A thunderous march echoed through the cold, desolate wasteland of Termosad on the continent of Shardon. It wasn’t the ominous approach of an enemy charge, but of the United Forces as they pressed forward. Ravaen rode at the head of the column, his mount’s powerful strides eating up the distance. They were already a league away from the most formidable fortress of eons past, towards Oroz’Kram.
His focus was unwavering. The anger that had smoldered within him since the attack on his kingdom now fueled his every step. The frustration over the years because of Everess’ antics and now Tamiron’s actions simmered beneath the surface. As he tightened his grip around the reins, he envisioned pouring out all his pent-up rage upon their enemy. For a fleeting moment, he pitied their adversaries, who would soon face the full force of his wrath.
His mind was consumed with plans and strategies, focusing on what needed to be done and how he could collaborate effectively with Everess. However, his thoughts were abruptly derailed when they spotted huge columns of smoke billowing in the distance.
Halting their march, he ordered one of his king’s guards to fly up and scout it out. Fear gripped his heart as he awaited the scout's report. Deep down, he knew the source of the smoke, but he desperately hoped to be wrong.
As the king’s guard descended, his heart sank. The expression on the scout’s face said it all.
He dismounted swiftly and turned to his army. 'Force march, now!' he commanded, his voice cutting through the cold air with urgency.
The order was swiftly relayed down the army column. “Kingsguard, with me!” With his escorts close behind, he took flight toward the source of the smoke.
They were still a league away, yet the columns of smoke appeared alarmingly close. Fear gripped his heart as he considered the implications. Had Everess already initiated the siege? Or worse, a massacre? At that moment, he couldn’t be certain.
His thoughts turned to the enemy, the Xerxecians. Perhaps they deserved such a fate, but what if there were remnants of the race of men in Shardon? He shuddered at the thought. He hoped fervently that there were none, or that they were absent from Oroz’Kram. He couldn’t bear to witness their race being pushed to the brink of extinction again, just as it had happened in the past.
“Everess, what are you doing?” he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible above the rushing of the wind as they flew swiftly toward the fortress, his men following closely behind.
As they drew nearer, the air grew hotter. Shardon had always been a cold continent, so this only intensified his fears. Then, from afar, Oroz’Kram’s tower began to rise, an ominous glow radiating from below.
When the entire fortress came into view, his heart sank, his fear realized. It was no siege — it was indeed a massacre.
The outer walls and outposts lay in ruins, consumed by roaring flames. Oroz’Kram, the most formidable fortress of old, surrounded by legends, now blazed in ignominious glory.
He hovered, frozen mid-air, horrified. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind: the Orderian army, once unleashed, was a devastating force. His gaze swept across Everess’ forces, standing in standard formation but not advancing.
The Magisters continued their relentless bombardment, hurling spells at the already decimated outer walls and the bailey, now a burning heap of wood, stone, and Xerxecian bodies. The barrage moved on to the second level, where Xerxecians cowered, seeking cover, helpless against the onslaught.
Disgust churned in his gut. Where was the honor in this? He thought. A wave of pity for their enemy washed over him, conflicting with his rage. Frustration surged, his temper flared, his forehead furrowed as he scanned the allied forces. Without hesitation, he descended toward the commanding officer.
“Who’s in charge here? Where’s Everess?” he demanded. But the commanding officer seemed too stunned to respond. He looked closer and quickly noticed something he had missed: their faces displayed guilt. Haunted by the spectacle before them, the devastation overwhelmed them.
“Soldier,” he called out again, and finally, the commanding officer snapped out of her daze. “Are you alright?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.
“My liege, you’ve arrived,” she replied, forcing a smile, though her haunted expression remained. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Made it to what?” he retorted. “To a slaughter? How long have you been besieging Oroz’Kram?” he pressed, his voice urgent.
But the commanding officer remained silent, unable to answer.
“Soldier! Where is Everess?” he bellowed, trying to jolt her out of her daze.
“The Grand Sage?” the Orderian repeated, still seemingly lost in thought.
With a resigned sigh, he looked around the area, searching for any sign of Everess. “Where is she?”
“We don’t know, Sire. We’ve been here for days. We only see her when she calls us to her tent,” the Orderian finally replied.
“Is she there now?” he inquired, his patience waning.
“No, she’s not.”
Taking a deep breath, frustration mounting, he placed his hands on his hips, incredulous that this situation had even occurred.
A chuckle escaped him, a bitter laugh at the absurdity of it all. “Why hasn’t the main force moved to take the fortress?” he demanded.
“The Grand Sage ordered us to continue the bombardment until your arrival,” the Orderian officer explained.
