Prologue
A World Apart
Four thousand cycles have passed since Stormrage occurred, when the Pure Land split into eight separate continents and fell from the heavens. Even though Bra’dune survived utter destruction by a miracle unbeknownst to its denizens, the world has since then been known as the Eight Hells. The entire world was torn asunder because of Stormrage, and not only was Stormrage acknowledged as a horrific occurrence that had almost devoured everything, but the remnants of the world’s fractured sky also became forever known as the Realm of Stormrage.
It is a new era and cycle: 37 NE—the Noble Era—in the month of Gossa, goddess of the eternal ocean. Many legends since the days of the Stormrage have been forgotten. Yet not all things from antiquity or the erstwhile age of Stormrage were abandoned. Alas, deep beneath the shattered sky of drifting granite, lies a scheme unfolding beyond mortal hands. This may be the last chronicle Bra’dune has to offer.
Bra’dune’s twin moons hung over the fissured span of Stormrage. As usual, it swayed with crippled rocks amidst clouds with occasional thunder and lightning. Below the raging veil of shattered storms stood a darkened forest in the Kingdom of Aijalon. Deep in the woods were eight men cloaked and mounted on wycalths, furry steeds with horns and antlers. They had just arrived at the foot of an ancient temple covered in moss and coral-branched vines. Yellowish pollen drifted around the temple as the riders halted their wycalths. When they came to a halt, Galvin, one of the shrouded riders, spoke.
“Is this Knos’rukah?” he asked.
Athra Orenscar, who was leading the brigade, uncloaked himself and replied in a heavy tone, “It is. That’s fifty kerns for each of you. And another fifty when the Master receives the children.”
Some of the mercenaries cheered in victory while others murmured in anxiety for obtaining the rest of the kerns. They pulled down their hoods but were still masked with their helmets and chain-mail armor. Only the man farthest from them had no helmet, yet the shadows of the night hid his facial features, except for his beard.
Two other mercenaries—Lambert and Clanith—abruptly appeared and joined the rest of the brigade. Clanith was hauling over a little girl who sobbed while Lambert yanked over a pair of weeping twin boys.
“Only three?” Athra Orenscar said in a scoffing tone.
“There was only one other child in Qiyren,” Lambert responded. “Besides, it was getting too dangerous with all the noise these brats were making.”
Athra Orenscar scowled. “I suppose they will do,” he said. “Galvin, bring the girl to the temple’s summit and prepare her for our new initiate.”
Several of the mercenaries glanced at the bearded initiate who remained cloaked.
“What about the twins?” Lambert asked.
“You and Clanith can take them into the dungeon,” Orenscar said. “As before, I’m sure you will find your way while I begin making preparations for Za’ren’s initiate.” Lambert nodded and signaled Clanith to follow him as Orenscar went on, “Jahleed, you and your initiate will come with me to Knos’rukah’s central chamber. As for the rest of you: start working on the pavilion. I want it finished by the end of tonight’s ordination.”
The children wept as they were taken. Galvin brought the little girl to the top of the ancient temple while Lambert and Clanith carried the twin boys into the webbed dungeon of Knos’rukah. Meanwhile, the initiate followed Jahleed and Athra Orenscar into the temple, toward the central chamber. Orenscar lighted each unfurnished sconce with his torch as he walked through one of the many passages. The path gleamed with floating fungi, which were continuously spraying grayish pollen everywhere.
Quilapedes—ivory-shelled insects that had segmented bodies and copious legs—scuttled away from the temple walls as the three cultists walked through the dim corridor. When Orenscar reached the central chamber, he prepared for a ritual. He then beckoned Jahleed and the initiate to come inside. The darkened chamber was filled with moss and more fungi. Finally, the initiate’s features were visible to the others as he observed the chamber. He appeared pale due to Knos’rukah’s dim light, but he still radiated as his beard and long umber-colored hair glimmered in the darkness. He stood confident and calm, his brown eyes fixed on Orenscar.
“Who is the Master?” the initiate asked.
Orenscar turned around with a vicious gaze, slapping the initiate. “How dare you inquire about his existence!” he shouted. For a moment the initiate looked as though he’d retaliate, yet he remained passive. Orenscar added, “Who doesn’t know that the Master is none other than our glorious god of Stormrage, Za’ren? You will learn your place among us. Still, it was wise of you to seek out Jahleed. Tonight you shall be rewarded by witnessing the incredible prize Za’ren promises to us all.” He slit his hand with a small dagger and smeared his blood on the initiate’s cheeks and forehead. “Kneel before me, young one.”
