001 PROLOGUE: WITHOUT A NAME
002 CHAPTER 01: OF GODS AND MONSTERS
003 CHAPTER 02: AN UNLIKELY EMISSARY
004 CHAPTER 03: AN ADVENT TO SHADOWS
005 INTERMEZZO: WHITE NOISE
006 CHAPTER 04: SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION, THE BOY-AVATAR AWAKENS
007 CHAPTER 05: STORM ON THE CELESTIAL CASTLE
008 CHAPTER 06: THE PATH TO DECIMATION
009 INTERMEZZO: THE LAST PAWN
010 CHAPTER 07: EIGHT YEARS AGO
011 FINAL CHAPTER: THE WISDOM FROM FRIENDS
A fortnight had passed since the siege at Siemech. Naturally, our guild had taken the stronghold. Before sundown on the same day, the banners of the opposing guild were taken down, replaced by our own -- a single silver star on the corner of a black field. During the festivities that came after, our Guild Master magnanimously bestowed Siemech to a lesser guild which had proven their allegiance to us for many a time.
Of course, the Guild Master never forgot the special mission our small unit undertook, although I was the only one to receive the honor at that time. Both our young leader and the Dhan were still at the care of our guild's healers (pretentiously calling themselves the Conclave of the Pure) and they would not be available until the morrow, I was told.
I was anxious to speak with our leader, but the icy White Elves did not permit me to enter his rooms, promptly slamming the door to my face before I even finished stating my request. I'd made sure to bow apologetically to the the offending door, careful not to let a few prissy White Elves get the better of me. The continents think Dark Elves arrogant, but the White Elves are actually even haughtier, pretending to like everyone. At least we admit to our arrogance. The guards regarded me with a perplexed look.
I spent the evening at Siemech, hoping to talk with the leader the following day. My patience was unrewarded however. In the afternoon, while I was exploring the stronghold's underground library, I was told by a young, nervous-looking Dekan novice from our ally guild whom I'd clandestinely hired the previous evening to keep an eye on our young leader that our quarry had left the care of the Conclave. I gave the trembling apprentice a curt nod and a pouch heavy with Crones and sent him on his way.
I was left in a conundrum. There was no way for me to know the whereabouts of our young leader. This guild thrives on secrecy -- names, origins, personal affairs of each member, even ceremonies are kept to the barest minimum. Only the guild crest magically embedded upon initiation at the back of each novitiate's left hand serves as a testament of affiliation. And even that, only our Guild Master and his commanders can activate.
I stepped out of the library and headed to the portal in the middle of the courtyard, trying to hide the tumult in my mind by looking purposeful and taking long, deliberate strides. There was no doubting we would meet again, of course. I simply had to shelf the idea as to when, else I'd go mad with anticipation. "Ignis. Montt," I said to the portal keeper, and in a breath, I was home.
"Five seconds," I said, tonelessly.
Amaryllis nodded, eyes squinted, face hard at the effort of concentration. Beads of sweat formed above the horns on her brow.
"Three... two..."
There was a squeak, a muffled oomph from the center of the room, and then finally, the smell of burning sulfur.
I sighed and gestured for the servant golems to draw the curtains and open the large windows of the training dome. "You haven't been meditating like I told you, have you, sister?"
"It was just one silly second, brother! Seven seconds are enough for my companions to kill a little imp!" Amaryllis stomped her foot childishly to punctuate her frustration, which she immediately regretted. She sucked in a fair amount of air to keep herself from whimpering.
"Skilled you may be, but you still act like a child, little sister." I lifted an eyebrow, sparing a questioning glance at her foot.
"They're fine, brother!" Stomping it once again -- harder this time -- in defiance. I can see the blooming of pain in her eyes, but I should commend her for steeling her nerves against them. It has been three days since her little mishap with the Human patrols at Del Lagos and her foot has been healing at a considerably fast rate, although still not complete. Perhaps she is getting stronger.
"Very well," I said, sighing. I knew better than to push my sister past her limits. She might just end up shattering every window in the manse. I walked towards her and held her face in between my palms. "The Weave resonates strongly in you, sister, there is no doubting that. But I hope you understand that its purpose is more than mere elemental fire and fury. There is wisdom in its hidden voice."
She was silent, her eyes downcast, consciously not meeting mine. I can feel the underlying rage her breath exhales on my wrists. "Wisdom, brother?" she started, the words acid-laced and scalding. "You mean the wisdom you have gleaned from this prison in the century you spent in solitude, withdrawing from everyone you loved? From everyone who loved you?" Her voice rose and she drew back from me, crimson-cerulean eyes flashing a violent swirl of pain and... disgust. I was wounded. "Liken me not to you, Zohariel, for all the wisdom I need, I share with my comrades, my friends." An accusing finger. "Wisdom even you will not have."