“And she didn’t give the command to take over the fortress at all?” he pressed further.
“No,” the officer responded, visibly shaken. “We attempted to advance, but the Grand Sage was adamant about her orders. She even punished those who deviated.”
Curiosity piqued, he probed deeper. “What sort of punishment?”
But the officer turned away, refusing to meet his gaze.
A chill ran down his spine at her reaction. He couldn’t quite explain it, but her response unsettled him deeply. He shook off the sensation. He turned his attention back to the battered fortress before them. Its once grandeur now lay in ruins, a stark reminder of the chaos that ensued.
He sighed, lamenting its current state. He had hoped they could preserve it as an outpost in Shardon, but that dream seemed shattered. All he could do now was hope that something remained to honor its memory.
“So have we confirmed that there are remnants of the race of men then?” he asked the commanding officer, but she did not answer once more. Then it dawned on him. “Are you telling me we don’t know?”
The officer’s silence was confirmation enough.
“That was the entire reason for rushing this campaign in the first place!” his voice rose with frustration. He glanced once more at Oroz’Kram, he imagined it being relentlessly pounded by the ongoing bombardment.
“I’m assuming command! I order them to cease the bombardment immediately!” he ordered, his voice echoing across the field. The commanding officer and the soldiers within earshot turned to face him.
Their reaction stunned him; their faces portrayed a mixture of hesitation and fear.
“What in the Animos have you done to them, Everess?” he thought, bewildered. “Can you not hear me?! I am one of the Grand Generals of the United Forces, and I command you to stop this bombardment now! We will advance and take the fortress!” he shouted once more.
He turned to the commanding officer. She seemed on the verge of compliance when her expression turned ashen. Slowly, she raised her hand, pointing upward. A blinding light flashed across the field, momentarily blinding everyone, including him.
As his vision cleared, he looked up, and there, silhouetted against the sky, was a woman surrounded by three bright orbs. For the first time, a shiver of fear ran down his spine — Everess.
She held her arm aloft, and the three enormous orbs spun around her. The air crackled with static, as if Everess held all the storms in the world within those three pink orbs. Unstable energy poured out from the orbs, then surged back, as if compelled by some unseen force.
“Everess, stop!” he shouted, but it was too late.
With a swift motion, Everess dropped her arm, and the colossal orbs struck the castle’s center. Chaos erupted, the thunderous roar of destruction reverberating like a thousand storms.
The shockwave hit them like a physical blow, hurling them off their feet. He struggled to maintain his balance, using his wings to steady himself as he fought to remain upright. Soldiers and Orderians alike lay sprawled on the ground, some already moving to help others.
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“Is everyone alright?” he called out, his voice cutting through the chaos as he rushed to aid the fallen Orderians.
Meanwhile, Everess floated through the air towards the opening she had created in the crumbling castle.
“Everess!” he shouted, but she seemed oblivious to his cries. Ignoring the danger, he flew after her as she disappeared inside.
As he entered the room behind her, a sudden explosion rocked the chamber, engulfing it in flames. Fear gripped him as he searched frantically for Everess. To his relief, he found her unharmed amidst the inferno.
Then, Everess’ elite Magisters, clad in black and reinforced leather, bearing the insignia of the Orderians and the Elite Magisters, approached the room.
“Everess, what is this? What’s happening?” he demanded.
Everess ignored him.
“Why won’t you look at me?” his voice rose, but the elite Magisters blocked his view of her.
“You are addressing the Grand Sage of the Orderians. Show some respect, Your Highness,” one of the Magisters retorted sternly.
“I know who I’m speaking to. Let your Grand Sage talk to me directly and tell me that, soldier,” he said firmly, holding his ground inside the burning room, his wings spread wide.
The Magister seemed ready to confront him, but at Everess’ signal, they left one by one. “Speak,” Everess finally said.
He couldn’t contain his frustration. “At least have the decency to face me when talking. What is the meaning of this? I wasn’t informed about this attack, and if I’m not informed, I’m sure Aderon isn’t either. This will not sit well with him or the others. What exactly are you doing?”
But Everess remained silent.
“Everess, Aderon and Tamiron will hear of this. You are going way out of line here. With what you’ve done, they will have no choice but to take action, even if you are independent from command!” he shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. “What are you doing?”
Again, there was no response.
“Answer me!” he demanded, but Everess suddenly closed the distance between them, her face just inches from his own.
“I do not answer to you, Mystic King,” Everess said sternly.
He felt a chill run down his spine. It was as though he wasn’t speaking to Everess at all. It was as if she were an entirely different person.
