The night was silent. The sky dark, black as the blackest of ravens, as though all stars died out. Common folk feared these nights. The human species were terrified of these nights, for they filled the tranquil silence of the dark with their nightmares, with their secrets. That was why Rynlav relished these nights.

He was their secrets. He was their nightmares.

He perched on the tapering spire of the clocktower above the Royal Garden. The Garden, naturally, was devoid of any living presence, not a wandering cat, not a clueless rat dared enter into his proximity. Animals feared him. They instinctively sensed that he was … of a different breed.

He stretched his wings, his raven wings, and gracefully glided across the night, unto the long gable roof of the throne room. He walked up to its edge and crouched.

The clock tower and the throne room both towered far higher than any other structures or dwellings. The winding, narrow alleys and pavements in the castle and its buildings were compact, on top of each other, and hence snatched every single inch of the hill they were built on. Rynlav fixed his gaze on one of the castle’s lower buildings. Onto the third floor, onto one particular window, between the frame and the gilded curtains, through where a narrow gap could provide vision into the room. It might have been quite the distance between him and that window, but being a higher lifeform than mere humans, he found no difficulties in peeking into the candlelit, dim room.

On the bed, a pinkish amalgam of interlocking hands and legs were stirring, as worms inside a rotten corpse. Vishala Morbane and Lorne Avellan gave in to the most primal, most itching of instincts that mankind had.

That … all living creatures had.

Rynlav watched indifferently. He paid crucial attention to control his breathing. He also made an arresting effort to extinguish that spark of scorn and anguish he started to feel, growing within the core of his being. His jaws clenched as he left the roof with one strong, frustrated flap of his wings.

He had no illusions; he knew he was capable of human feelings. He also knew that the strongest of them were the ones mortals liked to call cardinal sins. He refused to name what he felt, not even admitting to himself. That would bear …

No. I am above. This ends now.

He flew over the Castle, over Grospan, taking joy in the midnight air. He was not afraid of being seen. People would not dare speak about what they saw. No one would believe them anyway.

A couple of miles away from the city, he then landed on the coast. The cliff was high, higher than in the city. Water was churning down there, tempestuous, as it broke on the sharp and jagged rocks.

Darkness shrouded the land. Not a soul in sight. He could have easily gone back to his chambers, fall asleep, and meet his cohorts that way. But that was trivial, banal.

And Rynlav had never liked trivial or banal matters.

Lifting his arm, his long, clawed fingers bent in a way as though he grabbed one side of a curtain. He flexed his muscles, and slowly brought his arm down, diagonally, in front of his body.

The world screamed as the Veil came undone. Unstitching the barrier between worlds, Rynlav let go of the essence he gripped, stretching his fingers, grinning as the acute, burning pain faded from his arm. He stood before the gate he tore into the fragile plane of reality. Violet, blue, and yellow lights vibrated, glinted from the other side.

He stepped through the gap. Through the Veil.

It was a different world. Yet the same. A warped, twisted, mirrored world of the mortals. A plane which more-or-less resembled the geographic features of the other place. The ground was pitch black. The sky, an alloy of red, violet, green, and gold, everchanging, devoid of clouds, suns, moons, stars. An ethereal mantle of opaque mist covered the land, fluctuating, never still. The cliffs and hills were trembling, chunk of rocks vanishing and reappearing every second. The ocean, bloodred, threatened with consuming all that had ever lived as its towering waves died on the rocky wall of the cliff with thunderous roars, sprinkling the top with a haze of chill steam. The only constant was the immediate vicinity of Rynlav, and a mountain in the distance, far beyond the horizon, far beyond reach.

Far beyond comprehension. Just as anything in this plane.

Soramarr. The Gods’ Realms.

He realised he was glaring at the mountain with a distorted grimace. He scoffed and looked around. No traces of life could be detected here. The land was intact, no human intervention scarred its surface.

The aftermath of another, much severe event did.

Rynlav shrugged off the inherent despair that immediately clung unto his being upon stepping into Soramarr. A curse so petty yet effective. He broadened his senses, tentatively groped for signs of life. Soramarr had been vacant for long cycles, but he soon found what he sought.

The presence of four individuals, scattered among the different corners of the world. He engulfed them in the raw essence of the mist, made them vanish from the place they were anchored to, then had them rematerialized before his eyes.

Four ghostly, flickering silhouettes of humanoids. Rynlav knew these were only their illusions, their Masks in the mortal world. He himself also had one there.

‘You’re physically here!’ snapped the first, a tall, slender man, his features blurred. Avarys.

Rynlav remained silent.

‘Your childish demeanour never ceases to fascinate me,’ said Dynarav, a short, hunched man. His smooth voice was odd for his chosen illusion. ‘Is it vanity or denial driving you? Perhaps common imbecility?’

The silhouette of a woman, behind whom was Nyrevyn, chuckled. ‘Rynlav never cared much about danger, did he?’

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Rynlav slowly turned to the fourth figure.

‘Anything to add, Zhyrala?’

The others’ voice sounded distant, resounding, whispery compared to his. The fourth person, the shadow of a kid, shook her head.

‘I’ll never understand how you can elude the Repentance. Seldom, when I’m bored, I come here. I can only bear it for a handful of minutes.’

‘Let’s cut the meaningless bragging before you start your condescending ramble on how you are better than us,’ said Avarys before Rynlav could respond. ‘How’s Amrith?’

‘Alive.’

