Lord Aenflynn was long lived. His life had been one of triumphs and frustrations, some small, and some great indeed.

In his youth, he had been a carefree sort; a fae who often slipped into the material world to have some sport, tricking mortals and watching their comical reactions. It had amused him, and often satisfied his curiosities.

One day while in the material world, he met Uldar; a living god, who was truly coming into his own at the time.

From that meeting, one of the greatest partnerships between any two beings ever known in all of Och Fir Nog and Thameland, was born. Together, they had experienced both triumphs and frustrations.

Together, they had grown.

And matured.

Aenflynn was transformed from a young trickster, to a master manipulator, diplomat, general and ruler. For the longest time, he had thought himself truly great; a master among even the mighty lords of the fae, the one who would bring his realm to the highest peaks of prosperity.

His frustrations at that time had been varied, from minor to significant; his struggles against rival fae lords, the rampages of the Stalker, and some friendly competitions against Uldar.

But those had given way to the greatest frustration of his life.

A realm on fire.

Armies of fae marching across his green fields.

The destruction of his palace then, and the wounding of his close friend.

The other fae lords had conspired together, desiring to bring both he and Uldar low.

There had been no moment in his life more frustrating than that day…

…until this one.

The day had begun so well; he had avenged himself and his people, and at long last, thrown down his rivals and the realms that had plagued Och Fir Nog for millennia. All that should have stood in the way of his final victory was the wrath of a few mortals; a wrath that his mighty magics, the deal he’d tricked three of the Heroes into, and the power of his old friend’s throne should have easily countered and crushed.

Yet, instead of now gloating over his enemy’s corpses, he found himself in the skies above his own palace, being beaten on by a stubborn, ancient goat man with more power than Aenflynn could have possibly imagined.

Then there was the former Fool. This General.

He should have had no more significance than a speck next to the other Heroes. But, instead, he had destroyed a host of his fae guard, and done the same to his effigy, using a strange power that Aenflynn did not even begin to understand.

Now with his effigy destroyed, he could not defend or even watch over Uldar’s throne.

And he’d had no opportunity to craft another one, not with this filthy, flea-ridden beastman bashing him about like some sort of witless barbarian.

He’d used his divine energies, his own fae magics, illusions, swordsmanship and more against the old wizard…but try as he might, he could not be rid of the pest!

Not even when he felt the divine ward around the throne—a ward he had spent weeks perfecting—begin to crack.

Not even now, as he felt something terrible happening to the throne.

‘I must stop it!’ he thought, his mind racing. His heart thundered in his ears, beating as fast as a mouse’s in a blind panic. ‘I have to kill all of them before they do something that cannot be undone!’

“Ooooh my,” the old beastman murmured.

Aenflynn’s horned and armoured foe floated before him, bearing his shield and that terrible, vicious hammer of his. His eyes seemed to spark with pure, ancient malice.

A few scratches marred his armour, but otherwise, he was unharmed, floating within the eye of the storm they now shared. The battle raged on between their armies, blood and fire spreading through the clouds.

“Do you feel that?’ the goatman continued. “It does feel like this battle is coming to a rather…unfortunate conclusion. For you, that is. Yes, the symbol of Uldar does not seem to be in the best of states at the moment. And when your stolen divine power is gone, what will you do? You have hardly been able to hold me off thus far.”

The wizard laughed as Aenflynn’s mind whirled.

“You are like a child playing dress up with a corpse’s regalia. But, I am afraid it is time for you to grow up, little fae, and I, for one, am very much looking forward to what is coming next!”

“Silence!” Aenflynn’s voice thundered across the land. “This condescension…I will tolerate it no more!”

His tone was strong, filled with his wrath.

But inside, he was panicking.

If the throne shattered, he would not be alive for much longer; the mortals had brought powers against him that he had not anticipated, and he doubted he could stand against all of them without Uldar’s throne.

He needed that chair if he hoped to have any chance of turning this disaster around.

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And he also needed help.

‘Ravener!’ he thought. ‘Our enemies are closing on us! You must help me! I am granting you a flood of power! Use it to quickly destroy your foes and then help me!’

Aenflynn opened the river of power he was providing the Ravenver, letting a monsoon loose.

The archwizard teleported, appearing in front of the fae lord.

“What did I tell you about focusing?” the goatman chastised him.

Another blow shattered Aenflynn’s jaw, sending him spinning.

But unlike the last time, the fae lord had a plan.

‘Trickery helped me before,’ he thought. ‘And trickery will get me out of this.’

With a quick whistle, he healed his destroyed jaw, then dodged out of the way as the ancient wizard teleported again, striking at him with another blow.

He whistled again.

A low, dull sound.

A discordant note.

An ugly note.

The divine power he was channelling flowed through him, syphoning away some of his own precious life force, combining to create an unstable joining of life and divinity.

And with a scream like a cornered beast, he released it at his opponent.

The Fae lord’s skin burned, flesh curdling.

The strength of the power exploding from his body, burned his flesh away.

Doing exactly what Aenflynn wanted it to.

For an instant, force and light from the blast gave his opponent pause and he raised his shield, looking to protect himself.

In that instant, Aenflynn acted.

He whistled again—a sweeter note—using Uldar’s power to heal his wounds, making his body whole as he called upon his fae magic, forging another effigy from the air behind his foe.

With a single thought, he set the effigy on the beastman, drawing his attention for another heartbeat.