“As you wish,” the initiate said, kneeling down and closing his eyes.
Athra Orenscar said, “Driven from Stormrage—driven from the Eight Heavens that were once one and pure—we seek Za’ren’s refuge. Only the Chthonian may lead us to salvation. Tonight, another soul joins us. Tonight, another begins his journey toward salvation.”
“Driven from Stormrage,” repeated the initiate. “Driven from the Eight Heavens that were once one and pure—we seek Za’ren’s refuge. Only the Chthonian may lead us to salvation.” Then he broke off. “Tonight, I shall join you. Tonight, my journey toward salvation begins.”
“Excellent,” Orenscar said. “You shall meditate here for one hour. When you are finished, find Jahleed by the pavilion and join me at the summit to begin the sacrifice.”
The initiate nodded and waited until Athra Orenscar and Jahleed were nothing but distant shadows. He then sat by the altar to begin his meditation. The initiate was silent and calm, not dwelling on the past or future. Closing his eyes, he emptied his mind of countless thoughts and remained focused for the following hour.
In the meantime, Galvin stood near the little girl who was wrapped with rope from mouth to toe on a primeval, cracked altar upon Knos’rukah’s decrepit summit. Several clusters of granite from Stormrage drifted by as Galvin watched the girl for the entire hour that the initiate had been meditating. After the hour had passed, he noticed Athra Orenscar reaching the top of the temple’s stairs.
“Well done, Galvin,” Orenscar said. “Now, watch and learn, as I shall soon ascend with the Master. When I do, these sacrifices will become your duty and reward.”
“Thank you,” Galvin said, bowing. “It will be my honor.”
Jahleed followed behind and grimaced at Athra, wishing it could have been him considering that he was the one who’d found an initiate in the first place. He thought to himself, Is Athra refusing me because I’m from Kijehma? Jahleed hoped that perhaps Galvin would choose him next time.
Galvin and Jahleed stood by the opposite corners of Knos’rukah’s summit, staring at the weeping girl who was still writhing her way out of the rope.
“Enough!” shouted Orenscar, slapping the child.
Finally, the initiate climbed up. He no longer wore a cloak. Similar to the other mercenaries, he was wearing heavy armor: a russet-brown cuirass, greaves, and sabatons. He also had a plated girdle attached to his waist with two swords sheathed—one on each side. His gloomy face, as bright as ever in the night, was covered with Orenscar’s dry blood.
Athra Orenscar centered himself by the altar as the initiate kneeled down on the other end. He then said, “This is the antipodean of Bra’dune. We live in the Eight Hells awaiting our reunion with the Pure Land. I have become the Chthonian. And you, the worshiper!”
“As it was written,” the initiate said.
The others started humming a chant foreign to the Aijalonian tongue as they paced across the temple’s summit. Upon finishing their mantra, they stood behind the initiate.
“Tell me, young one,” began Athra Orenscar, “what is your name?”
The initiate looked up at Orenscar and replied, “Mor’reius.”
“Mor’reius, great and renewed servant of Za’ren, behold!” Orenscar said ecstatically, holding up a gleaming sword whose blade was sinusoidal. “This is Soul Carver—the sword of a thousand souls; this is the one and only weapon that has the Master’s blessing.” He gazed at the granite sky with a callous and contorted grin as he shouted, “Za’ren, oh voice of Stormrage, we honor your immortality with this child! We invoke your benediction of the Chthonian by giving you her soul!” Orenscar raised Soul Carver to the heavens as he closed his eyes, and then he felt the great power of the Chthonian remove his life—No!—it was supposed to give life! Athra Orenscar opened his eyes and saw one of Mor’reius’ swords in his chest. He then dropped Soul Carver, groaned in agony, and fell to the ground.
Mor’reius unsheathed his second sword, turned around, and swiped it in an arc across Jahleed’s shocked face as he said, “Join Za’ren in Stormrage!” He then kicked Jahleed who fell down the stairs, screeching until his neck snapped at the bottom.
