Chapter 1
“Eron?”
Sarya’s voice echoed into Eron’s mind as if they were underwater in a cavern, not out in the middle of an open forest. The wind cooled Eron’s skin in the warm sun and sent shivers down his spine. Fear and confusion tore into Eron’s heart, freezing him in place. The wind was the same it had been same as that which he had chased for 15 years as a child; the same sun shone as before, upon his dearest friend he thought he had lost forever.
Sarya ran up to him, but Eron couldn’t process her still being alive. His breathing accelerated, but he remained immobilized. He wanted to flee as much as stay as the terror he had been running from sped towards him like a predator in the guise of a friend. It was all he could do just to stay still as Sarya ran up to him and embraced him.
Noticing Eron’s unresponsiveness, Sarya pulled back, grabbing him by the shoulders.
“Eron? It’s me. Sarya,” she said, her face distraught with confusion.
Eron thought about embracing her, but his doubts clawed him apart. He simply gritted his teeth. “S-... Sarya, I-”
Sarya embraced him again. “I’m sorry.”
“But-”
“Eron. It’s okay. We’re alright.”
Eron couldn’t respond with words, but finally returned Sarya’s embrace, squeezing her to him as hard as he could.
“Ow,” Sarya complained. “Eron, you’re really strong, could you dial it down a bit?”
“Oh, my bad,” Eron apologized, letting her drop down, as he realized he had also picked her up in his embrace. Despite Sarya, as always, being slightly taller than him and even more so than when Eron had last seen her, he too had grown, and now the difference between their heights was almost inconsequential.
She’s only taller by an inch at most, Eron told himself. Two, max.
“Eron, where have you been?”
Eron stared at her for a moment before uncontrollable laughter left him unable to speak.
⍙
“I call bullshit,” Sarya replied as Eron finished his brief summary. They had sat down beneath one of the trees together, the sun now at its zenith.
Eron was speechless for a moment. “Well… I have proof.”
“Fancy armor, some weird alcoholic drink, and a metal rod? That’s what you consider viable proof of having been to Haell and back?”
Eron reached out his hand and mentally summoned his staff, which had been lying with the rest of his things in the grass behind them. The metal rod began to swiftly spin towards Eron’s outstretched palm, but it tumbled aimlessly in front of him.
“What the-,” Eron exclaimed, embarrassed. Then, he remembered he had been unable to summon lightning in his confrontation with Kira’thaz. Am I losing my magick? Or does it just depend on the state I’m in? Could it have something to do with my being the Material World? Eron’s mind raced for answers as he turned to Sarya, who looked at him as if nothing had happened. Then she stared at Eron’s outstretched hand.
“Show me,” Sarya said finally.
“Wh-”
“Please, Eron. You… you know what magick means to me. To us.”
Eron and Sarya played most often as make-believe wizards or warlocks, mages, sages, sorcerers, and priests. The concept of magick itself had been rooted deeply in Eron and Sarya’s imaginations. Though neither of them had been particularly pious, the concept of magick in and of itself, of connection to both the Transcendent and the primal forces of nature, had captured Eron and Sarya’s imagination. Growing up, those imaginary adventures had been what made Eron begin to see Sarya as family. Eron had thought it was probably a natural response for orphans to dream of something, some way, to make a difference in the world, to feel a part of it. It then occurred to Eron mind that the magick he had used in combat could be the same that made the sun shine, the water make the trees grow, and the flowers bloom.
“I will,” Eron finally replied. I promise.”
“Thank you. It hasn’t even fully registered… Essa did magick. Real magick. She knew all along.”
As Essa came to mind, and Eron’s heart sank, and his emotions once again overwhelmed him. Apart from the sorrow Eron felt, he was unsure whether it was right to tell Sarya the truth.
Should I tell her that Essa had died a horrible if noble death?
“Eron, what’s wrong?” Sarya asked.
“I ...saw Essa. In Hæll. She died. But… she died at peace.”
Sarya’s face was still for a moment. Then she looked away. “How?” she asked eventually.
“She died defending Magick itself from being a tool to enslave Creation. She… was beyond courageous.
Sarya was silent for a time. “Thank you. For telling me. I… I would have wanted to know.”
“I know. We have much to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“War is coming.”
She was silent for a moment, and then finally replied, “We must warn the king. Come on,” she said, rising up and holding out a hand for Eron to take. “Let’s go.”
“Sarya, we can’t just walk up t-”
“Rimor can. The whole kingdom heard about what happened here, about the demons. Iranor has changed. Cults have arisen insisting it’s the End Times, while the King is barely managing to keep the peace. Rimor has been promoted to general since he’s the only military strategist with experience fighting demons, so he has the king’s ear. And I am in Rimor’s private regiment.”
“Seriously?”
“You heard me.”
“Wha-... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Eron fumbled as he grasped Sarya’s hand and pulled himself up. “What happened to you?”
Sarya was taken aback, her emotions unfolding vulnerably in memory of the attack. “Rimor found me. I had been knocked unconscious by the rubble, and he carried me with a small remainder of his men and the others. I woke up still in the city. The screams, Eron…. We found as many as we could, brought them with us. Most of us made it out.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“No… there are no words for it... Besides,” Sarya added as she hugged Eron again. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”
“Thanks,” Eron replied as he returned the hug. “I’m happy you’re safe.”