There was a shimmer in the air where Amaryllis was, and then she was gone. My mind instinctively swept the house for her presence, ignoring the sharp echo of her words in my ears. There. She was in her rooms, crying into her pillow. I breathe a sigh of relief as I'd imagined the worst -- that she'd leave before she healed -- but all too soon my sister's words came pouring down on my mind like bitter wine. I felt as if my heart had been wrenched from my chest.
"Was it true, what she said?" came a voice from where the entrance to the dome was.
I turned around to a cascade of wind-blown wavy black hair, a curious face with lips upturned to a smirk, arms crossed on the chest, body leaning on the doorway, and eyes chestnut, round, and sparkling with youthful recklessness. The guild crest on my left hand sent a slight burn to the rest of my body.
My mind, clouded as it was, tried to race through the possibilities as to how the boy-child was able to discern my location. And on top of that, how he was able to bypass the wards surrounding the manse without alerting any of the servant golems. "You."
"Yes, me." He took a couple of steps closer and held out his hand. "I am very glad to see you again, Brother Zohariel."
I flinched at the mention of my name by another, other than kin. Involuntarily, I reached out my hand as well. "You are... mended, I suppose?" I asked, reverting to the safe walls of courtesy before pandering to the rest of the questions racing through my mind.
He nodded. "Alaric. My name is Alaric."
"Alaric," I repeated. Making sure it was real, and not simply another secret spun by the guild.
"Yes, that is my name." His smile was... disarming, up close. He was looking up at me and I saw naught of the god seeking the destruction of the free races. Only the beaming face of a human boy. I became aware that our hands were still clutching. "Was it true, what she said?" he persisted.
My jaws hardened as the words of my sister were brought to the forefront of my mind. I let go of his hand and gestured to the hallway exiting the dome. "Yes... I did spend a century in solitary meditation and training. Not here in the manse, of course. Not here in Montt. I was at the Vortex Shore in Eibach, communing with the Weave."
"I see. So that explains why you are how you are," he said, a little too matter-of-factly for my tastes.
"Your tone suggests you know me very well," I said, a little colder than I had intended. I nodded to the servant golem guarding the double doors of the training dome hallway, opening to a circular courtyard filled with flora that can only thrive in the harsh environs of Ignis. At the center were four manna ports of lesser height, used merely to transport the inhabitants from one part of the manse to another. Like any other structure in Ignis, the rooms of this house are magically disjointed from each other, both for protection and unique aesthetic. "Hold my hand," I said, as we approached the portal. He obliged, as the light in the center shifted colors. A translucent blue veil materialized in front of us, and I stepped into it, making sure Alaric was with me. In a few moments, the courtyard dissolved into the hallway of my rooms.
"I have never experienced that kind of magic before..." Alaric said wistfully, as he surveyed his surroundings, suppressing a shudder.
"The White Elves prefer to limit their usage of magic, I understand," I explained, trying to hide the scorn in my voice. The golem guarding the hallway opened the doors to my rooms, and I gestured for Alaric to step inside. "Alert me of my sister's activities every hour, please," I said, addressing the golem. It nodded and proceeded to close the doors.
"Yes, I do know you," Alaric said without looking at me. He was still turning around in place, trying to take in the entirety of my rooms, eyes brimming with the wonderment of a child. "By the Sacred Spear, this space is enormous..."
I crossed my arms in mute impatience and gave him a few moments to spend in awe. "Please elaborate. How exactly do you know me? It is my understanding that the guild does not tolerate prying on the personal lives of its members."
He looked at me and tilted his head, as if seeing me for the first time. "Your name," he said. "When Roha plucked your name from your mind, a blanket of familiarity billowed over me. I felt as if I've known you for... centuries."
I kept silent. It was not enough for me.
He smiled. "So reticent. So guarded. Worry not, Brother Zohariel. The rooms of specific details in your life are closed to me. I only know what it is like to walk the halls of your mind." He looked at me intently. "How lonely it felt, standing in the middle of that grey corridor."
I felt a spark of anger. "That is unfair."
"You are right, I apologize." He sighed and sat down on the couch by the window. The Grand Castle of the Lyonans was perched on the sky like a magnificent fabled bird. "I shall not speak of guild business for that is not why I am here. Besides, being one of the commanders, I have nothing but utmost respect to the guild's traditions."
"Your being here is a direct affront to its traditions, Brother Alaric," I said, my voice suggesting hostility, but my face remaining neutral. I took my place at the soft chair opposite him.