Galvin shouted, “Betrayer!” He removed a dagger from the side of his robe and lunged his dagger toward Mor’reius who swiftly pirouetted to the side and hewed off Galvin’s charging arm. Galvin screamed in agony as blood spewed out from his torn limb.
“Tch, a little too sluggish for me,” Mor’reius said, bursting Galvin’s scalp in half with his blade. Mor’reius reached the captive girl and freed her from the rope. “Don’t worry, I’m going to bring you back home to your father.” Though the little girl was still crying, she no longer seemed afraid of Mor’reius. “I’m also going to free your friends. Stay here until it’s safe, okay?”
She nodded while brushing her tears away, but then she shrieked as a mercenary climbed to the summit, about to strike Mor’reius down. Mor’reius, however, turned to the mercenary and parried the attack, followed by a riposte. He repeatedly plunged his sword forward as he gradually stepped down the stairs with each and every engaging clank. It started raining as they fought, and the wind mysteriously became heavy. Still, they kept fighting. Mor’reius eventually saw an opening, ducked, and heaved his blade into the mercenary’s thigh, sundering his armor. Mor’reius then swooped aside and slit the man’s throat.
Lambert saw how Mor’reius killed the other mercenary and shoved Clanith out of the way as he said, “I ain’t dying for this!” He ran toward his horned wycalth, mounted it, and pulled on its reins.
Mor’reius saw both Lambert and Clanith escaping on their horned wycalths when he descended, yet they did not have the children with them. Then he looked across to the other side and saw someone else taking the twins. Mor’reius’ eyes widened in fury as he left Knos’rukah’s archaic threshold. He whistled and then shouted, “Tasla!” He stared at Tasla, his crimson-furred wycalth, and pointed at the man attempting to drag the twin boys away.
Tasla immediately galloped toward the children. She thumped over a mercenary and hind kicked another who had attempted to swipe her with his sword. When she reached the frightened kidnapper, who pleaded for his life, she rose up with a snort and pounded her front hooves into his tiny, scrawny chest. Mor’reius joined Tasla with the little girl over his shoulders and untied the twin brothers. They hugged him as if he were their father.
“It’s all right,” Mor’reius said, smiling at the children. “I’m going to bring you back to your families in Qiyren.” He put the twin boys on Tasla’s saddle and then lifted the little girl off his shoulder, placing her in front of the boys. “Don’t worry, you can hold on to her. Tasla will—”
“You dare to challenge the limitless power of Za’ren?” interjected Orenscar.
Mor’reius turned around and saw Orenscar who not only appeared unharmed but looked a decade younger. He was wielding Soul Carver and had eyes that gleamed in a hazel fury. Mor’reius was completely disorientated by Orenscar’s presence because he expected Orenscar to be dead after what he had done to him at the temple’s summit. But he managed to compose himself and stared harshly at Orenscar. Mor’reius patted Tasla, signaling her to gallop into the dark forest that surrounded Knos’rukah.
“I’m a bit surprised that you survived my introduction,” Mor’reius said. “But it’s all over now, Athra. You won’t be killing or kidnapping any more children.”
“The Master expected this much,” Athra Orenscar said. “He had predicted that someone would eventually attempt to find us. Perhaps his eyes have already been fixed on you. But no matter! I’ll be putting an end to your foolishness tonight, and then those children shall serve Za’ren!”
The rain turned into a torrential downpour, and the wind became as harsh as a cluster of hurricanes. Stormrage’s granite abruptly started whirling into a vortex. It was unnatural. Every torch surrounding the half-built pavilion was blown out, and the trees swayed as if they would be uprooted at any moment. Then, with a fierce roar, Orenscar heaved Soul Carver in the air and swished the blade forward; the swipe created a tempest that blasted Mor’reius against a tree that stood several feet behind him.
The tree toppled when Mor’reius smashed into it. He fell to the ground and was being swept away by the wind. Then turbulent thunder boomed—a devastating fury from the sundered heavens that discharged lightning against the temple.
Mor’reius groaned in pain. “What in the name of Meilos is happening?” he said to himself, lashing rain pouring over his mud-covered armor.
“Only now do you regret your actions,” Orenscar said. “Only now do you wish to have served the Master.” He raised Soul Carver above his eyes until lightning clung to the blade. It was gleaming and overflowing with a power not seen since Stormrage occurred. “Now, witness the imperishable magic of Chthonian! Witness your imminent demise!”
