Death comes for us all; even the so called gods die. This is why we ascend to higher planes, shedding our mortal coils in a bid to grasp immortality. And just so our names aren’t lost to time, we leave behind legacies to inspire the generations of the future.
Ascendant Az’marthon Ranok, Stormcaller.
Ragnarok. Year 2189.
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Unrid stared at the young man as they sat in silence, studying him. He had dark brown skin similar to those in the Gishan village, but not quite.
His hair was an unfamiliar cut, but it framed his face nicely. What was most peculiar about him, though, were his eyes; his black pupils were ringed with a band of gold, giving him an enchanting and piercing gaze.
When Unrid had first seen him, he’d shouted for him to run, unaware that he was awakened, but even if he’d known, he would still have said the same thing; after all, what could an awakened his age do against a creature such as the Rithclaw when even with his experience and mastery over fire, he’d only been able to injure it slightly?
He’d been pleasantly surprised when the kid had created the storm, but he’d mostly been preoccupied with finding the explosive he’d bought from the village’s mechanic before the expedition.
What had astonished him though was the final skill Aodhán had used; the amount of lightning he’d called was enough to wipe out a quarter of the Warren village.
The boy’s mastery of his element was astonishing; it was why he didn’t buy the boy’s story, even though he sensed a grain of truth within it.
To develop such mastery, Aodhán would have needed a trainer, one strong and capable, but the only lightning awakened he was aware of in the Gishan village was a sour old man who had reached his limit too early, rendering him incapable of summoning more than two bolts of electricity at a time.
Whatever the boy’s reason for lying was, he didn’t care, not with the horde problem; besides, the Warren could definitely use another awakened hunter.
“What did you mean when you said you’d reached your limit?” The boy suddenly asked, confirming Unrid’s suspicions that he wasn’t really from Gishan, as if he’d trained under the sour old man, he couldn’t have spent a day without receiving a lecture about it.
“It simply means my core can no longer advance,” Unrid replied, clearing his throat quietly before he continued. “Everyone hits a limit at one point or another; you just have to hope it doesn’t happen too early; that way, you get to retain some power like me.”
Aodhán frowned, disappointed in Unrid’s reply. From his conversation with Az, he knew that advancement wasn’t limitless, but he hadn’t expected to worry about it so soon.
At the moment, he was barely strong enough to wield even a 20th of the power Az had displayed in the first vision.
“Is it rude to ask what tier of advancement you’re currently in?” Aodhán asked, but Unrid waved off his concerns.
“It’s improper to do so, but I’ve never really cared for courtesy, so I’ll tell you. I’m at the 7th tier of advancement, which puts me among the ten strongest awakened in the village.” He replied with a hint of pride, but Aodhán winced inwardly. Was he in danger of hitting a limit soon? If he was, how best could he prevent it?
“What about you, kid?”
Aodhán dusted invisible stains from his trousers before responding; he now understood why it was considered an improper question.
“I’m at the 4th tier.”
Unrid nodded gently. “You have incredible mastery and skills for someone so young; if you would like to stay in the Warren, we would welcome you.”
“I would like to.” Aodhán replied quickly, and Unrid smiled in response. They lapsed into another few seconds of silence until Aodhán broke it with another question.
“Are there many awakeneds in the village?”
“Eh, no, I think we’re about 70, give or take a few. Many of them are children like you, though.”
“Is that good or bad?” Aodhán asked with a frown, and Unrid was unable to hold back his laughter.
“Teenagers are a menace in every village, so I’m guessing it’s more of a bad thing, but I’m sure you’ll love it.”
Aodhán snorted in amusement before lapsing back into silence, and this time they let the silence reign until the first sign of dawn perked through the canopy.
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Unrid looked much better now; even though his limp was gone, Aodhán insisted that the man carry the bag while he carried the unconscious man.
They picked their way through the forest, following a path that only Unrid could see. It took them about an hour to make the trek, and just a few minutes past sunrise, they finally came out of the forest and onto a plain of grassy land.
Aodhán almost dropped the unconscious man from excitement when he saw the village’s gate in the distance, but Unrid’s expression was grave, and it only grew worse as they neared the entrance.
When they reached the gate, a soldier dressed in the standard silver and black uniform of the Ragnarok military walked towards them with a grave expression.
His expression darkened as his eyes roamed the empty area behind them, and after an awkward pause, he said to Unrid, “Perhaps they really had needed a bit more luck. May their souls be awakened in the next life.”
Unrid gave a single nod in response before he gestured towards Aodhán and said, “He’s the reason I’m still alive and is now the newest member of the Warren.”
The soldier gave him a small smile and said, “Stay out of trouble, and we shall have no problems.”
“I will.” Aodhán replied, before following Unrid as he walked through the gate and into the village.
