilst planting the seeds of vicious lives.


    Before his gazed moved downwards, The Nameless turned at the raucous throbbing permeating the small square. With a singular, hollow touch of his he calmed the dweller returned before the mural.


    Below, near the bottom in a hoary frame The Sorceress of Winter stood once with arms stretched, her white veil softening the rays of Dawn from the shunned folk of Twilight whilst the former slavers held riches and scales before them. Further the first serpent¡¯s cadaver stretched across the dreadful peaks, his blood formed a lake of all swallowing darkness whilst the Golden Child hovered in his promised brilliance, battling the inky blackness lengthening across the carven vistas and devouring like a ravenous, mindless beasts all fell into its grasp.


    Now her form fair as snow cascaded across the throat of death and laid serene into bowels of twilight where the children and the shunned kin of Dusk danced merrily and morosely around her cavernous grave whilst the top frames of her piece fissured. In the slithering cavities the protoplasmic ink flown upwards, forming the maelstrom of the three that still remains with their murky tasks multiplying as the second pass beyond the murmuring and throbbing black wall.


    Before he could begin rearranging the myriad threads congregating into a chaotic mess, his attention was torn away by the second throbbing echoing throughout the endless void. Once more he touched the etheric surface of brilliance, stirring from the agonies of the ichor seeping into its magnificent form tearing and discarding; formulating and fitting in the right pieces.


    With the dweller soothed, the egg no longer throbbing from fear The Nameless One vanished and with him the town was swallowed by the stirred emptiness. Its hidden appendages crawling further beyond the boundary, seeds traversing undisturbed and unnoticed the carven spaces planting themselves into sphere at the epicenter of His subliminal design¡­

 Tales of Elhyrissian: In the Light of Lunarius I.

    ¡°Thank you my dear!¡± Her voice slithered through the bustling and rustling of the tavern¡¯s folk who enjoyed the fineries and fancies awaiting at the end of their long days. The feeble creature, a gobokh born and altered by the cruel, cold nature of the north smiled back at the handsome girl appearing no older than thirty with a fair, almost pale visage blemished only by the smeared dirt clearly not there from harsh work outside the perimeters of Aimirion, the capital city of the eastern regions of the north.


    On her slender, petite form a common, thick woolen coat twisted and turned with dirty fur trims, a thick and high collar growing from the broadish and featureless shoulders draping thickly over the sleeves, bosom and back hidden vaguely by the bland white shawl and the collapsing hood from which her hair dark as the brilliant night tumbled forth on the right side, its silken locks glinting as the candlelight and the arkhaine stones glow shone on them. Though it seemed to the gobokh servant the light could not penetrate through fully the shadows shrouding her handsome visage, still he was bewitched by those graceful and kind black eyes and wide, lustrous lips curving into an enchanting smile.


    ¡°Take these!¡± Eyes which reflected a morose empathy, bordering yet not a pity whilst her frail hands moved with languid grace as she placed five silver coins in the shapes of snowflakes on the table, each with differing amounts of tallies graven into their gleaming surfaces. He wanted to take it, but the scars of precise, binding runes squashed his desires with a torrent of mild pain and aching. ¡°I cannot take it m¡¯lady, but I thank you for your kindness.¡± He then bowed with a grimace telling of his many pains whilst holding the oaken tray against his bosom.


    Her eyes followed the gobokh for a while as he disappeared in the lively crowd, returning to the side of his master. Even her fingers furled and her furtive gaze was laced with disgust and anger for a mere moment before it mellowed out as the door flung open followed by the silence of the hearty folk and the cold winds blowing their furtive winds, trying to snuff the candles with no apparent success. Standing in the door, a tall aevhe stood in his dazzling panoply of many refined plate segments, a thick cloak draped over it as his fair pinkish skin appeared a regal red as the freezing wind assaulted the face carven with magnificence of Maerhia and the menacing, slender contours of dragons.


    A stern expression shrouded his face before it had fallen and his voice boomed through the silence with a merry tone. ¡°Mind me not my friends, cease not your jolly time!¡± A heartful bellow greeted the tall aevhe, the clanking of his plates drawn out by the it as he stepped forth the precipice. ¡°Now, Largruck the first round is on me!¡± Then as he reached the counter after jostling through the mass, he said placing a hefty sack of coins on the rough surface which the dwarf quickly took and counted with a wide grin beneath the lush and rough beard.


    His attention ¨C secretive and probing ¨C flickered between the friends beneath him and the lone maiden sitting in the corner, alone strangely. The one who upon their gazes meeting and a secret understanding formed, stood up with half her wine finished and with graceful, but languid movements slipped past the group flocking towards the counter. She faltered before the first step and took one more glance, her lips moving and forming silent words reaching the mind and ear of the aevhe whose cheeks reddened and his eyes reflecting a hidden tiredness easing before turning back as he joined the serenade of clashing kegs, drinks spilling on the floor and counter and the joyful laughs as the troubles melted from the hearths of men and women.


    After a few drinks shared with his people, he excused himself though many failed to notice in their drunkenness as he hurried towards the stairs, his limbs shaking from excitement and the desires suppressed for the past few decades he spent away from his dear home.


    **


    The two laid in the wide bed, the rough lining not so pleasant against their bare skin, yet their passion for each other overcame the discomfort whilst the cold air and the cool light of the Lunarius shone on the two lovers. Her slender arms gently wrapped around his honed frame adorned by scars, bite marks on his right forearm where tendon and marrow had to be regrown. Similarly, his legs were adorned by the marks of painful memories when crude, obsidian spears crafted from a malevolent material of the outer realms pierced through, inflicting him with long lasting wounds on his body and mind in tandem.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°What ails your mind, my beloved Aimaar?¡± She asked, her cushion soft lips brushing against his neck, her pleasantly cold breath spreading and tickling, yet his gaze focused on the door. In the shadows of the dim room, lit only by the light of Lunarius, horrid shapes moved in the shadows, just like in the far south, in the opulent black pyramid of the wicked Pharaoh who resisted the dream of his kind. The smell of rotten flesh still burned his ears, the screams of his comrades echoed in his ears, a distant cry through time and space as he gazed with an apologetic look at the pale visage cleaned off by the saccharine sweat.


    ¡°Apologies my love.¡± He began, relapsing in silence, his head jerked up softly as he listened in the pervading silence. ¡°The horrors of the campaign seemed to follow me home, that is all. But with you on my bosom my dear Mircalla, I feel them fading into the distance of land and history.¡± Their lips locked together for a short moment, they breath tantalizing to each clashed in a flurry of passion before they parted.


    ¡°I missed you so much, I have dreamt of you often, even awake in the harsh desert, under the searing gaze of the Illius.¡± He continued, a smile curving onto the young servant¡¯s lips as she placed her head on his bosom, her hair spreading like a dark, wild storm of silken. ¡°I too dreamt of you many a night.¡±


    ¡°What dreams did you had, if you don¡¯t mind the question my love?¡± He asked, his curiosity awakened by the warm surprise.


    ¡°Some filled me with worry as I watched you march with the golden legionariir, worry borne of a queer perception of beings, monsters lurking and slithering beneath those gleaming and colorful dunes. Dreams of you meandering in narrow places where shadows veiled surreptitious creatures that should not exist.¡± A regret formed in him as he noticed the solemn turn in her eyes, avoiding his gaze.


    Though before he could stop her from continuing, from evoking these nightmares, he found himself silent. ¡°But then these dreams ceased and came those which filled me with hope, sent clearly by Septurrion and his ilk where I saw you and your comrades beating back, banishing these horrors, showing light to the blinded and heralding dawn upon the darkened vistas of the far-south. And I saw you hopeful, relieved as the end came with the three blows of the horn which boomed through space and time.¡±


    ¡°Bless the Hands that weave fate and our dreams.¡± Was all he uttered as his gentle grip tightened around the Mircalla, the servant girl whom he had fell in love with the first day she applied to serve his family. That warmth spring day of the Divine Mother still lingered in his mind, the moment he watched from his second-floor window as the feeble girl climbed the long stairs stretching down the hill with supple, languid movements. Her rapid breath creating the image of dragons bellowing fire with each mist that shot forth her lips while beads of sweat trickled down her unblemished forehead, wiped away by the dark handkerchief.


    In his eyes, she was a small bird which made its way into the lair of dragons, fear in her heart yet she swallowed it and moved on with a determination he could not grasp until he himself walked in the same shoes in the past decades. Walking through the desert, under the blazing light and heat, above where the great worms slither and gnaw at the earth, and seeing them swallow a battalion deepened his respect and love towards this bird who appeared before him when the cooling enchantments of his gilded helmet conceded in the battle against the rays of the Illius.


    ¡°What dreams you had of me?¡± Then she asked as she raised above him like a prowling beast, a reassuring faux smile planting mellowing seeds as his hands gently stroked her sides and pulled her closer. ¡°Simple, mundane ones that eased my poisoned mind.¡± As their lips locked once more, he went silent and the two wrestled passionately before they fallen on their sides, their eyes locked full of mirth. ¡°I dreamt of you being there by my side, your cold hands a savior to my searing flesh and skin boiling under my tunic and plates; of me not being alone in the twisting tunnels gnawed not by worms but worse, a guiding light where light is drunk by the rancorous darkness. And even a confirmation that all the struggles may have worth it, knowing you awaited my return.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± She whispered, confusing him for a bit, though the desire to ask never formed in his mind. Aimaar simply wished to enjoy the moment, before the two contended in passion, before the first light of the dawn began to banish the darkness and heralded the day in which they had to return to be master and servant.

 Tales of Elhyrissian: In the Light of Lunarius II.

    Slowly, the darkness parted over the horizon, a sinister m¨¦lange of crimson, mauve, amber and golden danced and writhed over the city of Aimirion ¨C one of the oldest cities raised by the Nivesiunar House not long after they stepped through the Tear through which they escaped from the collapsing old realm to the new, promised land. For months the once ruling family of aevhe and their people of the frigid south wandered the familiar, sloping lands of the north in the shadow of Dhaugruz until they reached at last the winding river Anguiril they named after the founder of their House and the former Archon of the elder dominion of their kind which stretched across realms.


    On the flatter, western bank they settled first and erected the homes of the people they sworn to protect until eternity ceases, a wall circling like the crescent moon that shone upon their founder and prompted him to build their ancestral city that thrived for aeons. During the construction of their own mansion on the eastern bank, where a rocky hill cast its shadow over the crystalline, effervescent water Aimaar came into the light of the world, the first of the Nivesiunar to be born on the promised lands¡¯ soil, hence the House decided to name the city after the one who shall one day inherit it as the eldest of his generation.


    Reaching atop after the arduous climb, Mircalla turned around, her breath shallow and her skin searing, clammy as the ominous rays shone on her petite form. Though she was in mild pain, her gaze still reflected the satisfaction beget from the view of the city stretching across the other side, the beautiful bridge bearing the same, sumptuous baoroqian style the mansion itself reflected in its oblong, crescent shape towering over not too far.


    ¡°Morning!¡± At the familiar deep voice Irenaea ¨C a truscian handmaiden with a keen eye ¨C she turned around and bowed elegantly whilst sweat dripped from her widening forehead.  ¡°It is a beautiful dawn, isn¡¯t it?¡± She continued as Mircalla straightened her posture and fixed her long, leather coat stiffened neck enclosing on her own neck and silken tunics arc shaped collars.


    ¡°It is, though a bit sinister for my tastes.¡± The two walked on the front yards marble paved road, under the shadows of the trees bearing leaves of verdant green, crimson, purple and even a icy blue, their branches hanging over the lush hedges bearing dim violet blooms with a near etheric glow bewitching the two maidens who occasionally stopped thanks to their early arrival. ¡°Pray that is only a fancy of Daemeiorvoth and not sign of divine trickery.¡± Irenaea said half-jesting as she stopped and stared up at the skies, her aging visage painted over by the soft glow of the dawn, masking the crow¡¯s eye and the few wrinkles which showed up only a year or two before Aimaar¡¯s return.


    ¡°Hope not.¡± Mircalla murmured to herself as she herself glared at snapdragons blooming their vibrant, snapped petals near the front gate of silver and gold. She kneeled and inhaled their saccharine fragrance before she continued on, following in the shadow of Irenaea as the Illius strengthened with the approach of the day.


    **


    ¡°Still, I see no point in milady¡¯s education of destruction.¡± Iraneae whispered to Mircalla as they stood like statues of the great Elhyrissiar in the small section of the arboretum. Betwixt them a small marble table held by a singular metallic shaft sprouting arachnid like legs with flat bottoms held the garish cups emanating a warm haze and a pleasant, saccharine aroma. Their gazes remained on the tall, petite aevhe who stretched her arms forth and held the flames of dawn between her palms before releasing it towards an immobile silhouette of earth and snow, though upon impact little to no dent formed upon its rough form of a masculine shape.


    Iranea¡¯s gaze bordered on horrified, disdained at the prospect of a frail, innocent Iovien, the youngest of the siblings was forced to learn the ways of destruction simply because the faint signs of shadow lengthening over their home. On the other hand, Mircalla watched with light amusement, pride matching with the joy of the aevhe formed by her draconic mentality passed down from her ancestors and the euphoria blossomed from the mingling of outer mana and her own inner. ¡°I do hope myself she won¡¯t need it, but it is not detrimental for one to be able to protect herself if worse comes to worse.¡±


    ¡°That I cannot contend with.¡± Iranaea replied, looking down solemnly at the creases of her polished, leather dress-coat, her chin pushing down the high neck of overlapping layers. ¡°Still, it is unbecoming for a lady in my honest opinion to find joys in any form of annihilation.¡± She added turning slightly towards Mircalla who masked her emotions well.


    After her head jerked back and her own mask of calmness fell upon the thunderous roar of the golem exploding. Though she quickly reapplied it as their young mistress approached brimming with joy. ¡°How did I do Mirc?¡± She questioned the younger handmaiden of hers. ¡°A bit brutish for my taste, but that fester can be shaved away with time and practice.¡± She faltered in her words suddenly, pondering for a while before continuing. ¡°On a last note, I may also advise you to lessen the destructive output as here we have the benefit of protective enchantments, but if trouble may come outside the walls of the mansion, the common folk won¡¯t be as lucky as us.¡±


    Iovian nodded and seemed to drink in the words whilst her brilliant eyes focused on Mircalla. ¡°Thank you!¡± She said her hands suddenly grasping Mircalla¡¯s who maintained her cool, only allowing a minor slip of her lustrous lips curving mildly into a smile. ¡°Now, shall we see if brother finished and ready for our jaunt?¡± The two nodded and slowly walked in the verdant green, cold shadows nearing towards the mansion towering a bit over, though turned from its guidance and towards the lush small woodland planted in the backyard where the trees bloomed the same m¨¦lange of colorful leaves as the ones in the front courtyard.


    A little while later, the trio of maidens arrived at their destination, hidden not far into the eastern parcel, in a small clearing of dense bushes, trees bearing crimson and dark lavender leaves bathing the four man ¨C three aevhe they knew well, and the vagrant who bore the rough features of man and the grace of dragons and aevhe of the far-south, the children of Promethean, the Breather of Life, The Great Golden Ruler whose roar awakened the first beasts and animals of the wild, primeval world.


    Though he was of mixed blood, Mircalla and even Iovian found him quite striking, mysterious ¨C though the former noticed a familiar darkness hidden in the golden gaze often gazing into the distant lands of imagination just like in this very moment, standing before his canvas of the half-finished portrait of Aimaar while his father and grandfather looked with approval to the piece.


    ¡°This piece may be half-finished, but I must commend your divine given skills my friend!¡± Vibian, Aimaar¡¯s grandfather commented as his azure eyes glanced upon the canvas staged between the artist garbed thickly in bright golden and purple garments and Aimaar clad in his enameled plates and sword held before himself, its sharp tip pointing towards the sky.


    Though now his hair was white as the snow falling from the sky, blanketing the vistas around them, Aimaar resembled greatly his grandfather before time decreed out its gentle changes upon the elderly aevhe. His once warm and fair skin now faded regally into an enchanting pale white; his hair once as black as the feathers of ravens turned similarly white with a hint of steel gray, still it remained soft as silk and lush as the foliage of birch trees blooming in the season of The Nurturing Mother.


    And as the years passed, he grew onto his face a thick set of whiskers accentuating his accumulated wisdom and enhanced the austerity of his visage lined sharply and menacingly as a dragon¡¯s muzzled head. On top of their natural luster and lushness, he also ornamented the whiskers with silver and golden beads engraved with runic symbols glowing in an etheric, azure blue light thanks to the enchantments that sharpened his mind, his words leaving his cowled lips.


    For a moment, the artist faltered in the gentle and deliberate guiding of his brush, his golden eyes turned upwards at Aimaar, then towards the three approaching maidens whom he offered a mild and warm smile before turning to the elderly aevhe. ¡°I am humbled by your words, though I feel and believe something is still amiss from the piece that is his present and future.¡± As the three neared behind the painting to gaze upon it, Mircalla quivered, feeling repulsed by the dishonest words honeyed by humility and even felt a little anger as she was deprived of her chance to glance into Aimaar¡¯s eyes as he looked at her, yearning.


    ¡°That is a given my friend.¡± Vibier, son of Vibian added hastily and with a hearty yell as he was enamored by the half-finished piece of his own son. The three made their way around carefully, halted upon Iovien and Iranaea let out loud gasps filled with their dread. On the canvas stroked gently stood Aimaar amongst the oblique dunes beneath a dark sky, from the colorful sand dead things and horrors burst forth. Horrors with vaguely humanoid silhouettes, the flesh pale as fungi, creatures with shoulders of sprouting, hungering maws with globes of tendons dancing between the oily, meaty walls, nightmares wreathed in thick shadows with writhing tentacled heads and ivory growths along their primitive, tarnished forms. Each and every of these horrors, these dead things marched against Aimaar and his company of legionaries in golden and brass, their legs planted in the treacherous sand, shields before them, spears the last aegis against the horrors that lurk in the dark.


    Iovien nearly fainted by just gazing upon these horrid beings, in her mind the canvas came to life in a vivid scenery, though like the legionaries, she planted her feet and mind, shackling herself to reality when she noticed Aimaar¡¯s inquisitive gaze and came to realize, her reaction may show disrespect to the bravery of his brother and his fallen companions. Though she was not aware, even as Mircalla¡¯s soft hand touched her shoulder, the handmaiden also eased her mind with a soft, inaudible hum.


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Even the prodigious Daemeiorvoth can guide your hand and fancy so much.¡± Vibier who inherited his father¡¯s looks too ¨C except for his now bulbous nose, a result of a not so adroit magusos failure to mend it properly ¨C added after pondering a good while. Similarly, to his own father, he stood in angular, symmetrical waist-length coat, breeches and shoes sewn from a lustrous fabric, dyed black as the night with furred trims, a contrasting snow white. Its collars hugged his tapering jawline covered in silken stubbles. The whole piece had the illusion of appearing unified.


    Finally, the two lovers¡¯ gazes met, and in Aimaar¡¯s a question lingered, a desire to elope from the bondage of this moment to just be with her. Mircalla¡¯s gaze simply queried for patience, her pleased smile told him the piece was to her queer liking. He sighed and accepted the stillness imposed on him by simple, mundane words and her expression even evoked a sense of curiosity regarding the piece, he had no chance to look upon yet and form his own opinion. Though a part of him dreaded it.


    ¡°I am no expert, and I may have little understanding of man¡¯s fancies ¨C but brother seems paler on this piece, isn¡¯t he? It¡¯s almost like a corpse¡¯s.¡± Iovien¡¯s comment brought them out from their honey sweet stupor, acted as invasive, heated needles pushed under her skin, stirring the sleeping beast of dread.


    ¡°He does seem to be paler.¡± Vibier agreed in a softer tone as he tensed his gaze and leaned a bit closer. ¡°Though I must say it fits him a bit better. He is almost like grandfather.¡± Vibian himself added as the young man of his own blood evoked the image of their founder, a divine sign that their family is on the right path he thought to himself.


    ¡°My works often divine the subject¡¯s future ¨C either as a reassurance from the Deossos or¡­ a warning.¡± The Artist spoke up in a whisper, blowing the mist towards Mircalla ¨C his eyes veiled in the strange fancies of artists, but she could see hints of a surreptitious predator¡¯s gaze playing with its prey.


    ¡°Not wanting to be rude, but is my dear brother still needed? Could we take him for our little jaunt?¡± Asked Iovien breaking the silence that followed, and with a bit abruptness and little tact which prompted a faint sigh from her father who furrowed his thin brows and massaged his smooth, unblemished forehead.


    ¡°He is free to go. The piece only requires my talent to deepen the tones.¡± The half-aevhe artist answered genially and in a low voice ¨C almost sinister.


    ¡°Then ¨C shall we?¡± The petite lady held out her arm and the four left quite mirthfully, though Mircalla peered back once as she felt a distant gaze on her back.


    As the four gradually began to disappear in the distance, Vibier excused himself and rushed after them. ¡°Aimaar, go fetch Titus ¨C just in case.¡± He whispered into his son¡¯s ears, and for a short moment, Mircalla¡¯s heart skipped a beat.


    **


    ¡°Should we take a break here? There is a fine bakery just at the turn!¡± Iranaea noticed first Mircalla struggling to keep up with the pace of the siblings. The two handmaidens and Titus followed in tow on the snow blanketed cobblestone road nestled between the buildings. They were not far from the gate leading to the outer district where the farmlands cultivated the imported and native vegetables including the cabbages blooming soft, veiny white leaves; the tasteless white carrots and there even were a few rows of onion plant blossoming on top of the various animals awaiting their fates obliviously.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡± Mircalla said as she inhaled the air, swallowing the rising bile beckoned forth by the lingering caustic scent of onions reaching over the walls. Then her stomach churned and her cheeks reddened as all three of them looked at her whilst the folk passed them, greeting the two siblings as courteously as they could. ¡°Though, maybe we should stop at the bakery. As shameful it is, I must admit I forgot my breakfast this morning.¡± Mircalla added as she and Aimaar avoided each other¡¯s gaze amidst Iovian¡¯s chuckling.


    The two¡¯s affair was no secret for the petite aevhe whose hair trickled down elegantly on her silken soft leather dress which followed her curvaceous form, with the waist pushing against hers with a curious pattern of streaks vaguely resembling rinsing snow, emanating a refined, metallic glimmer as the daylight shone on it while the shoulder and the collar had widely sloping trims ¨C the former resembling the contours of a crescent moon resting on her frail shoulders, the latter a fountain spitting out water. Iranaea herself remained oblivious to the two¡¯s relation, though had minor suspicions but voiced them not wishing not to force away her adroit successor on top of knowing that the two possibly had no delusions of wedding. Every aevhen lord and lady needed a paramour as a possible eternity had as much negatives as positives when it came to relationships.


    ¡°Nonsense my lady. Better to take a bit of rest than to push on.¡± Titus said in his usual fashion, kindness shrouded by his austere tone and expression.


    The five of them entered the small bakery, one of the few structures erected from hardened wood similarly to the farm houses and the few headquarters of the legion beyond the wall, pressed on both sides by marble edifices. Its confines were not too big, not too small either with a homely feel and warmth permeating forth the hearth protruding along the opposing wall to the entrance. On the floor a great carpet of far-southern style of many vibrant colors and strange patterns and motifs including ibises, sphinxes and writhing worms at the trims embroidered into the rough fabric.


    Feeling refreshed by the warm beverages distilled with milk and a bit of sugar; the still steaming and easily crumbling bakeries with melted sugar and sour and sweet jam filling; and by the warm shadows dancing along the walls and the ceiling as the curtains kept the daylight at bay. Although, even with their bellies filled with warmth, Mircalla could not dissipate the shadows stretching over her mind as they passed under the arched gate, greeted by the guards on both sides in their stalwart, enameled armor.


    Stepping out, there was a great shift in the mood, both in the two noble siblings, and the surrounding folk whose eyes were dark from fear and lack of sleep borne from it.  The few custodians in the outermost parcels evaded the darkest alleys and stayed near the paddocks encroaching the cows, auruchs and the smaller beasts cultivated for their meat and eggs. ¡°We shall be back soon here.¡± As they neared the market, Aimaar and Titus bid the ladies farewell whilst the latter signaled for the custodians to keep watch on the three.