“So, this is how you treat those you have no use for, eh? Grand Sage? A friend?” he replied, his tone edged with sarcasm.
“Let’s be honest, you never considered me a friend,” Everess suddenly said, her voice devoid of emotion. “Nor the others. We are together out of mere convenience for the deity of this world,” she added as she walked past him.
Stunned, he turned to her. “What are you saying? You’re not making any sense, Everess.”
“It’s fine, Ravaen. I have already made up my mind. This war will end in a Unibeltrasian victory,” she said in a disturbingly calm tone.
“Everess, what are you planning to do?”
“You have no need to know, Ravaen. For now, I worry about the outcome. So I need to make my preparations on how to end all of this.”
Despite the raging inferno in the room, he broke into a cold sweat after hearing what she said. He was worried about her and frightened by what she might do. “You need to tell me now, Everess. This has gone far enough.”
“Like I said earlier, I need not explain myself to you, Mystic King,” she said, cutting him off. “This goes far beyond politics now.” A sheet of pinkish maroon slowly started to cover her. “I will be leaving now, Mystic King. My army will take it from here.”
As she was fully enveloped by the sphere, she disappeared.
He didn’t know what to make of their conversation. He wasn’t even sure if he could call it a conversation at all. But he knew she was in distress. He could feel it. The disturbing calmness she exhibited after razed an entire citadel terrified him.
He flew outside as his men continued to help the soldiers.
The reinforcing army finally arrived, but they were confused, so they paused with what they were doing. His lieutenant flew to him. “Sire, what’s going on here? What happened? Is the siege over?”
He looked out towards the smoldering ruins of Oroz’Kram, his heart heavy with the weight of what he had just witnessed. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning flesh and charred wood, mingling with the smoke that curled into the sky like the ghost of a once-mighty fortress. His men scrambled over the wreckage, their faces grim and determined as they scoured the remains.
“Scour what remains of Oroz’Kram,” he commanded, his voice strained. “We need to confirm if the race of men still lives on.” His words hung in the air, heavy with the sorrow and guilt that he felt.
As his soldiers moved through the debris, he remained aloft, staring at the devastation before him. The fortress, once a symbol of power and resilience of old against the forces of time itself, was now a shattered husk, with only but the main citadel standing - or at least what was left of it. Its walls crumbled and blackened by the relentless assault. He could still hear the cries of the Xerxecians, their screams echoing in his mind, mingling with the roar of the flames.
The emotional toll weighed heavily on him. His fist clenched as it tightened in anger, knuckles white with suppressed anger and regret. Each breath he took felt like inhaling daggers, the sharp pain of loss and remorse cutting deep. He had anticipated a battle, not a massacre. The sight of the lifeless bodies, some still clutching weapons in futile defense, others huddled in corners, desperate to escape the inferno, tore at his soul.
He scanned the faces of his men as they searched through the rubble. They, too, bore the marks of horror and disbelief, their movements mechanical as they sifted through the carnage. The sounds of their efforts were a stark contrast to the silence that had followed Everess’ devastating attack. The honor they had once felt as warriors now felt tainted by the merciless slaughter they had been a part of.
His mind was a tempest of conflicting emotions. He had prepared for war, for the clash of swords and the strategies of battle, but nothing had prepared him for this senseless destruction. He felt a pang of sorrow for the Xerxecians, an enemy that now seemed pitiable in their defeat. They had fought bravely, but they were no match for the overwhelming force unleashed upon them.
The heat of the smoldering ruins seemed to sear his very soul, and he walked among the wreckage, the crunch of ash and debris under his boots a constant reminder of the lives lost. He paused beside a fallen Xerxecian, his hand resting on the charred remains of what was once a proud warrior. A wave of sorrow washed over him, and he closed his eyes, offering a silent prayer for the dead.
“King Ravaen,” a voice called out, jolting him from his reverie. He turned to find one of Everess’ lieutenants, his face etched with concern. “We’ve found something, but... we aren’t entirely sure what to make of it.”
He immediately paced with the lieutenant, who led him toward the discovery. It was a charred house, and inside were burned remains.
The sight hit him like a physical blow. His body was suddenly washed over by cold, like a waterfall roaring back to life after winter. His lips trembled as he took in the scene. The charred, twisted shapes were unrecognizable as anything that had once lived, yet he knew what they were. His heart sank, the enormity of the atrocity weighing heavily on him.
He knelt beside the remains, his hand shaking as he reached out but stopped short of touching them, as if doing so would make the horror even more real. His eyes burned with unshed tears, the acrid smell of burnt flesh and wood filling his nostrils. He felt a deep, aching sorrow for the lives lost, innocent or not.
