Far off, where the corners of the four nations met, was Hisin. A city of adventurers, merchants, and those who wished to fulfill their dreams. Due to the mountain ranges that separated the four nations, it was used as a gateway to each one with districts for each of the countries. At its center lies the Hall of Light, a grand domed structure which could only be entered by six people. There was great punishment for daring to try and enter such a place unallowed, but no one would, as it stood as a testament to the harmony of the four countries to all.

All save for one man, sitting by himself in the outside section of a restaurant. To the people around him he was ancient. Very few humans reached their late sixties, though he had lived for far far longer. None could see his face, his long dark blue robes and large hat denoted him for what he was, and the rings on his shaking fingers showing his wealth. That was only his left hand though, his right was gloves and currently grasping the table as he waited for the sudden pain to fade.

A waiter had tried to make his way to the elderly man, fearing that he was having a heart attack or stroke. That was not the case. He found that, though the man was in pain, he was not suffering. No, he laughed at the pain, and the waiter knew exactly what that laughter was for. It was no secret, given how hard it would be to keep such a secret after centuries of the same song and dance. A fact that only made him laugh harder at his own situation, going from hunching over the table to sitting straight up and laughing at the sky.

Once again, a Lord of Terror called to him. Once again, he was unhappy with the state of the world. Once again, he would in time find himself aiding those that he had served since the very first Lord dared to walk Evra. For what else was Cyrus Gallie but the eternal prisoner of time and just as eternal servant of that which everyone feared? It was for all that which he laughed at, for he was so used to the pain that it could no longer phase him.

“Hopefully they are better than the pass few,” He said, his laughter finally ending to reveal a quiet, deep, and aging voice. He lifted a cup of tea with his left hand, taking a sip of it as he grumbled. “Such a horrid lot they were. Vas’e’lou must be more gone than I thought to bring such individuals,” He closed his eyes and tapped his foot in thought. “The timing though, it is really off. Makes no sense.”

The pain stayed, but Cyrus refused to get up and submit to it’s wishes. The last few Lords of Terror had disappointed him greatly, and it was for that reason he had decided something in the interlude between the last one and this new Lord. He would not go to them, but wait for them to come to him. The pain showed him where they were currently, and it seemed that they were in Ellio. That was the most he could tell at the moment, but it was enough. If they died before making their way to Hisin, then they were not worth his time.

Others however, were more than interested in making him worth their time. Unseen under the large brim of his hat, his eyes caught two very familiar figures. One was a male fae, ears pointed similar to an elf but in a more upwards manner instead of straight out, the giant orange wings also a dead giveaway. They wore robes of dark green and blue, the former color twisting into the pattern of vines. Cyrus knew the man well, for he had taught them to fight: Halerosh Dena Arravia Cortesia.

He never bothered to learn the fae language in all his years, but Cyrus was sure the name was related to nature in some manner. It was how the fae usually worked.

As for the human girl with them, he knew them as well but on a far less personal level. He had heard tales of Halerosh taking up an apprentice. It was said they were a girl who just appeared one morning staring up at the sky with no knowledge of anything. Not amnesia, just completely blank, the city registrar having not a single clue to their identity. As far as it was known, she shouldn’t have even existed, yet here she was giving existence the middle finger. It was admirable, actually, and with a mind so easily melded it was no wonder that a fae of all individuals had taken them in.

Easy prey for their games and tricks.

She wore clothes far different from him and the fae, forsaking robes for a black shirt and gray tights. Far less complex than that of her teacher, the girl has clearly gained an identity of her own since Halerosh found her. One that, given a single look at her face, was far less playful and a lot more serious than that of her mentor. Odd, he swore the girl would take more after the fae, but it seemed as if she was an exact opposite of him.

Then he noticed Halerosh looking at him specifically, a smile on the fae’s face. With a few words to the hostess, he gave a nod and motioned his pupil to follow him. Their destination was made clear the moment Halerosh had looked Cyrus in the eyes: his table. One look at the girl with him and Cyrus knew all he had to know about their visit. The way she was gritting, the magical chain that stuck through her arm, it was a little shocking to say the least.

A girl with no identity, having like minded beliefs to that of the new Lord of Terror. It was intriguing to say the least.

“Master Cyrus, I hope you are doing well,” Halerosh said. He motioned to his pupil, the girl doing her best to hide the curse on her hand. “I assume you’ve heard of Alexia by this point.”