    ¡°Quite the morose atmosphere here. I truly hope this menace shall be taken care of by father and brothers.¡± Iovian whispered to the two as they looked around, their eyes surveying the strangely still thriving stalls and kiosks including even a few manned by hulking bears of a men, including the four surrounding the corpulently honed merchant with dark brownish hair and beard, four in gleaming armor which cuirass and broad epaulets bore the heraldry of Virdr nobility, hewn and crafted by erudite hands from opaque ice merged, transfused with the metals in the bowels of Dhaugruz. A quiet contrasting look though both Iranaea and Mircalla, whilst Iovian herself was drawn towards the ivory kiosk by the four blonde warriors.


    ¡°My lady, we should check out another stall.¡± Iranaea murmured leaning closer to the tip of her long, sharp ear after they were led by the youth towards the strangers from beyond the gloomy mountain.


    ¡°We have time Iranaea my dear. And small, good gesture towards our northern neighbors goes a long way in furthering the prosperity of our lands.¡± She said as they faltered amongst the flock of people ¨C tall and handsome aevhe, rough and rustic man of the north in colorful garments, the animalistic demikin uplifted similarly by the grace of the empire, dwarves whose sweat was drunk by their clothes as they carried heavy baskets on their broad shoulders and even changed folk with multifarious, bestial augmentations greeted the three of elevated standing.


    Mircalla nodded, though her thoughts and feelings were still gloomed by the painting and its creator, and she sought aversion, escape in surveying the corpulent Virdrian merchant and his peculiar entourage of Bjornlings ¨C proud warriors of the Dhaugruz Basin and its sprawling kingdom with armor resembling a fusion of opaque ice and steel, ornamented with the fur of bears, except for the helmet and epaulets fashioned with the faces of ursine beasts, the clawed greaves and gauntlets and the large round shields.


    ¡°Ah! What a basket of lovely ladies! Ask and I shall answer and provide!¡± The man¡¯s deep voice boomed through the market¡¯s cacophony itself, reaching their ears clearly as they stopped, their eyes focused on him than the variety of goods laid before betwixt him and them.


    Iovian looked excited and straightened her posture to meet his inquisitive gaze. ¡°Say good man, I heard your people wrestle with the children of Dusk whilst taking the horrid and arduous journey through the veins of Dhaugruz.¡± The man nodded heartily whilst stroking his lush beard adorned with dawn golden baubles. ¡°I seek one of your fabled baubles I heard of ¨C an amulet or ring it matters not that much ¨C that keeps these horrors and their ascended ilk at bay whilst also offering the Caress of Dawn itself.¡±


    ¡°By the Dawn Beard of Fox Father, why would ladies like yourselves need such a thing if you all don¡¯t mind the question. Neither of you look particularly the kind seeking fame and glory in the accursed bowels of Dhaugruz.¡± The man said as he weighted his softly hulking arms onto the kiosk¡¯s table, his greasy stench hit Mircalla in that moment, though she managed to cease her smelling just as the bone and oak creaked under his weight.


    ¡°It is not for us per say. More for my brother.¡± Iovian answered whilst she stared at the amulet resembling a bat¡¯s screaming head, his maw filled with a dawn golden crystal. ¡°The handsome dragon that was with you? I see, I see, it seems the you at last begin the hunt for the Upiorok.¡±


    Mircalla stared at him calmly whilst the other two looked confused as the word¡¯s meaning passed them. ¡°Upiorok?¡± The man stroked his chin once more and stared past them pensively for a moment. ¡°I believe in the Empire¡¯s tongue they are called Vupiir ¨C little bloodsucking children of Krovavhiyr, suck even better than our courtesans back at home.¡± The man laughed heartily whilst Mircalla clutched her fist.


    ¡°But foregoing jesting, what need the pale dragon has for such a bauble milady? Wouldn¡¯t one of our blades serve him better in such possible endeavors?¡± Iovian met his greedy gaze faintly pointing at the hanging blades and axes, marvels of Virdrian craftmanship.


    ¡°Not to question the quality of your people¡¯s craftsmanship, but my dear brother already inherited the blade forged by none other than Easthus, Son of Mineirvia and Septurrion.¡± Iovian said innocuously as her eyes diverted from the weapons. ¡°I simply wish for fallen leaf that guides one¡¯s path when lost.¡± She added after a bit of pondering.


    The man furrowed his brows and stroked his bearded chin once more. ¡°None were taken, and if that is the case let me show you this.¡± He hunched down and procured a small box. Opening it, Mircalla strained her eyes a little as the golden pearl attached to a chain burned her eyes for a moment. Iranaea noticing the mild pain written conspicuously on her face reached out to her. ¡°I am fine, thank you. Just too much mana lingering and lashing out.¡± She murmured, stepping a bit away as a mild nausea washed over her like a gentle tide hitting the shore.


    ¡°Will you be fine if brother wears it?¡± Iovian noticing the ailment of her friend and handmaiden questioned. ¡°I will be my lady.¡± She took a deep breath and said with her lips and low voice trembling.


    ¡°I shall take it. How much does it cost?¡± Iovian turned back and asked reaching into her inner pocket.

 Tales of Elhyrissian: In the Light of Lunarius III.

    Blood dribbled down into the snow once pure and pristine. Rivulets of crimson and black flown from the wide breaches carefully gashed from top to bottom of the beast¡¯s abdomen and bosom ¨C at least she thought of them as such as her hungry eyes stared at them. Each of the small hares and grown woodland mices, the pups of wolves and their parents, the foxes outmaneuvered by the handsome, dazzling dragons all dangled by the rhyme of the chilly wind that swept past the clearing in the Vesgeriath Woodland, ornamented by the lavish tents of the Nivesiunar Family. ¡°How foul is their smell! Iranaea light the incenses please.¡±


    The voice of her mistress a distant mumble drawn out by the drums of her pounding desires as he watched Aimaar and his equally dazzling little slice carefully through the belly of a beast, pulling the intestines into a basket, vile steam rising forth with the blood into the snow. ¡°I can¡¯t understand how they can stand this foul stench of death.¡± Iovien complained pinching her nose whilst pulling the cup of warm tea towards her lips, then faltering and placing it back as she felt the oncoming of bile within her slender, petite form encased in refined leather, silken and fur cloak fused from the pelts of wolves and bears.


    The two brothers easily moved in their family panoply comprising enameled pieces of lunar steel found beneath the hill. Like the legion¡¯s armor, these pieces were welted together plates with mostly smooth surfaces, golden trims to contrast the silver of night, and at the center and back of the cuirass, the crest of the Nivesiunar Family graven; a crescent moon with its tips pointing upwards, the right a dragon, the left an oulion ¨C a cousin of gryphon, messengers of the Night who heralded the doom of the Dominion. Their helmets resting near the tree in the crimson light, fashioned more with avian contours except for the cheek guards which tips ended in sharp, curving points.


    ¡°They have dealt with death many a times. One gets used to it, even develop a certain¡­ thirst for it.¡± Mircalla said as she wrought herself out from the trance as the two lovers¡¯ eyes met for a moment. In that moment like a tide, sensuous memories flowed across them and they felt each other¡¯s bodies, the clashing of warmth and cold, the taste of his neck, the silken softness of her lips and their passionate wrestling he often lost as he stared into her dark eyes from down.


    ¡°If I participate in the hunt, would that work?¡± Iovian asked quite innocently. Mircalla looked at her pensively, then answered ignoring the sour look of her fellow handmaiden. ¡°Possibly, though both spent years walking amongst and against corpses.¡±


    Noticing Iovian¡¯s pondering, Iranaea interjected. ¡°The last part is where the truth lies my lady. The death of a few beasts will not vanquish the foul scent, only beyond a hundred one gets used to it.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s just take a walk not far, but far enough from this stench I say.¡± Iovian rose as not even half a dozen incenses, each brought from the far-south could dampen the pervasive scent which burned her nostrils, and Mircalla nodded as she slowly stumbled into the bewitching embrace of blood and flesh.


    ¡°Where are you heading my dear?¡± Iovian¡¯s wizened mother questioned upon noticing the three leaving the tent and turning towards the clearing between the dense bushes and low hanging branches.


    Maxymina Nivesiunar, a former erudite magus ¨C namely an anathemancer, ones dealing in curses ¨C was a stern looking aevhe with a delicate form draped in sumptuous garments dyed a pristine white merging in with their surroundings. Like her eldest, she too had a fair pinkish complexion with her sharp, elegant cheek and tapering jaw a bit more intense whilst around the refined contours of her dim violet eyes, dark lines ran along the edges. Mircalla stayed furthest from the trio as her eyes fell surreptitiously on the necklace embedded with amber golden arkhstones, great enchantments woven into them amplifying her power and her draconic presence.


    ¡°A little walk to be away from this stench.¡± She answered. Seemingly, Maxymina turned her attention back onto his son whilst the two handmaidens bowed out of courtesy then followed after Iovian.


    As they headed further into the woodland, following the light of Illius seeping in between the branches ornamented with ebony and purple leaves, Mircalla kept her attention on the nape of her mistress, her body tensed from the distant gaze of Maxymina who took one furtive look at the trio disappearing amongst the ominous trees and bushes. It was a bit vexing, all things considered she thought to herself whilst listening to refreshened aevhen girl who was free from the torment of the stench. Contrary to her mistress, Mircalla felt a longing, the stench of rotting carcasses brought back old memories.


    ¡°I wanted to ask, but when did you got used to the stench of death Mircalla?¡± Then came the sudden question that made her nearly tremble, but in time she collected her cool and met the gaze aimed at her by both.


    For a moment she pondered on her answer. ¡°Not on the battlefield or in dire circumstances, but a few years before I came to the north, I served in the temple of the Solemn Shepherd in Erassa. I aided in the passing of many, mostly though just halting the flow of time in the chapters chamber of farewells where the dying and their loved ones can spend a few good hours before the Solemn Shepherd would claim the souls and carry them to Her mate.¡±


    ¡°I see. Though I can¡¯t imagine the vile stench of blood lingering in there.¡± Iovian commented as she leaned closer to a blooming flower on one of the bushes.


    ¡°Amongst those I tended to, there were a few with mortal wounds ¨C either of those who wished simply to pass on, or were wounded by the ascended horrors of Dusk whose maghia even us could do little about, which emitted a scent three times worse than those critters.¡± She answered calmly and her companions seemed satisfied with the answers, though fear of uncertainty remained in her heart as they continued distancing themselves from the camp. Further and further, they followed a path and after a little more while, reached a branching leading towards westwards.


    ¡°We should head back milady.¡± Mircalla said as soon as Iovian stepped onto the path.


    ¡°We shall just take a little jaunt. I was always interested what lies in this lush land of ours.¡± Iovian said without looking at her, stepping into high snow and leaving her footmarks. ¡°I agree with Mircalla, it should be better to at least return to the camp to ask for at least one blade or spear before we step into the realm of unabated nature.¡± Iranaea added herself, following in the steps of her mistress not fully out of her volition, but led by her duty.


    ¡°No need for worry Iranaea, Mircalla. I only plan to visit a small pond not too far from here. At least according to brother and father.¡± She said whilst continuing, now even Mircalla in their trails with a slightly defeated look. ¡°At least I believe it was somewhere here¡­ oh right there!¡± She stopped suddenly and exclaimed, her eyes brimming with mild excitement when she looked upon the small pond connected to a rivulet slithering forth primeval forest.


    Whilst the two walked near the bank, kneeled on the shore to stare back at themselves Mircalla remained cautious near the edge, no longer sensing the aroma of dusk and death; instead, a new scent or odor reached her nose, one belonging to sprawling life, the brutality of nature and roughness of earth. The two were lost in their own beauty, Iovian even touching and disturbing the evenness of the pond, her gaze torn away only by the harsh rustling of the bushes on the opposite side. ¡°We should leave now.¡± Iranaea voiced the same notion lingering in Mircalla whose eyes focused on the dancing dim leaves.


    Amidst small tremors of the earth hidden beneath snow, a terrifying child of nature appeared in the dark foliage, walking on all fours with a large snout sniffing the air, emanating a white haze like torrents of dragon flame. ¡°Do not make any sudden movements Iovian.¡± Mircalla said in a whisper audible enough to reach the two frozen with mild fear at the deep growling of the ursine beast, a Bodvarian Bear as she recognized it from its grayish brown hide harder than iron or galvanized steel.


    A creature as large as an ogre or troll even as it stood on four, usually living in the vicinity of Nature leylines which altered their foremothers and fathers, leading to their sturdy and furtive fur appearing as soft and dense as legions of grass stretching across the southern vistas, flesh almost as thick and hard as dragon¡¯s and the ability to bend nature by their quite primitive will as its roar strengthened the currents of winds, as the they found it hard to breathe whilst their stiffened collars flapped back and forth, their skirts sang strange lullabies as they scraped against the snow and earth and flora beneath.


    ¡°Nice and slow.¡± She whispered, forcing the words as the gust of wind forced itself into her throat and nostrils, yet unlike the two who could not speak, her words carried calmness in them. A queer calmness Iranaea noted amidst the tumultuous flow of her thoughts.


    The bodvarian bear remained cautious on the other side of the pond, its eyes of a vivid umber remained focused on not the two closest, but on Mircalla who stood almost proudly at the route of their escape. It made small, careful movements, masquerading its efforts to position itself favorably betwixt Iranaea, Iovian and Mircalla, pretending to just simply be a curious, even thirsty beast who simply stumbled upon the pond in its long search and track through the vast woodland. A hardened focus which let to its doom.


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    With both eyes and even mind engrossed by the frail, languid handmaiden, the creature failed to notice the leaping silver and the glinting of the spear¡¯s tip aimed at the center of its body. Engulfed in a black haze, the spear of mithrium easily passed through the hardened fur and flesh and pierced its heart in the same breath. A tide of dark blood cascaded forth its mouth and tainted the snow, Mircalla¡¯s eyes revealed her excitement for only a short moment, trained on the blood and not on the dazzling Aimaar delivering the killing blow, a white haze escaping the confines of his helmet.


    ¡°Thank the Deossos I arrived in time.¡± He exclaimed after being sure of the swift demise, turning his back to the carcass. ¡°And we thank them and you my lord for the timely arrival.¡± Iranaea said, calmed and bowing in gratitude whilst a portentous feeling still lingering in her heart.


    ¡°But what do we owe your presence here?¡± Iovian asked, half-knowing the answer as she noticed the longing gaze in her brother¡¯s eyes aimed at her handmaiden.


    ¡°When I noticed your absence, an ominous feeling came over me and I asked mother if she seen you. After that I simply followed the tracks with hurried steps as the feeling strengthened. I am glad I listened to my intuition and the deossos warning.¡± He said, then freed his spear from the carcass. ¡°Now let me escort you back!¡±


    **


    ¡°It is truly beautiful.¡± Khaetar¡¯s voice broke the silence between the two brothers sedentary on the steps ascending towards the top of the hill. Even though, harsh and cold winds blew, the two sat with their bodies warmed by their waistcoats and thick breeches sewn from ursine, lupine beasts on top of hot springs converging beneath their bottoms, emanating a pleasant spring heat.  ¡°It is.¡± Aimaar answered in a low-voice, thinking of his sweet Mircalla who returned with his sister two days before the hunt came to an end.


    ¡°Were the stars different south?¡± Then came the question which stirred the horrors still lingering in his mind. The writhing creatures which sprouted forth the elderly citizens, the women and children before the prismatic flames of the dragons burned wood, stone and metal. Their screams still echoed in his mind, though he veiled it well with a brotherly smile.


    ¡°In a way yes. When looked upon first they appeared the same, they glittered and shimmered like the eyes of the Magnificent Mother, but the more I marched under them, the more I rested below them, the more¡­ sinister, portentous they become.¡± He answered never taking his eyes off the stars where he sought escape from the memories.


    ¡°I wonder if the stars align to the land beneath them.¡± Khaetar pondered out loudly. ¡°Possibly. To me after the fifth year into the conquest, they felt like eyes of a distant being watching. And they may have been the eyes of that wretched Pharaoh.¡± Aimaar trembled as if he was still beneath them, laying on the sloping dune of a bright violet, ailed by thirst, by the aching of his body after a long march and a battle against the warriors comprising living and dead, mundane and those lurking at the threshold invited by the enigmatic ruler who united the far-south with the aid of Outer Intelligences.


    ¡°What stars shine upon Dhaugruz?¡± Then he asked as unlike him, Aimaar never ventured through the Veinways, never experienced the lands where snow never melts, where golden eyed people rule with benevolence and where deep beneath the earth, their dark kin linger in the bowels of Dusk. ¡°Portentous, bewitching.¡± Was all Khaetar uttered as his own gaze transcended time and space.


    ¡°Many a times, they felt the same as the glinting roofs of the Veinways, secreting secrets of one¡¯s inevitability, but also hiding the unknowability of change that may bring either fortune or ill. Yet neither felt sapping, instead inspiring to better myself, to prove my worth to the great warriors of their locked kingdom.¡± He chuckled as he found his words foolish, though Aimaar thought so not, more so felt the same about the stars of the far-south tainted by an adversary who forced to better himself, who showed him to better his past, arrogant self who could never imagine harm come to him, contrary he believed he could cut a thousand enemies without breaking a sweat. A dragon¡¯s arrogance he ailed him and his kind he thought.


    ¡°Do you long for them?¡± Khaetar asked suddenly. ¡°Sometimes. I won¡¯t lie brother, I may appear the same as I left, but I returned not unharmed. Yet even with these bleeding scars I long for the days when my blade tasted the blood of another, one not of beast or necessarily living.¡±


    ¡°I feel the same ¨C but I believe that was enough somber talk for us youth don¡¯t you think? Let¡¯s return and rest before the stirring of the First Light!¡± With that the two got on their feet and took one look at the stars and the city bathed in the ethereal light before their road continued upwards with kegs in hand, swords dangling in the sheaths.


    Their mood gradually sunken as they neared the top, sand in the same manner, they grew aware of the smothering silence. No soft clanking of armors as guards made their rounds; no whispers or murmurs of the small critters living in their gardens nor the few servants releasing their accumulated stress after a long day with some small talk in the company of tea and sweets. And there was the foul smell, worse than the hung animal carcasses they dealt with for the past two days. The only sound were their swords shrieking softly as they pulled them forth the sheaths and made steps without sounds.


    Slowly they neared towards the eerily inviting gate left open, and with each step they recognized the foul smell belonging to death, to rotting carcasses. For a mere moment, Aimaar froze as a tide of haunting memories flooded his mind, but pulled himself out from it by evoking the image of his loved ones and pressed onwards behind Khaetar.


    Before they stepped through the second gate, the two brothers ceased their steps to a slow halt before the grand and lifelike statue of the Elhyrissiar whose polychromatic scales glinted even in the silvery light of the Lunarius whilst staring towards the sprawling city. ¡°Give us the power to vanquish the evil that may have befallen our house, O¡¯Greatest of the mortal dragons!¡± They prayed in unison, their words hastened as their eyes noticed the dark spots on the pavement and the slush and snow.


    ¡°Brother!¡± Khaetar whispered, his hand placed on Aimaar¡¯s left shoulder, his gaze revealed despair upon pointing down at the dark liquid flowing forth and beneath the golden trim of the ornated door. His heart hopped a beat as the dark liquid was a horrid m¨¦lange of crimson, silver with an iridescent glow. He swallowed audibly and turned to meet his little brother¡¯s gaze. ¡°Stay near behind me.¡±


    With a loud bang, he broke through the door with his shoulder, blade ready to strike down any horror that may be the culprit behind the macabre vista of mangled, eviscerated corpses of the servants. His eyes desperately searched through the bits and pieces, the torn torsos gushed open with intestines hanging from the chandeliers, the sloping torches of conjured flames extinguished by an unnatural coldness that seeped into their bodies and souls. Aimaar search for her corpse, sorrow wrapping its cold hands around his throat whilst tears welled in the corners of his beautiful eyes.


    Yet he found none as he stepped further into the hall, into the blackened lake of blood. His gaze swept through the gory artwork searching for anything that may resemble her. But he found none amongst the blood soaked and torn rags, the limbs damaged by claw and time, no bosom had the curvature of her shapely bosom which served as healing pillows many a night, nor he noticed her bewitching pale face always so calm and lovely, though as many were torn, devoid of eyes or jaws or cheeks he could not be fully sure still.


    ¡°By the Searing Beard of the Dawn Father!¡± Khaetar¡¯s exclamation brought his attention further in where the light had not reached yet fully, but enough to reveal the hanging carcasses; their torsos sliced upon, their bones broken and their intestines, organs torn out yet blood still flown from their swinging bodies onto the veiled, horrid creature whose oblong eyes opened, revealing the blackness of the night and the vitae of forms in all four perpendicular and oval frames. Eyes which shown sorrow and pain, yet also joy and thrill as they met Aimaar¡¯s gaze. And they felt familiar, beckoning.


    Upon the revelation of the creature¡¯s horrid form, an old fear he was well versed with reared its head, the very same dread he felt whilst navigating through the maze of the Black Palace of Khadrath. An abhorrent frame draped in pallid, desiccated skin of pinkish corpses burnt by the cold lightly covered in translucent fur; a grotesque head, a fusion of a mangled lions and a bats with a dark mane reaching down onto its degenerate, hanging shoulders with large four ears, almost aevhen protruding forth the lush mana of night overlapping each other, an almost flat and sloping nose with slits apertures long and slender, swelling with each false breath the creature took; from its sides long arms numbering four, withered and delicate hung down, claws washed by the blood swirling and rising into the bony waist, flowing upwards and filling the six bulbous sacks of strange, webbed and translucent epidermis, dangling and lapping onto each other.


    ¡°Come to me my beloved!¡± A strange wind carried Mircalla¡¯s voice as she raised her right arms invitingly towards Aimaar whose tears streamed down his cheeks as he watched the blood dribble down onto the mane, forth the dangling corpse of his sister whose eyes told of a brief torment. ¡°Do not listen to it brother! It stole her voice.¡± Khaetar yelled, passing besides him, blinded partially by his own tears, his voice smothered by sorrow. His blade glinted in the dark as it struck at the creature, bounced with the same breath upon the short impact.


    ¡°Do not falter again my love! Join me in the eternity of the night.¡± His grip tightened around the hard leathery handle of his blade, slowly he approached blood dripping from his soles. For a moment he dipped his blade in the blood of his family and stroke forward, piercing the back of his brother whilst murmuring empty apologies. Khaetar turned back with horror before the light faded from his eyes and collapsed beneath the feet of his father and mother whilst Aimaar dropped his sword and raised his arms for the embrace of death.


    From the blood of his kin, Aimaar rose, his eyes filled with affection towards Mircalla whose wide mouth opened into a hideous smile. ¡°Good my child, my love. The night shall be ours when our Father in the Dark stirs at last.¡± Her deep, echoing voice a sweet symphony to his ears and mind as he neared towards one of the blood sacks.


    ¡°Now drink and embrace the end of your line and the birth of ours and our Father in Blood!¡± His lips closed on, and as the two melted together, he drank and drank the vile yet sweet liquid until none remained and he fell into the dark pits of ascension.

 Tales of Elhyrissian: The Gap I.

    Under the rhythmic cacophony of segmented, plated armor, the interminable land trembled. Hills vibrated unseen as the unseen tides of matching notes of utter discipline swept over them. The colorful, lustrous foliage bearing the cool shades of the first autumnal month of the year swung and danced jocosely thanks to the mingling effort of the tremors and the gentle cool wind heralding the approach of the dusk. And the performers of these disciplinary notes, ode of war were no other than the brave legionaries of the Empire¡¯s Seventh. The Seprian Legion whose azure plates glistened in the dimming rays.


    Yet their faces under their multifarious helmets bore no joys of the performers invoking the chaotic whims of Daemeiorvoth. Morose, grim expressions glared towards the south including young Aelfsigior¡¯s who marched at the front.