Athra Orenscar aimed Soul Carver at Mor’reius as he cackled. When the strength of the Chthonian surged outward from the sword, however, it enveloped Orenscar like a pulsing vein and sucked the life out of him. Orenscar screamed in horror. In a matter of seconds, he was nothing more than a lifeless corpse. Rain poured over his vapory body. Then, as a gale swept by, Orenscar dissolved into ashes. Soul Carver fell and rested in Orenscar’s residue while gleaming anew as if it had just been forged.
Mor’reius was overwhelmed with trepidation as he glared at the remains of Athra Orenscar. It was impossible—unimaginable, he thought, that he witnessed magic. Never in his entire life had he seen any form of magic before. In fact, to him, such an arcane power had always been a fancy allegory to explain Stormrage. And yet, from this one night, it became as real to him as his own existence. But witnessing magic was by no means something to speak of because the people of Aijalon had long abandoned such a belief. So he decided to keep this occurrence to himself.
The downpour of rain came to a sudden end, as did the violent wind, giving way to stillness. Mor’reius finally snapped out of his trance and walked over to where Athra Orenscar’s remains lay, gazing at the glittery sinusoidal-shaped blade. After a while, he backed away with caution.
“I suppose it’s now the sword of a thousand and one souls,” Mor’reius said, gulping heavily.
Whatever power dwelled within the blade was beyond his comprehension. Soul Carver had somehow betrayed Athra Orenscar. But, more importantly, was that the same thing could have happened to him if he’d taken hold of the sword. At least that was his conclusion as he stepped away from the radiant weapon. There was nothing left at the ancient temple of an elemental paradigm. It was time for Mor’reius to leave Knos’rukah, find Tasla, and return the children to Qiyren.
A few minutes later, Mor’reius rejoined them. Together they journeyed away from Knos’rukah and out of a forest bordering the Kingdom of Terenkoth. Traveling west, they reached a desolate region known as Hala’ratha, where the village of Qiyren was located.
Three nights passed. And on the morning of the fourth day, as Bra’dune’s sun rose, they could see the village of Qiyren. Some of the villagers, who were washing clothes, could see Tasla approaching. The twin brothers were resting on Tasla’s saddle while Mor’reius had the little girl sitting astride his shoulders. Fortunately, the villagers knew right away that it was Mor’reius because of his muscular stature.
“Mor’reius!” yelled one of the villagers. “It’s Mor’reius! He has returned!”
The parents of the twin boys immediately came out of their thatched home. When the mother saw her sons on Tasla, she ran over to them in tears. The father stood beside his home in disbelief.
“My babies!” cried out the mother. “My little babies!”
Mor’reius helped the twins down, who then ran to their mother. Soon after, the little girl’s father came out from the crowd.
“Daddy!” shouted the little girl, running toward her father.
“Retha?” responded the father. He realized it was really her and anxiously ran toward his daughter. “Retha!” He reached his little girl and gently held her high while bellowing, “Vedalos has mercy! Vedalos has mercy!”
Several mercenaries were sharpening their weapons by the smithy; they looked sullen at the sight of Mor’reius, but the others gathered around him and praised him. Then the twins’ father abruptly approached Mor’reius. He was a stern man built like a bronze statue with a mighty beard that reached down to his stomach. Suddenly, he burst into tears and hugged Mor’reius.
“Meilos!” he said emotionally. “It was Meilos who sent you! Oh, thank you!”
Tasla nickered at Mor’reius, which was her way of laughing at him. Despite him being laughed at, he was not embarrassed. Instead he felt lighthearted. And it wasn’t just because of the praise he’d received, but because he had lived up to the xyres: a contract and code of honor and justice for Bra’dune’s denizens. Those who became members of the xyres—such as Mor’reius—were willing to sacrifice everything, including their lives, because the xyres originated from Eminent Dictum.
Mor’reius remembered a piece of the scriptures in Eminent Dictum as though it had been burned onto his body. The scripture that remained ingrained within his mind was said to have been written by Bra’dune’s ancient aerial goddess, Zwayna herself:
Way of Zwayna 18:1
“When the brave shall blaze upon the braziers of will, ye shall do so not for thy soul alone or the people, but for the code of xyres. To burn forever in fervor and serve until all is well—this is the code of xyres. Honor the ode of credo, given unto thee by mine parting heart, for it shall serve to preserve the strife of life till the day of allay.”
