> While there is no evidence of an ‘old world’, there have been counterpoints to its existence. For example, it’s been said that magic did not exist in the old world. However, the Iteri are said to have used ‘spells’ and other means to alter the world. Look at the world today. There is no magic. Perhaps this world has always been our home.

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> - Of Myth and Legend, The Old World

They arrived at the stage, side by side, surrounded by a crowd on each side. Left, right, behind, and in front, everyone who wanted to hear Rykard speak joined together to hear it. Elena felt as though there must have been at least 100 people. Near the stage, police officers stood ready should anything happen, protecting the stage and 10 feet just beyond it, so that there was a small gap between the stage and the people.

From where she stood, surrounded by so many people in elaborate and detailed costumes, she could almost make out the stage and the speakers. She had never seen Rykard before, not in person, anyway. An urge to strike out, to get that much closer pressed inside her. Maybe the Necromancer will be near the stage? He’d want to get a good look at his enemy.

“Hey, let’s get closer,” she said to William. Before he could reject the idea, she gripped his hand in hers. He felt cold and warm, his hand gripped hers in turn. “Excuse me, excuse me…” she repeated several times over. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground and angled her shoulder for leverage against the dense crowd. So many people wanted to hear Rykard, well, she was here for an equally, if not more, important person.

She nearly made it to the front of the crowd, but she froze. She couldn’t press forward. For a moment, she felt happiness rise within her. Her search had come to an end. Standing beside a bearded, regal man, was another equally wise-looking Crown. He looked pale, his features sunken, with a hooked nose and no facial hair. Only, instead of a purple robe like she saw, he wore a white robe, like those of the priests in the church. His eyes held no animosity for his greatest enemy, Rykard. Instead, he looked pleased as he scanned the crowd, glad at the amassed number.

“W-what happened…?” Elena whispered. Among the crowd, no one could hear her, not even William. He tilted his head, and knelt down slightly, trying to hear her better. He was thoughtful like that, ready to listen, to care, even when it didn’t matter. She gripped his hand tighter, tears welled in her eyes, struggling to break free. “Why is he up there?”

“Who?” William asked as he gripped her hand that much tighter.

“The Necromancer, that’s him next to Rykard. He’s with the church. If he’s up there. Then why is it wrong for me to care?” Elena gasped for air, struggling to find the words. Her sense of reason left her. “My church hates me but accepts him. Then what’s wrong with me? Did he bring me back, then feel bad, and join Rykard?” Tears fell down her cheeks like a waterfall. She couldn’t process what stood in front of her, and no one around her cared to notice, except for William.

He held her hand like an impassive sentry, proving strength and security. “It’s okay, take a breath,” he said calmly. “Maybe he’s going to kill Rykard? I would be an easy way to get him, by pretending to be a normal person in the church.”

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Elena visibly calmed at his explanation. Of course, that had to be the case. She wasn’t wrong for feeling bad for him, and he hadn’t betrayed her by joining the church. Everything was fine. She let out a deep breath, “thank you.” She smiled at her companion and squeezed his hand. She squared her shoulders and looked at the stage, where the Necromancer and Rykard the Inheritor stood, side by side.

Without prompting or any fanfare, Rykard began to speak. He appeared old, wise, and gentle. He stood as if he alone bore witness to the ages past, as if he were everyone’s grandfather as if he loved them all.

“Welcome everyone to this most holy of days.” He scanned the crowd, a slight smile on his lips. “Today, we welcome you all to partake in the festivities. We are glad to see so many of the Sun’s children, clad in attire to hide themselves from the night’s creatures. This night, let us celebrate the lives of those we lost, and remember them as they lived, and not as they died. Join me in prayer.”

Rykard lowered his head, as did the other members of the crowd about the stage. Elena looked around, and with Williams’ prompting, bowed her head as well. “Having fun yet?” William whispered to Elena. They looked at each other with their heads bowed. A gentle smile played on William’s face, reaching his black-painted eyes. She couldn’t help but smile back.

“No, not yet,” she replied. “I still have to talk to him. I have a lot to ask him.”

They had ignored Rykard’s prayer. No doubt it was equal to a sermon, espousing the virtues of life, and the vices of death. Elena didn’t care. Once the prayer ended, she looked to the stage. Rykard appeared pleased. He folded his hands behind his back, robe billowing in the gentle fall breeze. He truly looked wise. Why did he hate the Necromancer?

Before the thought could fully form, the homeless undead pressed into the crowd. Their wrapped bodies, concealed faces, and odd demeanor parted the crowd before them. Elena and William scattered with the crowd, blending in with it. At the forefront strode Erasmus. Regal in his own right, he appeared upset, frustrated, and righteous.

“Inheritor Rykard,” Erasmus shouted over the cries of the crowd. “I have come to ask your wisdom, and beg your forgiveness for our appearance.” They kept walking through the parting crowd, tension growing in the air. “I must beseech you to listen, that man beside you, he is the Necromancer. Our eternal enemy. We have come to right a wrong, and ask you to imprison this man, and right our bodies so that we may live our lives as they would if he had not interfered.”

They halt just before the police. Their body language was clearly angry, and upset, as if they were having a difficult time holding themselves back from the stage, ready to attack the man beside Rykard.

Elena, on the other hand, felt her panic spike yet again. Here was Erasmus, her friend, a man she trusted with the information she experienced of the Necromancer, and he was using it against her savior. A part of her wanted to strike out, to stop him, and another part, the part that still felt betrayed, the part of her that remembered her father beating her mother and her, and the threats against her, it all came together, and froze her in place among the crowd of the faceless and fearful masses.

She looked at William for support and saw a mix of emotions. He looked disgusted at Rykard, disappointed at Erasmus, and saddened by the undead who followed him. His hand trembled in hers, and his breathing increased. Elena gripped his hand as he had done for her. He looked down at her, his disheveled hair shielded his eyes from their surroundings for a moment, and he again seemed to calm. He breathed out.

The police, no longer frozen, or concerned by the words of the undead leader, began to move. Half moved to guard the stage, while a small contingency stepped forward to intercept the stalled group of undead. One of them looked familiar.