    Adorning his tall, fair form honed through decades of arduous training, an azure plate of seamlessly welted together vertical plates covered his chest, around its edges golden serpents slithered about whilst at the center of the chest, an owl¡¯s head stared listlessly towards the horizon. Overlapping, broad pieces stretched on his shoulders and seemingly extended down his arms, ending in clawed gauntlets whilst the tassels of his breastplate beaten the greaves protecting his legs whilst the grass hushed as it glided across the sharply contoured boots. The angular helmet fitting around the lines of his head, yet vaguely elongated with wing like crested protrusions at the back, on the front the cheek guard melded and reaching forward, slanted like an owl¡¯s beak whilst the arched visor stretched above.


    His fingers still trembled as they wrapped around the smooth leather strap of his large, rectangular shield bearing the Hourglass of Fate upon its front. The face of the gobokh slave who parleyed for mercy, then attempted to slice his throat still lingered before his face. Aelfsigior saw once more before his eyes as the glinting silver blade with an azure undertone passed through and severed flesh and bone, the head rolling before the fur around its edges growing from the lush mane was swallowed by the flames.


    Nearly he missed the tune whilst instinctively he felt the opposite. <i>During those years, I was still a falling flake, still oblivious to certain matters. One such matter that broke my rhythm for a moment came from a battle two or three dusks before fighting against a horde of the Atoning. My thoughts wandered back to useless ones I had before, whether I should have just bereaved the gobokh of their arm bent on killing. A foolish endeavor as my friend, Sceparzara often reminded me, even then when he marched behind me.</i>


    The abrupt halt of the whole cohort of theirs dammed the usual flow of these thoughts, and at once he felt both indebted and ungracious. ¡°Shields!¡± Came the short command from their pure-blooded dwarven Pilias-Tribuniar Dionysi repeating the same word echoing through the vast plain. The defensive rhythm broke the silence. ¡°Look! In the sky.¡± At Sceparza¡¯s hushed words, he glared up and his momentary unease strengthened when thick blackness descended from the darkening sky. And with them arrived a wind chilling even their souls.


    Wraith like creatures appeared amidst the twirling masses of blackness ¨C though he was sure these weren¡¯t the accursed spirits of the dead. During his early years of adventuring, he faced off with a few haunting spirits, including wraiths whose cold presence was less suffocating, dreadfully distinct from these gliding creatures whose cloak appeared less tattered, more noble in a queer sense of the word. Beneath their large cloaks, there were no faint resemblance to one of the mortal kindred, instead horrid abominations of the Dusk, Twilight shrieked at them with their mocking hollow eyes and lipless mouths beset with fangs of a deep violet.


    Several of his rank and the hastatiir lit up as if coated in the warm presence of Dawn, as the seemingly opaque creatures passed through them like the wind. His heart grew heavy with mild dread upon the bloodcurdling cry from behind, amongst their rank as brothers and sisters turned against each other as the creatures latched onto their souls and strewn them along like puppets. Yet he turned not until the order came, and when he did so, he swung his blade carefully, pouring a bit of his own essence of Dawn into it.


    The fear lessened a bit when the creature, the spectral nekros shrieked out of pain upon its form severed in to large pairs before the flesh and cloak broke down into its wicked prima materia. Grass dewed then withered where the legless torso laid, whilst further away, the few fallen arose seeding chaos amongst the ranks of the square formations. Yet he remained stoically still, waiting for the next command. For an instant he feared the order would pass his ear, muffled by the ever-increasing amount of warped shrieks of the raised dead.


    ¡°Velitiusiir move ahead.¡± As the deep, resonant voice of Dionysi reached his ears, the lines before him opened, and for a moment he looked sympathetically at the distressed visages beneath the helmets. ¡°Be safe brother!¡± With a nod, he acknowledged the caring words of his friend, and passed through the way, laden with the crumbled husks of undead. A few he recognized even after the malformation of Dusk inflicted upon their once hearty faces lit by the campfire the three nights before. Their hearty laughter rang in his head, and he could still recount their vows to survive and return home with hefty tales to tell in the company of their loved ones and full keg of the finest mead, beer, wine or even fruit or vegetable flavored drinks. <i>Will I return or rest amongst them on this cool night?</i> Doubt crept itself into him, its tendrils wrapping tenderly. <i>I shall.</i> Looking away, he banished it firmly.


    <i>With those horrors of Twilight, not only Dusk followed, but Chaos descended upon our ranks when our brothers and sisters in sweat and toil came for our lives.</i> Before him, one of the wraith-like nekros flew into a faun cutting down an aevhen sister of his. Devoid of hesitation, Aelfsigior tightened his grip around the leathery handle with its diamond textured surface leaving its mark upon his soft palm and with a precise thrust, pierced the damned faun from behind just where the twisted, deep wine purple collar of his thick tunic sprawled, engulfed his neck. The sharp tip easily tore through the lustrous, soft textile, and met the graying, blackening flesh covered in a thick line of white fur. Though his lips were shut, he tasted the blood with slight emerald undertone on his serrated tongue.


    ¡°DUSKWALKER! VENEFICIIR, EVOKE THE PROTECTION OF OUR BLAZING FATHER¡¯S BURNING BEARD!¡± Even amidst the battle, drowned in the shrieks of the undead and the nekrossos, he heard the loud yell and for a moment, he felt utter dread. Many a horrid tale traversed around the camp, lip from lip often involving the horrors remaining from the old realms and the War of the Siblings. Tales of the Mummus, a creature some referred as a nekros created with the intention to mimic Umvraothus, whilst others believed these were horrors born from the nightmares of The Almodo. Or about the horrific thousand children of the Black Goat who seemed to migrated from the astral wastes into the woodland north of Vonschneithar just a decade after the birth of the Crimson Praetor.


    But what terrified him the most in recent memory was the creature forged from the greatest terror of most if not all mortal beings, the Duskwalker whose sole purpose of existence was to extinguish life within all things. The dream of the Grimm Sovereign manifested in the form of a ten-meter-high slender figure, bereft of any noticeable features beyond the pulsing darkness constituting its vessel, pure, suffocating nekrotic matter condensed so thickly that the grass blackened before its toeless feet. Even from the thickness of the battle, looking over the clashing legionaries and undead, he could see the approaching doom.


    ¡°Pay no heed to that Aelfsigior.¡± Yelled Dionysi drenched in the bile of the dead noticing him frozen from fear, a visible acceptance of his surrender to life written onto his handsome visage. A few notes laced in maghia aspect of mind proved enough to break the stupor. <i>I shall not die on this night.</i> He repeated the thought amidst prayers aimed towards the undead he cut down.


    ¡°Keep moving on! Dawn awaits the triumphant¡± In the corner of his gaze, he saw the much shorter superior swinging her large, twin-bladed axe as if it weighted no more than a piece of paper. Both its blade was tainted by gore and blackening blood, whilst her searing face glimmering with the heat of lava reflected mildly satiated bloodlust. Pondering whether he shall be as numbed one day, Aelfsigior followed the dwarf in to the eye of storm¡­


    ***


    Two days passed since the attack, since their numbers dwindled from seven hundred to five. Aelfsigior¡¯s legs trembled from exhaustion and the coldly burning bile in his stomach as he thought back to all the malformed faces, a sense of guilt looming over him. <i>I could have done more; I could have expelled the wicked beings if I listened more to father¡¯s teachings.</i>


    He curled his fingers whilst sitting lone on a trunk not far from the others setting up camp whilst a thick, iridescent mist descended around them. And with it, drowsiness descended upon him, but he held on to the awakening world. Dangers lurked even in the shadows of the day.


    Not far from their camp erected around a swiveling rivulet and congregations of reeds, the ground arose as if a giant blanketed its colossal foot in the grassy terrain and forest. At the highest point rigid, blocks of gloomy rocks uplifted from the rich earth, forming into a shape that reminded Aelfsigior of the slabs of stones the Virdr folk left for their dead folk dreaming eternally beneath the layers of earth. A grim sight it would have been if not for the dreamy village rising along the hill.


    Buildings lined with roads, streets hewn and pebbled with white stone reminding him of the thick snow of his home village. The walls of the edifices all painted in withering colors of yellow, red, green and the grandest that must have been the home of the village head, purple. A grand mansion was it to him with oblong wings, gabbled roofs with at least four chimneys each, a languid line of smoke arising from their rectangular tops towards the descending mist.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Nature itself sprawled on either side, a lush forest of greens, yellows and deep shades of blue like the night sky beckoning to sleep after the cessation of day. Birches spread their branches up against each other and their cousins, pine trees shot high with their needle-sharp foliage bearing the warm yellows whilst bushes throttled at their roots and barky abdomens, blossoming little berries for the savage residents. And amongst their shadow he spotted a pale figure, slender and dark storm of hair with shadowy mist emanating from each silken lock. The large eyes devoid of pupil was clearly visible even from where Aelfsigior sat on the cusp of dreams and as he stared mesmerized, he uttered the simple words. ¡°A djinn.¡± Both corners of his lips curled at the prospect of seeing such an exotic thing in his cold home.


    ¡°Where?¡± Approaching him from behind, Sceparzara asked upon hearing his husky exclamation. ¡°There, in the forest east of the village.¡± He pointed, yet the girl was no longer there. For a moment he pondered whether his mind simply manifested the girl. <i>Or maybe she is a timid creature.</i>


    Sceparzara squinted hard across the forest, but stopped with a shrug of his firm, broad shoulders draped in the fine tunic. ¡°Our tent is ready, come dine and drink. Maelia shall keep watch from now until the hour before afternoon.¡± Aelfsigior sighed, feeling a bit dejected at the disappearance of the meek Djinn, but arose with a bit of struggle. His muscles seemed too loosened, and he nearly tumbled over onto his sides in part of the armor. And in part because of a strange feeling, almost like invisible hands pulling him gently towards the ground to lay there till the One and the Eight know how long.


    With the aid of his friend, he managed to regain his balance, and even the queer feeling faded in the same breath it came over him. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine from here. It would be a dire sight for the others to see me go like this.¡± He said half jestingly as they walked between two tents amongst swinging reed and grass.


    ¡°There is nothing dire about it, and you wouldn¡¯t be the only one. A long road is behind us, and an even longer ahead.¡± Sceparzara said as the diffused light shone onto his golden face with warm, dusky red ¨C like garnet ¨C undertones. A face Aelfsigior envied, but also felt glad not to match. On one hand legions of maidens fell for it, their cheeks seared by the winds of passion, but many of them were already taken, so quite often he had to aid his old friend not to meet his maker early at the hands of angered spouses. <i>A face probably sculpted by that Grinning Trickster.</i> He often thought.


    As his body sat down onto the stiff carpet covered floor within the tent¡¯s spatially expanded interior, he felt a sudden weight as if another person about the same height and weight sat on his broad, firm shoulders. Their weight like a drowsiness beckoned him towards sleep, but with a bit of push managed to banish the urge and instead focused on the one that shall cease his hunger making itself known with a soft grumble.


    ¡°Here, to wait for a second as its boiling hot still.¡± Pariphaenas, a fellow velitius handed him a thick wooden bowl filled to the brim with the mushy stew, bits of goat and lamb meat floated in the thick reddish-brown broth gleaming not too dissimilarly to the surface of moors. Warm steam danced up towards and thawed his chilling face.


    ¡°Have you heard of this place Pariphaenas?¡± As he carefully sat down into one of the pillows arching around the cauldron, Aelfsigior voiced his question aware of the porcelain white niuvhe¡¯s journey across the heart of Vhalleryon beforehand enlisting in the legion. Pondering, he straightened his posture, his long dark hair stumbling evenly onto his shoulders, Pariphaenas shrugged. ¡°No, not really and if I am being honest, Noithrixil¡¯s Province evaded my steps before I decided to join the architects of the Empire¡¯s dreams.¡±


    Looking at the others, they also shook their heads and mentioned not hearing of any settlement or even about this protrusion of the earth. Except for Dionysi who sat and looked ponderously, raking her mind fogged by years of drinking and physical trauma inflicted upon her earthly dark head with searing fissures. ¡°I do remember a flock of Septurrion setting out from Nidumiath six or five decades before, led by two pious children of his. But many simply thought they were claimed by the beasts of the province or the savages camping out in the forests.¡±


    A bit later before their departure to scout the woodland and its inhabitants in case their stay would extend beyond the kindness of the locales, Aelfsigior patrolled the outer rims of their vast encampment. A queer, irrepressible mingling of curiosity and fear swirled within him as he took measured steps around their tent. Towards his right, the Mist thickened, occasionally spewing out strange excrescences resembling tendrils, small infant hands all seemingly reaching out towards him.


    After hours of dull back and forth behind the tents, Aelfsigior faced towards the wall of Mist. One hand remained on the wide and broad hilt of his sword resembling what his father once called a Crescent Moon, whilst the other slowly stirred and rose towards the small, eerie hands. Though it was not his intention, instinctively the materia of Dawn contained within his anima veins throttled into his palm and at once formed a simple spell of frugal radiance.


    Upon the first light shining from the sleek, smooth surface of his clawed gauntlet, the hands retreated into nothingness as if scared away by the light of Dawn itself. The meaning of it filled Aelfsigior with first conscious wave of unease in regards of the Mist. <i>I knew at that day and hour, the Mist wasn¡¯t raised out of benevolence, protection of the settlement.</i>


    ***


    Anent the thick vegetation of the forest, a softly aggressive humming reverberated on the trembling, tired leaves. An old song of a forgotten language, yet even as the meaning of it evaded Aelfsigior, he found himself meandering towards nature¡¯s thickness. He knew not why, but he was well aware ¨C or may have just wished deeply for it to belong to the distant maiden whose gaze he felt upon himself. His passage through the bushes, flattening a few crumbling roots diving up from the earth, the mesmerizing song ceased suddenly. A void seemed to form upon this revelation in his heart, and he regretted the thoughtless approach.


    ¡°Who is there?¡± Came the dreamy voice, soft and lovely to his ears, renewing his vigor and almost blurted loudly, in an accidental threatening cadence. He coughed once, followed by a meager gulp and a deep inhale as he mustered his strength. An awkward motion as he noted to himself in the passing seconds. ¡°I came with no intention to harm. My name is Aelfsigior, a proud son of the north and a brother in Septurrion¡¯s Legion.¡± He introduced himself upon leaving the embrace of the drowsy nature.


    His hands held out, further accentuating his intentions whilst a faint smile on his face, the fair, angular and protruding cheeks of his reddened at the etheric beauty in such mundane garments. A slick deep azure dress adorned the petite, milk white form, a hint of emerald and lavender travelling across the lustrous surface adorned by the symbols of Septurrion ¨C namely owls sitting on the flowing threads of fate ¨C as seeping light braced the djinn maiden. Flared bottom swung languidly towards the left as the fatigued wind swept across the sequined piece.


    Her eyes large and deep as the abyss, yet the emptiness soothed, emanated a relaxing warmth whilst a tired smile adorned the seemingly lipless mouth. Though on a better look, he noticed the soft flesh and skin simply furled impeccably inwards. Her jet-black hair swirled and thronged down her shoulders, curling along the way whilst swallowing the light shining upon the quasi-etheric forms. From beneath them, four unequally long, twisting black-gray horns sprouted, almost like the branching antlers of eloquent fawns.


    ¡°Tanitha, the Chronicler of Lianassian¡¯s Rest.¡± She introduced herself after a bit of silence, with a countenance reflecting an abrupt revelation. Upon further look around the clearing, Aelfsigior noticed a few critters ¨C a few pups of foxes and small woodland mouses ¨C gathering in the shadows of her dress and fur edged cloak. <i>Was she singing to them? A druid of Septurrion, what a peculiar choice. </i>The thought ran through his head, but was swept away by the name of the settlement near their camp, trapped in the same eerie mist.


    ¡°Does the¡­¡± For a moment he felt as if a suffocating wind swept through him, stealing away the initial intention lurking behind the words it smothered in tandem. ¡°¡­village had been here a long time?¡± Tanitha¡¯s right, thin brow with sharp angles and defined peaks rose questioningly.


    ¡°It has been here since I first gazed upon the light of day and the blackness of night.¡± She answered after a bit of hesitation, her tired smiled faded in a seeming dejection. Dejection which spread onto Aelfsigior confused and pondering whether he should have voiced a different question.


    Tanitha turned around and as she waved her hands towards the critters, a gentle wave of a spell conjured a draught. They all scattered, trembling swallowed by the forest and the mist laying not far ahead, creeping in betwixt the trunks and foliage ornamenting the hanging branches like faded jewels. ¡°It was erected a good four or five decades ago to be more precise.¡±


    Slowly Aelfsigior neared towards the young djinn girl, a bit aloofly as he felt less and less assured of himself ¨C or at least in the image he projected to her. ¡°Was it really?¡± He questioned stepping a meter or two closer, then halting as he noticed rivulet that evaded his attention. Once more the djinn girl raised her left brow.


    ¡°Yes, though since its birth, a mist protected us from the dangers prowling these lands. And seeing all you warriors, those threats still lurk beyond our boundary.¡± Though her voice was full of certainty, Tanitha¡¯s face showed hints of confusion ¨C and a frugal amount of dread and bewilderment as if her true intention was taken away.


    ¡°Such a great magus lives in this village? Could we speak with them? These are dire times and any help could help swing the pendulum towards a future of prosperity and peace.¡± Paying no heed to the warning expression, enthralled by the prospect of such an erudite magus, he questioned. Then feeling a bit forceful whilst at the same time processing the reasoning for the mist, he opted for a bit of parley. ¡°Of course, I am sure we would leave a Centuriai behind, enough to ensure the safety of the residents and ensure the flow of their daily lives.¡±


    Before she could have answered or questioned the deep, resonant voice of woman called out her name eastwards. She replied, but halted beside him. Her warm, cinnamon like odor further filled his heart with passion. ¡°It is something I can¡¯t answer. All I can tell, beware of the Mist and its residents of the Gap.¡± He watched stupefied as the forest swallowed her petite form. Chilling fear crippled around his spine as he repeated the Mist and the Gap, yet as he turned the curiosity to stumble on the answer waned gradually.

 Tales of Elhyrissian: The Gap II.

    Aelfsigior sat at his post for the following day, with a dreamy gaze focused on the forest wrapped in the slithering mist bathed in the colors of Septurrion¡¯s autumnal season. Azure closest to the hidden filament, a foreboding violet at the center and amber golden closest to the earth. A hidden message hiding within the translucent whiteness, yet his mind could not wonder but on the beauty of bonny djinn whose owlesque countenance held secrets and beauty in the collection of refined contours.


    Though in the days and week after, his clouded mind cleansed with unease as the Mist descended not just around them and the quaint village on the hillside, but also betwixt them as if it protected the languid residents from invaders of a distant land. Nevertheless, the Council of Tribunes leading their cohort decided upon sending a contuberinium simply to learn whether the residents have seen or heard dead things beyond their colorful, dreary abodes.


    Two or three days passed in their absence from the sprawling camp, each day Dionysi commented ominously whilst staring into the colorful thickness blocking view of the village and the world beyond. And none of them could retort that she was simply seeing things. Aelfsigior himself on a few occasions noticed prowling thick figures with folds under their necks and jawlines far ahead, emanating a wicked scent he later recognized as rot. ¡°The enemy is all around us. This must be a trap.¡± These words rang in his head each day as he stood, feeling alone with a mind slowly sapped


    Then their suspicions faded when tall, slim figure in elegant robes that have seen better days appeared from the thickness. A fellow aevhe who was clearly of a high stature as his companions were a tall, copper orkh bereft of the Marks of Atonement ¨C at which the nearby guards reached for their weapons at first ¨C and an elderly man of northern blood, much shorter than the other two and trembling from the weight of his own bones. Behind them the eight appeared, carrying heavy baskets filled with spices and the goods of this hidden land which they all now knew to be Lianassian¡¯s Rest.


    Aelfsigior pondered as the name sounded familiar even when the strange, inviting lips of Tanitha uttered them. From what little he could recollect by searching through his tired mind, he remembered only he was a Chosen of Septurrion who migrated from the old dying world colonized by the niuvhei and settled in the north, where he disappeared in the early centuries of the First Age. It seemed to him Septurrion may have given him a great task which ended with his demise, here in this hidden land.


    The aevhe leading the two introduced himself as Raleiquuth in a soft, whispery manner as if he lacked the strength to speak in a normal cadence. Like all their kin, he too had light skin unblemished, fair and with a hint of drowsy blue. His dark hair flown naturally down his body, giving off the air of a druid who lets their hair remain untrimmed, free of control as it grown wildly, his broad eyes half open, half closed, on the precipice of dreams, yet strangely Aelfsigior was sure they remained idly in place as if held by a spell or unseen hands. The orbs in them though filled him with unease, both dark as the starless night filament ready to swallow all those beneath it.


    For a few days, the three remained, getting familiar with the high chain of their cohort. Seldom they had seen their leader, Dionysi who after each meeting appeared more languid, thirsting for rest and a few times even declining a bowl of soup or stew. Unease shadowed each of them, including Aelfsigior who often patrolled near the grand tent of the Tribunes where these meeting went down. A few times he could not triumph over his urge to listen in on their discourses, but when it came to recounting it to Sceparzara and Lykidas whose bandaged head gave off the same odor of rot, the words he heard whispered beneath the tent faded, ceased by a queer apathy of his mind. An experience first of its kind, a dreadful kind to Aelfsigior.


    After the three left, Dionysi¡¯s contuberinium whispered behind her back as she seemed slightly different, but they were unsure. For the most part, she remained thrilled about the prospect of battle they were marching towards, yet it mingled with a sense of waning, withering as the words seemed to flow from one desiring nothing more than to warm their bellies under the rays of the Illius.


    From Belos and Sceparzara, Aelfsigior learnt the other Tribunes behaved the same in their own manner. Yet like the others, none were sure whether it was some spell cast over them by the three visitors, or were it simply the Mist and its hidden prowlers who appeared nearer with each night. All knew, the enemy wished to impede the formation of a grand force, utilizing surreptitious methods, maladies to halt their way evident from the attack the preceding days, weeks before their settling near the quaint village on the hill.


    ¡°For now, let us pray that the Dawn Fathers bathes us in his radiant light whilst Septurrion ensures our safe passage.¡± That was all Aelfsigior said on the seventeenth day of their stay, as they finished their dinner before their journey towards the realm of their patron, The Lands of Oneiron.


    ***


    But it seemed like, Aelfsigior himself found no respite behind shut lids. Suddenly he found himself awake, yet impotent all across his body, except his eyes which frantically searched around in the dark confines of their tent. Then he trembled as silence broke. Under weak steps, the wooden floor of the tent whimpered softly. Feet most horrid as they grew sallow and black at the borders, baleful flesh and yellowed bone exposed whilst small critters crawled beneath the parched skin.


    ¡°Resist not my dear legionaries. In the Gap, you have to not fear the woes of the world.¡± A familiar, husky voice entered his ears twinging in fear. Yet no matter how hard he tried the evocation of the owner of the voice withered in an instant, pulled into the abyss by an invisible weight placed upon his mind.


    Mist stole inside the arched opening of their tent, tenderly wrapping around the awfully thin figure, whose form was adorned in tattered robes. Robes worn not by the silently raging forces of the world, or by seeing a multitude of battles, but simply gnawed by queer lack of care. Within its dry, dusty textile care an equally desiccated form stretched, partly hidden by the Mist, thought to a small extent Aelfsigior could make out a little. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Eyes bulged, as he took in the figure¡¯s continuous deformities, the grayish pallid skin, abdomen fallen in as if he had no more need for the stomach, above it the circumference of the ribcages visible broken, crumbled with the sharp edges decidedly wishing to break forth the yoke of the skin. The silhouette of the head lacked jaw, a long pinkish slab of meat that must have been the tongue cascaded down lazily, whilst strands of oily hair ¨C a meager amount as far as he could see ¨C straggled down the oval head, whilst where the eyes should have been, only two yellowish sparks remained surrounded by utter blackness, the sockets hollowed by lack of invigorations.