The lieutenant shifted uncomfortably behind him, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. His mind was a storm of emotions—rage, grief, guilt. He had failed these people. His leadership had brought them to this, and now he was faced with the consequences of their actions.
As he walked back to his men, the weight of what he had seen pressed down on him. Each step felt like an eternity. The images of the charred bodies seared into his mind. He had to make things right. He had to stop the cycle of violence before it consumed them all.
The sun set, painting the sky in shades of red. Perhaps the Gods and Animos pitied the Xerxecians as well. Was this their way of showing remorse? Their sadness? Perhaps all the skies of the world were painted red.
He stood amidst the smoldering ruins, the crimson light casting long shadows across the charred landscape. His heart was heavy, burdened by the weight of what had transpired. He looked up at the blood-red sky, feeling a profound connection to the sorrow it seemed to reflect.
Finally, he stood, his resolve hardening with each passing second. He turned back to the ruins of Oroz’Kram, the flames still smoldering, a stark testament to the destruction wrought by his forces. “This ends now,” he muttered to himself. “No more massacres. No more senseless destruction.” The look of remorse was painted all over his face as he surveyed the scene, his heart heavy with the burden of leadership and the need for redemption.
As the sky turned crimson, Sevidon finally arrived at the Meskotav Council, where he was greeted by some of the councilors, both Karin and Sulin. Without wasting a moment, he made his demand clear.
“You need to take me there,” he said urgently.
The Councilors exchanged glances, and two representatives on each side accompanied him, along with some guards.
The Meskotav Council was only a day’s journey from the site. As they approached, he began to smell it—the scent of burnt woods and leaves, their ashes lingering in the air for days. Just beyond a ridge, he saw a small clearing, charred and devastated. It was the hidden tomb, destroyed from within.
Shock and horror overwhelmed him. The final resting place of his comrade and his love lay before him. He took a deep breath, feeling rage and anger welling up inside him.
“Has anyone from the main kingdoms arrived yet?” he asked, pressing forward.
“No, my Liege. We have kept them out. But we need to hurry to get some answers,” the Sulin Councilor replied.
He knew the importance of acting swiftly. “Stay here. I will investigate this on my own,” he instructed, heading towards the tomb.
He could still feel the remnants of the fire that had consumed this part of the forest. The sadness emanating from the forest of La’Sarien was palpable, as if the rain had been a gift bestowed just to quench the flames.
Approaching the tomb, he dismounted from his horse and entered. Inside, he found a crater, evidence of a violent explosion. Tears filled his eyes as he dropped to his knees and began to cry.
Heartbroken, he mourned them properly at last. After all these years, they had been so close, yet so far away. Finally, he could mourn her with all his heartache, his child with all his love.
He opened his eyes and saw a pinkish residue in the dirt he had desperately clung to. Slowly, he sat up, examining it closely in his hand. Looking around, he realized it was all over the blown-up tomb.
Suddenly, he remembered what Ravaen had told him. It hit him like a ton of bricks. It was Orderian magic. The small residue was enough to confirm it. He recalled the early days of the Shardon campaign when he was with Everess. She had practically taken on an entire Xerxecian battalion all by herself. He remembered the corpses from that battle. Magister’s magic didn’t leave the same traces as Everess’.
“What is this? It’s not their blood,” he muttered, remembering that one afternoon.
“No, it’s the physical residue of my magic,” Everess had said, hovering above the battlefield as she inspected it.
“How is that possible?” he had asked, unsure of the extent of magic’s capabilities.
“I’m powerful enough, I think,” Everess had replied, her voice carrying an unsettling tone.
He remembered that conversation well. Mounting his horse, he returned to the Sulin Councilors.
“Clean up this patch of the forest. Cover up the tomb. I need to leave immediately,” he ordered the Meskotav Councilors.
“But, General, where are you going?” the councilor asked.
“I’m heading to Eiventolf. Send word to the Sulin King that I’m on my way,” he replied before galloping off toward the capital, never imagining he would set foot there again.
As he rode toward Eiventolf, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues. The gods themselves seemed to mourn the destruction, casting the world in a sorrowful light. The charred remains of the tomb still lingered in his mind, and with each passing mile, his unease grew.
Was the darkness he felt from the enemy, or was it closer to home? As the shadows deepened and the landscape became engulfed in darkness, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something dark and dangerous was unfolding.
Was it Everess? Was she spiraling into something he couldn’t comprehend? The thought gnawed at him. There was something unsettling about her demeanor, something that seemed to hint at a much larger plan.
With a heavy heart and a mind full of questions, he pressed on, the road ahead fraught with uncertainty.
End of Chapter XXV