"True enough. You are only allowed to know three names within the guild. One is your Legion Master, and two below you," he looked at me directly with the eyes of a commander and leaned closer. "Conveniently enough, two of your subordinates died at the Siege of Siemech, permitting you to two new names. I name one of them mine." He smiled again, playfully this time. It amazed me how easily he can switch from being imperious and cocky to being childlike.
I took his challenge. "You are not a subordinate."
"No, but I am a commander. We are permitted certain... privileges." His smile widened to a grin, triumphantly. "Now, that is the last we shall speak of guild matters."
I sat back, signaling my consent. My body and manner visibly relaxed, I conjured a bottle of wine and two goblets on the small round table between us. I would normally not use the Weave for trivial magics, but I could not be bothered to do much else but listen after what my mind has gone through the past hour. It wasn't long before the rich, sweet scent of the strong spices in the Ignis wine wafted through the air. I proffered one of the goblets to my guest.
He continued staring outside the window after he took a sip. Swiveling to his side, he settled comfortably on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest and cradling the goblet with both hands. He looked like a lost child. "I can never figure out how to start. For one week, I was with the Conclave, and another, I was at home in Einhoren. Every waking moment was spent thinking of what to say to you. Naturally, I had to apologize for bringing you into this, but I am sure that will not be enough. I was terrified of having to meet with you, to be quite honest." He emptied the contents in one long swig.
I swirled the contents of my goblet as I watched him speak. He looked back at me. "Back at Siemech, when I was looking through Roha's eyes, I was able to see your aura. You were not the first Dark Elf I'd seen while Roha was inside me, but your aura was very different. Its layers went on and on, as if it were stretching on to eternity itself. I couldn't look away. Roha saw this too, I'm sure. Perhaps that is why he chose to disclose his plans to you."
"You were sharing Roha's mind. You speak as if you look through to his thoughts with smoked glass," I speculated, just a bit perplexed.
He shook his head and smiled a sad smile. "There is only much I can do before a god, Brother. The body may be mine, but he has power enough to obfuscate his thoughts from even me, his own avatar. Although I have no doubt he has tapped into mine many times." He placed the empty goblet on the table and he went back to hugging his knees and staring outside the window. "No, Zohariel. Roha is not why I am here either." A heartbeat, and he said, "I would like to be your friend."
There were a million words in all the languages -- Human, Elven, Draconic -- but I could not find a proper response to what was laid out before me. "Ridiculous," my voice managed to say.
He let out a chuckle and poured himself more wine before returning to his preferred position. "Utter absurdity, is it not? Human and Dark Elf. Camaraderie during times of war, yes, but friendship? I couldn't believe it myself. But after two weeks of having my mind captive by the overwhelming sense of solitude from being inside your mind..." His voice trailed off. He took a long draught of wine and looked at me squarely. "There is wisdom in the absurd, too, or did your Weave not tell you that?"
It was absurd, I thought. Dark Elves live for centuries; Humans live for at most over a hundred years. What could friendship afford both races? True, the White Elves have developed a deep relationship with the Humans since the Purge, but that had always been their nature. Us Dark Elves would rather keep affection within our own kin. Also, I was irritated not only because of the condescension in his last statement, but at the constant dissection of my psyche as well. I refuse to let the silly words of a Human boy get to me. I sipped on my wine and I began to stand. "I shall take your words under advisement. Will that be all? I need to attend to my sister..."
He stood up before I did. "Yes. No. Please sit..." he pleaded. "I apologize. That last statement was out of bounds. Please. I realize this is such an odd request, and I appreciate your being cordial despite the strangeness, but please understand that..." he seemed at a loss for words for once. Once again there was that lost child, awkward and clumsy with words, staring at his fingers. "I find myself drawn to you, somehow. That emptiness, that sense of loss... it seemed to stretch on." He paused, and then he sat down again, sighing, seemingly deciding on something. I settled back to my seat. "Perhaps it would be better if I tell you the first time Roha came to me."
I considered for a moment. "Perhaps it would. It might help me understand your intentions more, and it would explain our situation with Roha at the same time."
This seemed to have pleased him. He picked up his goblet and settled back onto the couch, knees up, a nostalgic smile settling on his face. "Very well then, let's see... it had been seven or eight years ago, I think. It was my eleventh summer..."