The archwizard turned, striking his attacker with his hammer—shattering the creature of air—and sending a painful backlash through Aenflynn’s soul…

Also giving the fae lord exactly what he was hoping for.

He launched his body forward, veiled by the light of the explosion, his divine sword poised, aiming at the distracted beastman.

The fae lord whistled again, infusing more power into his blade.

If he could just kill this goatman—even if he had to burn more of his life energy away to do so—then he’d be free to protect Uldar’s throne.

He whistled once more. Sharp and short.

The sound sharpened his blade.

A lower whistle came next, creating a sheathe of divinity, veiling him further, shielding him from attack.

Before him, the goatman turned.

Another sharp whistle, and an offer of his own life force.

Aenflynn’s speed doubled.

He sped forward.

The point of his blade aimed perfectly.

Divine energy plunged through the goatman’s starmetal breastplate.

Sliding through the flesh below—finding the spot where his heart lay—then exiting from the back.

The goatman paused.

Aenflynn smiled, revealing sharp teeth.

“You fool,” he whispered to the dying beastman, his eyes sparking in triumph. “The difference between you and me is that I was willing to burn away my own life to achieve victory. You simply were not committed enough.”

The hammer slipped from the goatman’s fingers as light and the shockwave from the divine explosion faded.

Now, Aenflynn could watch as life left his accursed foe’s eyes.

His grin growing, the fae lord reached out, ready to reclaim his blade.

The goatman’s gauntleted hand suddenly shot up.

Starmetal clad fingers seized the fae’s arm, digging into his flesh.

Aenflynn grunted. “A last gasp of life? Bah…Just lie down and die, beast-thing! Just…”

The fae lord’s words trailed off.

“What…why are you not bleeding?” he whispered.

His sword was jammed deep into the ancient wizard’s chest—through his armour and protruding from his back—but there was not a drop of blood from the wound. He was not bleeding. At all.

A low laugh came from behind the goatman’s mask, like the growl of a predatory beast. “What were your exact words: the difference between you and me was that I was willing to burn away my own life to achieve victory. You simply were not committed enough. That is what you said to me. But, you could not have been more wrong.”

Baelin’s grip tightened.

Aenflynn started to whistle.

The goatman headbutted him.

Hard.

The fae shrieked, as the starmetal mask met his jaw.

Teeth shot from Aenflynn’s mouth, some protruding from his now mangled lips.

The archwizard cast his shield away, quickly reaching up and seizing the fae’s ruined mouth in another crushing grip.

“I finally have you.” he said, his voice and eyes like stone, like a gargoyle’s staring down from atop a cathedral. “No more whistling. No more tricks. Now, you are about to die, so recognise that. You might have harmed me. If I had not taken measures long ago, this wound could have proven fatal.”

Aenflynn’s mind was panicked, yet confused.

He knew he had split the wizard’s heart.

He knew it!

“Ah, you are likely thinking that you skewered my heart, judging from that foolish look on your face,” the archwizard said. “But here is the problem with your logic…I am going to let you in on a secret that only four others in the universe know.”

He leaned forward.

“My heart has not been in my chest for over five thousand years.”

The fae lord let out a confused whimper.

“Look. Look at this,” the wizard continued, then spoke a single syllable of power.

His chest opened.

Not just armour, but his flesh easily parted, as smoothly as a greased door hinge, revealing the viscera within.

Revealing his hear—

Aenflynn’s thoughts faltered.

No heart lay in the wizard’s chest…only something carved in the shape of a heart, something looking like a smooth piece of stone. Blood ran through it, passing along stony vessels, pumping through the wizard’s body; flowing around the fae’s divine sword, like a river around a rock.

‘What abomination is this?’ he wondered.

“Since, at one time, a long time ago, I came close to losing a battle to some nasty individuals who wielded the power of the sun in all sorts of vicious ways. In other battles I came close to losing my life, and so I decided then that I did not like the idea of losing very much, especially when it could result in my death. So, I removed my heart from my body, poured most of my life force into it and spirited it away to a location that would be meaningless to you.”

Aenflynn choked on blood running into his ruined mouth.

“I left just enough life force in my body for it to remain operational…but rest assured, even were you to attempt to disintegrate me down to my last component atom, I would live on. My heart beats, Aenflynn of Och Fir Nog, just not within my chest. As for the enchanted stone here, it provides me with some lovely impediments against several forms of magic, diseases, and poisonings to my physical form.”

Without another word, the archwizard secured his armour-covered chest like new, then fixed the fae lord with a stony gaze, resembling a being chiselled from rock and time.

“The difference between you and me was that I was willing to burn away my own life to achieve victory. You simply were not committed enough,” the archwizard repeated Aenflynn’s words to him. “I say again: you are wrong. The difference between you and me is that I did not have to burn my life force away to achieve victory. The difference between you and I is that you bet everything to go against me and those I am aiding…but I had to bet nothing. You quite literally could have never killed me; if you thought that simply stabbing me in the chest would be enough, then the task—quite simply—was far beyond you. And now, I believe I owe a young friend a present.”

The monster that pretended to be a mere wizard then flew toward Aenflynn’s castle with terrible speed, holding the screaming fae lord in a death-grip.

Without pause, he flew through the window, entering Aenflynn’s throne room in a hail of exploding glass.

Three figures turned in surprise.

“My young friends!” the ancient archwizard said cheerily. “It seems you are having a celebration. And such festivities call for…gifts.”

He held up the fae lord, still screaming into the archwizard’s hand.

“Here you go. Here is mine.”