Although Thar had been back in Evadia a little over a year ago, it was not like now. Last time, Lemisyre met him far outside the city in the open fields near one of the watch towers. She led him to the warehouse district and through one of the underground tunnels that led to the castle. It felt like sneaking in. If it were not for the letter she carried with her, sealed with Zetha’s ring and written in his penmanship, he would not have agreed.

Zetha, King of Evadia, was also known as the scales of justice between the Never Born. He never took sides and always weighed all options equally. He was the reason why Thar’s sentence was a thousand years. He was also the one that enforced it.

Last time, Lemysire had snuck him into the castle and right to her work chambers. She outfitted him with new robes in a style he was used to but with enough modifications to match the latest trends. She also used him as a test subject for a new type of material and magic for the clothes, something that would repel all dirt.

Although the excuse seemed flimsy, it was when Nocipel met him in Lemysire’s work chambers that he understood the real reason he was asked to return. Nocipel wanted him to join her on an adventure north. Clearly, she had received permission from not only the king but also the queen herself.

Thar watched as everyone left him standing at the door of the private library. A quick glance around the main library revealed one Never Born working there, ignoring him, and three mortals. He turned back into the room behind him.

The books he was browsing earlier while D’Argen told his story were back in their places. But he had found the one he was looking for. He pulled it out of its shelf again and flipped through to look at the page he found earlier.

Barely a thousand years after their fall to the mortal realm, people from one of the further lands decided to settle near where Evadia now stood. It took a few hundred years before they established themselves into an empire and built their capital city atop a hill. A mortal king decided that this new empire was too presumptuous and attacked. The newly formed empire asked Evadia for help.

In the book he was holding, Thar read about a small unit during the war, cut off from the rest of the army, barely fifty mortals led by one Never Born. They were lost and the rest of the army declared them forgotten. Until, at a critical moment, the unit returned and won a major battle to help the empire.

Not one of the mortals under Thar’s command had died.

That was the first time the mortals prayed to him.

Shortly after that, a new name spread out among the mortals. Thar was named the God of War. He was given a higher rank and title but kept his small unit until they no longer wished to fight. Only three of the mortals under his command died in battle.

That was also when Thar understood what that itch in his veins was. It was the first step of many that led to where he was now – banished and atoning for his sins, sins that were asked of him by mortals and Never Born alike. It was then that Thar spilled his own blood for the first time, the mahee inside him allowing him to harm himself because he was doing it for his protection. When his blood spilled out, it froze over and reforged in copper and ice to become a sword so sharp that it could cut down an old tree with barely a swing.

A sword he had not been able to draw from his veins in almost a thousand years.

He slammed the book shut and put it away. At least his name was still in it.

Just as he left the private library, his mahee tingled inside him like snowflakes melting on a hot surface. There was a sizzle and it only got stronger as he walked. He stopped and turned around. The snowflakes started piling up when he stopped at a specific shelf. When he scanned the bound volumes on it, he found a familiar one. The years and names were the same as the book he just put away. When he flipped to the same page as before, he got lost. There were entire paragraphs and pages that were not copied over from the original.

It took him a few minutes to find the right page.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

It spoke of a small unit, split from the rest of the army, and lost to the winter storms. Barely two sentences. Even the mortals under Thar’s command were erased from the records. Thar wondered what happened to their descendants. If there were any of them left.

He put the book away and finally left the library.

The river tower, so called due to the river that flowed out from under one of its adjoining walls, forced him to cross the inner castle halls. Nobody spoke to him but the wide eyes and open mouths of the few Never Born he passed were enough of a sign that his presence was a surprise.

This time, he was not invited by Nocipel, under Lemysire’s ruse and with Zetha’s permission. Acela had not dismissed him though.