It was my eleventh summer. Father was going to take me, my mother, and my sister who was five summers younger than I was on a merchant run to Ehres Harbor. Every turn of the moon, he would go by himself, telling us of the dangers he would always encounter along the way. He said all of this especially to me, since I'd always insisted on going with him -- but this time was different. Queen Rima Regenon of the White Elves will be in Ehres Harbor to commemorate this season's Harvest Festival. Father said we will be joining a large, well-guarded caravan to the Melodic Sea, so it will be quite safe for all four of us to go. "Besides," he said, ruffling my hair, "it's about time you see the rest of the world, Alaric."
I remember looking up to my father with awe. He used to be one of the Guardians of the Imperial Army, respected and honored for his valor and bravery, but after many years of service and many battles fought, he decided to retire with me and my mother to a life of farming at the distant fields of Ash Valley, bordering the Tranquil Forest in Morissen
Not long after his retirement, my sister, Rosalind, was born. My father couldn't be happier. If he had doubts about settling down before then, Rosalind's birth dispelled all of them. Mother was overjoyed at father's decision to stay, and our days were spent training in swordfight with father during the hours of sunlight, and learning our letters with mother during the night.
The evening before our departure was the hardest. My mind was fitful and restless. To a boy of eleven, the promise of a whole world is an amazing, overwhelming thing. In my mind's eye, every color was vibrant and vivid, even if I hadn't seen them yet. I relied solely on the stories my father told me, which I'd devour greedily everytime he'd get home from his merchant run -- the deep red of taurics and pahans grazing in the distant steppes of Geizan, the midnight blues of iron golems, and even the much rare sightings of red and black drakes. I'd take them all in, imagining my father brandishing his sword in the sunlight, blood in his armor but never his. And in the end, the triumphant form of my father, towering over the felled monsters, scattered as far as the eye can see. It would put me to sleep, but dreams of it would wake me again. It never mattered, however. When the sun rises, all my dreams will be as they are before my eyes, and I would smile my little boy smile.
The following day, my energy never subsided. The journey from Ash Valley to the Melodic Sea would take a little over a day, so we set out very early in the morning. Despite that, I would run to and fro the line of the caravan, doing errands for my father, my mother, and even for bewildered strangers. Whenever I am in our wagon, I would either polish my father's armors and sword, or, having done that, rouse little Rosalind from her nap and point to her things I'd see along the way -- a rock, a boulder, a tree, and even what I thought were wings from a gargoyle, even if I knew they only lived in far Eibach. It went on like this for most of the day. Every step towards Ehres Harbor filled me with visions of great and wondrous things, and I couldn't be happier.
I didn't know it then, since I was a foolish young boy. If it happened now, I would have thought all tales are meant to end in some kind of tragedy. It happened at dusk, just as we were leaving the fringes of the Tranquil Forest. Rai'ner River was coming into view, mirroring fragments of moonlight in its lightly lolling waters. The caravan was about to camp for dinner -- and perhaps sleep -- when we heard the deep, lingering growl of the caravan head's warning horn. This could mean several things -- might be, a pack of vargs had been spotted and we merely had to wait until a unit of the Patrols manage to fend them off; or we could wait for the sound of a second alarm, signaling a higher level of danger, upon which the mother and children retreat inside the wagons, and all Patrols along with able-bodied men and women take arms and prepare for combat.
And then there it was. I thought I heard every person in the caravan catch their breath all at the same time. The second alarm was shaking the air like a thousand hornets in flight when my father barged into our wagon. "Stay with your mother and sister!" he commanded as he was gathering his armors. My mother looked up from her sleep, distress lining her face, rousing Rosalind with her. I moved before them protectively, feeling my instincts sharpen. This is what my father had been training me for, I thought, feeling the rush of adrenaline through my bloodstream. "You are not to leave the wagon, Alaric," he said urgently, as he finished the clasps on his armor. He fished for his longsword at a chest from the side of the wagon, and a short rapier. He tossed the latter to me, and I deftly caught it, as I have many times during our training. "Be smart, Alaric. I trust you. This will be over before you know it." And then he smiled. This was not the brave, valorous Guardian of the Imperial Army before me. It was as if my dreams were asserting themselves before me, superimposing my vision, blurring just about everything else. This was my father, and he will save us all.
I could never exactly remember how long it was between the time my father left and when I saw the blood-stained length of a longsword pierce through my mother's chest from the side of the wagon. Had my sister been a head taller, she would have died as well, as my mother was cradling her throughout the ordeal.
I can't recall what it felt like, either. I could say it felt like a piece of my soul was forcefully ripped out from me, but the pain transcended to the physical as well, now that I look back on it. I think I screamed, or maybe I didn't. My mouth was agape, that I remember, and my jaws felt locked in place. I remember my eyes, too -- unblinking, and unable to look away. I remember little Rosalind screaming, our mother's blood on her hair, on her cheeks. I remember her weight as she threw herself on to me in fear and panic. I remember my mother's face, pale and in muted pain, mouthing the words, "Run. I love you."
