---Caer Krea---
---Greycloak Headquarters---
---Argent Mountains---
Terrible storms lashed the venerable battlements of Caer Krea. It was said that the ancient base of the Greycloak order was built on the back of Karfaang the Despoiler – first of the Darkseeds. The scratched, rugged appearance of the fort and its sharp, angular towers put one in mind of a creature’s fangs piercing the earth, ready to swallow the world whole. The entire fortress looked as though it could crumble away at any second, and yet for centuries it had stood rigid. Firm. It had weathered storms far worse than this one.
It had been here that the first Greycloaks had assembled within the great Onyx Hall of the fort and, under the grey moon of Argwyll, made their pact to annihilate the monster menace that plagued their world.
And it was through the storm-wracked battlements that a single member of the Order walked tonight, his cloak held tightly around his neck, blood spattered across his thin frame.
The warriors of the fortress stopped their training and meditations in the main yard, the great braziers flanking the venerable gate of their home sparking and sputtering as the old warrior was admitted entrance. His eyes shone with blue light strong and clear even against the onslaught of the storm. Every warrior knew who he was. They knew what must have brought him back among them.
And instantly the mood of the fortress changed.
When the one-armed man opened the creaking door to the great hall, he was met by the bespectacled form of the old fortress architect, Mobius, sitting at his desk and pouring over hundreds of screeds of parchment – requests made for the Greycloaks to help the beleaguered citizens from all over Argwyll.
“State your name for the records, Grey One,” he said without looking up. Evidently, he suspected that this was simply another Brother or Sister back from a monster hunt. He didn’t need to look upon a Greycloak to know when one was standing in front of him. The stench normally gave them away.
This one, however, was unnaturally silent.
“If your tongue has been lost, just proceed to healer Justine,” he said with a halfhearted wave. “Though she’s fully booked tonight, she might just manage to squeeze you in a midnight slo-“
“Artorious.”
Mobius, normally a man who balked at interruptions, paused almost instantly.
“Artorious Pendragon,” the man before him said. “Class: Lightborn.”
Now the small, ungainly head of Mobius jerked up to see the sight – a sight he didn’t think he’d ever see again. There he was – the old Lightborn of legend. Slayer of the Demon-Flower Gyko, the last Darkseed to plague the world.
And he was covered head-to-toe in the purple-black viscera of monster blood.
Mobius found that he didn’t quite know what to say. So, having lost his filter of professionalism, he simply said what came into his mind as he met those old eyes gleaming with sapphire:
“So, you have returned.”
“Perceptive as ever, Mobius,” the Lightborn replied.
“If you’ve come back…” the Architect murmured. “Then that means…”
“Where is the Knight-Commander?” Artorious interrupted. His words sounded more like a demand. Not a question.
“The Knight-Commander is not currently receiving visitors,” Mobius replied coldly. “Especially not from exiles.”
The eyes of the one-armed knight narrowed to piercing, snake-like slits. He edged closer to Mobius, so much so that the latter heard some of the warriors sequestered in the hall draw their blades.
“I think she’ll make an exception for me,” Artorious growled. “Don’t you?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he swept by the staring bookkeeper and entered the second floor of the fort, feeling the piercing gazes of comrades both old and new on his grizzled features.
When he entered the main Hall - the place where the very first Greycloaks had drank the blood of Krea - he couldn't help but take a moment to inspect the great portrait that dominated the ceiling. It was, after all, the very first sight he'd ever seen when he was taken to these halls and told of his destiny.
image [https://img.wattpad.com/f4b4953963156b92e23ad0d8bb8faf2c51214c45/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f4c5f51394863715947314c3566773d3d2d313437373930373731322e313766616135643830326331643038363936313034313431393031372e706e67?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]
He inspected the inscription at the bottom of the plaque: 'The Triumph of Humanity - Krea, the First Lightborn, stands victorious over Archon Karfangg and proclaims the new dawn of Human rule of Argwyll now and forever after.'
He grunted up at her perfect face - her radiant purity that he'd seen in every dream he had as a boy.
And he turned away. He didn't need to see Kaedmon's angel now.
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He didn’t head to the washroom as any sane man might expect. Instead, he barged passed the training arena, sparing only a second to look up at the mosaic windows depicting the Lightborn of old (his window was still defaced and long since painted over) before storming into the high office of the Knight-Commander.
She was still exactly as he remembered her. Wild. Blonde. And utterly disdainful of his general presence. Immortality had not made her any more patient.
“Evening, Carliah.”
She was writing something rather angrily with her quill – the weapon that she could use to cut through even the toughest Greycloak initiate. Hell hath no fury like Knight-Commander Carliah Argent’s performance reviews.
“Artorious,” she said without looking up.
He came forward, gesturing at the chair in front of her ornate desk. Upon the walls were a series of intricate, antique clocks ticking away with the times of all of Argwyll’s hemispheres.
“Say what you’re here to say,” she barked. “And then be gone.”
He sighed. “You still despise me, after all this time?”
She stopped writing. “Hatred is unprofessional,” she said. “But then, so is cowardice. Perhaps we’re all simply guilty of different crimes, Artorious.”
“I wouldn’t have come here simply to antagonize you.”
“The fact you dared to come here at all tells me you simply do not give a jot for the sanctity of this Order. Honor means nothing to you.”
A distinct thump then finally brought the blonde crown of Carliah up. She stared blankly at what the Lightborn had just thrown on her table.
“Take a good look,” Artorious said. “And then tell me if you still care more about honor than doing what’s right for this world.”
