“Council!” Balance bellowed. "To me!'

Nodding to his soldiers, Hartley jogged over. He took special care stepping over the dead scattered across the battlements. It was hard not to look down and search for familiar faces among the bodies, but some had been hit with such strength that they were unrecognizable. Regardless of caution, by the time he joined the others, his boots were drenched in blood.

"That bastard knows a few tricks, doesn't he?" grimaced Justice, cleaning his sword.

"He must have stolen the collars while still working with us." Athema crossed her arms. "Otherwise, we would have noticed."

Grief murmured, "We let our guard down."

The Court advisors fell silent. Athema cleared her throat and stepped forward. Meeting all of their gazes, she bowed her head.

"I know this is sudden, but I'm removing myself from the fighting."

Every face swung in her direction. Belthore, so quiet that only Hartley heard, sighed in relief.

"Your visions are getting worse?" asked Grief.

"Not yet, but I'm stepping down before that happens." She turned, putting her back to them. "I'll be aiding healers in the lower hall if anyone needs me."

"Thank you," murmured Belthore. "I know it isn't easy."

She turned back, smiling softly. "I made you a promise, after all."

Athema walked away. Hartley's heart ached, longing to reach out for her, but he knew she made the right decision. Without her orb, the premonitions were getting out of control. It could be fatal if she had an episode on the battlefield.

"Back to the matter at hand," said Belthore, regaining their attention. "The dead are going to break through the gates, and when they do, Meditations won't be ready for what he's dealing with. His squadron is unprepared."

"We have to help him," said Hartley.

"That's exactly what Death wants." Justice groaned and leaned against the wall. "The second we empty the battlements, he'll change tactics and aim for our weak spot."

"Let me go."

The words left Hartley's mouth, and it took him a moment to realize he'd said them aloud. Every council member turned to him. He shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

"My soldiers specialize in defense. All those with long-range capabilities are resting, so we're useless up here." He gestured to his group, glaring at the valley with restraint. "I've been reserving those that excel in close-quarter combat. We'd serve more purpose at Meditation's side."

Belthore pursed his lips. Worry clouded his eyes, but beyond that, Hartley saw something akin to pride. The God of Balance put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"You've grown so much. It seems like just yesterday you were running around these halls, and now you're risking your life for them." He released his arm. "Go. Help Meditations. And for all of our sake, stay safe."

With one last look at his Court, Hartley broke into a run. He felt their eyes on his back as he gathered soldiers, their cries echoing off the stones as they rallied behind him.

His Court.

When did he start thinking like that? He knew Balance would step down one day, but he always assumed it wouldn't be for a long time. The idea of running Alta, of having so many people look up to him, making choices that would affect their world... It made his heart race. All this time, he felt glad Belthore was in no rush to retire.

At least, that's what he thought.

But as his soldiers followed behind him, charging down the steps with growing resolve, something shifted inside him. Dammit, he was scared— more scared than he had ever been— but this place was his home. If Balance asked him again, he would accept. He was sure of it now.

Hartley dashed down the staircase until they reached the bottom. Taking up formation, his group bounded down the hall and passed the healing quarters, their armor clanging and breaths coming out in quick huffs. They arrived at the entryway, throwing the doors open. He glanced around the courtyard until he found Meditations.

The god, usually relaxed and carefree, looked pale on his mount. Even though his force had not seen any fighting, the lava pressing against the gates felt searing hot. Some gods stripped off their chainmail. Despite the oncoming threat, fainting from overheating would leave them more vulnerable.

Meditations waved, trotting towards Hartley. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Death's summoned a legion from the afterworld," he announced, loud enough for everyone to hear. "They're breaking through the gates."

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

The God of Meditations cursed, but it sounded more inconvenienced rather than fearful. He whipped his horse around, but before shouting orders, he turned back to Hartley.

"Surely, you didn't need your entire battalion to deliver a message."

"We thought you could use some help." Smirking, Hartley left him there. "Terrain! Shields! To me!"

They raced over, pushing through Meditation's forces to get there. He glanced between them.

"I know you used your abilities in excess, and you saved many lives doing it, but I have to ask for one more favor." He focused on Shields. "Have you restored enough power?"

"I'm not back to normal," she admitted, "but I have enough to keep going."

"Terrain?"

He huffed. "I'll manage."

"Can you combine your abilities?" Hartley directed their attention to the gates. "I need something that will delay their attack."

"I think we could—"

The air shuddered, knocking every divine in the courtyard off their feet. Hartley rose unsteadily. The glimmering wards that covered the threshold wavered, and he knew they were out of time.

"We need a barrier," he roared. "Cover the gates!"

Terrain and Shields were already working. Terrain lifted his hands at the same time Shields lifted hers, but then an ear-shattering crack rang out. The blast rocked him back, and when he caught sight of his soldiers again, a cold dread washed over him.

A chunk of the gate had been cleaved from the hinges, impaling Terrain's stomach. For a moment, the god stared down in horror, then dropped to his knees. Hartley froze, but Shields's scream snapped him back to reality.