Alexia refused to look at him, staring into the distance at the Hall of Light. Cyrus sighed, disappointed that she had been taken by such a hideous blot on the horizon. He returned to his tea, ignoring the two. Halerosh, realizing the introduction had not gone as he wished, shook his head.

“Alexia, we will be having lunch with him. Please show a man of such high standing respect,” Halerosh reminded the girl.

“Okay, fine,” Alexia replied, letting out a sigh as she finally looked Cyrus' head on. The older man was caught off guard at how raspy her voice was. “It’s a… pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“You’ll have to forgive her, she isn’t exactly good at dealing with people just yet,” Halerosh told the old man, though Cyrus chose to ignore him. The fae let an open palm rise to meet his face, any opportunity of starting this off in an unawkward matter nothing short of a complete disaster. “We’ll just sit down.”

Cyrus nodded, though he still wasn’t paying full attention. As the two sat down, his eyes immediately caught onto Alexia, slumping over the table with her head behind crossed arms. She didn’t notice him eyeing her cursed hand, hat hiding where his vision glanced decently well. He put the tea he was holding down and shifted in his seat so that his gloved hand was closer to the girl’s eyes.

“I see you have been given a curse, child,” Cyrus told her. He reached with his left hand to the gloved one, pulling said glove off slowly and revealing the same chains as the ones that bore into her own. Alexia looked at him, barely able to make out a sentimental smile through his robes and hat. “Seems we have a similar fate.”

“A fate I refuse to let claim me,” Alexia told him. “My allegiances lies with Halerosh and the Council of Peace, not the Lord of Terror,” She shifted a little, turning her head away from Cyrus. “I am sorry, though, that you find yourself in such a position at your age.”

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Halerosh chuckled at her words. “Apologizing to the one who made the Sign of Fog for being cursed with it? Come now, Alexia, surely you jest.”

Cyrus turned to Halerosh, mouth opening to stop her but it was far too late to do anything. Alexia shot up from where she sat, pupils retracting as she looked at the old sage with a sudden burning hatred. Cyrus turned back to the girl, watching as her fingers bore into the wood of the table. Such extreme hatred, such burning resolve, and such will for what he had believed would be a hollow shell.

All these years later, and Halerosh still managed to somehow surprise him. Damnable fae.

“You did this to me?!” Alexia asked, not bothering to quiet her voice and allowing the entire outside seating area and beyond to hear her. “You are the reason that this damnable chain burns my arm? Do you have any idea the amount of pain that it put me through earlier today? I felt like I was gonna pass out!”

“Honestly I’m surprised you didn’t. I’ve had some describe it as being worse than even the most excruciating forms of torture,” Cyrus replied, realizing that it was best to not allow Halerosh the show of a reaction and returning to a more relaxed position. “You must be incredibly strong willed to not pass out from our new Lord's first show of power.”

“It shouldn’t cause pain to begin with! Isn’t the point of it to just denote who shares their views?” Alexia questioned further. Cyrus feigned ignorance, returning to his tea and sipping it as if he had never heard her questions. The man was beginning to frustrate Alexia greatly, once again deciding to rest her head against the table. “Forgive me, Hal, but I’ve come to the conclusion that your old mentor is a piece of shit.”

Cyrus stopped mid-sip as he heard the nickname, chuckling from the memories it brought. Reminded him of the days when use to call Halerosh “Hallie”, a name that he didn’t say now out of respect for his identity. Still, seeing them get flustered at the name in the same exact way after all these years, it brought back good memories. Memories of a far happier point in the many centuries he had lived through.

“Alexia! Not in front of Master Cyrus please!” Halerosh said, face red in embarrassment. It only got redder as he heard the laughter escaping from Cyrus, joining Alexia in placing her face on the table, though for entirely different reasons. “I should have seen this coming.”

“Yes, you should have,” Cyrus said, his voice showing a cheer that there wasn’t before. Looking at Alexia, his sentimental smile turned downright joyous. “I think we will get along rather well, Miss Alexia.”

She didn’t respond, though he wasn’t surprised given the revelation that Halerosh had handed her. He guessed that, of all the people in Evra, it made sense that she was unaware of what he had done. It also made sense why she would question such a thing that others just saw as a sign of their likely demise. There was a reason for its existence, and as sad as it was the pain was a necessary evil. She would find out in time for herself.

“Um, excuse me?”

