“By the Traveller!” Theresa screamed.

“By my ancestors, what?” Birger stumbled into his son.

Bjorgrund backpedalled, stumbling into Grimloch.

Brutus began barking.

“Holy shit!” Alex cried, so surprised by the giant image of Uldar…

…he accidentally turned off the recording.

Uldar’s image had vanished, replaced by the views across Thameland.

Theresa panicked. “What happened? Where did he go?”

“I don't know, it just turned off!” Alex cried

“We have to get it back!” the huntress said.

“I'm trying! Hold on a minute!” the young wizard was panicking, trying to reactivate Uldar’s device.

Thankfully, since he’d found it once, he knew he could find the control again, and with a bit of searching around, he found it, along with several more near the one that turned the recording on. “Alright, I'll turn it back on, but there's some other things here…one second. Uh, everyone close your eyes, this time.”

Again, the same bright flash erupted and the images of Thameland disappeared, replaced by the regal form of Uldar.

“Living journal, entry one,” he said. “I might be dying, and have decided it would be wise to record a chronicle of my life.”

“Hold on, let me try some of these other controls,” Alex said, reading the flow of energy through the chair, guessing at some of the functions in it. “Alright, I bet you this one is…”

He activated something in the chair, and the image of Uldar froze mid-word.

He was silent.

“What happened now?” Theresa asked.

“I paused the recording,” Alex said, frowning in concentration.

“Just like you did with the Traveller’s device,” Birger said, pushing himself off his son and putting his weight back on his crutch.

“Exactly,” Alex said. “And if I'm not mistaken…”

He used another control, and suddenly Uldar’s image began to speak without sound, his lips were moving ten times faster than they had before. Another control made the image move faster, but in reverse, bringing the recording back to an earlier place in what he’d been saying.

“Alright,” Alex said. “The last control probably records more images and sound…I think that’s it, yeah, so we can go on now.”

“Good thinking, I can't believe you were so right,” Bjorgrund said. “And completely right too! There actually was a recording hidden here!”

“After all these months of searching,” Theresa shook her head. “And it was here, right under all our noses. I can't believe it! Do you think his recording will tell us where the Ravener is? Maybe give us a clue?”

“Maybe,” Alex said. “I hope so, but at the very least? It might give us some clues about what this is all about, and maybe help guide us with shutting down the Ravener forever. Anyway, get comfortable, people. I get the feeling there's going to be a lot of information on there.”

The others looked at each other and began finding places on the floor to sit down.

“Here I am, an old man sitting on the floor while you get the only chair.” Birger grunted as he eased himself down beside his son.

“I've got to control things,” Alex shrugged helplessly. “If I had my way…not gonna lie, I'd give the chair to Theresa, but you'd be next in line!”

“Thanks sweetie.” The huntress leaned against Brutus, who’d made his bone armour disappear. “Everyone ready?”

“Yup,” Grimloch said.

“Yes,” Birger and Bjorgrund said as one.

Alex took a deep breath, swallowing both his uneasiness and excitement. “I’m ready too. Let's start.”

He activated the control again, restarting the recording.

The image of Uldar—towering above them all—began to speak and move, his movements were regal. His frame was well-muscled and powerful. His chin was covered in a beard as white as newly fallen snow, his chiselled nose was straight, looking almost sculpted, and his deep blue eyes seemed to pierce through everyone watching. He was clad in a white robe that fell around his body like it had been carved of marble. Yet, Alex noticed a dark spot staining it—a dark spot that lay where the wound on Uldar’s corpse in the throne room was.

“Living journal, entry one,” the god said. “I might be dying, so I have decided it would be wise to record a chronicle of my life. My efforts to rid myself of the poison so far, have been futile. I have made progress, only for that progress to evaporate like water under a summer sun. I still hold much of my power, but already it is diminished, and I can only imagine that this will continue into the future.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

He pointed to his temple. “My mind has begun to cloud on some days, and so I cannot trust my memories to remain organised as time passes. As a result, this journal will serve as a reference for myself. It is for my eyes only, and it is to remind me of my former glory, to motivate me to seek that glory once again, and to make sure that the vast knowledge I have accumulated over my lifetime is not lost if my memories begin deserting me in earnest.”

The god gave a wan smile. “I will defeat this, I know I shall. Now, then. Let me begin at the beginning, for it is my earliest memories that have begun fading most.”

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts.

Then he spoke.

“I was mortal once, and though I have contemplated endlessly as to whether I always held the seed of godhood—or whether I developed it through my efforts later—I do not know. What I do know is that the world was barbaric in the time I was born. It was a world of petty, evil sorcerers and endless struggle. A world where mortals suffered under the whims of inclement weather, fickle deities, and demons that were too uncouth to stay in the hells where they belonged. A world, where tyrants struggled against tyrants, grinding others beneath their heels. This is the world I was born to, but I quickly found that I was different from the others of my tribe.”

