Far above the skies of Silvardor, a small portal swirled into existence, as the sky darkened and night fell. Out stepped the masked figure who’d opened the other, larger, portals allowing the demon army into Silvardor. Moments later, a second figure appeared. He had wavy white hair, crimson eyes and an ageless face. He wore bright silver armour and heavy chainmail and a crimson cape. A slight rippling beneath their feet was the only indication that any levitation magic was being used.
He scoffed, peering down at the battlefield, where the grass had been trampled, the ground dyed an ugly red and the dirt smeared to mud. Not a single body remained, as every demon corpse had been burnt, their ashes scattered throughout the forest to prevent resurrection.
“Master, Tarbork really failed, didn’t he? You gave him everything he’d need to defeat the elves, yet he’s the one defeated,” The masked figure said, gesturing with a sweeping arm, the damage caused.
The other sighed in apparent frustration, “I should never have trusted that oaf to this delicate operation. Only the gods know how he managed to destroy Anhua and kill the Key Guard—must have been a stroke of blind luck or something!”
“But,” He continued, “Tarbork has succeeded at the bare minimum required. He was not a complete failure.”
He raised his arm and ran shaky fingers through the silvery hair.
“My mortal body is weakening. I’ll need to retrieve a new one soon—an elf will do nicely for the time being, if I can find one. I should have chosen a stronger vessel, but Kuban Whiterose was the best of the fools outside alone, so I had to make do with that,” He smirked, “That bloodline owed me, anyways. Their prosperity was all due to my magic.”
His companion nodded, then pointed to a figure at the outskirts of the town.
The masked figure exclaimed, “Master! There’s a body you can use! I think it’s a warrior…”
He squinted, cursing the body’s weakening eyesight, and thrust his arm forward, whispering words of magic.
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Leus had stepped out for a bit to catch a breath of fresh air. He was not expecting a magical assault, and as the first stabbing pains hit him, he instinctively ducked, scanning himself for injuries. There were none—not physical wounds, at least. Another wave of agony washed over him and Leus groaned, thinking his head was about to split open.
W-What’s going on? He thought desperately, pressing his hands to his forehead in an attempt to relieve the aching.
An echoing voice resounded, speaking a language he was not familiar with and his body froze.
He tried to move, but felt an increasing loss of control, as if he was gradually becoming a puppet to another’s whims.
Leus let out a choked cry before his mouth clamped shut of its own volition and his legs gave way like he’d been kicked behind the knee. His mind was muddled and felt like his head was slowly filling with water.
Then all of a sudden, just as Leus felt his heart sinking as resignation and despair set in, a warm cerulean light began to emanate from his heart. His head was filled with a gentle and comforting feeling and he felt as if the waters were no longer a threat, but a place of comfort. The cerulean light burst forth from his chest and broke the invisible bonds on Leus’ body, rendering him able to control his body again. He staggered to his feet as the warm light flew upwards and stitched together a circlet just like Jason’s, with a large sapphire embedded in the centre.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
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W-What…?
The red-eyed man stumbled, losing control of his magic, which extinguished like a candle doused in water.
What are the Guardians doing in Silvardor?! They weren’t supposed to be here!
He quickly retreated back to the portal.
Through gritted teeth, he ordered, “We leave. Now. Something has changed and I need to reevaluate my plans!”
The masked figure hesitated and asked, “But… master, what of your mortal body? Do you not need an elf?”
The man shook his head.
“It’s much too dangerous to hang around. This body will have to do, for now.”
As quickly as it had appeared, the portal and the two figures disappeared into the Silvardor sky.
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A crowd had gathered by the pool to watch the events unfold over Dargon. Among them were some of the minor gods and goddesses, as well as two of the three most powerful sibling gods.
“Well, things sure got interesting, didn’t they?” Gialan mused.
The god of war was dressed in his favourite hunting leathers and absently twirled a dagger in his left hand and stood a little back from the rest.
Aeliyas stood beside her brother and grinned, “Do you not find it amusing that the elves have misinformed the entirety of Dargon?”
The others laughed and she continued, “You all know what they say, right? My brother Pelos is the ‘good’ god, Gialan is ‘neutral’ and I am, apparently, ‘evil’. Little do they know that we are not so simple as to embody only a single attribute.”
“And they got father’s attributes completely wrong!” Aest chimed in from where he was sitting beside the pool.
His attribute was that of the soul. He could give life and he could take it. However, a strong compassion for his creations led to his image on Dargon being that of a ‘good’ god.
Aeliyas scowled, “And of my attributes? They messed mine up even more. The most laughable fact is that they were the ones to influence my nature themselves. Their greedy and selfish thoughts have corrupted both me and their own world!”
Aeliyas was the goddess of balance. Her attribute reflected both good and evil, yet her power was directly connected to the hearts of the beings on Dargon. Gradually, as evil poisoned the mortals’ hearts, Aeliyas took on evil tendencies herself and her image solidified as ‘evil’.
She was usually quite cheerful and friendly, but slowly turned more cold and unfeeling in an attempt to distance herself from the corrupted thoughts of the mortals.
A commotion broke out as the gods nearest to the pool exclaimed and Gialan peered over them. His face immediately morphed into one of disbelief, then horror.
“That bastard escaped?!” He exclaimed, then quickly lowered his voice as his exclamation drew curious glances, “Sister, we may have a problem on our hands. He has escaped!”
Aeliyas turned her gaze to the pool and her eyes widened.
Gialan sighed, “Damn him! Garyth! We should have killed him a long time ago. Before he got so powerful!”
Aeliyas simply said, “Pelos would not let us. Garyth was once a mortal of Dargon—he just sought power and gained it in the wrong way. Pelos’ kind nature would not let us harm his ‘precious creations’.”
Laughter rang out as the scene in the pool shifted to a massive castle.
Crimson forms snuck around and into the castle, torchlight illuminating the hideous faces of demons. And all over Dargon, similar sightings occurred.
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Deep within Heresh, a lonely soul hoped that his friend would honour her promise and return, just as she had promised before she left, like he had. Once had the promise been broken. Twice would shut off his heart to all but the eternal chill of the netherworld.
The translucent form of a ghost with youthful features peered with downcast eyes at a large signet ring on his finger—with the curling emblem of a dragon laid out in gold.
Change was coming…