    From the thin figure, a drowsy odor of living decay permeated the air, stirred his stomach with its piercing tendrils. Bile began its journey across his throat, but stopped as the toes and their swirling yellowish claws, bloody cracks along its coarse surface now faced him.  Strangely he felt spread all across his body, numbing his limbs into complete impotence, his heart beaten within his chest with an apathetic pace as if the figure and the mist were nothing more than a common nightmare. Aelfsigior shut his eyes, beckoning himself to stir from the nightmare, but his mind remained stoically still in this horrid reality, reinforced in the next moment. Four, tiny cold impacts broke the tensity of his face, and a vile breath beckoned his lids to open. ¡°Might have been a fancy.¡± The thin figure said in his gravelly, dry voice as if he was coughing up dust.


    Aelfsigior eased as the warm, vile breath ceased and heard the tired lullabies of the robe distance slowly. Just a bit, he opened his eyes and watched the Mist retreat, taking the gliding, thin figure with itself. ¡°With the Night on our side, our flock shall grow and his world of dreams shall be reality before long my friends.¡± Then when only the diffused blackness and silver-white remained, a weight dragged him back into the much more pleasant land of Oneiron. There the young djinn girl, Tanitha grasped his hand, banishing the memory of the nightmare away. ¡°Be brave, Aelfsigior. It shall be paramount to cleanse the garden.¡±


    ***


    By the next morning, the mist betwixt the camp and village lessened a bit. Now there was a clear view which eased Aelfsigior¡¯s mind a bit. Sitting on the rock protruding from the earth behind the tent, he watched the forest, waiting giddily like a child veiled by the hammered in discipline painting a stoic, vigilant look on his face. His excitement grew more as he noticed a group of villagers with large baskets fastened around their shoulders converging towards the forest, amongst them the young Tanitha whose dreams beckoned her beyond the mist.


    It seemed the distance between the two meant nothing as their gazes met. Even time halted in its otherwise known relentless march to allow the two to converse without words. Aelfsigior heard no disembodied voice of hers, only a faint hum he heard the first time they met accidentally in the forest. From it though, the weight upon his mind seemed to lessen, and when he exhaled with relief, clarity flooded his mind. Then she turned her gaze away and disappeared amongst the trees and bushes.


    Before that though a long patrol through the east section of the camp awaited Aelfsigior. Absent mindedly he walked between the rows of tents, from the corners of his gaze he noticed the tired expressions of his brothers and sisters. He needed not to question, as the nightmare still lingered in the deep recesses of his mind. This was the first day in his nearly two centuries where he cursed the acute memory of his kindred. Through the tantalizing scent of boiling broth and stew, meat roasting on scarce seasoning, he still smelled the malodorous scent of the decay awaiting those excessive sloths he heard a few tales about around the fire of a camp.


    People afflicted often by some curse cast upon them, or inherited from their parents, their parents and so on who wronged a powerful spellcaster. Cursed with a strange misery that surreptitiously lurked in the hearts, draining will and desire for practically anything as far as the tales often went. An adventurous patricios who dreamt of even more riches yet his efforts never amounted more to words whilst he slowly merged into one with his bed until the servants found a grotesque doll of dry, rotted flesh repeating the same words. ¡°Glory awaits boundless. My name shall be stricken onto the tablets of history.¡±


    Or the tale told by Dionysi about the withered legion. A grand battle fought not by swords, spears, axes and spells clashing, but by struggling, distressed minds wishing to leap away from the gap of utter inaction and frugal motion. A battle devoid of the cries, the shrieks of the wounded and the dying, instead the odes of toiling, moaning who wrestled against the numbing spark of apathy towards everything ¨C to think, to desire, to lift one¡¯s limbs to move, to resist the crippling urge to just become part of the scenery until the body breaks down into dust whilst the soul passes under the Black Veil of the Solemn Shepherd.


    All in all, the faces in the corners of his vision all reminded him dreadfully of these tales. Yet he ruminated not much on the matter, as it mattered little to him. Instead, he focused on another contuberinium converging what he considered the square of their little woven settlement. Not one of them stood with the pride and discipline of the 7<sup>th</sup>


    Legion, instead like the withering elderly, they relied on their spears, shields to stand. Beneath their helmets, Aelfsigior noticed the dark circles of the sleepless, of those without desire to be at all. Of those who simply wished to fade away, to be carried by an external force. Be it the wind or the unseen hands of some primordial spirit.


    ¡°What a queer sight it is to see our brave brothers and sisters.¡± He turned suddenly, not expecting the deep voice of the far-southern merkin wearing the same opulent armor adorning Dionysi¡¯s form. As the diffused light shone upon his fishy visage, the golden scales revealed a hint of crimson, and unlike the others around them, the merkin lacked the telltale signs of the sleepless ailed by apathy.


    ¡°It is.¡± He replied in a weak whisper, feeling a bit ashamed at his own weakness. ¡°We should depart, but I feel that is no longer a possibility.¡± The merkin tribuniar said with a portentous gaze focused on the legionaries departing towards Lianassian¡¯s Rest.


    ¡°What do you mean? Pardon my manner.¡± He said noticing the faint cadence of irritation in his own voice. ¡°I mean we already in the trap. But fear not son, it shall be over soon, I know it.¡± The merkin seemingly ignored the tone, even offered a sympathetic gaze whilst patting his shoulders forcefully. Though that promises was left unfulfilled after the merkin departed with his group ¨C and like the group they watched depart together two days before ¨C never returned from Lianassian¡¯s Rest.

 Tales of Elhyrissian: The Gap III.

    A week passed since the last contuberanium departed from the sprawling encampment of the 7<sup>th</sup> Legion near Lianassian¡¯s Rest. The second group to do so, and now it seemed Aelfsigior and his comrades, brothers and sisters were next on the chopping block on the slanting, populated altar of an unknown, distant deity who thirsted for the souls of the damned. And to further his unease, the outwardly congenial Raleiquuth appeared on the morning the decision came, as if he himself suggested it to the head of their cohort.


    Beyond the small tract of meadow and cropland, the dirt road slowly transformed into one pebbled with large stones of a dark bluish shade, iridescent, emanating a faint glimmer of azure and violet even though no light seeped through the thickness of the Mist. Aelfsigior felt first with Dionysi and Pariphaenas the change in walkable land, the slight bumps as their soles pressed loudly against the cold stone. And stood first in the shadows of Lianassian Rest¡¯s edifices appearing high thanks to the elevation of the earth.


    Before them, Raleiquuth sauntered jovially, merry for the neophytes following willingly into his oblique abode. He loudly greeted the silent villagers whose eyes were lined by dark circles, their skin even from the distance appeared coarse, unkept yet there were little signs of their everyday toils. No sore hands reddened by the pressure applied to the ploughs, sickles nor were marks of the heavy baskets filled resting near the faded purple, red, green and yellow walls adorned with cracks and crumbling spots revealing the natural shade of the stone. A mundane grayish brown akin to the fine white strands of elder humans and orkhin.


    Not much days have passed after the Aelfsigior¡¯s Contuberinium was chosen to head into the village. Though unlike the preceding groups, they were sent to receive them or at least learn what may take them so long. Suspicion seemed to aloofly evaded their minds in regards of the quaint village and its languid residents.


    ¡°I welcome you all once more in our humble home. Hector has all the wondrous goods to satisfy your hunger near the eastern end of our village¡± Raleiquuth halted in what was the village square signaled by its broad, round circumference, and the dozen branching roads whilst in the middle a masterwork of a sculpture, depicting Septurrian sitting with his legs crossed, all his arms converging on his lap, palms facing the hidden sky, fingers touching, his unseen gaze peering towards the south.


    After pointing towards the east, his arm turned towards the opposite, the road west leading a bit upwards. ¡°A bit higher west is the humble inn of our dear Ursa, always welcoming those in need of refreshments. Her mead sweetened by plum and apricot, I highly recommend.¡± He continued with a genial smile. ¡°And if you are in need of clearing your head after a long night there, not far from her establishment is Nonus¡¯s emporium with his myriad, prepared concoctions to ease the pains without expediting once chances invoking the Rage.¡±


    Led by his instincts, Aelfsigior peered around the surroundings and noticed Tanitha watching from the corner of a humble edifice. Her lips slowly formed words with a meaning etching themselves into his mind. ¡°Come to the emporium. Trust no one, they are all lost sheep.¡± The meanings of the words sent shivers down his spine, an unease draped over him, one the prey feels when it unwittingly walks into the lair of their predator without even noticing or meaning it.


    When Raleiquuth excused himself with some matters, walking away in the company of the elder he visited the camp with, Aelfsigior himself meant to heed Tanitha¡¯s words and head straight towards the emporium. Instead, he followed the orders decreed by Dionysi to head the opposite way with Sceparzara and by handful of supplies for the night¡¯s feast they were planning to held in the camp. Though he knew not why, as there was nothing to celebrate.


    Standing before the emporium¡¯s dry, weak wooden door, he felt hesitation holding his hands from turning the knob. With a bit of exertion, he lifted his arms and curled his fingers around the cold metal, though with a bit of care fearing the object would crumble to dust and rust from the exertion of more power. The door slowly opened, creaking and revealed a humble interior with a long counter sprouting seemingly from the wall. On it, the expected apparatuses of an alchemist lined on the coarse top, and similarly covered in dust, the glass blurry from carelessness of the decades, liquids of green, yellow and red rested within them.


    Beyond the counter, another rustic old door awaited, faced him taciturnly. On its right, shelves croaked and moaned under the wight of the dusty, webbed tomes with their thick spines bearing faded letters. A portrait hung on the right wall near the stairs leading up, though its female subject hard to recognize. Parts of the face dried and crumbled from the canvas, a few wrinkles and cracks slithered voraciously, taking from the minimalist background frugally decorated with the very shelves lining opposite of Aelfsigior who slowly entered.


    His steps echoed meagerly and as he opened his mouth to make his presence known, a hefty of dust slipped into his mouth and he coughed loudly. ¡°Oh, a visitor.¡± The door opposite moaned open, from it the elderly man revealed himself from the dark room, his skin housing hundreds of wrinkles reminiscing Aelfsigior of aging tomes. His hair gray as the dust on it, beard unkempt and dangling before his long, crumbling robe revealing more than necessary. ¡°How may I be of help?¡± He asked in his high-pitched, whispery voice.


    Then for a moment before he could speak up, Aelfsigior noticed a hint of understanding in the pale emerald eyes. ¡°Or I should ask what ails your mind, but if you are here, the spell haven¡¯t completely dug in.¡± He whispered with a smile, leaning over the counter. With a bit of struggle, Nonus bent down to search, Aelfsigior rushed over to help noticing the rapid breaths filled with the agonies of elderly vessels of the humans. ¡°Thank you for your kindness. Here, take and drink it. Though pardon my bluntness but I wish one with a higher rank would have come with you.¡±


    Aelfsigior gulped a little, then grimaced at the abrupt sourness of the elixir. But with it, came a tide of cleansing and he sensed a weight drop from his shoulders and head, his will reinvigorated after the One and the Eight know how long. ¡°There is one with me, and she may not need this healing of the mind.¡±


    ¡°A dwarf she is?¡± The elderly asked with a certain understanding, Aelfsigior nodded. ¡°Then Septurrion may have at last smiled upon us. Though I fear, we must act in haste otherwise that wicked thing shall dig its claws into all of you, and I can¡¯t even imagine what he could do with a cohort of his own.¡± Nonus weakly grabbed his wrist and pulled him along ¨C or in truth Aelfsigior followed and matched his slow pace up the stairs, whilst also grabbing the balustrade as they walked towards the front door on the narrow passage.


    ¡°Here he is, the one you talked about my dear.¡± Nonus said as soon as the door creaked open, revealing Tanitha bathing in the light seeping in from the lone window, sitting on its broad pane. A smile on his elderly face as he noticed Aelfsigior appear a bit timid glancing at the girl whose tired smile awakened a warmth in his stomach.


    ¡°Thank the Fateweaver. I was afraid he managed to take hold of you, just like the ones who came last and before.¡± She said, relief written onto her lovely owl-like face.


    Aelfsigior cooled himself a bit, taking a sterner posture. ¡°Could you two elaborate? I have an inkling this Mist is not as benevolent as it may seem.¡± The two wasted no time, and even Nonus who watched with the gaze of a proud father straightened himself with a whimper as his old bones cracked in rhythmic succession.


    Like with him, a fog gathered about their minds, stifling efforts to fully recount the events which unfolded decades before, when Tanitha herself dwarfed in the shadow of Nonus yet to be tainted by the decrepitude of time and its ravages upon his body. On a warm summer day, a strange traveler arrived to their humble abode on the hill where one of Septurrion¡¯s chosen was laid to rest by his company of brothers and sisters, asking for no more than a bed and a night¡¯s rest and warm food to fill his empty belly.


    Tanitha¡¯s parents who themselves led the flock five or so decades before, listened wary yet unsure why, a revelation that descended weeks after the arrival of this strange, languid traveler ¨C with the Mist itself. At first, they themselves believed dire, grim times awaited them aware from the revelations of the dreaming Septurrion. Her parents¡¯ visions increased drastically, each warning of a coming darkness, a shadow stretching over the promised land where their ancestors escaped from their crumbling, desolate worlds. Visions of the dreamless dead skulking the country side, thirsting for death and hungering for flesh, and of a stranger worn by apathy until he was nothing more than a husk of himself.


    One who they begin to suspect being the traveler, going by the name of Raleiquuth, a self-proclaimed pupil of a primordial spirit wishing nothing more but to bring its own piece of peace upon the good people of Elhyrissian. The liturgies of this traveler came just as sudden as him and the Mist, the people at first recognized not the unseen tendrils of the creature digging into their minds, slowly draining them of all their emotions, concerns for worldly things.


    First, they stopped working on the croplands, the meadows, let the tamed beasts they brought from Nidumiath, who provided them with their fat rich meat and dairy, wither away as days, weeks and months passed listening to the vampiric words of this self-proclaimed prophet. Yet, contrary to what Nonus believed to follow ¨C as his mind remained with a certain clarity thanks to being the pupil of Tanitha¡¯s father, receiving the protection of Septurrion himself ¨C the crop themselves thrived even more, with even less care, the animals themselves appeared dead, yet breathed and when large pieces were carved from their vessels, it quickly healed and provided the same nutrients and rich tastes.


    Yet both were poisoned, he knew it himself just as Tanitha¡¯s parents. The more the villagers consumed the meat, the less and less they cared, and a few even remained in their abodes. Her parents remained as kind, carried food and drinks, even fed a few, hoping their efforts shall lead those lost in the blackness of utter apathy to return them to the light of the One and the Eight. Initially, it seemed to be the case, hence Raleiquuth slowly turned the people against them, calling them tyrants who wished to maintain rule through chaos, wrenching away the blissful future of veritable respite.


    Less than a decade, more than half the residents withered away and reborn as the tainted spirits of Sloth. In a last effort to save those who remained Tanitha¡¯s parents aimed to cut off the head of the venomous serpent. ¡°And as you could see, they now rest in the Cradle of the Gray City, whilst the few who corroborated were devoured by the jaws of apathy, me including to an extent.¡± Nonus¡¯s tired eyes glistened from the pain stirred by the tale, Aelfsigior curled his fist in anger, first aimed at Septurrion for letting his people be taken by such evil, but it quickly migrated onto the one behind it, Raleiquuth whom true, horrific form appeared before him.


    ¡°It is never too late. Though I am a simple legionary, I shall do what I can to banish the Mist and its evils from the village.¡± Nonus chuckled, sitting down as his legs beckoned him to rest ¨C eternally.


    ¡°I appreciate your humility, brave Aelfsigior.¡± He said stopping to moisten his dried throat with a cup of water handed by the soft pale hands of Tanitha. ¡°But as I trust Tanitha and Septurrion who have chosen you to be our liberator.¡± At those words, Aelfsigior trembled and taken a step back, his brows raised in the confines of his helmet. But he remained silent as his heart truly wished to defeat Raleiquuth and his elder master. Partly out of amour, partly out of the youth¡¯s spark fueled by the thirst for glories.


    When the tale reached its end, Aelfsigior swallowed the dolorous compassion rising within him towards the two. He focused on what needed to be done, but before he could have questioned the elderly man, a portentous tide hit him, drawing his gaze towards the window resting just below the beamed ceiling. Beyond the dirty old glass, the Mist gathered, as if listening onto their talk, wishing to seep in through the forming cracks.


    At once, as Tanitha¡¯s wailing broke the momentary silence, he reached for his sword sleeping in its sheath. Aelfsigior watched with a horrid countenance as Nonus fallen from his chair, but his instincts stopped him from aiding the elderly man whose back bulged and ghastly waves formed glided across his whole expanding back. Without wasting anymore time, the blade shrieked in tandem with the creature beneath Nonus¡¯s falling skin resembling the withered parchment of eon old tomes.


    Black ichor tainted the silvery surface with a faint hint of azure, and in an instant a Mist followed as the droplet evaporated before they could even depart as he swept it sideways. Aelfsigior¡¯s chest arose wildly, pushing the plates and shirt layering over it, with each deep breath he inhaled heavily the thin, desiccated creature¡¯s malodorous scent ¨C a scent of living rotting away in their own bile. Carefully he stepped over the creature¡¯s carcass and grabbed Tanitha as her strength waned from abrupt sorrow.


    Slowly, Aelfsigior helped her onto the table she leaned against before the dreadful transformation of the old apothecary whose torn skin sprawled beneath his ruined robes and the creature¡¯s remains, blocked by the tall aevhe. ¡°Take deep breaths. Do you know where we can bring an end to this nightmare?¡± He asked with as much care as he could muster, wrestling with repugnance not to take the place of his sympathy towards Tanitha who just lost a second father.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Moments, seconds, minutes passed as tears streamed down her white cheeks, black as her bewitching eyes of utter blackness. Yet even though Aelfsigior gazed into many dark eyes, each as dreadful as the creature behind him, in that blackness he saw nothing but pain and anger ¨C the latter forming into an urge for vengeance. ¡°In the catacomb¡¯s heart below the Manor.¡± Tanitha¡¯s whispered unevenly, her words, intonations poisoned by sorrow, voice deepened as he met his assuring gaze.


    ¡°Come, we shall retrieve my companions, and end this nightmare once and for all.¡± She grabbed his firm hand, and left with him, taking one more look at what remained of Nonus, recoiling before she tensed herself for what was to come.


    ***


    As they reached down the stairs, they watched with horror as the front door moaned open. But their fear subsided, and Aelfsigior lifted down his blade pointed at Sceparzara carried on the broad shoulders of their dwarven leader. ¡°Mind giving me a hand?¡± She said between breaths and Aelfsigior, without wasting a breath of his own rushed to her aid and helped his friend towards the counter.


    ¡°What happened?¡± He asked just noticing searing blood trickling down on her decorated plates, beyond the door and the windows the Mist hung thickly, even blocking the darkness of the night he glanced upon for a mere instant before Dionysi shut the door.


    ¡°Damned Daemurnus ¨C that¡¯s what happened.¡± She said in a gravelly tone as she sat on the stairs after greeting the Djinn who wiped her tears away and offered her healing palms to the dwarf. Before she continued, a groan escaped her dark, effusive lips when etheric, glowing water poured forth Tanitha¡¯s palm and enveloped her wound where the skin and flesh seemed to enervated. ¡°In one moment, we were drinking heartily what was cheap mead, in the next those ugly bastards leapt at us in their whispery shrieks.¡±


    ¡°How many?¡± Aelfsigior asked, leaping up into a vigilant stance, staring at the window and the door.


    ¡°More than you can handle alone if they decide to break in.¡± She answered bitterly. ¡°Give me a few second, and wait until Sceparzara gets better by your lady-friends hands.¡±


    The two waited, weapons in their hands strongly held as they anticipated a sudden break in from both window and door. And when none came as Tanitha mended to Sceparzara whose wound seemed a bit more dire, the two thanked The One and the Eight from cloaking them from the senses of the damned. ¡°So, what do we do now?¡± After he felt better, Sceparzara asked then thanked the Djinn girl with a warm smile that seemed to have no effect on the girl.


    ¡°I can¡¯t be sure of it, but if we kill Raleiquuth, the rest may go with him to the dreaded realm of his master.¡± Tanitha answered as she rose and walked beside Aelfsigior who remained alert of the enemy lurking in the Mist.


    ¡°Honey, that¡¯s never how those bastards operate sadly. But the Mist may go with him, and that should alert the camp.¡± Dionysi answered as the seasoned warrior, she battled stranger horrors whose blood her axe tasted diligently. ¡°Now, before we plan our way to his lair ¨C where is it exactly?¡±


    ***


    Stepping outside, Dionysi gestured immediately to halt their steps in the alley. Before her one of the Daemurnus emanated its tired growls facing the opposite direction. A creature with desiccated skin stretched out and forming multiple folds beneath its jaw, on its limbs right at the wrists and ankles whilst its spine formed an eerie ridge along its back as it protruded the thin skin. Its beady, sunken eyes glinted in the mist in malevolent glow as it turned at the faint sound of plates colliding when the elemental blooded dwarf lunged at it.


    With a singular strike, her twin-bladed axe found its way into the creatures collapsed belly, and at once dry, dust like blood poured forth. As the daemur fell upon the paved ground, its warped form shattered into myriad pieces and rejoined the Mist. ¡°Come, before the others flock to here.¡±


    At her words they all slipped out from the Emporium. First Aelfsigior with Tanitha in tow, closing in the rear Sceparzara with his own blade drawn, mana circulating in their anima veins as they were high on alert. Whether out of luck, divine protection or simply because the enemy wished to toy with them, only a dolorous silence mingled with the Mist as they walked between the edifices whilst climbing the hill.


    ¡°Seems we are walking into a trap.¡± Dionysi stated with a wide mirth adorning her face as they reached the zenith of the hill, no daemurnus impeding their way through the village. Before them, an arched gate arose high, its once bright azure and violet bars faded and rusted without care. Upon touch they even crumbled, paving the way for the four who without hesitation stepped forth and headed towards the manor.


    A grand, oblong structure stretched evenly in a heptagonal shape, ending in sharp points on either side. It was a meager building, with only two floors above the ground, its roof slanting and dust covering its once-glossy coating. The windows gazed at them emptily; behind their web- and dust-covered glass, a thick, impenetrable darkness filled the space. It was clear to all three legionaries that no servitors attended to the building or its surroundings anymore. Even the hedges, flowers, bushes, and trees sprawled wildly or stooped on the precipice of withering away.


    Upon stepping inside, Dionysi faltered for a moment, her grip around the hilt of her axe weakened suddenly. Even her balance parted for fairer meadows as she staggered forward, Aelfsigior reaching to catch her. Sceparzara similarly leaned against the weakened door which in the same breath crumbled into a mound of mold tainted, splintered fragments. Like Dionysi he too nearly fallen onto his knees by a sudden wave, as his limbs and the muscles shifted into an abrupt state of idleness.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Aelfsigior questioned both. Tanitha enveloped the true in an azure aura, banishing away the Mist that gathered below their feet, forming into tendrils digging into their souls and bodies. ¡°Truly this is the place. Where the presence of the damned lord is the strongest.¡±


    Slow claps echoed across the space, followed by the faintest of footsteps. Their attention turned onwards the thick wall of Mist gathered below the loft inner balcony, where a thin silhouette ¨C most horrid and familiar to Aelfsigior ¨C drawn out in the dim whiteness. If he would have not known better, Aelfsigior would have thought the creature before them, Raleiquuth was a wicked magus who embraced the gift of Dusk. But as he faced the warlock, he sensed the wicked materia of Taerebus lingering within and about the warped aevhe.


    ¡°Welcome to my abode. It seems the apostates of the Blind Weaver had infiltrated our little hamlet.¡± Even from the hollowness lurking in his sockets, Aelfsigior felt the gaze focused on him and Tanitha whose anger and sorrow were palpable. He stepped before her, sensing she would rush at the enemy led by her feelings. The tongue hanging from his jaw quivered making a vile sound almost like a clicking. ¡°I should have not spared you, little owl. I hoped your eyes would open to our peace offered.¡±


    Tanitha calmed herself and focused on banishing away the enervating tendrils of the Mist digging into Dionysi and Sceparzara. The two immediately rose onto their feet, and now all four formed a crescent formation around Raleiquuth. His arms raised, the Mist expanded ravenously, enveloping the four until they could see nor hear each other even standing only two or three steps away from each other.