As he stepped through the gate, Aodhán said to Unrid, “I had no idea you lost people in the forest. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, kid; if you like, I can take you to my home, get you a nice meal, and…”
“Yes! I mean, yes, I would like that very much.” Aodhán replied eagerly, and Unrid gave an amused chuckle.
“We’ll have to drop Lutor at the healers tent first though, and someone has to inform the wives and children of the others. Gods! This is a mess.”
They walked into the village, and Aodhán turned to take in his surroundings. The village was larger than he’d imagined, and it sat nestled amidst rolling hills and grassy plains.
A lone, dusty road sloped upwards through the heart of the village, weaving past small cottages, their thatched roofs adorned with sparkling lights and colorful flowers.
The windows were framed by billowing curtains that swayed gently in the breeze, but it was obviously a farming village, as on several lands, dirt pathways curved around orderly rows of corn and the crawling vines of potatoes.
Farmers toiled under the morning sun, each tending to their land with care.
Villagers dressed in dirty work clothes moved about, holding hoes or machetes, while some pushed their farm produce on rickety wheelbarrows.
Each villager greeted them enthusiastically until they saw the unconscious man he was carrying.
Aodhán thought it was strange that the man hadn’t woken up yet, but Unrid had been confident that he would live, so he dismissed the thought from his mind.
Soon, cries of shock echoed out as the villagers gathered around them curiously, and Unrid informed them about the deaths of the other hunters.
Before long, Lutor was taken away from him by a group of sympathetic villagers and carried to the healers tent.
Unrid gave the villagers a summary of the horde problem but extricated himself before they even had the chance to ask questions, and the next minute they walked past a rusty tavern, the spicy smell of grilled meat wafted from its windows, promising a hearty meal to its customers.
Aodhán’s stomach growled at the scent, but Unrid urged him forward, and as they neared the center of the village, the houses began to change. Gone were the wooden structures, replaced by polished brown stone bungalows with zinc roofs.
Merchants in fancy clothes filled the street, selling their wares and offering an array of cheap magical trinkets in exchange for coins.
The greatest change, though, was the massive tree that revealed itself, and Aodhán’s eyes widened as he felt the dense energy emanating from it.
The bark was the same light brown color as the stone houses, but its leaves were snow white, and its gnarled branches reached up to the sky like outstretched arms.
It was absolutely beautiful, and as he stopped to admire it, Unrid said proudly, “It is the jewel of our village, a spirit tree called the Areli.”
Not far from the tree, though, stood a large building painted in the silver and black colors of the Ragnarok kingdom, and even from this distance, he could see a couple of soldiers moving within it.
“Is this why the village is so well protected?” Aodhán asked, and Unrid scoffed.
“Of course. The Kingdom doesn’t care enough about villagers that they would send half a battalion of soldiers to protect us.” They turned into a smaller street, and Unrid continued, “It works in our favor though, as their presence here has protected us from bandits and outlaws; besides, many of them are a fun bunch.”
A few minutes later, they came to a stop in front of a single-story building, made of the same polished brown stone as the others. It was almost completely covered in crawling white vines, and in the small garden that lay beside it, a woman delicately pruned and watered the flowers.
She noticed them almost instantly, and the watering can fell to the ground as she rushed forward.
“Thank the gods!” she sobbed as she hugged Unrid tightly. He rubbed her back as she continued, “I heard about the others, and I know how strong you are, but I was still so scared.”
“I’m fine, Synové; I’m safe.”
She pulled back from his arms a moment later, and Unrid gestured towards Aodhán .
“Raol sent this young man to me; he’s the reason Lutor and I are alive.”
The woman let out a choked sob as she grabbed his hands in her delicate ones and squeezed.
“Thank you so much.”
Aodhán felt emotional as the beautiful woman expressed her gratitude and replied, “I only did what anyone would have.”
“If only that were true.” The woman muttered with a smile; her blonde hair swaying in the breeze, and he marveled at her beauty. She had a perfectly oval face and bright green eyes, but before he could stare for too long, she said, “Come into our home and break your fast with us.”
“I would love to, but I think I require a bath first.”
“As do I.” Unrid observed as he sniffed his clothes, “I stink like a mudpig at the height of summer.”
As they moved towards the house, a cry of anger and distress brought them back to a halt.
“Unrid, you bastard!”
Aodhán turned to see a young woman, only a little older than him, dressed in sack clothes, as she rushed towards them. Tears ran down her face even as her entire body quivered from despair.
“Why do you get to come back to your family when my Darnathil can’t?” she screamed, holding her chest as if to curb her pain. “You were supposed to protect him! You promised me that you would.”
The woman shook with pain and anger, and before any of them could react, she brandished a rusty knife and stabbed it into Unrid’s neck.