Epilogue

The Second Day of the First Moon, 873 AD.

Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.

It hadn't taken him long to make his way to Anaria, maybe three days? Truth be told he could probably have walked the route in his sleep from anywhere in the world, let alone a town with an admittedly shoddy road leading straight there. There was a mixed feeling of relief and panic, he sensed in the air. Relief at the end of a war, but panic over the attempted assassination of the new sovereign.

He rolled his eyes. Sovereigns were a copper a dozen in this age. Kings, princes, cardinals, counts, dukes, and a hundred other ranks of 'leaders' and 'divine appointees'.

As if the divine had ever chosen a sovereign to rule.

Well, there had been that one time a few centuries back. And there were the ones from back in the old times, when they were more involved in the world. Not the 'old days' that the men he had spoke to from this period recognised, from less than nine centuries ago. No, the true old days. How long had it been since then? He suspected that his mind had degraded to far to truly know.

But no. There had been no divinely selected ruler in this world for quite some time, no matter how much those who sat their thrones and seats of power wished to think otherwise. He had learned to his cost not to attempt to see some particular, 'special', mortal rule over other mortals. There were too many horror stories from this world's past to think otherwise. He thought a brief moment of the most soft spoken of his old friends, who had ranged deep to the south when madness and terror was in the midst of overrunning the world. He had rallied the southernmost peoples of the world against the threats they had faced, but all he had done was thrust them into a different crisis as soon as the immediate threat had abated. He knew that his old friend despised himself through all of his remaining years for causing the collapse, the wholesale destruction, of such a promising people through nothing more than good intentions.

He should have learned from that lesson himself. It wasn't like he hadn't made that mistake before. But no, he just had to get involved when a promising young princeling chanced upon him some nine centuries ago.

The world could use people like that young prince now. Maybe this new one Seventh seemed to be aiding would be similar? He doubted it. There were very few men who could match the young King Harald in his mind.

Speaking of Seventh, they had survived their nasty encounter with that cult as well. More importantly, it seemed the young wingling had already made a full recovery. Even by the standards of their kind that was a fast healing process, and for that much he was deeply relieved.

Of course the mental scars of the incident would linger on the poor thing for some time, but given the speed by which their physical form had healed and their knowledge of dream-magics, he didn't think he needed to be overly worried about that.

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He looked around the throne room, a sense of indifference filling him. This place had lost much in recent centuries, it would seem. Little of old Anaria's splendour remained to be marvelled at; it was little more than an overgrown, walled sty at the moment.

Then there was the matter of the 'Heptarchy', as it seemed to be known. Gods, how far mankind had fallen since last he had walked amongst them.

He could still picture Harald sitting the throne in his mind. That brilliant, inquisitive boy that should have shaped mankind's future.

He supposed he had, in a sense. Just not how he was supposed too.

He took a series of deep breaths and cleared his mind. His friend had been dead for centuries, almost a millennia, his body immortalised in a sarcophagus baring his likeness. When he had first demanded to see it he had received a great many confused looks, and a statement that only the Knights of the Order of the Bloody Cross were worthy look upon his visage. He had had to control himself greatly in that moment to stop himself from bringing the entire Keep housing him down upon their heads. Did they not realise that he had fucking trained the founder of their Order? That he had helped him recover the body of the King they now so revered? What right did they think they had in denying him-

He took a deep, stuttering breath. It didn't matter anymore. There was a new Prince here now, apparently just as hungry for knowledge and ablaze with ambition as the last had been.

This one would need his guidance, just as the last had. And so, he would watch, and wait, and make his plans. The world would be whole again, he knew it.

If their little prince made it through the next few days.

At the very least he knew he would not be alone this time. Seventh was with him, still treating him just as reverentially as they had in their short meeting all those centuries ago.

Gods, they're still but a child. As they begin to grow...

A smile formed on his face as he imagined how the young 'Seer' would grow into their powers. A mastery of Dream-Magic was one thing, but his Angelic-Magic? That they had yet to unfurl.

Oh how they despaired, how they all fretted. Their little prince had taken a nasty wound, it was all anyone would talk about. None yet knew how or why, or even by whom, but nonetheless he was out cold for the time being.

It was the Cult of the Choir! The Alemans! Prince Rhema! A parting gift from Princess Roma!

He wasn't impressed, to say the least. Harald had at least gone down fighting, even if he was a heroic fool.

He wouldn't allow himself to get attached to another would-be great monarch again.

Better that this one dies quickly, he thought.

Perhaps he was being needlessly cruel. Seventh seemed to like this one, and liked his brother even more, so maybe he would suspend his judgement until he could truly get a grasp on the situation and his surroundings.

Maybe.

There was some melancholy mood brewing inside him. He supposed being here just brought back bad memories.

A great many bad memories.

How was it that mankind could have become so... so... fractured?

When last he had stood here there were four nations in the civilised world; Klironomea, Terranea, the Sotenari and the Kikhepis. Now there were dozens, each of them little more than a fragment of what was.

Much has changed in the last few centuries, he thought to himself, there is little that remains same here, now, as it was back then.

But looking around at the same chaos and despair he had seen in this very hall almost nine centuries ago, he couldn't help but feel that nothing had changed at all.