Epilogue

The First Day of the First Moon, 874 AD.

Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.

Well, let it never be said that he slumbered through exciting times.

It seemed like Seventh had awakened him at a most fortuitous moment. From what he had gleaned from the tomes he'd read through it seemed like the first seventy years of this century had been little more than a series of famines and plagues that ravaged the land. This decade, however, promised to be one of war. This century was to be a tough one for the people of this world, a century in which new realms and ways of life were to be forged. The wills and wishes of the people were not much looked for at the moment, but the new generation of rulers would certainly see their ambitions acted out. They couldn't all be successful of course, but those that survived the struggle would see to the complete restructuring of society in this world, or at least society on this continent.

He had little doubts who would triumph come the end of it all. They may have been unable to use foresight as their kinfolk, Seventh, could, but they didn't need to peer into the mysteries of the future to know that the cards had all been dealt and some had been given better hands than others. The Prince of Violets would go on to further victories, this he knew, though the growing unity of the northmen would be an interesting and unpredictable factor in the story of the young prince's reign. The ancient remnants of the southern empire on Sothettar too were rapidly building their strength, not that anyone had paid much notice to them. They'd be acting soon, and turning their strength outwards for the first time in a millennia. That would certainly be interesting to watch, regardless of his thoughts on their less than tasteful practices.

Times have changed since their golden age, and men do not look so kindly on those who keep people in chains as they once did.

Still, regardless of who came out on top he'd make sure the world was ready. He'd not involve himself in their wars, for humans were fickle and treacherous things, but when the time came for him to act he would not be found wanting. Pale shadow of himself as he was, he was still the single most powerful thing on this planet with few creatures boasting the strength to rival him. He would endure, he just needed to make sure the world did as well.

In regards to that sort of thing these great upheavals were both a great boon and a fucking nightmare. If these wars of consolidation and conquest were completed within a reasonable span of time then the world would certainly be placed in a position of greater strength to fight against what was to come, but if it went on too long...

Well, there might simply not be enough men to hold back the tide that threatened to engulf them all, and that just wouldn't do. His children may have been gone, but he was anchored to this world nonetheless. Why not stick around and try to keep the wheels turning? If nothing else it would make a nice change of pace for him, what with the state of the world last time he'd been stalking its surface

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The stagnant aristocracy that had held firm for the last nine centuries was quickly being burned away in the fires of ambition, leaving behind only the young and those who were sharp enough to turn such fires away from them. The world as it had been for so long was in the process of an upheaval, the likes of which no living person could ever have seen unless they shared his longevity.

Loath as he was to admit it, this Prince of Violets did seem to hold many of the qualities that Harald had. Of course ambition was perhaps the most obvious of those qualities, but equally as important as that was the mixture of drive and competence that enabled those ambitions to be more than a pipe dream.

There were differences between the two of them, however. Basileous couldn't kid himself on this matter: the Prince of Violets was not Harald and Harald had not been the Prince of Violets. Harald had been gentle, soft spoken, quick to befriend but not to anger. Harald had viewed war as a cruel necessity, something that needed to happen for the greater good but that he felt ashamed to order. The Prince of Violets did not.

This new prince seemed to view war as something that, whilst perhaps not good, was certainly exciting. The wars he'd waged so far were points of pride for him, even if by the lad's own admission he'd mostly had to guide his forces from the rear during the Owkrestan Campaign. He seemed to view war not as a necessary evil, but as necessary full stop. Perhaps Basileous was allowing himself to try and compare two young men who'd lived through two very different ages in the history of this world, but he couldn't help it. Too much time spent amongst humans had made him soft. Well, not soft, but certainly softer than he once had been. The world was a more fractured and divided place than it ever had been save only the immediate aftermath of the Year of Desolation, but at least now it seemed that a few men and women were trying to pull everything back together.

But of course, the Klironomean prince wasn't the only one playing his hand at the moment. Far to the north he knew that those misguided souls who worshipped the man he'd once called his brother-in-arms were on the cusp of reuniting, and to the east in Dathan there was a tinderbox that was not only on the cusp of being set alight but was actively beginning to blaze even as he sat here and contemplated the course of the world. War. War was the order of the day, and war was soon to arrive once more. If the world thought that the first four years of this decade had been bloody then he had some unfortunate news for all of them with regards to the next six.

The world was set irreversibly on the path of war, and no matter the outcome he knew that nothing would ever quite be the same again.

He could hear the dignitaries and emissaries dancing and making merry in the hall behind him, and he bit down a bitter smile. Home had been like that once, before chaos and war had torn it all away. Greed and ambition were powerful tools, but they also had the potential to be very destructive. Most of the men and women dancing in the great hall wouldn't live to see the end of the decade, but then none of them would live to see the end of the millennia, so he didn't dwell on that too much.

He looked north for a moment, then huffed out a bitter laugh. What folly he'd engaged in before. Where most felt unease when they looked north he did not. He felt only shame. Turning his gaze away one final time he looked up at the cloudless night sky, and the pale moon that seemed to hang on to the edges of this world.

"Kinsman? Are you alright?"

He registered Seventh's voice but did not turn to face them, a bitter grimace on his face as he stared up at his greatest failure. Time was running out.

"It's time for us to intensify your training, wingling. Something dark is coming."