But I was paralyzed. Nor did I want to move. I gripped the hilt of my rapier tighter... and then I remembered my father. Hope surged in my veins. I held my mother's lifeless hand for a moment before I lifted Rosalind. She buried her face into my neck, trying to muffle her cries. "We'll find father, and everything will be alright," I whispered, infusing as much hope as I can in my voice. I even thought, for a few heartbeats, finding father would bring mother back to life. I let a bitter chuckle escape from my lips before leaping out of the wagon.
Almost at once my face was blasted with intense hot air. Most of the wagons were burning and there was smoke everywhere. I crouched low but it was no use. I couldn't see anything and my eyes were stinging -- from both the smoke and the tears. Rosalind was clinging on to my neck as tightly as she could, for which I couldn't be more grateful. Her little heart pounding furiously against mine was about the only thing pushing me forward. I can still hear the sounds of steel clashing. Perhaps one of them was father! I tried to focus on where the sound was coming from and I reoriented myself. Taking in a large gulp of sulfurous air, I closed my eyes and made a mad dash towards the direction of the sound.
The smoke thinned and the cool night air settled on my skin like a soft veil. I slackened my pace and opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was the moon -- full and round and so very large. Right beneath it was my father, wielding his longsword like some legendary god, fighting off what to my young eyes seemed to be the demon horde itself. My heart brimmed and I shouted, "Father!"
Immediately, I knew I made a mistake. How could a father ignore the voice of his own son in the middle of a battlefield? He turned around in mute horror, the hardened warrior shriveling into an old man before my eyes. That was the only opening the horde needed, and all at once, the destructive force of the underworld descended on my father. It was over in one devastatingly violent second.
This part I remember exactly as if it happened mere moments ago. I still break out in cold sweat whenever I revisit that corner in my mind. It was as if all blood had drained from my body, and there was nothing but mind-numbing cold. I was ice. I was fire. I was celestial light itself, and I want nothing else but have everything around me... explode. And then there was nothing but complete and absolute whiteness, and the pleasant sensation of endless falling.
When I came to, there were no more fires and no more smoke. For miles and miles, everything was silent, everything was dead. The moon was still up -- the lone, cold witness to what had just transpired. I eased my grip on the rapier on my right hand. And on my left shoulder -- the lifeless body of Rosalind. I felt a void, an emptiness expanding inside of me. There was nothing more I could want that to die, here in this place of death. I heard a voice calling my name. I am going mad, I thought bitterly, as I clung to the last vestiges of my sanity like driftwood.
"Alaric," it said again.
"I would bury my sister and my parents first," I responded loudly, not taking my eyes off the moon. I stood up and walked to where my father fell, pushing corpses out of the way. I laid him out properly, sword on his chest, like a proper knight. Then I gently placed my sister beside him. Once that was done, I started walking to where my mother was, mechanical limbs taking over my faculties.
I was but a few steps away when I heard a rasping cough and a small, tiny voice. "Brother," it said. I turned around and saw my sister no longer on the ground, but in the arms of a dark, towering figure. Father? No. The being walked towards me, armored in the colors of dusk and twilight, and with a face shrouded in shadow. The moon went dim behind him. My sister jumped off from the man's arms and ran towards me. I picked her up.
I raised my rapier and demanded to know who was before me. The man remained in the shadows and folded his arms across his chest. I couldn't see his eyes, but I felt them looking down at me, pressing me to the ground. "You know who I am, Alaric," it said with a voice that resonated not in my ears but in my mind.
I wavered, but did not respond. He continued. "You have awakened, which means I must act."
"I don't know who you are!" I shouted, sounding unsure, and more of an affirmation than anything else.
"You are the seed I have planted in the Weave hundreds of years ago, Alaric, when my doubt on Flox began to surface. You awaken when Flox makes his move." He took another step. "And it seems he has begun."
My sister was silent, but her grip on me tightened. She was asleep, I thought. She was not dead. My nerves screamed for me to run, so I did without looking back. Neither the voice nor the man would leave. I looked over my shoulder as I ran. The figure was behind us, just as the moon was behind us, never moving, but never a step farther either.
"I brought her back to you, Alaric. I thought you would have been more grateful. I could take her away again." And he began to lift his hands. My sister screamed into my ear, and I felt her pain.
"No! Please! I'll do anything!"
Beneath the shadows, I felt the figure's face twist into a smile. And just as he faded into a pillar of yellow light, a blaze flared in my heart. I knew who he was... and who I have always been.