    Aelfsigior gritted his teeth in frustration, his sword remained hung down in fear of striking at one of his comrades or Tanitha. With small steps he began to search around for them whilst sharpening his sight in hopes of seeing through the dim white thickness. Naked footsteps reached his ears and with a sudden turn, swung his blade which sharp side sliced into the desiccated skin and flesh of a daemur, for a moment uncertainty gripping him as the blade glinted betwixt the hanging, loose folds before the creature of Taeberus dissipated back into the portentous Mist.


    Slowly the loss of direction in the thickness strengthened the beating of his heart whilst at the same time, its cloaked tendrils dug into his body and soul. A struggle grew in him to keep his lids from falling over, wrestled with the urge to lighten his grip around his blade and gave in to lay down and rest upon the floor whilst the mana circulating in his anima veins faltered in their march. Then once more he heard footsteps, soft yet not fully naked and when Aelfsigior turned, half ready to thrust his blade into whatever appeared, stopped and let Tanitha¡¯s white, glowing palms touch his cheeks.


    Warmth spread from his chest, rejuvenating his waning limbs and cutting the weights pulling down the curtains of his eyes. ¡°Thank you, that was sorely needed.¡± Aelfsigior whispered as his gaze was captured by the bulging black eyes of Tanitha.


    ¡°And I am sorry for dragging you all up here.¡± She whispered with a deep, regretful intonation. Though his smile seemed to ease her fouled mood.


    ¡°Fret not dear and lovely Tanitha. Regardless of the circumstances we found ourselves in, I would have come to the aid of you and this settlement even if the Great Black Serpent¡¯s kin cast its shadow over Lianassian¡¯s Rest.¡± At his words, she noticed a faint discoloration on her cheeks, whilst her pretty lips curled into a smile which cleansed his mind at once. Though it would take time for him to remember those words, embarrassed about them.


    ¡°Can you sense him?¡± He asked and she nodded. Aelfsigior followed whilst wreathing his blade in a radiant aura. The flowing gold radiance frightened The Mist as it parted away at its tip, boldened by the sight he reached for Tanitha¡¯s hand whilst spreading the spell across his body and onto hers. A sibilant growl came just whence they headed, and with his blade strongly held, he leapt forward thrusting towards the heart of the tainted aevhe, but missed as the abhorrent form became translucent, one with the Mist.


    Annoyed, Aelfsigior and Tanitha stood anent with the white, thick and soft walls, their gazes searching where the enemy may had gone. For a moment, unease followed in regards of their other companions, and of their enemy retreating back to the bowels of the earth. ¡°Down.¡± But as she yelled her warning, the two ducked as spears and blade formed in the elevation of their heads, swinging and thrusting with a speed beyond mortal limits. Curious a bit, Aelfsigior swung at the misty weapons, and as his sword garlanded by the materia of dawn passed through them, a distant, dry howl echoed through the grand hallway of the mansion.


    A bit emboldened by the howl, Aelfsigior altered his intention infused into the incessant spell, and thrusted into the Mist. ¡°Shut your eyes!¡± Upon the thrust and the submersion of the radiant blade, Dawn crawled off from the tip and spread like wildfire across the thick whiteness, increasing its luminosity until they could see naught. He yelled towards Dionysi and Sceparzara still prisoners of the Mist, hoping his voice shall reach them before their sight was taken from them by him and the abrupt Dawn spell. And in hindsight a bit of fear as their enemy could clearly hear them, but he had hope that even in the worst case, they shall come out not unharmed.


    A wish which seemed to be heard by divine ears as when the blinding whiteness ceased, Raleiquuth laid near the old fireplace filled with dusty wood and cobwebs. His hideous legs and even parts of his sunken abdomen were amiss, seared away by the abrupt spell. Though he expected the warlock to plead for his life, parley with empty promises, the creature chuckled lightly. ¡°Seems I was a fool to trust the world of that Serpent. The promise of a legion was too enticing.¡± Before he could continue on, Dionysi swung her twin-bladed axe. Their edges glazing with the flames raging deep in the bowels of the land caught on the dry, thin skin as it severed head from the remaining body and quickly consumed what remained of Raleiquuth whose dry laughter faded into the empty manor.


    ***


    ¡°Did the Mist ceased with the passing of the warlock?¡± Eadwald interrupted, no longer able to contain himself. Aelfsigior looked at him, into his shimmering golden eyes accentuated by the crackling flames betwixt them. Quelling his annoyance at the interruption, he ruminated on the words whilst shifting his gaze onto Priernuss who set on their right, listening with a bit more tact.


    With a faint smile, he continued finishing the tale of his youth. ¡°The Mist was gone ¨C only temporarily though as the anchor remained in the heart of the earth, below the village.¡± As the words began to pour, Priernuss lifted his right arm and his fingers danced with unseen threads reaching into the flames and forming them into a vast network of dim corridors with a grand tomb just like Aelfsigior remembered it. A dark heart beat in the center, leaking the mist through the orifices of the centuries old cadaver. Bit of an artistic liberty, Aelfsigior thought.


    Then Priernuss looked at him inquiringly, the flames took the shape of the bonny djinn, Tanitha. ¡°What about the sweet maiden whom you rescued from the clutches of an ageless evil?¡± A thousand curses Aelfsigior wished upon his friend as he felt the flames of shame heat his face. Before he answered ¨C as he intended to mend a still lacerating wound ¨C Aelfsigior inhaled deeply the warm, caustic air.


    ¡°For a while, she remained with us. As a healer at first, then when the enemy proved capable of amassing greater numbers, proved to be an adroit, quick-learning magus who felled a great number of horrors.¡± He stopped for a moment, closed his eyes an envisioned the few battles the two fought side by side as comrades, as brother and sister forged in sweat and blood. Eadwald leaned closer, just as Priernuss as if the two¡¯s minds adjoined in their curiosity towards their friend.


    Then Priernuss leaned back on the snow and moss covered trunk before asking. ¡°Was she taken by another? By your old friend, the Woe of Men?¡± He questioned, half jestingly. Though it hurt him a bit, Aelfsigior shook his hand. ¡°Sceparzara passed not long after when we were assailed by another host of undead, nekrossos and other horrors of the Dusk. He perished before she could even mend his ravenous wounds. No, she remained a while in our company, but later I got reassigned further south, whilst she remained in the North before she was offered a place in the Order, amongst the most devout magusos of Septurrion. As if the Sightless Weaver himself recommended her himself.¡±


    ¡°But you met since then, don¡¯t you?¡± Aelfsigior nodded, a meager smile offered to the flames. ¡°We did, quite a few times where we talked of the past, the present or shared bed.¡± Though a little he regretted the last two words, as they brought a pain with themselves. A pain bearing his regret of not staying with her, not settling down in the embrace of a walled city. But as before it faded when he looked at the excited face of Eadwald who seemed eager for some reason. A welcome sight after the passing of his father.


    ¡°That explains quite a lot.¡± Priernuss broke the silence. ¡°Why she not settles with us?¡± He asked with a childish fervor.


    ¡°A few decades ago,¡± He stared at Eadwald as he stopped. ¡°Before you or maybe even your father was a thought ¨C we ruminated on the matter, searching for ways but in the end, she has her responsibilities being on the highest step of the ladder.¡± A sour taste filled his mouth, weighting down his gaze into the dancing flames from Eadwald¡¯s gaze. Priernuss¡¯s inured eyes glanced more, but he remained silent on the matter as he looked up into the abyss.


    Aelfsigior¡¯s attention turned towards the distance walled thickly by the darkness of the starless night. ¡°But that is the tale. Now go you two, a long road is ahead of us to home.¡± At his command both assented silently and bid him farewell till the rise of the Dawn. His gaze remained on them even after the thick leaf and branch veil draped over them, sealing them into the makeshift tents then arose staring at the blackness. His hand touched his chest plate, feeling the embellished medallion push against his ridged bosom. On it a majestic Ascalpiriath occupied the left space, its four wings spread wide, its black, antler like horns reaching the snow silvery borders, its large black eyes meeting the gaze of the red scaled dragon which crested, horned head leant closer to the owl-like magical beast.


    Beneath the two mighty beasts, an oblong egg sat on the precipice of shattering open¡­

 Tales of Elhyrissian: Above Her Shadow I.

    Coarse, warm winds blew on the first week of Miirthea in the year of 1159 of the First Age, compelling the double doors of the Drunken Weedkiin Tavern to beat with a violent rhythm, further irritating Albrion dejected by Drussaev reluctance to leave the far-south. A mild bother he recounted at least four times since the late noon when he chanced upon Oshiuth, distant kin of his walking down the sloping main street of Zaocaes. ¡°Fault him not little brother. He simply just found his calling, and you have not yet.¡± Oshiuth said with a calm expression across her handsome face and her eyes blue and clear as ice fitted perfectly into the tenderly contoured, wide frame resembling an almond.


    Her hair black as the empty midnight sky, cascading in straight waves down to her chestline, a thick waterfall of a fringe hanging before her broadening forehead exposed a little as she lifted her head up whilst chugging her drink with an eloquent movement Albrion recognized from the many etiquette lessons he and Drussaev had to bear too. Along the corners of her handsome face following an oval outline, tresses flocked into the shapes of slim and narrow talismans he saw a few times.


    Under the warm glow of the light, the layered leather plate tailored after a kimono gleamed tenderly, fitting her slender, honed form. Down at her abdomen, it had a deep, almost jet shade of black whilst at her bosom and shoulders, where it slowly parted like a delta of a river bore an iridescent, white nearly as refined and mesmerizing as her complexion. Except the latter had a tint of amber, gifted by Iuanorh himself as she jested to him before he started babbling about Drussaev. Round the waist, a sash cinched further her form, whilst beneath a velvety shirt hugged her unblemished body, slipping out and encircling her neck with a slit open collar. And the shoulders flared strongly, whilst the sleeves flowed seamlessly down, wrapping around her arms. Albrion found the whole outfit strange, noting how she looked like an eastern patricios playing praetor, though instinctively he felt and recognized her power.


    Hence why he chose silence instead of retorting ¨C besides him being somewhat aware that he was yet unsure what path to take to ensure the prosperous, peaceful future of the Empire. Wishing not to dwell on the matter, to not ruin his mood now that he was only weeks away from meeting with Moirstyria ¨C that in his head would have been all the much better if all three of them could have reunited ¨C Albrion decided to inquire on something that mildly picked his interest upon entering the tavern. ¡°What is a Weedkin?¡± He asked with a slight grunt.


    ¡°Hideous cousins of mine.¡± Alcinous, a turquoise habrian mer and mate to Oshiuth answered whilst tying his long, bony threads into a lone, low-hanging tail after he sat down with their drinks. ¡°They frequent the waters far away from the shores or even the charted lands.¡±


    ¡°So, like the Deep Ones?¡± Albrion asked whilst the mer moisted his throat with the bitter bear served in the sloping port city. He shook his head. ¡°Not quite like to speak the truth. Whilst the Deep Ones look quite bestial compared to us, they are quite intelligent, the Weedkin on the other hand are driven by their primal instincts. On top of looking even more hideous if you ask me.¡±


    ¡°They have skin whiter than mine, small, beady eyes, long dark hair like accursed spirits of niuvhei, fleshy beaks with mandibles, long arms ending in tentacle like fingers that wrap around your arms, mouth coating in you in some viscous substance that blocks the inflowing mana whilst they drag you into the abyss.¡± Oshiuth continued, speaking in a playful manner like a tale-spinner telling a warning tale to children with her wide gesturing that spilled a bit of her own beer. ¡°Oh, and they have fins instead of legs as they live primarily beneath the waves.¡± She added, and after all Albrion smiled a little at the lack of tact she had. For a moment, a hint of envy appeared in his heart.


    ¡°I can infer your crew met with these¡­ Weedkin.¡± The two nodded in unison. ¡°But still, why weedkin?¡±


    ¡°Well, their hunting grounds are near ¡®lands¡¯ of seaweed where ships have harder time travelling.¡± Alcinous answered as he finished his beer before Albrion who had a hard time, now his thoughts interested in experiencing these ¡°lands¡± out in the sea. <i>Maybe once we return home.</i>


    ****


    The closer he reached down to the stone pier, the slower his pace turned as he gazed upon the Menelaith Oshiuth and Alcinous served on. Even the second time Albrion gazed upon the vessel greatest amongst all the others, even though as far as he knew, it lacked the Wispcaller from the fore point. Instead, it a figurehead hewn after the image of a Nereides adorned the front. Hair tumbled down onto her hewn shoulders with three, horizontal looping braids adorned with clams and pearls appearing quite lifelike thanks to the paint. Its frail, thin hands reaching out, palms aimed at the orange tinted filament whilst its thin, wide lips similarly painted, azure blue opened softly as if it sung the songs beckoning sailors to their sweet doom.


    As the name was quite familiar to him, he was a bit hesitant and even questioned Oshiuth why she would serve on a vessel named after an old enemy of theirs. Even knowing Menelaith was one of the few who came close to beheading their dear, genial uncle during their long duel before the gates of Thrauy, the last of the city-states that fell a thousand year ago. A duel many a times he listened, excited hearing how Augermil broke the shaft of his spear, forcing the much shorter Menelaith into a close-range combat that nearly led to his sudden demise. Yet as always, he triumphed, thrusting the tip of his blade deep into the bosom of the man who single handedly killed half his remaining uncles and aunts during the last ten years spent sieging the single remaining city under the protection of Titans and the Feys.


    ¡°Do you think Uncle Augermil hates him or holds respect for the one mortal who came close to triumphing over him after hundreds of years?¡± Was her answer to which he remained silent as he ruminated shortly, recalling the way Augermil talked about Menelaith not as a foe, but as a respected brother who stood opposite to him. Outis, the short captain of a mixed grekhian and dwarven blood even told him the Shul-Oak used to construct the vessel was made from the remains of Menelaith¡¯s House of Challenges a few of the First Legion¡¯s members disassembled after Thrauy fell. With these assurances, Albrion felt better and even pondered on staying with the crew for a few more years instead of stepping immediately on land.


    Stepping onto the drawbridge of the mighty ship, Albrion grasped onto the rail whilst taking one more look towards Zaocaes one more time. His gaze slowly swept through the city on wildly slanting hill, listened as the colorful, vibrant foliage of the surrounding forest on the small island sung its lullabies whilst the searing orange of furnaces, the bold blue and wise purple of the mingled with them. Even spread onto the gargantuan, slanting bones numbering at least forty or more as they run along the grayish white walls with black, rectangular railings and towers. His gaze stopped on the serpentine skull, yellowed by the passage of time, beneath its shadow the temple of Tengeiron, primordial elemental of rivers, lakes and oceans ¨C mundane and astral ¨C where the three prayed together before departing to the harbor.


    Then he began to move once he noticed the lengthening shadow over his form, appear on the mahogany hued floor, Polyphemus, an orkh still bearing the Mark of Atonement upon his pale bronzish skin. ¡°Thank you!¡± The orkh said genially in his dumb, deep voice whilst his lone eye adorning the center of his head stared forward whilst holding four crates beneath his long arms ¨C wide and thick as oaken logs ¨C pressing them against his muscular sides. In his case, at first glance he knew he would have a hard time alone against the orkh who reached at least four or even possibly five meters in height.


    ¡°Pull up the Anchor! Time to set sail!¡± Alcinous yelled across the main deck, standing atop the quarter deck, besides Captain Outis whose meaty hands grasped the spokes of the wheel already. The towering orkh leapt over the rails and for a moment, Albrion felt the quiver of the whole vessel as his muscled body thrusted against the wall, onto which he clung like a spider, pressing his palms and soles. Then he grabbed the chains, and pulled the heavy adramantyrian anchor up from the bottom, then climbed back up with it over his shoulder, detached from the retracted chains.


    He held it in both his palms as a haggard faun walked up to him, and as soon as he touched it, it lit up with a translucent, ethereal glow, its weight barely pulling more than a newborn child¡¯s. Hearing the rattling thuds, the sound of rhythmic drumming and the oars hitting the water, he sauntered excitedly over the rails and leaned over it. ¡°Beautiful, isn¡¯t it?¡± Oshiuth walked over besides him, and asked in her tender, deep voice as both stared out to the boundless horizon painted in the shades of Mineirvia.


    ****


    The past two days were revelatory for Albrion, spent on the rocking vessel. Compared to the first ship he set foot out into the wider world, the Menelaith lacked the enchantments woven into its oaken hulk that kept the interior in balance. Crawling out from his bed, attached to the wall was quite the accomplishment. All his muscles tensed and strained at the effort, followed by a nausea depriving him momentarily of balance each morning. A sight which his cabin mate, Aeolus ¨C the primary wheeler of the Menelaith ¨C found quite amusing.


    A grekhian man with a slender, lightly muscular frame, hued by the years of service under the shades of the sails, its greenish tint still somewhat visible. His face fierce, youngish compared to the half-blood captain, devoid of any hair including brows and beard, his dome though strangely as smooth as the black silken shirt fiercely hugging Albrion¡¯s robust frame. From what he gathered from him and Oshiuth beforehand, most wheelers on vessels not guided by the wisps of the sea, they shave down all their hair to better feel the guiding winds like the sails.


    Though the two of them occupied the cabin, Albrion found it quite frugal when it come to the size of it. The first ship he took off belonged to his older brother Tiberiluth who often travelled on it, accompanied by the tribunes and praefects of the First Legion, so the cabins were much closer in luxury and size to his old room. Then whilst he stayed with Drussaev and his peculiar company in the far south, they remained in the grand palace of Luth-Kadrath where their room was thrice the size of his old, and with a panoramic view to the whole, sprawling city near the serpentine river.


    Compared to those two, he often bumped his head into the ceiling, and tumbled nearly onto the Aeolus twice each morning so far. In regards of furnishments, there were only one cupboard and one tall wardrobe, both fixated to the oaken walls facing each other. So, when it came to dressing, he often waited with the excuse of getting his internal economy used to the swings of the bulk, and started getting ready for the day after Aeolus left chuckling mildly that faded as he disappeared in the narrow corridors of the Menelaith.


    Albrion scarcely dined, fearing the food would dive out from his insides. The little he consumed nearly exited him already, and thankfully filled him with enough energy to last the days. Mostly he spent them first exploring the vessel, aiding the mates when they called out whilst when nothing was to be done, he leaned onto the bulwark on the aft, stared into the interminable horizon bathed in the warm light of the day whilst the vessel drawn a white, foamy streak across the clear azure.


    Usually, he remained near Oshiuth whose main task included patrolling the vessel, making sure nothing stole into the vessel as she explained. ¡°Come, you seem better now for a little sparring.¡± She said on the fifth day, when he himself felt the illness of the sea passed him at last.


    The two entered the training quarters in the heart of the Menelaith, the lone space which seemed grander of the ship¡¯s interior. Albrion felt the thick waves of mana flowing in the oaken walls, a queer feeling in a pleasant way as he could finally stretch his arms wide and straighten his posture. A few dozen racks adorned the walls, holding mostly long shafted weapons like spears, halberds and glaives, each finely hewn and crafted with runes carven into the wood and metal, upon curling his fingers around them filled Albrion with power whilst he felt the weight of his muscles lessen. A few carpets lined the floor, narrow and oblong and boldly shaded in violet, gold and crimson, vague figures battling the horrors of the sea and land on each of them.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Curtains of a similar artistic kind hung from the walls, whilst in the center four round columns rose from the floor, stretching into the ceiling with serpents hewn out from the trunk. And an oaken platform in the center, a broad square lined with soft, smooth textile that proved not so slippery contrary to its almost silken like appearance and feeling as it brushed their naked soles.


    ¡°Are you sure about that?¡± She queried, her eyes pointing with slight mocking at his long-bladed sword. He simply nodded with half a smile mocking back at her.


    Then the air grew heavy seemingly, silence accompanying it as she assumed her stance, holding her peculiar glaive with a black, hard leathery shaft, the blade and the sole encased in quicksilver like metal. Its edges engraved and lunar symbols along its smooth, reflective and broad, curving surface. Even by just looking at her, Albrion felt the same primal fear he had towards Moirstyria who often held her sword in a languid, listless manner, yet upon striking, she parried and threatened his life with in less than two movements.


    Though in this case, the difference of height and the length of his arms given him assurances of fair chance against the longer weapon Oshiuth held firmly. Albrion¡¯s gaze shifted between the weapon and her eyes filled with a predatorial gaze he knew well, searching for weaknesses in his stance. Heeding Moirstyria¡¯s and Augermil¡¯s advice, Albrion patiently waited, the two circled around the precipice of the platform.


    Oshiuth made the first move, thrusting the glaive five times, each time gently maneuvering it and each time the metallic clanks echoed through the space as intercepted its pointy end with the flat side of his sword. Thud! He stepped forth in a quick motion, swinging towards her neck, but by the time it reached it, she leapt into the air, a mild breeze blown into his face, blinding him momentarily. ¡°Congratulations.¡± He said, feeling the glaive¡¯s tip through his shirt and loosely hanging coat.


    Light claps echoed and the mates surrounding them all praised Oshiuth before the two climbed down, giving the space over to another pair. For the next few days, they practiced together early in the morning before her patrols. The day after, he earned his first victory against Oshiuth, when nearly the same trick was pulled, but this time he shut his lids and spun around meeting the blocking the thrust, then moving in hastily, as his body grew lighter, and tackled her down, blade¡¯s tip staring at her bosom beneath her leathery kimono.


    Each day, they seemingly rotated between who triumphed, until on the seventh day, Albrion triumphed in succession as he finally decided upon a longer weapon. ¡°I still prefer the sword. Much more elegant.¡± He answered when Oshiuth pointed out how much deadlier he could be with a spear, a trident or a glaive ¨C the weapon made by their mother¡¯s folk. With the honor and height of his uncle ¨C and just like him ¨C he preferred the Way of the Sword as he felt dull holding and triumphing with a trident. In a way he realized, it lacked the dangerous enjoyment of stepping into The Solemn Mistress¡¯s shadow.


    ¡°Tell me sister, why haven¡¯t you returned home?¡± As victory came a bit sooner, the two sat down on the bench, watching Alcinous sparring with one of the newer mates they picked up alongside Albrion.


    Looking at her, she seemed to ruminate on the answer and for a while Albrion regretted the question. He suspected there may have been a grave reason Oshiuth not have returned yet to claim her role in the Dream of the Elhyrissiar. ¡°I found my Calling on the seas. Here I can satisfy our thirst, live truly without the shackles of our kin, our family.¡± She answered, yet it satisfied not his curiosity as he noticed there had to be more.


    But he pushed no more the matter, for the time being. There was still a long road ahead, and Albrion was aware with the faults of their family. ¡°Well, I pray my Calling will be more so on the dry lands.¡± His words seemed to force a husky chuckle from her.


    ¡°Give it time. And you shall feel sick on land.¡± The two rose in tandem, and just as they were about to begin their seventh day, a horn¡¯s dire blow called them upon the deck. With a primal delight, they marshalled with the others, Albrion grasping the leather-bound handle of his sheathed sword, eager to be satiated.


    ****


    Albrion expected little he would be steeped in the gore of the simian gobokhs, the ghastly, once porcine orkhin and the ogrokh ¨C a strange fusion of bears and wildboars ¨C whilst striding across the clear, azure waters. But alas, it was the season of Mineirvia, when the beauteous Deos guided not just monsters, but all kindred who were beholden by their primal urges. Their burly vessel drawing its own hook line, beckoning not just the gargantuan denizens of the waves below, but even those above who took over the equally burly, mighty vessel he recognized as it had once been belonged to the navy of the Empire, still overseen by one of his distant uncles who walked different lands centuries before.


    The broadside once a bold shade of oaken trees sprawling in the heart of Vhalleryon, with streaks of indigo at the center and the top bulwark. Great, twirling masts with sails lustrous and bearing a serpentine dragon, devoid of wings as it swam the skies like it sore the seas. Its mighty jaws hung open, as if bellowing whilst on the front, the hewn image of a siren sang voiceless, calling upon the kindness of the wisps of the sea to beckon the living wood towards the desires of its master or mistress.