"Get him to the healers!" barked Meditations, dragging Hartley away before he could move. "Everyone, get away from the gate!"

Shields stumbled forward. "I can make a barrier."

"It's too late for that," growled Meditations. "Grab your sword."

Another crack erupted in front of them. Hartley grabbed Shields by her armor and yanked her toward him— and just in time. The doors to the Court of Balance fell forward, and Death's army spilled into the courtyard. Soldiers rushed back and dispersed in different directions, but to their credit, the troops didn't scream or run for their lives. Instead, they stopped and raised their blades.

Meditation's group moved first.

They darted forward, jabbing their swords into the tattered warriors, but the dead didn't fall. Instead, the creatures pulled swords and arrows from their bodies and kept pressing in.

Hartley ordered Shields to form a barrier, then his own unit charged down the middle. One of the undead swung at him, growling and spitting blood over his armor. He slashed, but the corpse didn't move aside. Without so much as a glance at the wound across its chest, the rotting figure aimed for him, and Hartley swung again on instinct.

The dead warrior's arm toppled to the ground. Hartley blinked, looking from the creature to its arm, still clasping its sword. It grabbed at him with its remaining hand, and Peace ducked under the swing with ease. Then, he had an idea.

After defending against a few more slashes, Hartley tightened his grip on his sword. He aimed at the monster's neck and swung— his sword cleaving through the rotting flesh. The creature's eyes, which glared at him before, went empty.

"Meditations!" he shouted, rushing through wandering corpses. "Go for the neck! Their weakness is the head!"

Furrowing his brow, Meditations squinted at him, but then understanding swept over his features. He raised his longsword in the air.

"Cut off their heads!" he bellowed.

The divines paused for a fraction of a second— and then moved as one. Hartley's soldiers, still fresh from waiting on the battlements, charged into the dead army. Steel whipped through the air, and heads tumbled into the grass one by one.

But, no matter how many they took down, more poured through the gate. Minutes ticked by. Hartley didn't know how many creatures he decapitated, but the fighting had yet to slow. His movements became sluggish and jerky. One of his soldiers fell, then another, and then three more. He stared in horror as the dead started to overrun them. No matter how many they killed, it seemed like there was no end. Only sheer desperation kept him pressing on.

Then, someone shouted.

Screams filled the Court of Balance's hall behind them, and Hartley almost dropped his sword in alarm. If Death's soldiers had already taken the wall, the war was lost. He cut off another head and turned to the doors slowly, waiting to see their fate— even the undead held their breath.

Justice emerged, flanked by his Drugan soldiers. They cried out and surged forward, cutting through the risen with ease. Someone shouted about their heads, and his battalion switched their targets at once. The number of lifeless warriors thinned, and spirit returned to the soldiers. They fought harder than before.

Loyde cut through them quickly, and when he reached Hartley, he grabbed him by the arm and shook him with trembling hands.

"They got him."

"What?" he demanded. "Got who?"

"The dead dragged Balance over the wall." Justice shook with rage. "We have to find him."

Mind reeling, Hartley nodded and ran towards Meditations.

"Carve a path," he shouted. "We need to get through!"

Without asking questions, Meditations barked the orders, and his soldiers raced forward, cutting a path to the gate. Hartley and Justice followed close behind, carving through corpse after corpse until they finally reached the bridge. The dead were so fixated on capturing the Court of Balance that they paid them no attention. They weaved around the fighting until they reached the open valley and broke into a run. Arrows shot past them, but they kept running, Hartley's breath stinging in his throat.

Moving closer, they found a large circle on the hilltop. His heart pounded as he crested the hill and pushed through the enemy soldiers.

"I knew you'd come," purred Death.

Death's soldiers turned. His soldiers grabbed them, but he waved them off.

"Leave them. This is between me and the God of Balance." He nodded at Belthore, standing across from him with a sword. "No one is to interfere. Understand?"

Justice growled, "You're an idiot if you think we'll stand here and do nothing."

Balance held up a hand. Despite his age, the blade looked natural in his hands.

"Don't interject, Justice."

Belthore faced him. The ghost of a smile crossed his face, but to Hartley, it looked hollow. Someone who knew their time was coming to an end. Before Hartley could stop him, Balance turned to the God of Death and pointed his sword.

"You killed people under my protection and destroyed wards created by your elders. You kidnapped a member of my council, siphoned his power, and now you summon a dead army to do your bidding." Belthore's eyes hardened, locked on Noctavius with cold fury. "Your vile nature doesn't belong in Alta, and because you challenged me, I'll feel no guilt putting you in the ground where you belong."

His words rippled through the soldiers. Those who thought Balance was helpless took a step back, and a few ran.

This was the god that, all those years ago, every Altan chose to follow without question. It was the god who created laws, the one who delivered justice and order. To Hartley's eyes, he looked like a stranger, but there was no denying it.

This was the real God of Balance.