The origin of the endless war is something of a mystery. It has existed since the dawn of memory and all evidence suggests that it predates even that. For the common populace, the question of how the endless war began is in itself befuddling ‘It has always been and always will be and that’s just how the world is’. Why do we fight the demons? Because they’re evil and will see humanity destroyed—it is imperative we rid this evil from Vos.
Why do they fight us? Because they are evil.
Then why did the demon lord proclaim a ceasefire? Such is the nature of the endless war; it ebbs and flows.
The Ammaite's preach that humans will one day win and end Mother’s sorrow and the aid of Veuce and the rest of the pantheon in our efforts seems to support this, but I find myself questioning nonetheless.
—Excerpt from “the banned book”
The Village was in chaos. Screams echoed, and the smell of blood was thick in the air. Maya noted this but only as if from within a thick fog. Nothing seemed real, or it did, but it felt distant. She was sinking in an endless pool of water and the world was getting farther and farther away and harder and harder to make out. It was cold and dark in these depths.
“-aya.”
It was quiet and lonely in these depths.
“-aya!”
But it was safe here; the bad men couldn’t reach her here. No one could reach her here, not even Noa, who was struggling against the soldiers pressing down on him.
“Maya!”
Noa kept on yelling at her. That was just like him—the persistent fool—when mama died he’d follow after her no matter how she yelled at him or hit him so that he would leave her alone. That was why he was there for her when she couldn’t take it and broke down into desperate fits of sobbing. It was also his persistent struggling that got Erin to finally see him.
The chaos around Maya seemed to crystallize. Instead of the bottomless ocean she was sinking in, the world became something more; every sensation was sharp. The pungent smell of blood made her eyes water. She could feel bile rising up her throat. There was a sharp pain in her ribs, arms and legs. Every part of her felt broken and weak.
She was in pain, and the world was falling all around her. She could see the terror and desperation in her brother’s eyes. She saw the moment he recognized Erin’s corpse and railed against soldiers who did not possess a notion of restraint. They were well trained and knew how to respond. The yelling stopped.
Just like before, the body fell, and the head remained in a soldier's hand. A quick decapitation had become the fate of any villager who struggled. Noa was no exception. This was no mild ocean she was drowning in; this was the abyss. Even as every inch of Maya's body ached, all she could feel was the gaping hole in her heart.
*****
The Raven King was pacing. Each step echoed loudly in the hollow chamber of polished wood. Behind him, his throne, a nest of precious metals and stones, glowed in the dim torchlight as if reflecting the furnace burning in its master. Corva watched silently from the place where she had told him her news. She had not moved since.
Nor would she until her lord dismissed her.
“You were the last one.” He finally spoke but it was as if to himself. “I had hoped… but no. They were in more danger on the border, not less.”
“My king?” She spoke with concern; it was rare for him to act so distractedly.
“Corva.” He looked to her with his dark gaze and seemed to relax as he recalled her presence. “Do you know what has become of the village?”
“Purged. I did not see it myself, but my children told me of it not long after my arrival here. Those that showed any resistance were decapitated without mercy and the remainder were gathered, but for what purpose they could not tell me. The village was then burned.”
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“And the human villagers?”
“Charged with aiding and abetting, those that did not die will work in the mines.”
“Is that mercy from the human lord?” The king chuckled darkly. “No, not the lord I know. I forget how quickly human kings change. Who is the current lord?”
“Orin’s second son Donald. He is not yet named Thane, but he rules in his ailing father’s stead.”
The king raised an eyebrow.“He must be quite ill indeed for his son to act so freely. What became of his brother? It was my understanding Cinnfhail ruled under the laws of primogeniture.”
“Dead in the final raids. From what my children tell me, Donald is eager for revenge and glory in battle, with little understanding of what a war could bring.” A fool in Corva’s opinion but it was not her place to say so.