    ¡°Spirits ¨C and to an extent the Greater Intelligences ¨C all possess a kindness not like our own. Its something they share with any wandering soul if those know how to ask.¡± Oshiuth answered her, noticing the confound look in his dark pupiled eyes. ¡°And they can be mischievous. I heard many a tales passed along by the bars about wisps guiding folk to their doom ¨C be it in the embrace of the scum of the seas, or in the belly of some beast.¡± Arigios, a canine demikin appended. A familiar smile adorned his lean, protrusive head covered lush white fur with grayish black at the edges. His ears fluttered as the warm, salty wind blew against them whilst the shadows strengthened upon the hasty approach of the enemy vessel where the bellows of former Atoned mingled with the abrasive melody of the sea.


    There was a mix of excitement, fear when the front barbarously wedged their vessel. For a moment, he could hear the painful moans of the oak beneath his feet. And for a moment, he feared to be dragged into the abysses below. But it all flittered away, and as he drawn his blade, a small gobokh leapt at him from high, screeching maddeningly with a spear aimed at his bosom. Albrion arose hastily, and with a clean, deft swing, severed the pirates head from his feeble, small neck still bearing the runes carven into his grayish flesh beneath the dirty fur.


    As Albrion cut through swathes of gobokh, orkhs leaping from the enemy¡¯s bulwark onto theirs, his squinting eyes could rest for a moment. Opposite, long scales towered over on the main deck of the pirate vessel, and it quickly collapsed onto theirs with a loud bellow, muffling the waves beating against the broadside. With a mirthful grin, he welcomed the charging pirates, though before they could arrive, a gust swept them into the sea. Looking over the aft, Aeolus stood free from the wheel, balancing on top of the bulwark. One leg forward, the other behind as he stretched and crouched almost, whilst his arms stretched forward with knees angled down towards his straining thighs.


    His eyes closed, his nostrils flared as he inhaled the stirring air of the sea, and with each swipe, each pull forward and backward, gust assailed and pushed the enemy vessel slowly away. The rear ladders lost their grip and followed after the pirates, falling onto their heads before swallowed by the foaming waves. And just as he was about to push down the last ladder, a lone arrow found its way into his throat. No scream left his lips as blood splurged forth, trickling down his naked chest where a second lodged into his chest before his limp body somersaulted into the azure and white wastes.


    ¡°Albrion, help!¡± Oshiuth brought him back and as he turned at her, he noticed the approaching ogrokh adorned in large, angular plates around his purplish brown body, his head barbarously hideous with large fangs, an ursine snout flaring as he charged, the lush black mane rustled as the wind kept into it as he gained pace second by second. Oshiuth and Arigios slowly began to push the lone ladder at the center with a few other mates whilst Alcinous and his fellow merkiin waved around at the edges, tendrils of swirling, foamy water arising and battering against the pirate¡¯s ship.


    Quickly, Albrion thrusted his blade into the wood, and at once gray mist seeped out from the gleaming silver surface, down into the oaken ladder. The ogrokh led by an instinctual warning rushed towards Albrion. Beneath his trampling feet, the oak aged in seconds, and began to crumble with each forceful step until the brutish pirate bellowed one last time before the whole ladder crumbled into flakes and splinters. A loud thud of his head hitting the broadside was followed by a silence and a splash, and as he looked down, Albrion glimpsed the floating, hulking corpse before it was drawn into the depths by the heavy plates. He felt a bit relieved at heeding the advice of Oshiuth, Alcinous and the captain.


    Then another roar came followed by the loud boom as the stolen vessel before them shattered in two by the colossal maw of a sea serpent. Cries echoed as the pirates fell into the territory of the beast, and one by one washed into its maw. The Menelaith gained speed after the mates versed in water maghia aided the rowers down below. Albrion watched as the last of the pirates met their doom on the interminable sea, and for a moment, spotted Aeolus¡¯s corpse floating away in the distance. ¡°A grim sight of the sea.¡± Alcinous said as he gripped his shoulder gently. ¡°Be ready in case its hunger remains unsatisfied.¡±


    Turning away, Albrion remained still for a little while, shackled by a weight paced upon his heart, then head up, clutching his sword.


    ****


    Albrion slowly upreared, scraping the lush crown of his dark hair against the ceiling of the bunk bed. Nearly he repeated the usual apology of the past weeks, but he quickly bottled up the words. No more he needed to apologize as the lone occupant. He remained still, ailed by mournfulness he found queer, as he spent little time in the presence of Aeolus. Two days in an eternity that awaited him still. ¡°We should have bathed in salt water and their blood together.¡± He murmured, followed by an abrupt yelp when the bed threw him out.


    Or to be precise, a sudden force lifted his hulking frame out, the whole vessel moaned as weight exerted over the whole ship. Albrion pushed himself up, grabbed his blade and with a heavy heart, rushed out to the corridor, greeting Oshiuth and Alcinous with silence. First, his mind formed the image of the great sea serpent assailing the broadside, its head rammed spasmodically, in wild intervals rendering their way up to the main deck more difficult, once more degrading him back to the state he was in during the first few days.


    And to Albrion consternation, there were no gargantuan serpent aiming to turn over or destroy their safe haven upon the raging sea, instead a storm exercised its primordial right for destruction and chaos. Wild waves rose in the distance, rain poured heavily upon them, drenching his black garments layering over his massive form. Polyphemus wrapped his massive arms around the main mast, screaming like a child as the water stole over the bulwark. ¡°Hold onto something near the stairs or head inside!¡± Oshiuth yelled at him before disappearing in the pouring rain, and he wasted no time, knowing he had little knowledge to aid in such conditions.


    At first, he turned back, deciding inside he could aid in anchoring the freight, Albrion nearly plummeted into the waves. Reflexively his grip tightened around the knobs, and felt the floor sip out from beneath his feet. He dangled, the wave inviting as it lifted the Menelaith and it accepted, soaring through it canted towards the blue abyss. ¡°Fear not my brethren, we shall triumph over the rage of Tengeiron!¡± Outis¡¯s frantic laughter mingled with the crackled bellowing of the thunder striking near the ship.


    As the darkened vista of chaos lit up for a moment, Albrion¡¯s eyes bulged with dread. Far in the distance, yet clear even through the maelstrom, he glimpsed a gargantuan, long form of blackened flesh and bulbous, nodular growths dip beneath the raging wastes. His fear swelled vigorously, and he felt his heart¡¯s wild beating as he stared at the forming waves greater even the one the Menelaith rode on with its fearless half-blood captain.


    ¡°Wave ahead!¡± He yelled, but realized quickly it was in vain. The storm cruelly muffled his voice with a rapid succession of thunders thrusting, sealing their doom in the shadow of the great wave. In no time he expected to stand in the shadow of Dhaekria. Timed seemed to lessen its pace, and Albrion using his little time ruminated how his sister, Drussaev and dear uncle shall take his passage from the world. He was sure Drussaev shall roar in sorrow and anger whilst the other two shall lament in silence.


    Prepared to stand in the halls of the Grey Monarch, Albrion stared into the dim distance and noticed another strange sight, less terrifying than the serpent far away. A cylindrical lash burnished into reality, descending from the dark clouds into the raging sea. Within the twirling chaos, three lights of a strange shade he never seen gleamed into his soul serenity, assurance beforehand the waves enveloped the Menelaith.

 Tales of Elhyrissian: Above Her Shadow II.

    ¡°Is the galley fine?¡± Someone yelled, and as his fearful gaze swept across the main deck, Albrion found the owner of the hoarse, high-pitched voice belonging to a dwarf. A quite ugly one with a haggard face drenched, the salty seawater trickling between the bulbous nodules growing across his face. Everyone laughed, and even Albrion found himself chuckling that that would be the first thing anyone yelled after living through the vast storm.


    ¡°Are you alright little brother?¡± Oshiuth inquired after her laughter died down amidst the waves hitting the broadside. A bit splashed onto the two as he answered a bit meekly, holding back the bile from spurting out from his mouth after the long and arduous experience of being in that storm. ¡°We were close to meeting a serpent.¡± He added, recalling the slithering, gargantuan form he spotted as the wave lifted their vessel close to the infinite filament.


    ¡°Forgot to mention, but during Mineirvia¡¯s season, those beasts like to prowl the seas for lone vessels like ours.¡± Oshiuth said whilst he followed her up the stairs, forcing every fiber and muscle in his body to not give in to the wild spinning.


    ¡°I¡¯d face the beasts of the sea rather than experience that once more.¡± She chuckled at his explanation when they arrived up to the quarter deck where most things seemed intact, though a few of the mates who remained up here were claimed by the waters as they noticed only the half-blood captain and Alcinous at the wheel.


    Whilst his elder sister made a report and waited for the orders of the Captain who unfurled his fingers from the spokes after holding onto them for more than half a day, Albrion meandered towards the bulwark, leaned onto it ¨C nearly collapsed even ¨C and stared into the interminable fog surrounding the vessel. The vessel which pace gradually lessened, as if pulled, held by invisible hands.


    First his pale visage reflected mild terror, disgust at the floating pus like things swimming aimlessly amongst the floating land of crimson with a mild, dim purplish iridescence. ¡°Seaweed, just our luck.¡± Alcinous commented, stopping beside him just as Albrion thought to as his sight cleared, the spinning halted as if the sight mended him. Even the urge to lay out the contents of his stomach ceased completely. After Oshiuth received her orders, Albrion joined her as they inspected the vessel¡¯s lower decks, searching for any dents, possible leaks incurred by the violent sea.  For two hours, they made turns around, but finding nothing distressing, only the morose sight of a few sailors mangled, their heads bashed in by the few beams, or their own weapons plunged into their bodies during the storm.


    Finished with their inspection, they collected the dead after relaying the good part of the news, then on the eve, the whole remaining crew slowly lifted the dead mates into the sea, their final bed where the Solemn Mistress shall claim their souls. Watching the corpse of a young grekhian with a hawkish nose be swallowed by water and seaweed, he noticed a faint pinkish or violet gleam in the upper corner of his eye, far in the fog lit by the lanterns and maghieth stones. But by the time he looked, the glow was no more, so he returned inside, to fill his stomach, empty and finally calm.


    ****


    The following few days, the Menelaith made little traction through the Land of the Seaweed, though there was something portentous in the air, putting the weight of unease onto Albrion¡¯s heart. Though he was unsure whether it was him being simply alert at the thickening masses of crimson surrounding them. A feeling he was not alone with. Many a times, the mates cried out, including Polyphemus whose lone eye could pick up on the faint movements in the seaweed. But each time their unease was proven needless, as the smaller denizens mockingly bounded over before disappearing into the sea.


    Mostly uneventful days passed as they searched for a way out from the thick fog encompassed land. Albrion spent most of it down on the second deck, continuing his practice with either Oshiuth or Alcinous when the latter was free from the steering, parting away the clingy seaweed holding back the vessel. Yet on the second night, Albrion suddenly jerked up from his bed, hearing something from across the wall. Perspiration trickled down as he heard the queer sound of something viscous slither up the broadside, then by the time he grabbed his sword and walked up, found nothing in the lit darkness.


    During the frugal breakfast they had ¨C imposed by Outis for the reason of uncertainty in regards of their escape from these unchartered waters ¨C Albrion mentioned the sound to Oshiuth, Alcinous and Polyphemus, each offering a different view. Oshiuth mentioned the krakens who frequented the northern waters tending to play with their prey. Alcinous agreed but also offered that it could have been a sea-snail slithering up the vessel, then sliding down when the defensive enchantments sensed it whilst the augmented orkh brought up the elementals of the sea, but the other two disagreed as they tended to stray from the mortals. Albrion personally agreed with Oshiuth, recalling a bit about the krakens Moirstyria showed him once.


    And at night he and Oshiuth got proven right, when most of the crew awoke to the screams of one of theirs. By the time they reached the main deck, their fellow¡¯s scream was muffled after he got pulled beneath the seaweed, followed by two imposing, massive tentacles rising high. ¡°Damned pirates.¡± Outis cursed them, looking at the main mast with glowing eyes. Noticing the meager dent made into one of the carved runes, Albrion understood that the vessel¡¯s protection was slightly weakened, enough for the kraken.


    Flames appeared around his free left hand, and after thrusting it towards the closest tentacle reaching down, a sphere of flames shot out and as it screamed across the darkness, lengthened and sharpened. Upon impact, half of the upper portion severed, fell towards the Menelaith, but only a few cinders arrived, weak enough to not set ablaze their one sanctuary. Although, they all expected the creature to roar from beneath the waters, it remained silent eerily as if it felt no pain.


    The other was halted just a few meters above the main deck, with Oshiuth bravely standing on the bulwark, tendrils of condensed, whirring air shackling her to the floor, wrapped around the sash of her kimono. Her glaive pointed high, its sharp tip penetrating the one of the larger suckers, pouring ink black blood and water onto her pale form. She pushed it deeper and with seemingly languid movements, sliced the flesh, leaping out from the blood showering the spot where she stood.


    Noticing the disk like eye after rushing to the edge, protruding through the thick crimson masses, hatred and the lantern¡¯s flames glimmering in large eye. Quickly aimed, Albrion released another fireball and watches as the flames continued devouring the gargantuan octopus even as it completely submerged. Then after a long silence they spent staring out into the fog, their eyes kept on the seaweed, their weapons grasped strongly, a singular arrow was released by a feline demikin with steel gray fur.


    It quickly tore through the air, stopped in the thick, smooth and black hide of the kraken, and to their relief, no retaliation came from the monster. It was dead as they all deduced from its floating, limp tentacles bulging the thick layer of seaweed. The eye Albrion shot out was hollow, charred still as smoke and a baleful odor arose from it. ¡°Say, don¡¯t you wanna serve on this vessel for a few more years?¡± Outis asked him as he patted his waist whilst gloatingly looking at the gargantuan corpse slowly returning to beneath the waters.


    As he nearly turned, Albrion ceased and stared into the foggy darkness. Not far he heard the disturbance of water, as if something arose, and vaguely he saw six spikes, like the legs of gargantuan arachnids he and Drussaev hunted beneath the colorful dunes of the far-south arise from the waters and the seaweed. A low growl reverberated and worried Albrion who reached for his blade, but only a long, near silence followed as the Menelaith barely moved through the land of the seaweed.


    ****


    On the seventh day following the storm, Albrion dreamt of queer things and feelings. He was alone, sitting surrounded by interminable darkness when suddenly, he grew aware to a strange sound in the dark. A sound which reminded him of clambering snails. Mucous smearing upon the myriad grain of glistening sand, accompanied by the vile stench of wet death. As if a corpse was covered in some viscous material, and it neared behind him. Yet when he lurched suddenly, there was only the black emptiness staring back at him.


    Then a sudden bump pulled him out from the dream, and with one hand upon the handle of his resting sword atop his thighs, he sat upright, still. His dark pupiled eyes swept across the darkness, slowly diffusing into a soft dimness. At first, he believed some specter may have been the culprit, hiding in the shadows, melded into the wood awaiting Albrion to sleep once again. But then came another thud, from his left, from the other side, followed by a series from the corridor. ¡°Come brother, this night shall be not so merciful to grant us sleep.¡± Oshiuth swung open the door, holding her glaive already dressed in her battle garments.


    Without unneeded words, Albrion leapt onto his feet and followed after her and the other mates awakened from their blissful rest. Unlike them, they had sour expressions, no doubt after being wrung from a pleasant dream spent with the phantasmal manifestation of a mermaid or beautiful nymph of the sea. Nearing the stairs, the melody of struggling and a vile stench stirred them all fully, and stepping out, the djinn sailor before him swept away into the sea in a manner of seconds.


    Albrion swiftly unsheathed his blade, held it before himself as his senses screamed at him, whilst the stench of the approaching horror of the sea neared in a frightful velocity. The creature swiftly altered its trajectory, and in the mere second, Albrion swung and cut into the cadaverous, damp flesh eliciting a queer shriek from the hideous form before him. Ignoring the pain, the creature arose, balancing deftly as it stood at the same height as the towering Albrion who grew nearly to three meters by his one and the hundredth year.


    Staring at the adroit creature balancing on its fin, striking at him with its stretching, tentacle like fingers, Albrion agreed mentally with Alcinous¡¯s comment from two weeks before ¨C these creatures were truly hideous. Then evading, and skirting close to the creature, Albrion cut its head off with a clean, swift and deft strike, then turned as another lunged at him shrieking like a bird.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Content at seeing what he deduced to be the Weedkin they talked about in Zaocaes, he wasted no more time. At once time halted to a near stop all around him, and with one step closed the distance. His blade made no sound as it cleaved into the creature¡¯s neck, severing the seaweed like jet black hair. As its head flew off into the lit darkness, oily blood spurted forth the gaping hole, tarnishing Albrion¡¯s refined form as he turned and cut through another of the vile weedkiin.


    A bellow drawn his attention beyond the mast. Rushing towards Polyphemus whose voice he recognized through the rhythm of the battle, Albrion noticed immediately a group of the hideous, savage merkiin stand queerly on their tails, their tentacle hands wriggling, writhing whilst a sinister ethereal mist wreathed and flittered about. From the floor, the viscous crimson seaweed sprouted and wrapped around the massive wrists and ankles of the one-eyed orkh. A fifth lunged out suddenly and cinched his neck, dampening the cry for aid.


    Fearing the approach of dusk, ethereal grains of fiery orange and red flittered, then head of the nearest creature exploded, chunks spraying the entrance to Outis¡¯s cabin, breaking the window and setting alight the curtain. Albrion fearing the Menelaith being devoured by hastily conjured flames leapt at the nearest, and drove his blade through its heart, then freed his blade by pulling it up, across its body.


    The other noticing the demise of its kin, altered the spell, the viscous tendrils now lurching at Albrion whose smiled upon the warm sensations spreading across his form. The thrill of the kill mingled with the tinging of maghia as his blade severing the right tentacle arm of the creature spread a curse upon its hideous form. In seconds, the creature¡¯s shrieks ceased into oblivion, as its form withered into a mound of dust carried away by the rocking ship.


    With another swing, a whirling, slim wheel of flames rolled out from the left edge and cut through the remaining seaweed tendrils, freeing Polyphemus who thanked him before planting his hardened fist into the beaked visage of a weedkiin. Cutting through another, Albrion averted his gaze for a moment, watched with excitement as Polyphemus quickly grabbed one by the head, squeezed it into a bloody and bony pulp, then hurled the hideous corpse towards another slithering over the bulwark, sending it back to the seaweed covered sea.


    For a moment, victory seemed close, yet the numbers of the enemy dwindled not even as Albrion released withering and burning black flames; Oshiuth swung her glaive, from its blade a wintry wind freezing three of the wicked denizens of the seaweed; Alcinous planted his triton onto the bosom of one, that from its three prongs, thunder zigzagged through four more; Outis on top of the aft swung his maul, caving in the chest of one, and with the same breath, swung and squashed the head of another. Yet as he glanced over the bulwark, he saw as hundreds upon hundreds of the weedkiin glided beneath the rippling waves, and as he looked up daunted at the sight far ahead in the fog.


    Far ahead, a massive worm ducked beneath the waves, rocking the Menelaith and undulating the unremitting, entwined seaweed upon the dim, azure wastes. And the repugnant creatures who marched beneath suddenly diverted their path, away from the vessel with great haste. The sailors cried loudly in triumph as the few on the vessels also scurried away, terror in their deep-set, lidless eyes. Their cries died away in the same breath, just as Albrion turned back from the waters. A cavernous bellow shook the world, halted the little wind breezing through the ship, and even the fog ceased its existence.


    ¡°Whirlpool, ahead!¡± A truscian mate shouted grasping onto the bending bow. Albrion loomed over the bulwark and noticed far ahead the water twirling into itself, and a stench most hideous to his nostrils contorted his face, and filled him with the dread of approaching death.


    Outis¡¯s maddened laughter boomed through the whole deck. ¡°That is no whirlpool my friends. That is our doom, the doom of all sailors.¡±


    Dread spread across the countenances on the Menelaith, an infectious curse digging its roots deep within the hearts. Albrion being the sole exception, turned towards Oshiuth and Alcinous, but before he could inquire further on the source of the captain¡¯s sudden madness, both uttered the same word. A dreadful name feared by all sailors. ¡°Charybdis.¡± Then she grabbed him by the shoulder and imparted a thought into his mind, and at once followed after the two and lined behind a few sailors.


    All aboard the main deck began to wave their arms, attuned their wills to the seas, the water brushing wildly against the polished bulk at once. Albrion listened intently as the sea around their meager vessel ¨C a speckle in the azure eternity ¨C warred upon itself. Near the bottom, a current formed, heading away from the whirlpool emanating putrescence, carried to them by the silent wind, whilst the rest, flown to cease the thirst and hunger of Charybdis. Closing his eyes, he felt not just the conflict of the water, but the wild beating of his heart, the perspiration crawling out from his spores whilst a chill gripped his spine.


    For a moment, hoped seemed to thaw away the dew of terror encrusting his soul and heart, Albrion chuckled softly, though it was muffled by maddened laughter of the half-blood captain, the rhythmic grunts as the sailors neared their limits, beckoning another less palpable horror and the cascading waves heading down to the hideous sprout that was the maw of the great beast, Charybdis, Doom of the Seafarers. Looking to his right, he watched as a fair man collapsed onto his knees, his last shrieks drowned out by the flowing, effervescent water leaving his body until he remained a dreadful mummy.


    A few more followed, standing on the precipice of one doom and another as they gave in, accepted their fates and began to pray on their knees to the One and the Eight, their winged divine pets and many being Albrion heard not before. ¡°Forgive me brother, for I bewitched you into doom!¡± Oshiuth ceased too, and turned with a mirthless grin before she gave in and collapsed near below the bulwark. Her gaze focused on the peaceful skies where clouds billowed away, as if they too feared what lurked beneath the waves with an insatiable hunger.


    ¡°Forgive not, as I stepped onto this vessel accepting whatever fate awaits all sailors of the seas.¡± He said, sitting beside her, strangely devoid of fear, a queer assuredness veiling serenity upon his soul. He sprouted his fist, and his claws dig into the vessel, in his mind the wave of arkhaine euphoria lifting his spirit from the shadow of the Night itself.


    ¡°See you all in the Antechamber of Asphodai my brothers and sisters.¡± Otius shouted as the Menelaith reached the putrid chasm¡¯s precipice, and leaned towards its own doom. Albrion took a glimpse at him, and watched as his weirdly long and bulky fingers unwrapped from the spokes, and lifted into the air, flying for a moment before taking to the depths where light ceased to be.


    All around, a hideous wall of cadaverous flesh circled, protrusions of all kinds, including nodular ones forming glowing colonies like corals on the shores; tendrils nestling against the viscous, horrid flesh; and curving teeth the size of hills which the vessel landed on and upon impact shattered in two, taking most of the crew down with itself into the abyss. Their shrieks muffled by the waterfalls pouring in all sides, Albrion stared down only once whilst burying his claws into the tooth forming a jagged crescent of a blackened tooth.


    Albrion groaned, staring down as he began to lift his arm up. The four formed a chain, below him Oshiuth who grasped Alcinous, and Alcinous grasped firmly Polyphemus whose weight pulled them towards the putrescent abyss. A doleful fact reflected in his singular eye. His lips trembled a little before he looked down and back. ¡°It was a honor to fight alongside all of ya. May the Judge of the Dead be fair and kind upon us.¡± With a sorrowful cadence, he released his grip, the shadows swallowed his shrinking form as the three cried out his name in unison.


    Yet Albrion felt a mixture of shame and relief, now his arm bulging with veins beneath the dark sleeves pulled Oshiuth and Alcinous closer. When mana poured into his arms, the veins glowing ethereally, he cried out as pain slipped besides the arkhaine euphoria as he reached his limit. Suddenly, his arm twitched back and once more the two dangled. Looking up, they watched as Charybdis began shutting her maw.


    Shadows crept over them slowly, the light of day barred moment by moment. ¡°Though we spent little time in this life, I am glad to be fought besides two dragons. May we meet again in the next.¡± Both looked at him down.