Sarya laughed and lightly bopped Eron’s head with her fist. “Come on, there will be a celebration back at camp. We’ll leave in the morning for the Capital.”
Eron began collecting his gear. “Sarya I’m sorry, but I need to know. What actually happened to you? That night.”
“...About thirty people survived the attack. We would all have died if-... Most of the soldiers stayed behind at the end. We were surrounded. They charged in, hoping to buy us a few moments of distraction so that we could escape.”
Eron felt a mixture of pain and pride at such sacrifice, made by the soldiers he may have known. Growing up, Eron had built a rapport with the local authorities, but they had always treated Eron with courtesy that soon turned into genuine friendship.
“It’s…” Eron began.
“Impossible to cope with all at once,” Sarya told him. “Believe me. We just have to focus on the present moment. Dwelling in our past will destroy us. The wounds will heal, eventually. We will heal.”
Eron felt the familiar warm strength that was Sarya. He felt a wave of gratitude soar through him as he followed Sarya’s lead.
Sarya noticed his gaze and turned to look at him. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” Eron said hurriedly, pretending to have instead been staring past her in the same direction and began walking so that she wouldn’t be able to see his cheeks burning red.
⍙
Sunlight streamed down onto the forest floor, the warmth surreal and familiar. Eron and Sarya walked in silence, memories creeping beneath the surface of their minds, and Eron had given up trying to find something to say, and instead let the serenity of the forest permeate his emotions. He felt strangely detached, elated, and joyful at the same time, and the more he tried to understand how he felt, the less sure he became.
“Hey,” Sarya said finally, “how are you?”
Eron couldn’t find the words to respond. He just kept walking.
“You have to talk about it. It will eat you alive inside if you don’t.”
“I know… There’s just too much to say right now.”
“Alright. Just promise me we’ll talk.”
“I promise,” Eron replied, though the words felt hollow.
Eron and Sarya continued to walk silently for some time until they cleared the tree line and entered a small village.
“Isn’t this Ishta?” Eron asked. As children, Eron and Sarya had never gone beyond the vast wilderness surrounding Ma’ro, the maps he had seen showed a trail of towns between the Four Capitals of Iranor, which had formed when four pre-Rending countries had forged an alliance to ensure peace and prosperity after the cataclysm. Maro lay directly between two of the Capitals, and the closest of which Eron remembered to be Ishta, consisting of a few dozen huts and a large tavern.
“Yeah. Just be warned: the attack basically destroyed most order in the area. Everyone has become superstitious or fled to the safety of the Capitals. There have been reported sacrificing of humans and animals to demons, as if the monsters will care. Rimor has been stationed here as Commander of the North, though he prefers to remain in the field.”
They had reached the perimeter of the village, and Eron tried to ignore the blatant stares the villagers gave him as they ogled his odd attire, “So, can you do anything besides shoot a bow?”
“Excuse me?” Sarya scoffed.
“Sorry, I meant I would like to spar with you sometime. I don’t want to get shot in the face, though.”
“Well, then maybe I should shoot at you so you can practice dodging. Would be nice to have a moving target.”
“You didn’t even shoot me when I was standing still.”
“Ha, ha, doofus. Don’t get mad when I sneak in a live arrow and shoot you in the shin.”
“Maybe I’ll just use magick to make your bow smack you in the f-”
“Sarya!” a booming voice called from behind them.
Eron and Sarya turned and saw Rimor exiting one of the houses. He wore a plain forest green tunic and breeches with hunting boots. His face had more scars and his hair was almost completely gray, but otherwise, he looked almost exactly the same. He glanced at Eron and froze.
“I told you not to-” Rimor managed before he froze, staring at Eron.
“Capta- er, General,” Eron greeted, remembering to salute.
Eron could see Rimor’s jaw clench as the man closest to anything Eron had to a father slowly walked up to him. Without warning, Rimor grasped Eron in a bear hug. Despite Eron’s strength, he found himself being crushed in Rimor’s grip.
“You are going to pop his head off, sir,” Sarya remarked calmly.
“I told you to spare formalities when we aren’t in uniform,” Rimor replied, slowly letting go of Eron. “By Tyrn and Ia, it is good to see you.”
Eron almost returned the hug, but instead could only smile to Rimor. “It is good to see you too.” Eron noticed a displacement of his emotions, the same as had happened when he first saw Sarya was alive. He realized then he had abstracted himself from his experience in order to cope with overwhelming emotions. Try as he could, Eron couldn’t remember how to feel towards those he loved. His heart was in confusion.
“Hey,” Rimor remarked, slapping a hand down on Eron’s shoulder.
The jolt rocked Eron and he looked Rimor in the eye.
The captain was silent for a long time.
“We should get drinks,” Rimor said after a while. “There’s have much to discuss.”