All mercenaries on Bra’dune were members of the xyres. Though they each lived up to the code of xyres in their own way, they nevertheless united under a single cause—honor. Some performed tasks to earn kerns, even if it was for a malevolent cause, while others sought justice and peace simply to help others. Several members even lived up to the xyres without having a concern for good or evil; it was simply a way of life to them. As for Mor’reius, the xyres was his religion. He lived up to Zwayna’s way for the sake of the people and for honor.
Mor’reius smiled at the crowd, feeling accomplished.
Later that evening, the villagers held a banquet to honor Mor’reius. Most of the villagers danced and performed music near bonfires. Others enjoyed the feast. Tasla was drinking water from a barrel by the side of the tavern as children patted her tresses. In the meantime, Mor’reius had just finished eating and was relaxing at the central bonfire with Ulayus, the village chief.
“Mor’reius, are the kidnappings truly over?” Ulayus asked.
“Athra Orenscar is no more,” Mor’reius said. “And though he spoke of a Master, he later referred to him as Za’ren. That confirmed my suspicion of Orenscar’s madness. There won’t be any more kidnappings.”
Ulayus sighed and replied, “We are truly blessed by Vedalos. Za’ren may have shattered our land, but he’ll never shatter the soul that Vedalos has given us. As it was once written by the god of light in Eminent Dictum, ‘It hath been affirmed above all things—to always live in unanimity and forever challenge the anonymity of iniquity that dwelt afar thine equanimity.’ Without a doubt, you have accomplished what Vedalos and Zwayna have expected from the xyres, my friend.”
“Thank you, and by Meilos’ will—the chain of change—I shall always strive to purge the evil amongst us,” Mor’reius said.
Ulayus gave Mor’reius a pouch of twenty kerns and added, “Meilos, the god of war and courage? We are simple folk and have a habit of praying more to Vedalos, but Meilos has surely graced us with your presence.”
“And he has graced me with yours,” Mor’reius said.
Ulayus smiled warmly and said, “So, now that our xyres is finally resolved, what will you and Tasla do next?”
“Well,” began Mor’reius, “I’m thinking about staying in the southern barrens for a while to help the people of Yelfis. I may stay there for a cycle to earn more kerns. Then I will return to Gibren.”
“Gibren?” Ulayus said in a surprised tone. “That’s quite far from here. But, ah, isn’t that where you grew up?”
Mor’reius drank some water and answered, “Yes, though I never knew my blood family, Gillardos and his wife, Liseth, were kind enough to raise me. They have always lived in Gibren and own an orphanage. They took me into their home when I was nine, which was about fifteen cycles ago. They are the only people in my life who have ever been like a family to me.”
“I see,” Ulayus said. “Then I’m sure that the journey will be long worth it. And, undoubtedly, that they’d be very happy to see you.”
“It’s a family reunion that I’ve been looking forward to,” Mor’reius said. “But like I said before, I still need to earn some kerns before sojourning there.”
“Don’t we all?”
Mor’reius nodded and then drank arjeke ale. Shortly afterwards, a woman who had been eyeing Mor’reius for a while, approached him and grabbed his hand as a new song started. He was somewhat reticent at first, but Ulayus pushed him forward while laughing.
“Go ahead, lad,” Ulayus said. “Have some fun for a change! We may not have Kyrathustra here to sing an epic poem in your name, but I’ll do my best to contrive his play!”
Stormrage
Gathas of Meilos 7:19
“All is willed to the chain of change—bound to a profound law that can never be rewritten. If thy soul shall not adapt to the chain of change, then ye shall fall and languish in the withered abyss of Za’ren’s dark domain. Stormrage hath been proof evermore, when the firmament tore apart. Bra’dune screamed. No one could hear the voice of the Chthonian—the seven elements. Alas, the binding pulses that waved for eons hath faded away akin to the shine of stars as they emptied away with Bra’dune’s once majestic glow. Shattered. Its screeching whisper gone. Immortality lost from a dying age of eternity. Forthwith, all life hath been forever hurled unto the void. This is thy fate lest ye strikes and wills to instill the chain of change within thy soul till the Eight Hells dispel into heavens once more.”
~ Memories of the Lost