    ¡°No!¡± Oshiuth repeated, tears flowing from the corners of her mesmerizing eyes, blue as the ice covering the lakes of the north. He whispered a few words whilst laxing his own grip, whilst Oshiuth held on, yet when he conjured forth a thin layer of water, he swiftly slipped into the abyss with a mirthless smile. The two stared into the abyss, silent before Albrion began to strain his arm once more, hoping to threw her onto the tooth.


    Each effort failed, and the light nearly slipped, enveloping the two in utter darkness. Albrion¡¯s heart beat wildly, and he fought tooth and nail to triumph over the slowly numbing terror. There were still myriad things he wished to achieve, witness the dream his father and uncle sang odes for the decades he spent cooped up in their radiant den. And he wished to fight besides Moirstyria and Drussaev a hundred or thousand more times before he fell triumphantly in a battle against the hordes of Dusk and other malevolent forces wishing to break the dream of his kindred. He wished not to die in the belly of such a monstrosity as Charybdis.


    ¡°Tell me brother, have you realized your Calling?¡± She asked, her voice filled with a false hope, a kindness that warmed his being.


    ¡°Only in passing moment, yet I am certain it is not on the accursed waters of this promised land.¡± He answered, mustering his strength to throw her above. ¡°It is either on land or if I think more, possibly above it, in the endless skies where our forefathers sored guiding our lesser brethren before the Six graced us with intelligence and refined form.¡± Hearing her give strangely prepared him to even give his own life, and for a moment he desired to dream eternally of flying across the skies of Elhyrissian.


    ¡°Good, there you may be free from even father.¡± The words stupefied him little, as he heard the same sentiment from Moirstyria and Drussaev. ¡°For centuries I walked the lands of Vhalleryon, looking for my own Calling before I found it in the seas, I returned home to take my place in our Dream, yet when I expected to meet my beloved, kind though seldom temperamental father, I found him no more. I pray you shall seek and find your Calling in the skies, where true freedom lies like on the sea.¡± Unease crept into his eyes, feeling her touch grew distant, slip away and when he looked down, he glimpsed at her falling form only for a moment.


    Before Albrion could take one last glimpse at his elder sister, she conjured a strong gust of wind, lifting him out from the hideous maw of Charybdis ¨C his claws remaining within the fang, a forever reminder to the worm that one got away. He could still feel the tender coldness of her hand as he flew for the first time in his life without mounting a graceful dragon of House of Dawn and Heavens. Freedom and sorrow danced in his heart, pushing dread out as he approached the azure wastes clashing against each before swallowing him.


    Down there, beneath he gazed upon the worm, Charybdis slithering into the unbroken darkness, before he shut his eyes and awaited either mercy or death decreed by the One and the Eight. Neither came as he sunk further down into the Land of Oneiron, though before he stepped through its billowing gates, a brilliant trilobed glow flashed into his eye and mind, easing the pain of his frame. Then he sat upright, to the cold breeze of the north. Hours passed, dusk approached whilst Albrion watched with a gloomy gaze as the waves bashed against and onto each other like wrestling siblings¡­

 Tales of Elhyrissian: Tune of Madness

    The fifth day of Almdiorh, 127<sup>th</sup> of the First Age¡­


    Amber sparks sputtered on the white, slanting walls reaching towards the hole, the forge blazed with the golden flames of Dawn. In its center, bright smoke and flames mingled, swirled wildly, from their top Demiphos¡¯s vague silhouette formed, hurling curses at the two figures sweating profusely under their holy garments, sewn from the finest of silk and velvet, showing not a single blemish upon their smooth, gloomily lustrous textures, surfaces. Their hoods drawn over, offered soothing, cold respite whilst their white, porcelain masks fashioned after her ethereal visage with a veil draping over the eyes, protected them from the battering heated winds whilst their whispery chanting echoed in the small forge.


    The tallest, behind his master and elder, Gelasimir grasped his staff of blackwood, the violet veins strengthened, swallowed in the conjured flames of the tortured spirit, whilst Eiboth fastened his gloved palms, ignored the agonies whilst sweat and his blackened blood poured forth the exposed right half of his skull, mingling on the cadaverous, living tissue grown over his shoulder. Neither relented as they called upon the Queen of Winter through the ancient verse of Mortueren Lenithaem, an ancient rite devised by the Teneavhei bring respite upon the dead animated by the Light of Dawn.


    Their robes began to flow, more and more of the heat stole into their voluminous dark robes, the stolas circling around the base of their hoods flittered, and their necklaces, its chains shaped like tears, holding large medallions with a shepherd¡¯s staff slicing across its center, sculpted from an ivory metal, contrasting the onyx medallion itself ornated with pallid white gems around the brims. Shadows crept in from under the burning door at last, snuffing the flames consuming it before lengthening over the slanting white walls. The spirit of Demiphos shrieked, cursing the two for calling upon Winter and Dusk, but with each repeated chant of the verse, each passing second its continuous screaming lost its emotions, the hateful eyes became listless.


    A dark silhouette pronounced itself in the dim shadows, slender and divine, tall, imposing and humble at the same time. Slim hands wrapped around the burning, bulky spirit until only smoke formed its frame, and with a moan it ceased too, leaving Eiboth and Gelasimir kneeling in the dark, before the silvery ray shone through the hole, gracing the two, rewarding them with the alleviation of their previous agonies. They uttered their thanks in unison, before hunching down their hands, sensing their lugubrious Mistress standing before them, unseen in the Fold of Reality where the Divine and the Outer Intelligences dwelt.


    Gelasimir felt elated taking a share of Her sorrows before she carried the last remnants of Demiphos to be judged by her brother, husband in the gray walled city of Asphodai, along with their servitors. Being young, born on the promised lands of Elhyrissian, he longed to stand in the presence of a Deos, never felt more content in his short life yet and silently he strengthened his vow to Dhaekenia. Though numbness began to spread along his legs, imposed by the hours spent upon the cold, hard stone floor in the smithy on the western bank of the Flaurdrenn River. Nonetheless, he endured, feeling her steps, her ethereal dress drawing shadows and silver along the floor.


    Eiboth, older than him by many centuries, felt nostalgic, smiled at feeling her cold presence, the blackness in his right socket stirred when he felt cold palms touching where her Father took his beauty, the grace he once gifted to his pale kindred. A little of the otherworldly heat curled up in his shoulder, slithered between the blackened tendon and skull, but he too endured his great agonies, greater than his pupils before the tender palms pressed against his robes, his pale white complexion with hints of hallowed purple of wisterias. Like his pupil, he endured in silence, though he wished to greet and voice his gratitude to Dhaekenia. But she vanished.


    ¡°You have done well, Gelasimir!¡± With soft creaks emanated from his tired joints, Eiboth arose dusting off his robes.


    Gelasimir bowed courteously before speaking what rested on his heart. ¡°It was just as you said, master! It felt greater than purified outer mana.¡±


    Eiboth chuckled softly, then coughed a little, lifting his mask partially to reveal his half-grinning, half-lipless mouth. Then hid it with haste. ¡°I hope you are content with this much. Our Lady, Our Solemn Shepherd¡¯s presence may be soothing, gracious but it has also tempted many into madness.¡±


    ¡°I am master. Though, I must admit, it stoked the flames of my devotion for Her!¡± Gelasimir¡¯s ever-calm, listless eyes burned with fervor, excitement for the future.


    Eiboth smiled truly as another true Shepherd joined Her flock. Not many wished to learn less violent ways of vanishing remnants of the dead, most folk within the Empire and its predecessor ¨C as far he heard from his own father ¨C were tempted by the possible glories, the tales to be told. Gelasimir was nearly tempted to switch to Mineirvia¡¯s Circle, a possibility which saddened him, as the young aevhe proved kind, uncaring for his accursed hideousness. ¡°Come, let us relieve the family, and dine before the hour of Midnight.¡± The two left, but for a moment, Eiboth steps ceased in the arched frame, a faint sound shackled his ankles. A distant fluting, beckoning.


    *****


    In the Wintry Season of Almdiorh, in the 197<sup>th</sup>


    year of the First Age¡­


    A warm glow of the Illius stirred the two from their near catatonic state of scribing the contents of ancient tomes, grimoires upon scrolls for the neonates of their Circle. Eiboth hunched over his desk, the light falling upon his blackened skull turned back inches away, before swallowed by the dark marrow. Whilst his blackened skull drenched its thirst, his pale skin glistened, revealed hints of regal wisteria. His bald head arose, and his left eye closed, the other stared blindly towards the sprawling city cloaked in retreating shadows, the marching light of dawn. His long, ghastly fingers wrapped around each, and cracked loudly in the spacious, nonagonal office before he continued scribing down the words of power.


    Gelasimir rose from behind, with a loud yawn, his arms arising above his long dark mane, the four braids of his thick, dark beard upon his pale, tapering visage dangled as his body trembled as his muscles relaxed. He arose from his mahogany chair, soft thuds, the bony tunes of his ivory white earrings and creaks signaled his trail across their office, then stopped, carefully placing his hand upon his master¡¯s shoulders. His indigo eyes surveyed the desk below, and hummed with a bit of envy how the feeble, beloved teacher of his reached his fourth towering stack, whilst he only finished the second.


    ¡°The rare warm glow. Thought it would be in three more years.¡± He said, basking his fair golden visage whilst watching the demesne of light expand over the darkness. Soothing, yet also weighing down his tired dim indigo eyes.


    Eiboth hummed his agreement as he watched the shadows of Dusk retreating, reminiscing him of the ancient battles he fought in the old realms, the old provinces of the Empire. Still with pain he thought back of the lost friends, the comrades, the loved ones who he often had to cut down as they rose from the tainted lands. And of his own beauty, tarnished by the Grimm Sovereign who granted his people their form, who chose the Pale Dragons of Dusk along boars, simians, worms and others. Yet in his heart, he felt no malice towards him, his daughter, Dhaekenia saved him and made him see, the horrors were born from the illness of his mind incomprehensible for mortals. And Gelasimir¡¯s kindness gave him hope, that one day, he shall no longer be shunned, forced to hide under a mask.


    ¡°What is it master?¡± Gelasimir asked, whilst placing back a few of the tomes wasting space upon his desk, back to their place upon the shelves lining the angled walls. Yet he expected no immediate answer, recognizing the lost expression upon the tarnished countenance of Eiboth.


    Memories flown still into his mind, clouding his vision of the day of what he became in the Battle of Chautor Feoldek, where his screams of agony were drowned out by the bellows of beast, the shrieks of the dying and the arising, and where he first gazed upon the Pale King, whose cheeks strewn with strings emanated a strange sound calling back the dead, bewitching them into the folds of his legions. How the Chosen of his Siblings, fell and arose, turning their blades, spears and spells against those whom they filled with the hope of victory, of promise their liege, the Dawnfather arrive, heralding their victory against the hordes of Twilight.


    How he looked so dreadful and magnificent in his regal robes of Twilight, their uneven, tattered hem and cloak flittering in the suffocating wind of rotting, burning flesh, his bony crown thrusted into the reddened skies, bleeding dark clouds. The cold listless face, adorned with sunken, dark eyes sweeping across the field. The earth beneath their soles blackened, the insects, the flattened grass, trampled flowers, and many of those ¨C but not all ¨C who fought in the name of Light crumbled, fell and arose reinforcing the enemy. Eiboth taught not of death, but of sorrow as he felt Dhaekenia¡¯s touch, saw her divine face under her black veil, weeping at the madness of her father. That day, he was tarnished, and he found purpose in his life, in his new found devotion to Dhaekenia, who accepted the horrid reality.


    ¡°Nothing. nothing at all.¡± He answered in a low whisper, grinning on one side, smiling softly on the other. ¡°Just the old days, the battle in which I lost and gained.¡±


    Not long after, he took the black robes of Dhaekenia, kneeled in her soothing shadow and vowed eternal service, whilst friends, comrades, family and strangers glared at him with the same suspicion they had given to the daughter of a mad divine. He fought, carried her Will in his heart, listening to the dying after each battle along with her, and wept when like the others, she lost her form. And all throughout the long centuries, the question festered in his mind. The question of what could drive a Deos, a higher being to cause so much wanton destruction and death. Yet he never attempted to find answer, just accepted it was born his lugubrious fate, to bring end to all.


    As the question planted itself into the fore of his mind once more, it sprouted a hundred branches and a sour feeling took him over in regards of the monotone task awaiting him still as he peeked sideways towards the counting the seventeen tomes resting still on the shelves lined along the walls. Why whistle a melody in a battle where victory was certain? Why wage an existential war against your own who you cared for untold eons? What was the source of the madness which doomed Him, his Servitors and children he elevated into their prime forms?


    All these questions and a hundred other drummed in his head, sprouting surreptitious lips beckoning him onto the path of answers. Though his body was cursed to be as feeble as a human¡¯s or orkhin¡¯s, his soul burned with the curiosity and the thirst of adventure he locked away after the Banishment of the Twilight. Now he saw the banality of his every single day, and like the servants of Septurrion, he thirsted for more. He thirsted for the truth and the answer, believing even it may bring soothe upon Dhaekenia and the Gray Monarch, as their true woes he thought lie in the fact, they may carry the same seeds, which shall sprout one day upon Elhyrissian.


    Elated by his resolve, he realized dawn neared its end, day began in earnest when the bells rang near the precipice of the walls. Eiboth hunched down, his hands moved even quicker to the surprise of Gelasimir, who feeling a bit contentious, headed back to his chair. Two more hours, they needed to erect each four more stacks, enough for all the neonates. Eiboth looked at the stacks and pondered, whether he could recruit Gelasimir and the neonates still unsure which Circle to choose, which Deos to pledge unwavering loyalty to.


    He turned towards Gelasimir followed by six stacks of parchments. ¡°Tell me, have you ever thought what could drive a Divine Intelligence to madness?¡± The quiet fluting began anew with the day.


    *****


    247<sup>th</sup> of the First Age¡­


    Eiboth nearly broke his finger whilst packing away his alchemical supplies into the large case. Excitement stirred his blood as he got his desired reply to set out to the wider world of Vhalleryon for an expedition. A new excavation awaited him deep in the heart of the continent they aptly named Cordivil, in its northern regions, hidden in the dense forest acting as a natural border with the neighboring province. Eiboth whose life stretched beyond the War of the Siblings, to the time when the aevhen dominions stretched far across worlds, was tasked to investigate the ruins built by his darker cousins, the Teneavhei in hopes of locating them. Though he was sure but the Elhyrissiar and his brother Augermil knew where they hid.


    Eiboth was so preoccupied with packing, preparing a few tomes detailing the history of their Empire and what came before he forgot about Gelasimir who went out to deal with an upstart nekromancer who holed up in the recently finished canal system of Luth-Astaril. A fact which surprised not his student, friend who simply sighed and remonstrated the old niuvhe when he noticed him once more nearly breaking one of his feeble, long, bony fingers. Swallowing his exhaustion, he helped Eiboth, too excited for the journey ahead after holed up for two centuries in the capital. With his hood up, mask veiling his tarnished visage, the two descended down to the harbor, and after a heart felt goodbye, Eiboth turned his back to the city, and gazed towards east.


    The seasons passed as Eiboth sailed on the pristine azure and cerulean waves, on the mighty galley amongst the flock of thirsty scholars, magusos of Septurrion¡¯s Circle mingling with two of his own. At the ceasing days of Maerhia¡¯s vernal season, they arrived to the small town of Stagara built in the northern bank of the Gurgilion River on the hill itself, cutting across the Province of Cordivil. Amongst its primitive walls, Eiboth spent the week they spent to rest, to enjoy rigid stillness beneath their soles, in the meager library of the local chapter of the Order¡¯s Spire. Expecting not much, he felt fortune¡¯s smile upon his tarnished form, finding accounts of the teneavhei of the southern lands heading northwards.


    The first few pages offered little new information their tomes held already. Their peculiar garments, lustrous yet when light fallen upon them, the fabric voraciously drank it up, feeding the smoothness of its texture and the luster of its sheen, and how unblemished they all looked even though they have been marching for decades. Yet the last few stirred Eiboth, an envious smile under the mask as he read them in the dimly lit library, as Scribe Sulpicio prone deeper, and penned down one of the Teneavhei mentioning a soft, rhythmic chiming they all heard. A whisper which reached them from across time and space, compelling them to migrate beyond Dhaugruz.


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    Right before the weekend passed, their galley set sail, continuing up the river. Three weeks it took for them to stop in Myudesos, a former city-state Stagara belonged to a century before. Its proud walls battered by the spells of the rebels, filled Eiboth with unease as they sailed under the half-crumbled arch, followed by frustration as their supplies were stolen. Knowing not much he could do about it, decided to enjoy the city whilst waiting. On the second day in the market, a lone kiosk in the shadow of a tall, maroon edifice caught his attention.


    Opulent wine-red sheets formed a roof, held by black, curving columns, their tops resembling bulky hands. Under the colored shade, a corpulent dwarf towered over in a lavish, jade vest of thick, lustrous woolen, an elegant shirt with a round neck straining around his bulging, fat neck whilst his loose breeches remained in place by an oaken brown leather belt with golden fastenings, ornamented with embossed, gilded rabbits hopping around with sacks tied around their necks. His skin dull, wrinkles billowed like the clouds high above the filament, following the trail of the breeze, his movements elegant and measured as he beckoned Eiboth once he noticed the interest gleaming in his eyes nested in the mask¡¯s holes.


    ¡°Come, solemn child of Dhaekenia.¡± He beckoned him with a jovial expression, waving his arms. His voice gravelly, deep full of excitement at a potential buyer.


    ¡°How do you know?¡± Eiboth asked meekly, still his gaze remained on the baubles. A necklace like his own, but in the center of a medallion, an hourglass engraved instead. A short, black wand with dark violet veins, a bony structure. A mask he saw a hundred or thousand times in the battles of the great war. A skeletal visage, with cheeks cut out, decorated with silken or velvet strings of black and violet. Like the visage of the Grimm Sovereign.


    ¡°These eyes have been watching for centuries.¡± The dwarf said, leaning forward in a whisper. Then chuckled like a child. ¡°Truthfully, I recognize the garments of the Solemn Mistress, and your hands are as pale as hers.¡±


    Eiboth¡¯s gaze halted upon a heavy tome, bound in blackened leather, ornated with amethysts, cyan dyed sapphires and onyx brimming with a deep red glow in its heart. ¡°May I ask, where these baubles, these treasures fallen upon your hands?¡± He turned his gaze to meet the dwarves ¨C brimming with suspicion.


    Though the dwarf recognized it was out of curiosity. ¡°Dhaugruz is rich in them. Many of His servants fled there from the judgement of the Deossos, and the owner of these, probably met his doom by one of Its horrors.¡±


    Eiboth sensed the truth in his words. The fluting began, soft and rhythmic. ¡°How much for this?¡± He asked and the dwarf revealed his rotten teeth.


    Hidden in his locked stash in his quarters at the aft, Eiboth surged with unease and excitement at the contents. He was sure it held forbidden knowledge, and knew if it was discovered, he would face death by the blade of the Executioner. But he knew it was needed, to find his answers one day. For now, he slept and dreamt of Pale Figure in flowing, tattered robes of a king, kneeling upon waters of devoid of ripples, waves as he prayed towards the nothingness all around them. When he opened his mouth, arrayed by seventy teeth down and above, a fluting emanated forth the lineless lips, and the Nothingness stirred along with Eiboth who felt sweat trickle down his exposed, blackened skull for the first time in centuries. Beyond his window, light stretched across slowly, the pale green meadows.


    ******


    257<sup>th</sup> of the First Age¡­


    Three years, he spent excavating the ruins in northern Cordivil. What his colleagues and the upper echelons of the Order believed as an erection of the Teneavhei proved false in a positive manner ¨C to Eiboth. The others tried to dissuade him at first to continue instead of destroying the Abode of Twilight itself, his thirst for answers, to hear the soothing tones of the fluting, infected the others, and one by one they fell, the Abode becoming their tomb. Undead, horrors from beyond puppeteering cadavers, and the children of the Grimm Sovereign lurked still in the deepest levels, where his Pallid Figure was carven into marble and stalactite. Only he returned alive, thanks to the Black Grimoire of a teneavhe nekromancer. Returned even though he very much wanted to remain, hoping to find the chamber in his dreams. And as he sailed home, the fluting mingling with the billowing waves sought his patience, soothed his worn soul.


    Arriving home, at Luth-Astaril which appeared dimmer, Gelasimir greeted him only with a smile. A smile forced, as he heard of the consequences born from being the sole survivor and his tarnished appearance they wished to hide from the others. First, he expected death or exile to the continent, a prospect which excited him at the time as the fluting ceased. Instead, exile awaited below the city, below the earth where an extensive prison, an Obituary built by Pandoriniath head of the Order, last living kin of Aeneiath, the First Elhyrissiar. A prison not for mortal sinners, but the invaders who broke the Law of The Almodo, forbidding them from bringing further harm to the mortals whose numbers dwindled greatly.


    There he served as the warden of Aydvroeghs, Umvraoths, Incarnates of the Wild Elements, the Infaerni who taint the virtuous, and even some minor deossos whose loyalty towards Dusk, Twilight ceased not. Though as he felt and understood, not wholly, only a small parcel of their being, locked in opulent boxes bound by layers of inscriptions he and many others had to replenish, strengthen every so often. There he remained, serving dutifully for five excruciatingly long, silent years, unfrequented and doleful with each passing week. Darkness was his home as it was for the ancestors of the Atoning, and the Teneavhei, as even when he was allowed leaving to rest at his meager home in the district of the slaves, it was the hour of Lunarius that greeted him with its soothing, chilly winds and silvery, pale brilliance.


    When he sunk deepest into the silently oppressing pit of his, a faint whisper brushed against his ears whilst reconstructing the waning runes, inscriptions binding unseen a small, golden box, a seal sculpted after the avian like visage of the Heavenly Host¡¯s dragons. Hollow and sweet, were the words of the essence inside, calling not for his freedom, but for the sorrow of one of His children. Decades, a century before Eiboth would have corrected the being inside, now he just listened, as he heard the fluting, faintly. It wanted him to listen, to follow the guidance, putting his proverbial soles upon the path Fate willed for him. ¡°<i>Go east child of Twilight. There you shall find His Scion, he has one answer to satisfy your heart.</i>¡± The voice faded and that night, instead of resting in his bed, he grabbed the precious black tome and with little food, followed the fluting guiding his steps out from the capital.


    For a month, he wandered through the bright meadows, the vibrant, lush forests brimming in the brilliant shades of Dawn, seen only by a few roaming villagers, children playing in the wilds, scared of him, even when his tarnished visage remained under cloak and mask he kept. Eiboth¡¯s heart remained loyal to Dhaekenia, even as he stood on trampled, dying grass of pallid yellow and red, bones of the dead crunched and moaned, rusted blades and armor littered the yawning maw before him, where dread ceased his steps, whilst the Fluting beckoned him to enter into the throat where Dusk sheltered. It gave him strength to continue, heading down the long, damp path, hearing nothing but his steps, his breathing and the dripping water from the teeth of the cave bearing down above his head.


    ¡°<b>Welcome, beloved child of Twilight! Have you come to join my sermon to our Father and Savior?</b>¡± Across his back, a deep scar ran, marred deep by the Ceaseless Flames of Life, that engulfed the blade of Augermil. Even down on his knees, he appeared as terrible as the tales told. The first creature born from the dead, the Scion of Lunarius as they called him in this world. In the old, The Son of Twilight, First of His Myriad Instruments.