Eron nodded. “Yeah. Actually,” Eron brought out the sake Niesha had given him from his satchel, “I have just the thing. My friend said to drink this with new friends, but-” Eron snorted as he thought of sharing a meal with everyone he knew, demons, elementals, and human sharing supper together. Eron thought the idea rather hilarious, beautiful, and serene.
“Indeed,” Rimor agreed, regarding the strange bottle with surprise and curiosity. He then began walking towards the inn.
⍙
Rimor pushed in the inn’s heavy oak door, revealing the large circular open room with a vent in the ceiling for the large fire pit in the center. There were sleeping chambers lining the walls of the structure so that it resembled a hive, though the building itself felt vast and welcoming. Throughout the inside, carving depicting celebrations, cycles of the moon and seasons, harvest, death, and life decorated the wood walls, pillars, and ceiling. Sunlight beamed in through the high windows and rafters and the gentle glow of candles created a comfortable atmosphere as the hum of chatter and barks of laughter filled the air.
Eron walked as casually as he could behind Rimor, but the room soon fell quiet as Rimor approached a table near the fire pit.
“I come bearing good news! Eron, from Ma’ro, has returned!”
The silence in the room last so long Eron felt he should say something. “Uh… hi.”
The room erupted into cheers and every fist was soon clasping a pint filled to the brim. Eron was hugged, congratulated, and jostled joyfully until Rimor pulled him from the crowd.
“Enough! Give the man some space.”
“Thanks,” Eron laughed. “I don’t even remember anyone’s name who introduced themselves.”
“That’s alright. You’ll have plenty of time to meet everyone.”
Rimor led Eron and Sarya to a circular table with tankards and food where three soldiers and another man sat. Eron recognized the man as Greppa, the priest. He too bore a scar upon his face, a single claw mark from brow to opposite cheek. He had completely shaven away his hair and beard, and his eyes had a steeliness to them Eron found unnerving. As they approached the table, a server brought additional drinks and food, much to Eron’s embarrassment.
Greppa’s distant eyes became shaken once he saw Eron. He stood and stretched out his hand in greeting.
“Hello, my boy. I am deeply grateful to see you well.”
Eron happily shook his hand. “You too- er, sir.”
The three guards had risen as well to greet Eron. Their faces were all familiar, despite the beards they now lining their young faces and the shadows that haunted their eyes. Moran, Tyro, and Orist were members of a clique of soldiers Eron had been particularly fond of. Somehow, Eron could feel that of the friends, only they remained.
“Come, now, no need for formalities,” Tyro assured Eron with a pat on the shoulder. “Few have ever shared so harrowing an experience, and it binds those of us who survived together.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Eron agreed, taking a seat next to Sarya. “So what have you all been doing?”
“Honestly,” Sarya conceded, “were grasping at straws. We have nothing to go on. Just a broken city.”
“Is there anything you could tell us?” Greppa asked Eron hesitantly. “You have the air of magick about you. Strong magick. Greater than Essa, even.”
“Well… in part, it is because of her,” Eron replied and began to retell his story.
⍙
Xanenax walked amidst the rubble of the destroyed Capital near Solis Umbra. It had only been a single day since Eron had left, but Kira’thaz’s forces had assaulted the city relentlessly, applying a near-constant bombardment of spells and artillery on the barrier Solis Umbra extended around the city. The shield had failed a few times, as it needed a constant supply of energy from magick users, who sometimes failed beneath the strain, at which point the city had been flooded with enemy combatants. Even now, Xanenax saw the ripples of force as magickal projectiles struck the barrier enclosing the city and heard the muffled booms of explosions as Kira’thaz’s forces tried to regain entry.
Most of the city’s structures had been destroyed, but Solis Umbra remained impenetrable, and from that advantage, the Risen had created a front, drawing allies who had been too disadvantaged or weak to openly rebel Kira’thaz. Their numbers had swelled, and every day hundreds of creatures of all kinds poured in from the ruins to bolster their ranks or to find sanctuary in the subterranean halls of Solis Umbra.
Xanenax hadn’t even had enough time to fight his way back to his fortress for supplies. With what few spare moments he did have, he had searched for his draconite blades to no avail, and their absence left him feeling vulnerable. At one point, they had been what symbolically connected him to the world; a reason to fight, and therefore a reason to live.
But now, his reason to live was greater than anything he could discern intellectually. He had thought that leading a fight against Kira’thaz would have been simple: he would have killed him or failed. But he was taken off guard by how political his new position was as the de facto leader of the Risen. He was suddenly immersed in contact with others, after having lived in isolation for centuries. He did not know how to respond to the throngs that now surrounded him and were looking to him for leadership.
And here I thought I just had to kill Kira’thaz, Xanenax smirked to himself.
Suddenly, Xanenax saw the draconite blades beneath the remains of a nearby building. He walked over to them and reverently picked them up.
Xanenax chuckled. Naturally.
⍙
Irnok felt the warm breeze caress his open wounds. Shards of meridium were schematically pierced into his crippled arm and side, and his green fluorescent blood ran freely from his mouth. His thoughts had long lost coherence. He had underestimated how sensitive he was to meridium, as an elemental lord of land and soil, earth and metal.
“Good,” Kira’thaz remarked. “You’re coming around nicely.”