When he made his way to the guest hall, he knew immediately which room was his. Standing right outside a set of open doors was Zetha. The King of the Gods was wearing a heavy blue tunic, embroidered with gold designs and trimmed with fur. Under it was a darker blue tunic of the same material, and barely visible under that was a black one that matched his loose trousers. The thick leather belt that cinched everything together looked similar to Acela’s.

“Zetha,” Thar greeted the man with a raise of his chin.

“Thar,” Zetha returned the gesture The king’s neck was bare of any golden bands or collars though there was thick fur around the back of it. He also had a tanned scarf wrapped over his hair and one of the ends hung on the side to cover the right side of his neck.

“I did not ask permission,” Thar stopped walking as soon as he was in front of the other.

“No permission needed. Nocipel’s invitation is open standing to the city until they leave.”

“And if I decide not to go?”

“Then you will have another eighteen years and ten months left before you can return.”

“What if I go but we return before my sentence is over?”

After a moment, Zetha said, “Your sentence still stands. It was decided by all.”

“Not all.”

“By all,” Zetha repeated with a firm tone.

“Not all,” Thar also repeated with narrowed eyes, “And we both know it.”

Zetha said nothing more on the subject and instead stepped aside to give Thar access to his provided rooms. “Acela ran off in a hurry. Was it to meet you?”

“In a sense. D’Argen returned with some news. I am sure you will hear of it soon.”

“D’Argen? I have not seen him in a long time. Not as long as you, but still quite a while. Did you know he has not returned to Evadia in over four centuries? If the stories I have heard are correct, even you have seen him more recently than I.”

“I have,” Thar confirmed with a nod.

“And how is he?”

“Here. Called to see Vah’mor.”

“Ah. And that is why you are looking for your rooms? A place to hide out?”

Thar did not respond verbally and only narrowed his eyes at Zetha.

“I jest, forgive me. It has been a very long time since I last saw you. Anyway. It is good to see you, even if against our laws.”

Thar nodded.

Zetha raised his chin in respect and Thar copied the motion. Thar entered his rooms only once the king was gone down the hall. He closed the doors softly behind him and immediately went to the windows. He was not given rooms with a balcony but the large glass panes were taller than him. He threw them open to let in the winter cold and then blew away the fire in the fireplace. Almost immediately, the entire room got colder.

Thar moved to the settee in the middle of the room and sat down. He closed his eyes and focused on his mahee, collecting the cold winter winds into himself. The magic of the First Five felt like chains around his core. It was Acela’s sunshine and Zetha’s ozone, it was Darania’s earth and Upates’s dust, it was Vah’mor’s blood. Each chain was like a layer, creating a wall between his touch and his mahee.

But something had changed on Sky Mountain. When he saw those shack demons attacking, when he heard the screams of mortals, when he scented nothing at all, not even the mahee of his companions as they used it… it felt like something inside him cracked. He had tried to touch it earlier, meditating in the cold while D’Argen’s eyes recovered, but he had to keep using his mahee to keep the others from freezing.

Now, alone, in the safety of the castle of Evadia, he reached deep inside himself to feel that snow and ice and that something more that made him who he was. It was leaking through those chains. Leaking through the layers of protection around his mahee. He opened his mahee as wide as he could and let it envelop him in its magic.

His veins turned to ice and hardened.

He flicked out his wrist and an icicle formed in his palm, standing tall. Its tip was sharp enough to cut skin. When the first drop of blood welled up on the tip of his finger, he felt it. The icicle melted away and he turned his palm down, letting the blood drip down and down, tearing the wound open bigger so more blood could flow out in a steady stream. It froze as it fell, creating a long line from which frost emerged, then formed, then hardened.

A gentle melting inside him had him closing his palm and stopping the blood from falling. The beginning of his sword shattered in an instant, turning into a wet red puddle on the carpet under him. Thar opened his eyes. Even with all the magic binding his mahee and keeping him from touching it, he felt as powerful now as he had a thousand years ago when those spells first locked him down.

Whatever was on Sky Mountain did not break his links, but his mahee was stronger than before.