He smiled fondly at a thought. “I remember my mother and father, simple folk who were content to cultivate rudimentary fields, and hunt beasts that dwelled around our village. Content…that was a good word for those who surrounded me. Despite the endlessly difficulty of the life that we suffered under, they lived in simple contentment with the land around them.”

His smile faded. “I was many things, but content was not one of them. Fortunately, life had gifted me the fundamentals to feed my ambition. My body was strong: far stronger, faster, and with more endurance than my fellow tribesfolk. My mind was also quick: while others struggled to grasp higher thought, and used unfounded fears and superstition to explain the world around them, I found that I quickly mastered any skill I set my mind to. I possessed a logical curiosity that allowed me to comprehend the world in ways my family could not even begin to hope to match. Even as a young man—between hunting the deadliest beasts around us and tilling our fields with the strength of five oxen—I would also contemplate the higher mysteries of the world. On rock and clay, I jotted down rudimentary mathematics, and was able to easily comprehend them. I asked philosophical questions of the sky and wind. But, I quickly grew frustrated at my own limits.”

He sighed deeply. “The mind—even the quickest mind—is only as useful as good, rich earth. It is a bosom capable of fostering life and growth, but without seed, nothing will ever rise from it. And—in my tribe—I was unable to find any nurturing seed to feed my mind with. So, I began to speak to my people. Fortunately, I was gifted with the ability to use words in a way that few were, and I found my tribe hanging on my every syllable. It did not take me long to find a place of leadership among them, despite my youth. Quickly, they began to see me as a prophet of sorts.”

Uldar gave a low, wry chuckle. “I'd liken it to a child believing that their father and mother are able to do anything. When a child is very young, the simple act of hiding one’s face from their gaze seems like the highest form of wizardry. They do not know that their parent has not disappeared, for they have not yet the object permanence to understand that they have not vanished. It was the same with my people: they were the children of the world, and to my advanced mind, they were simple. I understood things in ways they were not even capable of imagining.”

The god gestured, conjuring a miniature storm with a single hand. It hovered in the darkness around him. “So when I could do things, such as predict the movement of the herds around us, or use various natural factors to see what the weather would be in the coming days and months, they thought that I possessed the gift of foresight. They called me a prophet! A prophet!”

Another wry chuckle. “Some people or places are strong with the winds of fate, and the knowledge gained from these places and people…that knowledge I would call prophecy. I was no prophet, especially back then. But the title was useful: it gave me control in the tribe that no elder or chief had ever enjoyed. It was not long before my word was unchallenged among my people, and I became the highest authority among them. That was when I knew it was time for the next stage of my plan—”

“So much for the ‘prophet god’,” Theresa muttered bitterly.

“What was that?” Alex paused the recording.

“I said so much for the ‘prophet god’,” she growled. “In the church school, we were taught that Uldar had the gift of prophecy. Now I find out that he was just…really smart. That's impressive, I guess, but it shows that he was always a liar, doesn't it?”

“To those around him, did it make a difference?” Birger asked. “I'm wondering what was the source of his strength and sharp mind. Maybe he was just gifted…maybe his father or mother was a god and he didn't know it. Doesn't matter in the end, I guess. But it's curious.”

“I'm more interested in this plan of his,” Alex said. “He sounded like he kind of looked down on his people, and that he craved knowledge. Yet, he decided to stay and become a leader to them instead of leaving. I'll turn the recording back on.”

“Sounds good to me,” Theresa said.

Alex reversed it for a few seconds, then started it up again.

“That was when I knew it was time for the next stage of my plan; migration,” Uldar said. “Back then, I felt a great responsibility to my people. I was better than them, but I did not think it right that I should abandon them just to gain the knowledge I needed to feed my growing mind. I would not leave them alone to the cold, hungry world; if I were to advance myself, I would want it to benefit them as well. So, once my word was law to my fellow tribesfolk, I told them of a prophecy that dictated that we must migrate. In order to survive, we would have to become nomadic for a time, and I would lead them from place to place in the world. Eventually, if they followed this prophecy, I promised they would come to a wondrous new existence. This was not untrue, and so I feel no guilt over it. In the end, though the journey would be hard on them, they would be led to better lives. By me.”

He took another deep breath. “Thus I began my journey across the world—leading my people—to where I sought knowledge, in all forms. In the south, I found those who had abandoned small villages and hunting camps, to erect great cities and civilizations of stone. In the east, I found those who had learned to harvest the divinity of nature and cultivate it in their own bodies and souls. In the north, I found mighty warriors, those who had forged weapons of bronze and steel and used them to cow the beasts around them. In the west, I found those who had begun to master the arts and sciences of wizardry and alchemy.”

Uldar chuckled. “I find myself thankful that I was born in a time where mana was more common in the material world: those times were barbaric, but at least I did not live in a time when the only sources of magic came from bargains with strange demons and fae. Of course, as I have mentioned fae, I should speak of the meeting between myself, and one of my longest and closest friends.”

He smiled sadly. “I would not in any way wish to forget the first meeting between myself and Aenflynn, no matter how much the poison affects me.”