All three of them looked to their left, noticing a rather nervous waiter standing before them. They weren’t entirely sure how long they had been there, but given how terrified they were it had to have been a decent bit. Cyrus looked to Alexia and Halerosh, motioning for them to order since he had already eaten a decent bit ago. He tuned both of them out as they did, taking another sip of his tea only to find out it was completely empty.

“I guess I have had enough for the time being,” He muttered.

“Oolong I’m guessing?” Halerosh asked. Cyrus gave him a smile and nodded, the fae letting out a giggle. “All these years later and your tastes have had zero change.”

“I like what I like, it is as simple as that,” Cyrus replied as he rested his back against the chair. Alexia finally caught a glimpse of his eyes as she finished ordering. Heterochromia apparently, one blue and one green. “So, as nice as all this idle chit chat has been, I know you came here to do more than make your pupil hate me. What is it?”

Halerosh’s smile fell away, knowing he could no longer dodge around the question that had been in his head the entire time. It was one he already knew the answer to, but he needed to hear it from his old mentor directly. Taking a breath, the fae looked Cyrus dead in the eyes. The elderly man looked right back.

“I wish to know if you plan to turn against the council once again,” Halerosh replied, voice carrying far less cheer than it had earlier. “To be more specific, I want to know if you and I will be fighting against each other just like we had forty-five years ago.”

“I will let their competence decide if I do or not,” Cyrus spoke plainly. “Too many times have I pulled my Lords out of the fire in the past few centuries. Too many times have they hid behind me, too afraid to fight themselves,” His hand went to his chin. “Though, since we are on the topic, there is something off about this that intrigues me.”

Halerosh nodded. “Yes, the time frame is off by a good fifty-five years.”

“The time frame is… off?” Alexia asked, tilting her head in confusion.

“A Lord of Terror doesn’t just appear whenever they want, Miss Alexia,” Cyrus told her, sitting straight up as he prepared to lecture. “I have stood by each and every one, from the good to the bad to all in between. In that time I have learned there are certain rules that whatever divine deity responsible for this seems to follow,” He looked out over the balcony they were seated on and down to the people below. “I doubt they need to follow said rules, but I’m sure they find it fun to abide by such things.

“Simply put, there are restrictions on who is summoned and when they are. One of which has been broken,” His eyes caught onto a particular elf he saw walking along down below, making a note in his head that something about them seemed off. “These rules are that their gender identity must be the opposite of the last Lord, not to mention that they must also be of a different world and race each time. Also, when either one hundred years have pass since they arrived, another is to take their place,” As the elf left his view, he shrugged and returned his attention to Alexia and Halerosh. “I’m sure you see the problem.”

Alexia nodded, instantly realizing what Cyrus meant. “Halerosh told me that the last one died not even half a century ago.”

“Exactly, which is strange. Vas’e’lou is a fickle god, and not one to break habits they form. To do this means something has changed,” Cyrus explained. “The question comes to what it is, and while I have clues I by no means know for certain.”

His eyes locked with Halerosh, and while the fae didn’t see said eyes he felt the glare they gave off. Even worse, he was pretty sure he knew what the man hinted at. His face turned stern as he realized that he had been given the most roundabout answer to his earlier question possible. They were not on the same side, they were not friends, and there was nothing Halerosh could do to stop him. His heart ached at the thought, but he didn’t allow it to sway him.

“We are enemies then,” The fae said, his words so matter of fact that it left Alexia confused. “Next time I see you, it will be to battle against you once again.”

“You are a powerful mage, young Halerosh,” Cyrus said, giving a nod to the fae as he rose to his feet and grabbed the staff leaning against a nearby railing. “If the world dictates that I fall in the coming battle, I will die knowing that you are there to continue what I teach,” He turned to Alexia. “And to you, young Alexia. Best of luck holding out, and I’ll see you when we inevitably stand side by side.”

Alexia met his gaze with undaunted resolve. “Wait all you want. I’ll be dead before I join the Lord of Terror.”

Knowing she would not be swayed for now, Cyrus bowed to the two. He left a sizable tip for the poor waiter they had thoroughly scared, and left. He did not turn back to face Halerosh or Alexia, knowing that it would not change a thing. He chuckled, thinking of the shock it would be if he died before the fae did. It would bring an end to the Sign of Fog, and leave the Lord of Terror far more powerless against them. Alas, that is what they wanted.

For the one thing the council feared, like all people, was change.