Her face was a picture of contradiction. A woman trapped forever in her late 30s since the first day she'd joined the Order, she wasn’t unused to concealing her emotions. For one who had risen so quickly in the ranks of the Greycloaks, the ability to outsmart one’s opponents was paramount. It was said no one among the ranks of the Order could truly ascertain Carliah Argent’s battle moves – she was too quick, too elusive, and too strong when she finally made her mark on the flesh of the unwary monsters of the land.
But right now, Artorious could see, as only his eyes could, that there was a sense of fear hidden there in her narrowed eyes.
That was an emotion he was all too familiar with…
She held the objects he’d thrown on her desk in her muscled hands: a piece of blue cloth, and the shards of his own, broken blade.
“So…it’s here.”
Artorious only gave a solemn nod.
“The Archon.”
“The fucking hat,” Carliah grimaced, standing and turning away from the Lightborn. “The one that wasn't even meant to appear if a certain someone had done his job right last time. Why now of all times?”
Again, Artoriois did not speak. He had shown her what she needed to see. Now, she had to do the rest for herself.
“Where?” she snapped at him suddenly.
“The Grenbelm forest,” he replied.
“Core abilities?”
“Possession. And a penchant for draining the Willpower of its foe. Once the Will of its potential Host is low enough, it is able to assume direct control of their nervous system.”
The Knight-Commander huffed at this. “So that’s its little trick. Not quite as insidious as Gyko’s Darkseed, nor as irritating as Gelsadra’s Eternal Life.”
“It’s in its larval form,” Artorious explained. “But by now – it could be stronger. Much stronger. Monster populations are already going wild even in the mountains outside the fortress. King Lysandus won’t listen. The capital city of Lucent will be in the most immediate danger. If it falls-“
The Knight-Commander held up a muscular fist. “You don’t have to tell me how this all works. Lucent falls – then all of Westerweald falls – and then the rest of Argwyll falls. Just like what almost happened last time.”
Artorious nodded. “So, you understand why I’m here.”
“I understand that the disgraced Lightborn who’s been nothing more than a drunk, crippled, and sad old man for the past decade has come running back to his family after they threw him out because he can’t do his job.”
She pointed at the shards of his shattered rapier.
“You can’t kill it,” she stated. “Can you?”
He was not to be dissuaded. “Not with conventional weaponry. If you can authorize the use of our Onixia supplies in the ancient storerooms, I –“
“No,” she said, turning and fixing the Lightborn with her cold, dark stare. “You can’t kill it, because you’ve already done so before. That is the sacred, unwritten Law of Argwyll: the Lightborn slays the Archon, and then they perish. A sacrifice as old and sacred as time itself must be made. That is the mark of the true Lightborn.”
She leaned forward, meeting his deathly stare with derision.
“And when you sunk your blade into Gyko, one-hundred years ago, you failed to follow through on that sacrifice. You lived.”
Artorious balled his single fist while vestigial fury welled up in his empty arm socket.
“Have I not already been tried for my supposed ‘crime’?” he asked her. “I accepted my exile. I have done what I could to help this world even without your assistance. Now, I have a job to do again. I come before you to see it through.”
“And this time?” the Knight-Commander asked. “Will you carry through the sacrifice of your ancestors?”
“I…“
“If you don’t, you know what’ll happen.”
He did. He shut his mouth as he saw the cogs turning in her mind, and he knew that this was exactly what she wanted. The transferal of power from one Lightborn to another normally happened after the death of the previous Lightborn. In the wake of an Archon’s defeat, the Lightborn had always perished. In the last seconds before the lord of all demons died, the spirit of the Lightborn traveled through its veins and clogged the beast’s heart, nullifying the primordial darkness within and dying with it to seal the world from evil for another century.
But when he had finally plunged his sword into the belly of the last Archon, he had been very much alive. Of course, the Greycloaks had suspected foul play. Of course, they had tried him and shunned him. They had cast him out, rejecting what they saw as pride. His spirit had simply been too greedy for glory. Too hungry for prestige. He had wanted to live a good life in the wake of his victory, not sacrifice himself in the honorable way his predecessors had.
They had been right, and so very wrong about him at the same time…
“Where is it now?” Carliah sighed.
“I do not know. As it lay before me helpless, a group of hybrids came to spirit it away with a teleport stone.”
“Hybrids?” the Master of the Grey scoffed. “Then at least we know what we’re looking for out there. We’ve had reports of mass hybrid resistance in the Eastern reaches. I’ll alert the Chapters there. Pull a few favors from the local villages around Gyko’s old territory in the Ashfalls. It makes sense to start the search up that way. The rest of us will ride for Lucent and establish a defensive position in the city just in case things go tits up. We’ll check the Delve Registries while we’re at it – if his Hybrid guardians are smart, they’ll be helping to power their new leader up through some special dungeon delves.”
“King Lysandus will not be…receptive to the idea of giving up his city.”
Carliah looked at him like he’d told her two plus two equals four. “’Course he won’t. I’m invoking Krea’s Commandment. He can blabber all he wants about being King – it means nothing when this world’s about to go to shit.”
He nodded as she quickly scribbled these plans down and then made for the door. He couldn’t really be surprised. The Knight-Commander was strict, but she was also noted for her fairness. She knew better than he how to organize their forces and protect this territory. Hell, she’d had more than enough practice.
What weighed more on Artorious’ mind now was the fact that he had begun walking a path that would only end one place – a place he’d been before. A place that, he knew, he would hesitate before he went again.
“And Artorious?” Carliah said as she stepped by him to begin preparations. “You’ll be staying close by from now on. Should you fail to do your duty, this time I’ll kill you myself.”