    A strange sensation filled him with confidence as he parted his lips. ¡°I came to seek the Way which opened His eyes? Do you know the way where Night dreams the truths of this world and those of beyond?¡±


    In the light of Lunarius, seeping from the hole above, the Scion looked regal, almost divine with the same flesh which grown over his shoulder and forearm. The crescent shaped horns rose like the crowns of dragons, the dark veins upon them drinking in the silvery light, satiating their voracious thirst. ¡°<b>Tell me first feeble child of Night, do you wish to call him back, reach out to him where Chaos rules, where The Almodo rests upon the eons? Or do you wish to cease the thirst of your mind like the children of Fate, Wisdom and Dreams?</b>¡±


    He remained wordless, staring into the black, sunken holes focusing upon the dim violet pearls. Then he remembered the divine tears trickling down those pale cheeks. He never questioned ever since, why he was shown mercy when all others were left to perish. Eiboth like many a mortal, just accepted divine kindness, mercy whilst falling in love with the pale beauty which he could not put into words, even then or present. Yet now, he knew what he desired, hope the Fluting would bring, what the answers to divine madness and its source would bring. And what terror may have lurked in the eternal heart of Dhaekenia and her brother, husband. ¡°I wish to cease the suffering of my savior, my Mistress of the Dead Dhaekenia herself!¡±


    ¡°<b>A task impossible. Her sorrow is the making of her own, for turning against our Father whose return shall not expunge her sin, her sorrow.</b>¡± The Scion spoke, calm yet Eiboth felt the wicked winds pouring forth the mouth, carrying hints of doleful anger. ¡°<b>And she is no savior of yours. It was he who showed mercy, who saw worth in you, I am sure. I feel his touch, his will, his blessing upon your soul and its vessel.</b>¡±


    ¡°No, it was her, Dhaekenia who saved me. I remember.¡± But Eiboth was unsure, the memory grew hazy for a moment, seeing her solemn visage and Him looming over.


    The Scion¡¯s wide, lipless mouth contorted at the corners, filled with joy as another joined his flock. ¡°<b>Go to Dhaugruz. There you shall understand, in the Heart of Dusk, where Our Father¡¯s eyes opened to¡­</b>¡±


    *****


    ??7 of the First Age, The Season of Dreams, of Almdiorh¡­


    Decades passed since his departure from the Luth-Astaril, and another decade he spent jaunting towards the dreaded peaks looming over the frigid north. Eiboth slipped from one city to another, offering boldly his services, leaving trails to the pursuers. Yet each time listening to and guiding the dying, Dhaekenia parted onto him knowledge of the path and power. Many of his pursuers died, assured of his feebleness, perplexed by the ferocity of his days spent in battles they heard in tales from their elders. Then they ceased too, as the Atoning arose against their avaricious masters across the continent, aided by the Nightscale and his myriad servitors, whom he encountered heading northwards.


    Like with the Scion at first, he feared them, but each welcomed him in their strange ways, offering him worriless, temporary rest, food to fill his belly even in the gloomy, frigid north. Amongst a group consisting of the atoning orkhin, pale man and nekrossos, there he met one of the strange and enigmatic Aetherkiin, draped in ceremonial robes almost like his, dim as the starless night they met, with a red stola circling around his voluminous hood, tumbling down upon the dark robes. His ethereal silhouette lacking any striking features besides the seven and nine fingers upon his ghastly hands, appeared even darker as if the garments held a wound carven into reality itself. Eiboth could not take his eyes off of him, sitting silent, feeling the gaze, hearing the Fluting, yet he could not scribe the meaning this time.


    ¡°Are you heading to Dhaugruz?¡± The Aetherkiin inquired in the innocent voice of a curious child. Eiboth felt a cold breeze passing through his body, but he remained calm, knowing the Aetherkiin¡¯s tended to mimic the voices of others.


    ¡°I am. How do you know that, if I may enquire?¡± He spoke with reverence, feeling lucky for the first time in decades. Not many could encounter the elusive race shackled not to this realm like all others.


    ¡°She told me.¡± A lively man¡¯s voice echoed from the darkness occupying the hood. ¡°I shall come, guide you.¡± A firmer, gravelly voice fitting a general or an austere, veteran legionary added.


    ¡°I feel honored to be accompanied by one of you.¡± He said, staring into the flames whilst all the others slept without fear under the black foliage of the trees melding into one with the dark filament. ¡°Truth be told, my hesitancy took the better of me for the past few years, fearing what lurks in the deeper paths of Dhaugruz.¡±


    ¡°Fear not, Eiboth.¡± The third time, the soothing voice of an amorous maiden graced his ears, his mind. ¡°As long as you stay by my side, they shall not bother, tempt or claim you.¡±


    They tracked across Vesgeriath, hovered across the chasm betwixt the woodland and the foot of the mountain, down into the Yawning Maw. Down in the Veinways, Eiboth slowed his pace, enamored by the glowing dim stalactite, shimmering in the regal shades of Night. Indigos and deep, bloody reds lined and glimmered upon the walls surrounding them, the rugged path beneath their soles black with a hint of pale white and silver, whilst above the fangs running along the ceiling emanated deep and pallid violets, glowing to some silent rhythm like the wisps of the sea guiding galleys, vessels, these led them onto a long path branching and twisting to the point Eiboth had no sense how deep they descended for months.


    All Eiboth sensed, knew that the paths were built with the deliberation of Higher Beings. Akin to the mountains of the old realms, where he hid in wait with his comrades in arms, where they tracked through to break the siege of verdant Selymbria, carven by Selvinia and her Servitors of Nature and the Elements. Except here, these tunnels, paths were made by dark entities as he learnt whilst travelling with the Aetherkiin, who guided him safely across the Den of the White Worm and his cult of withered children, where they feasted together, and proved fortunate enough to bear witness to the Offering Ritual, where an infant reborn in the belly of the worm, as one of his faceless servitors, with rubbery skin white as the snow, small, four beady eyes insidious and deep red as the creature¡¯s. Then they departed, Eiboth looking back one last time as the children waved with weak smiles.


    Along they jaunted the lavish temple of the Sleeper of N¡¯Kai, who dreamt open a great stalactite bed. His large flame bulbous and covered in black fur, sallow skin, a face Eiboth could not decide if it belonged to a tarnished bat or a sloth. His snores like the howls of winds, the growls of beasts mingled into one, whilst protoplasmic slimes slithered around the bed, cleansing off the body of their master, whose belly arose, glowed revealing unfortunate travelers toiling within. Beyond it, they passed a dilapidated sanctuary, its master long gone, Eiboth pondering whether his black tome rested upon one of the ivory pedestals; a straight path ahead, where no light existed, only interminable blackness, yet he could see the back of his silent companion; a cavernous vista, where a hideous jungle of fleshy foliage stretched far and wide, the trees soft and fungoid, with humanoid and bestial excrescences along their grayish trunks. Their curses whispering all around Eiboth, frustrated as the greatest arising like a guiding pillar at the center forbidden them from the meager feast.


    ¡°We have arrived.¡± Eiboth knew not how long they walked, but had the same conviction spoken by the voice of a calm, elderly servitor.


    The two stood before a titanic aperture, no wind blowing, a ring of violet light bathing him, whilst the Aetherkiin¡¯s dark form swallowed it. A thousand feelings, sensation he experienced during their journey, yet now he felt nothing, but closed his eyes and listened to the Fluting, shifting into myriad whispers. His legs moved and he walked forth, into the darkness which swallowed his form until he felt wet stone beneath, gentle waters billowing around him. Ahead a long, wide path stretched, waters black yet he could see them through their exquisite luster. And behind, the Aetherkiin stood watching, waiting as Eiboth began anew his walk, ecstatic like the first time he obliterated a servant of Chaos, morose as the journey neared its end. Slowly, in respect to the place, he pulled off his hood, threw off his mask, and kneeled right at the precipice, feeling a firm, gentle and cold grip upon his shoulders that ached no more.


    The luster of the black water faded as Eiboth stared down into the abyss, now appeared to be just as much a wound in the fabric of reality as the Aetherkiin¡¯s form under his layers of garments. Afflicted with the sorrow of his divine Mistress, Eiboth watched the awakening of the Deossos, their eons long history preceding the mortals whom they gifted with perfect form and intelligence, watched their wars, their love weeping, and watched the toiling of the Monarch of Twilight, Her father, his father before he was cut down, thrown across the veil he watched for thousands of years searching for answer which His own father could not give. He laughed, screamed, wept all at the same time, as he saw the answer, that opened those empty eyes¡­

 Tales of Elhyrissian: War Tales I.

    I. Duel Atop the Knoll


    Marciemar strode up the winding road, once the bowels of the earth elemental slain by himself in the last battle waged on the 19<sup>th</sup>


    of the last week of Iuonrua. The bloodiest battle they fought under the shadow of Drenai, the largest of the city-states on the north-western shoreline of Vhalleryon, housing tens of thousands in its nine, descending step districts. Even after a week, he could smell the sulfurous air carrying the malodorous scent of death and sweat. And the battle where Maximirion, his younger brother fell, slain by the Tamer of Chaos, champion of Drenai, decapitated before the black, stalactite walls, under the shades of the towering eastern tree blooming a crown of azure and cerulean.


    On the top, the neck bereft of the head, Kriem awaited him, resting in the soothing shroud of a similar, black barked tree, armored lightly and with a morose expression upon his handsome countenance ruined not, but ornated with scars earned in battle. Marciemar held no hatred towards the faun, who like the rest in the city and its state, worshipped not only the One and the Eight, but the elementals, and the first Infaerni who came to be to tarnish order and peace, holding the title of Sprawling Chaos. He held respect after years of clashing on the dreary fields before the city, and in a way seen him as a friend forged in battles similar to Mineirvia and Mhaegrus. Hence Marciemar felt brave enough to bring him the offer the night before, a fight to the death between the two to decide the fate of the city, and to spare lives of their comrades and friends.


    Marciemar returned to the road leading down and faced Kriem. Unlike his opponent who wore only plates along his limbs and shoulders, a lone black fabric across the left side of his ripe torso, and a black and red loincloth, Marciemar enjoyed a whole gilded panoply including the crested helmet with a Y-shaped opening where his jasper scales adorning his cheeks glistened through, and his long Virdrian warrior braided tail slithered out from its slightly tilted nape guard. Prominent shoulder plates stretched over his broad shoulders, down onto his arms and molding into one with his wrist guard and clawed gauntlet, whilst his breastplate mimicked the defined muscles of his own, a dragon¡¯s head sculpted into an inlaid diamond¡¯s silhouette in the center whilst tassels rustled as he stretched his legs in preparation.


    Silence reigned atop the knoll-corpse of the earth elemental, Kriem loomed across, grasping his spear with one hand, its pointy pommel stuck in the soft earth, whilst its peculiar Ten-Spoked Star ¨C the symbol of the Father of Chaos ¨C socket holding the long, leaf-blade shimmered dimly as it swallowed the golden, crimson and amber light of the early noon. Both understood that the Father of Dawn thirsted for a battle, expecting both to show their mettle and talent. They waited in silence, enjoying the floral scent carried by the breeze brushing their lush, well-groomed beards strewn across their jaws. Then their lips curved mirthfully wide, when the bellow of the horn broke signaled the beginning of their duel.


    Their gazes never fall off the other, their muscles tensed as they tightened their grips whilst waiting for the other to make the first move. Thrice, they circled about the brim, until Marciemar gasped lightly, vines breaking forth the earth, clutching around his armored calves, keeping him in place whilst Kriem hastily trampled over, the leaf-blade left scraped upon the sturdy, rectangular shield smooth red surface. The vines cinching the gilded plates inlaid with rubies, burned and flittered away, scorched to ash. Marciemar tightened his grip around the strap of his large and rectangular shield, a golden mist poured forth the overlapping plates over his arms, slowly crawled onto the bold red surface of his shield, turning it gradually into a blinding golden and swept away the leaf-blade jabbed towards his thigh.


    Marciemar lifted his long blade, from its sharp edges, flames sputtered and parted as he cleaved at Kriem¡¯s fur and plate covered legs. The dense, brown fur with black tips rustled as if swept by a strong gust, the flesh beneath rippled and migrated upwards, and disappeared into his waist, the crescent flame parted below and set ablaze the blue and crimson grass fluttering near the precipice of the top. In the next momentum, the legs shot out as Kriem approached the ground, whilst Marciemar swung his blade towards his left shoulder. He sliced off the curling end of Kriem¡¯s charcoal black goat horn, but as the blade reached the olive toned skin, it parted sideways devoid of gore, folded wide out arm swinging into the sides, submerged into his flesh and bone. Simultaneously, Kriem rammed the sturdy black wooden shaft into Marciemar¡¯s shield, slicing through its thick metallic and wooden structure like as if cutting through cake.


    Marciemar leapt back, parried the leaf-blade suddenly jabbing towards his plated bosom, towards the ruby inlaid lines forming the head of a dragon at its center. As the leaf-blade grazed the dim earth, the Ten-Spoked Star socket detached from the shaft, chains slithered out from its interior and slithered about Kriem¡¯s massive form like a serpent dancing to the tune of its master¡¯s flute. It nibbled at him, scraping the shoulder plates, seeds sprouted forth its edges, leaping betwixt the folds of his gilded plates, shattering half of them from within, scraping his flesh and the luxurious imperial purple fabric protecting it. Exhaustion forced him down on knees, scraping the earth, deep breaths he drawn in as the land of Oneiron beckoned.


    The lids slid down over Marciemar¡¯s sunken, wide and large eyes occupied by two draconic slits of swirling oranges and reds, whilst he lifted off his helmet with the last of his strength, then listened to the chromatic tune of the chains whirling about his neck. Their edges appeared blunt, yet they severed his neck and the lone Virdrian Warrior braid of his dense, earthly brown hair with streaks of fiery orange. His headless body tumbled onto its earthly bed before the elevated, black and gray hoofs. Kriem bent down and lifted the severed head towards the shifting meadows where still thousands of legionaries awaited. A mournful blow of a horn heralded the decade spanning peace, one death brought.


    II. Battle Above the Waves


    Down below, waves raged against the contending galleys, the preternatural flames spreading upon their ever-shifting, azure epidermis. Memmithae watched from high, as the turbulent waves swallowed the unfortunate warriors, magusos, archers and the mates along with the beast called forth by both sides. The First Legion tamed and called upon the great serpents of the seas, devolved dragons forced to soar the waves not the skies and the astral realms, hideous eels slithering onto the blockading galleys and barks, crude in design after nearly a century and a half since the exodus. The barbarous defenders themselves called forth their allies beneath the waves, writhing tentacles attacked vessels, the hideous krakens bellowed as their feelers, suckers were pierced by spear and arrow whilst on the hardened side, crustaceans climbed over onto the tilting decks of the long imperial vessels.


    Drenched by the raging storm, Memmithae watched sitting atop her steel-clad gryphon whose helmet stretched neatly across its long head, pushing onto the feathers, whiter than the pale filament above them, hidden by the dim, billowing clouds. ¡°It seems Mhaegrus grew bored of the long battle.¡± Chilling, cruel wind swept through the dense, fur lining of her, thick and rich red woolen surcoat¡¯s collars enveloping her whole neck, whilst the crested, angular contoured helmet fitted onto her head, protected her from the wild winds above, an inverted arch the single opening upon its smooth, golden exterior. Only a few, segmented golden pieces protected her limbs, the muscled breastplate reached not above her protruding bust, whilst her long sword rested in its hilt, waiting to taste the blood of the enemy as she and her feathered mount took below.


    For now, she felt content watching, waiting. A portentous premonition compelled the seizure of air bombardments against the blockading vessels, leaving it to her fellow riders of gryphons. Memmithae kept glancing towards the isle itself, where gloomy, verdant green forests spread above the slanting hills of the sandy shores. Even beyond, she could glance the primitive cities of stacked, blue and black stones, and of trees easily burnt down by novice elementalists. Yet Memmithae picked up on the faint, ethereal note of her own doom, a disquieting tune sung by the servitors of Dhaekenia. And as if to vindicate her trembling instinct, a quasi-phantasmal dragon broke forth the fabric of reality, its indigo and violet scales contrasted the gloomy skies. Its prominent, gaunt jaw split open as it bellowed, and at once Memmithae¡¯s fellow riders and their feathered mounts tumbled into the turbulent waves below.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    By the singular bellow of the mighty dragon of the House of Dreams, only Memmithae remained as the dragon drawn a streak of astral cloud in swirling shades of blue, purple and pinks when it approached to claim her. Wind scraped her closed helmet, Memmithae¡¯s grip tightened about the horns of her saddle, and ducked whilst beckoning a condensed torrent of wind to jab the eerie jaw of the dragons long, tilting head. Nearly the two were devoured by a gargantuan ball of pure flames conjured forth by their own elementalists. Chilling ripples traveled across Memmithae¡¯s honed, slender form as her faculties, the knowledge to command air, the winds all returned stolen or ceased by the second, louder and stronger roar of the dragon whose four segmented wings puffed out ethereal streaks before it vanished with its burly rider.


    Memmithae yanked as waves of indigo, azure rippled across her mounts form whilst almost departed from her seating as they plummeted towards a burning, primitive galley. She wrought back control, vanquished the spell gnawing at the faculties of her mount just as the enemy appeared through a whirling vortex, with jaws wide open and snapping harshly as it aimed to devour the gryphon¡¯s head. Its rider¡¯s dark and disheveled hair fluttered as Memmithae bombarded him with a strong gust of wind, though failed at lifting him off from the crude saddle atop the slanting spine. Not even the long staff with a peculiar top of at least twenty or so dragon head carven out, locking palms and fingers whilst on the top itself resembled the eyeless, mouthless bald visage of Septurrion. Around its brown surface, azure and violet streaks fluttered and vanished, as she felt prickling fingers digging into her mind. A smile curved across her lustrous, thin and wide lips.


    The Dragon of Dreams and its rider vanished once more whilst soaring towards the isle, Memmithae prepared, closing her eyes and sensing the mild disturbances above the battle. When they appeared once more, an unseen sphere of condensed, harsh air blocked not just the winged menace, but also the tendrils reaching to rob from their minds. The right clawed fore limb of the gryphon reached towards the two retreating as Memmithae tightened her grip, poured her will and intent, and from the sphere of air, hard air whirled towards them like hungry, writhing masses of tentacles, grabbing the long tail and yanking back the dragon. It vanished once again, when the spell smashed him and the rider against the wall.


    ¡°May the Searing Beard of Iuanorh blind you.¡± She cursed under her helmet, twice as they appeared within her protection. The tail¡¯s dull end morphed into a spike piercing through the long abdomen of the gryphon. Its shriek bled their ears, and the flaps of its wings weakened, slowed with each beating of the air. Weeping had to wait, Memmithae drawn her blade and charged across the segmented plates covering the head, leaping towards the dragon and its rider in a last vein effort to take both or at least one. Preferably the dragon, Memmithae wished and prayed to all Eight.


    Both resulted in naught as they vanished once again, though they showed a little mercy to Memmithae. She fell feeling a childish joy, not terror of what awaited below as she cascaded towards one of the sinking, burning vessel. No thought remained in her head to present a chance of survival, no longer she remembered how to command the air and its wild winds. Neither pain registered in the fleeting moment of her violent arrival upon the burning deck, when her body shattered through the planks, bones shattered, tearing her smooth, lustrous flesh. Only the drowsiness she felt, sinking her deeper into the abyss.


    III. Seeded Hearts and Minds


    For three days, Naemethoroth led the remnants of their force through the Druinnian Woods in the north-western regions of Cordivil Province. Their rich orange-golden panoplies still carried the dirt, sweat, tears and the blood of their fallen comrades slaughtered by the barbarous natives. With heavy steps they tracked aimless in the woods, their sole entertainment the melodies of birds fluttering above and the ever-distant murmurs of flowing waters in the twisting rivers and creeks. Neither which brought solace upon their hearts as they feared the enemies trailing behind, waiting for the moment they let down their guard.


    Eerie vegetations surrounded their treacherous path, lush bushes brimming in the unnerving red shade of dried human blood, twisted vines slithered around the stems of the trees, and strange fungoid flower bloomed on their barks, their pink inner walls emanating the bile inducing stench of carrions. As they took a stop, Naemethoroth could not take his eyes off these hideous plants, the urge the plunge his sword or spear into their heart surged through and nearly animated his limbs into action, but he remained calm and gazed up to the verdant green and whitish-yellow crowns letting the emerald tinted golden glow of the Illius to shine through on the pleasant vernal day of the 200<sup>th</sup> year of the First Age.


    ¡°Circle Formation!¡± He yelled his order, when the murmuring of his troops ceased by the heavy thud. An aevhen auxiliary tumbled forward, a lone arrow jutted forth his head, the helmet unharmed whilst his golden blood flown out. A long silence followed as Naemethoroth stood in the formation facing southwards, his rectangular shield firmly planted amongst the others whilst his spear stared forward thirsting for blood. Then a second thud followed along the scraping of metal as another fell within the ranks, then the earth burst all around them, from the haze of earthly dust, boars, wolves charged at them, followed by the savages clad in light armors made from fusing iron with hardened oak, decorated with bestial bones.


    ¡°Call the Flames of our Dawn Father!¡± He issued another command, and as they jabbed the first line comprising the beasts, the air sizzled around the back lines as they held their smaller hexagonal shields above, their blades and maces onto the shoulder plates of their comrades. From their tips, bolts shot out at the savages, setting them aflame which held little sway over them as they continued their charge onwards. Two more thuds followed whilst Naemethoroth jabbed at the burning enemy, contended with the bitter stench of burning flesh, then as the next sequence followed ¨C front lifted up their long spears and ducked down as the ones behind vomited flames beyond the shield wall like dragons ¨C nearly ten or so laid dead. Sensing the spatial contortions, Naemethoroth aimed to counter it, erecting a ward around the remaining troops.


    ¡°Move southwards. Match my pace!¡± It done little against the arrows manifesting right in their victims as more and more fell, and to his subordinates¡¯ horror, slowly arose in a horrid manner. Blood spurted from the thin space betwixt the overlapping plates, bile gathered and danced within their stomachs as they listened to something shifting beneath the flesh and skin of the dead, and those at the back watched with bulging eyes as fungoid vines crushed the lightless eyes, blood cascaded from the mouth tearing wider, as fungoid maw blossomed and shrieked at them, the arrow bringing death no longer present. The hideous creatures reached down for the weapons of their rotten vessels, and charged along with the savages who feared not the strange monsters moving the dead.


    From their maws, they vomited forth a noxious cloud, its impalpable maws slowly gnawed away at the will keeping it erect. When it shattered, a few of Naemethoroth¡¯s troops shrieked and tumbled, their skin melted, their flesh blackened. Their formation broke, as the savages charged through the blinding cloud of black and green, along with plant animated cadavers. Naemethoroth impaled two of the savages, reaching for his blade, he decapitated another whilst glancing up at the high branches, searching for the elusive archer. Whilst cleaving through one of the plant animated cadavers, he sensed a faint disturbance, ducked and watched as the arrow found its way into a haebrian¡¯s throat, who gurgled and writhed on the ground before stillness and silence set in.


    ¡°Retreat!¡± His eyes blazed as he repeated the command, a streak of flame enveloped the ground, devouring the horrid creatures and their savage allies, giving chance for the legionaries to run opposite their shields and spears abandoned. A few fell as arrow manifested out of the air, just a breath away their chest, phasing through their plates, flesh and bone before their tips tore into their beating hearts. As Naemethoroth backed away slowly, cutting down a few burning barbarous kindred of his, at last his lime green eyes glanced the archer, whose beauty bewitched him in that fleeting moment. Long dark hair cascaded smoothly onto her shoulders, draped in azure and jade fabric soft as silken with a leafy texture, cinched a little by the savages¡¯ oaken iron armor with a subtly pointed silhouette. She crouched upon a high and thick branch, her sunken vibrant hazelnut eyes focused onto him, whilst a little light passed through her antlers protruding from her forehead, veiled by a dense wall of her hair. And the arrow already drawn, when it parted, it vanished, and he felt it in his chest, its tip scraping his heart.


    The taste of his own deep green blood filled his mouth, and Naemethoroth smiled, satisfied the last thing he saw was the beauty of their kind. He resisted not the drowsiness, embraced its dominating the pain of torn flesh as he felt myriad maws gnawing into the tendon of his heart. A last faint whimper parted his lips, light faded from his stretching, large eyes before long the seed within him blossomed, engulfing arteries, his nervous system whilst wrapping around his angular, hardened skeletal frame before popping the dead eyes, tearing his mouth wider, letting its blooms take their place in the gored aperture. Growling, it lifted the corpse onto its feet at first with awkward movements, then when it charged along the rest, it moved with eloquent fluidity.