After the battle and Azeal’s baptism, they had a funeral to recognize the lives lost in battle whether they be a bandit or otherwise. They all stood, shoulder to shoulder, with their heads tilted downwards. Some with tears flowing their eyes, while others quietly stood with solemnity. They heard the speech of a master healer as he recognized Hefita. The Gentle Goddess - The Goddess of Death and the Eternal Cycle. For only the gentlest of hands can lead the most impressionable of souls

He then recognized Mestifar - The God of Transition. He who led the souls across the eternal void. To protect them during their journey from the evil that had manifested eons ago, or as was told by the stories.

After Mestifar, Roland recognized Zelafia - The Sister of Hefita. The Goddess of Life and The New-Born. Praying that she leads them again to the world of the living, rather than let them freeze in the Himid - Land Of the Frozen Dead.

He came close to ending but was interrupted, something none would have done if they knew better. Azeal’s voice sounded out with depth none could have expected.

“And Fenia - She of War, of Redemption, and Perseverance.”

They all stared at Azeal, as a forgotten one was called. A goddess that lived longer than any mentioned by a margin imperceivable by the common mind. One that lived through the Battle of Judgement.

A goddess to powerful to ever act in the mortal plane.

Roland, too afraid to deny one of the three forgotten ones, repeated Azeal with no additions. And unlike the gods mentioned before, her name caused a reaction within the visible world. That was her power. Something all three gods of life and death could not match.

An aura of tranquility and motherly affection spread across the battlefield. Covering all who stood to witness this event.

Roland, unlike the others, had witnessed the power of a forgotten one. It was a story he never told, not even to his blood-brother Harold. It was long ago before he entered the army.

As a child, he was weak and always ill. Never able to play with the children lest he breaks an arm or a leg by falling. So he entertained himself by reading stories of myths and legend. Of dragonslayers and beast tamers. Each book bought by his father and mothers struggle. Coins they could have used to eat better food was used to entertain him.

But, one day, like all sad stories, came a time where an evil came to take everything he had. To take away his family and his books. They came in and began to destroy the village he called home. One by one he witnessed the houses of his neighbors burn from his lonely perch near the window. Until they reached his. A fight ensued, his father trying to protect them from the darkness that crept towards them. Hollers of pain and anger sounded out from the house, while Roland sat in his room; the door closed.

He had read of such evils coming to hurt others. Whether they be dragons, beasts, or man, they would all eventually fall to those that sought glory.

His mothers scream sounded out, from the hall. There she screamed words unfamiliar to the innocent boy. His mind could not decipher them. She spoke of death, of destruction, of absolute pain, and then finally she spoke the name of a forgotten one.

“May The One give Malikim the right to tear your souls from the vessels that house them. An eternal torture for them to exist in. For the pain and grief, they had caused. The One recognizes the prayer of the oppressed and the prayer of one with tear stained eyes. It is the words promised so long ago, and The One never breaks his promises. Their calls never denied; never left unanswered! The One is just, and the forgotten one Malikim is ever so cruel!”

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Roland stood frozen in his room, too afraid of what he might see if he opened the door. So he walked back to his lonely perch unable to fathom what she meant, or what could cause her to speak such words. His mother was a gentle soul; kind and spoke ever so sweetly.

A sudden scream filled with pain caused him to cover his ears. It was his mothers, as a child of six years, he had never encountered death or the painful cries it caused. So he covered his ears traumatized.

A deep voice was then heard unlike any the boy had ever witnessed. Filled with power and majesty.

“The Prayer of the oppressed and the tear-filled eyes is never denied. I, a messenger, come to give you your tidings. The answer to your prayers. The One has made an exception, Malikim was given release from his restraints to fulfill your request. But, you are close to the end. Your soul tied to a lonely tether straining against all the odds. Your child left alone will not survive. So power and wisdom will be bestowed. The power of Malikim and its opposite - The Power of Withering and Healing.”

Hearing these words, Roland looked out the window; the world began to change. It was no longer so bright and happy.

And he, no longer the innocent child he had been moments ago. He looked out and saw a figure in the sky filled with withering powers. So, he assumed it was Malikim. He watched as everything within hundreds of meters suddenly turned into ash; withering.

Every human, animal, tree, and building turned to ash.

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After the funeral, Azeal watched Roland walk into the tall grasses. He had wanted to ask him ere they were headed but did not get the chance.

He decided to speak with Harold who was standing to the side talking with his daughters - Lana and Sara. As he walked closer, a heated debate was being had.

Hoping he wasn't interrupting something important he cleared his throat when he was close enough to be heard.

With a sudden jerk, all three whirled around to stare at him with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, Azeal it's you. Take me away from these young ones lest they cause me suffering!” Harold seemed to frown and placed his hand on his heart.

Sara laughed at her father's antics, “Father, stop being so dramatic. We are trying to be serious here. When we reach Thols, we cannot be confrontational with the Franks lest others call us petty and simple-minded. We are taking a major portion of the economy built around a thriving mining operation. Within a decade we could even have enough wealth to challenge your original noble house.”

Smiling, Azeal forgot that he was wearing a helm, so his expressions could not be seen. He had wanted to speak to them about where they were headed, and they were conveniently already discussing it.

“I have never been to Thols, or heard of it. What is it like?” Questioned Azeal, trying to sound genuinely interested in the topic.

As Sara began to speak animatedly about how boring a border city with an economy based on mining was, Lana was staring at Azeal. It had become extremely uncomfortable the longer it was held, but he did not want to cause any issues with Harold’s family.

Zoning back in he caught the final part of what Sara had been saying,

“... So basically, it will have really high walls, a lot of smoke from the blacksmith district, and heck loads of slave traders selling their wares. Lots of warriors and mercenary bands come to Thols for the weapons and rare metals that could be found there. So the slavers would sell all types of things to sate the needs of the wanderers.”

Having been caught off guard, he could not form a response to the nonchalant way she had phrased slavers and their Things being sold. But, before he could gather his thoughts and ask about how it was even allowed, Roland strolled out of the tall grasses looking a bit downcast.

Something no one was used to seeing. Taking advantage of the moment Harold, changed the subject and pulled his daughters away towards Roland. Leaving Azeal by himself with his thoughts in turmoil.

Slavery.

It was something Harold hinted at when they stood in front of the carrier of love. He spoke of people with the same eyes as the dead man while they were alive. Of emotions killed or locked away not to feel suffering. Off the lack of light within those that could have been beautiful.

It was another struggle he would have to face. And it would cause him great pain.

Looking up to the sky, he wondered if Fenia could feel what he had felt. Her motherly aura had been present during the funeral because she had been called upon, but did she know of the struggles he faced. Of the agony, he had gone through. And that which he will go through.

“Fenia, if you hear me now, then know I will not give up. And I will build my home and your cathedrals.”