‘And the two idiots?’

‘Stormwalker’s dead, I saw his corpse. Couldn’t find Khryssalan.’

‘Complications emerge right in the beginning, as it seems,’ Dynarav observed.

‘Did you see Amrith? Could you take a glance at her?’ asked Nyrevyn, trepidation clearly present in her voice.

‘I did. She …’ Rynlav’s beastly lips drew into a smile ‘hasn’t aged a bit.’

‘You should have killed her,’ Zhyrala said. ‘Before she gains power.’

‘She’s already powerful,’ Rynlav argued. He felt frustrated by these four’s hostility. They should have been equals, yet Rynlav’s current power made them all inferior. ‘She was, even in her slumber. Always been.’

‘Khryssalan cannot regain his throne, wherever he might be.’ Avarys made sure the command was clear. Rynlav clenched his jaws. ‘Deal with him as soon as possible. When do you think we may confront Amrith?’

‘You are weaklings.’ Rynlav did not mean to offend his cohorts, he simply stated a fact. One that was cold as a naked blade. ‘I’ve seen all of you at your peak. You are mere shadows of yourselves. Amrith would wipe the land with you were you to fight her now.’

Avarys was shaking, Dynarav snorted in disbelief, Nyrevyn stood in silence. But Zhyrala nodded.

‘That’s why your task is of the utmost importance. You seem to get stronger day by day. If the time is nigh but we still aren’t ready, you must buy us time. You must prevent—’

‘If the time is nigh and you aren’t ready,’ Rynlav smiled ugly, ‘I will consume each and every one of you.’

‘You brat, you arrogant lunatic, can you even begin to fathom the powers I once wielded?’ Dynarav demanded, his voice filled with anger and contempt.

‘Can you even begin to fathom the ways I can tear you apart just to then put you together? Only because it would strike my fancy.’

‘Enough.’ Avarys cut in. ‘We heard you. We’ll be ready.’

‘Are you making progress?’

‘The Empire is soon to be ready,’ Avarys nodded.

‘Nyrevyn?’

‘Everything has been running smoothly as of late,’ the woman assured Rynlav.

‘What about Alysia?’

‘She’ll never be seen in Amrith again.’

Rynlav stared at Dynarav silently. The man shrugged.

‘I’ve been studying these cultures. The crypt should either be in Dath or Anlorn.’

‘Which Dath?’

‘Ah, stu … I don’t know. It’s a broad land.’

‘Continue your investigation, then. And you, Zhyra?’

Zhyrala shook her head. ‘You need to trust me with this one. My contribution will be … grandiose.’

Rynlav nodded, then turned to Avarys. ‘Did anyone seek me?’

‘None that I know of. Need more Roses?’

‘No. Morbane’s getting suspicious.’

‘Morbane’s still alive?’ Nyrevyn asked, stunned.

‘Of course she is,’ Dynarav grimaced. ‘Our Rynlav here has been infected with her as of late, as it seems she struck his fancy.’

‘One more word and I’ll seek you out,’ Rynlav whispered, taking a step toward the man’s shadow.

‘You should kill her if she poses a threat,’ Avarys said coldly.

‘You would have all the nobleborn killed on Amrith were it up to you.’

‘I might still have all of them killed,’ Avarys laughed. ‘It’s lovely that all the treacherous vermin converged there. But have it your way. I care about results. Keep reporting on Amrith. She must be watched.’

That meant the end of their meeting, abrupt and final. Dynarav vanished without a word, Nyrevyn waved goodbye.

‘Take care, Rynlav,’ Zhyrala said. ‘You’re resourceful, but you’re surrounded by enemies.’

Avarys stayed for last.

‘The next time you dare threaten me, I’ll seek you out, and I will consume you, tear you apart, and scatter your remains on that putrid land of mortals.’

Rynlav looked him in the eyes, then slowly nodded, smiling.

‘As you wish, your Highness.’

‘Don’t mock me. You might be strengthening faster, but you would be a fool to believe us weak.’

With that, his silhouette vanished, leaving Rynlav alone. He lingered a moment longer. The everchanging landscape of Soramarr stirred discomfort in him, yet the familiar sky brought him peace. Even with the mountain looming in the back.

He sighed and left to the mortal world, sealing the whole gaping in the Veil in his wake. The simple blackness of the sky was beautiful in its own simple way. He flew back to the castle, landed in the Garden, and dropped his true form, gliding into his illusion, his Mask.

On the way to her chambers, she thought through what little information she could obtain. Queen Alysia is out of the game, for good. The location of a second shard would soon to be revealed if she could believe that degenerate Dynarav. And no one went to Andoriel to look for her.

Apparently, everything was running smoothly, as Nyrevyn said. Thus, she needed to be wary; times like these often proved to be treacherous.

And yet her last thoughts before reaching for the handle of her chamber’s door was revolving around Vish. About the threat she indeed posed, the words Dynarav said, the scene she saw up at the top of the throne room.

It may very well be that Avarys was right after all—that she should soon get rid of her.

She stepped into her room, took down her robes, and stepped to the fireplace, grabbing a bottle of wine and a glass. She disregarded the muffled screams until she drank a sip of the wine. Then, she turned around, smiling widely to the man bound to a chair in the centre of the room.

‘Hush, my little toy! I think I’ve just found out how I can use your talents the best possible way. Come, my little Shadow! Let’s play!’

Fortunately, the man’s screams died out before anyone could hear them.