“Will bring; it never truly ended, and this will strike it anew.” The king turned sharply and returned to his splendid nest and settled on velvet cushions. He was poised, almost perching as would befit a spirit of their nature, but Corva thought she detected a wisp of exhaustion in his shadowed face. “The brief respite was pleasant, but I fear it may do more harm to us than good. How many of the spirit kin reside outside our lands? How many were born in the barren lands of the kingdoms without an inkling as to what they could be here? We retain those warriors who fought before, and they will serve well, but I fear for the children that were raised in peace.”
“Many of whom are now dead or in chains,” she replied. Corva knew of what he was speaking, had seen it in her observations. For the first time in memory, children had been raised in peace into adulthood. It was beautiful. Now those same children faced capture, death, and the renewal of the endless struggle. “I do not know who or how many remain in the kingdoms, but I fear the number has been greatly reduced. Those born within our lands remain safe; it saddens me however, that they must now become warriors.”
“Such has been the way of our kin for millennia." The king's face went hard, wiping away any surface emotions. "Had it not been, we would be dead and our ancestral lands just as barren of spirit as the kingdoms.”
Corva knew this, her king knew she knew this. They both needed to remind themselves. She could only shudder at the thought of the coming bloodshed they would encounter. Never mind that which had occurred mere hours earlier. She needed to brace herself for her duty and watch over the spirit kin as all ravens must. She would watch the coming war and observe her kindred spirits die ad infinitum, and her lord would watch over them all. He would suffer the sorrows of all her sisters and lead them in their duty. That is what being king meant.
The Raven king broke their silent contemplation with her name, “Corva,” and she looked to him, desperate hope sparkling in onyx eyes, “have your children locate our captured kin, we will not abandon so much of a new generation before it has had the chance to act upon this world.”
“Yes, my king,” She bowed her head to the polished oak floor and rose only to look into her lord’s beautiful eyes. He would look human if not for them; dark as the abyss save for a faint glimmer. Those eyes looked at her softly and she wished to stay, to bask in that warm gaze forever. Now was not the time. Corva turned and took flight through the chamber's single entrance, a large opening high above, and flew out into the night.
The world tree rose high above her and still, she felt as though from her height she could see the entirety of what the kingdoms called the Wild Lands. Fools. These were the lands of spirits. Here, vitality reigned supreme above all and the denizens shared in the power of the land or were overcome by it. It was why those of the kingdoms feared them she thought. That or they were jealous in the lands they had wasted and made barren. No spirit folk could flourish there.
Children hear me, she spoke to the night, find our captured kin and report to me of their whereabouts.
*****
Still wandering the supposedly lifeless battlefield, the Demon Lord paused to observe a body. The man was alive, if barely. They nudged the wounded man and his body rolled limply, turning over to reveal a gash sealed with flame. They stepped on the man’s thigh and snapped the femur, eliciting a shriek of pain, and smiled darkly.
"It's no use playing dead," they said, not really speaking to the human whimpering incoherently from pain and fear. "Sever." A blade of emptiness appeared and severed the man's head from the body. Not the easiest manner of execution, but the Demon lord wasn't one for robbing humans of their traditions.
Their lips twitched in something approaching mirth, a rare emotion. What was it about dead battlefields that made them so nostalgic? They never felt like this during the battle when death and fear abounded in chaos reminiscent of that miserable day. It was only in the aftermath when their thoughts wandered and time slipped from its forward determination and made dips into the past long gone.
There were few remnants of that time, a few more from the time between, the Demon lord called on one of these remnants—a messenger—and a raven of black stone answered.
"Yes, my Lord?" There were only two beings in all the world this raven would deign to call lord and only one raven who would dare address the Demon Lord as such.
"Corva," they said with a rare smile telling of a particular affection reserved only for those remnants. They didn't need to say anything more, Corva knew the task as intimately as though she'd conceived of it, and that wasn't too far off the mark.
"Yes, my Lord." Corva took flight; off to scour the lands and called upon her children in that way she had since the return of war. The aristocracy had fled, the peasantry taken care of, and the heroes defeated, except—no, heroes never stayed defeated. New heroes took up the mantle in startlingly close proximity, and these heroes Corva would find.