“With the Sun King’s ruin came a great sundering of primordial energy, of which weakened the grip that the interdimensional ascendants possessed on this world. In his greed and disillusionment, he opened the metaphorical gateway for beings more ancient than the world itself, maybe even more ancient than the birth of creation. With his death, a great darkness took his place: a horrific Republic bent on the final extermination of Ashmedai on the continent, and a political hierarchy based on the descendants of those that followed the Gods in the Age of Gods and Men. The Golden Age of Men became a distant memory, and thus began The Centuries of Darkness.”

– “Tomes of Tegonian History: Volume IV” The Year 15 of the Fifth Age

Aerith lay sprawled across the roof of her father’s hold, happily reading a book she had stolen from her father’s study. The book itself wasn’t all that interesting, just some theoreticals about how and why Tyrus was plagued with four cataclysms. The typical theories for how it started were that the Sun King engaged in black magic, or the Ashmedai performed a large blood ritual to curse the land in an act of revenge against humanity, were predictably written into this text in excruciatingly boring detail.

However, it was not the book that made her happy, but the alone time she got from hiding on the roof. Time for herself to finally think, to hear the waves crash onto Balowardshore’s beaches and the seagulls crying, to feel the warmth of the sun blanket her in her sky-blue nightgown, to see the clear cerulean sky in all its glory, to smell the seabreeze as it blew through her long, auburn-colored hair. From the roof of this keep, she could see everything: Balowardshore, the city her father governed over, the city’s farms lying on the horizon in the East, the triremes and merchant ships sailing into the Balowardshore harbor in the West, the blacksmith’s forge a thousand paces away to the North with its black plumes of smoke marking it as the edge of the market square, and the mill across the river to the South.

Up there, all of her worries were put on hold. She didn’t have to deal with her older brothers from up there, didn’t have to help her father govern, nor did she have to worry about raising the family’s social status through politics. On this roof she was at the top of the world, and it made her feel truly powerful, as powerful as one of the Goddesses from the stories.

“M’lady, the guests are due to arrive at any given moment!” the maidservant yelled out from down below. Her deep voice interrupting that very power and alone-time she was just feeling.

Frowning, Aerith shut the book as she turned back towards the ladder and looked down.

“I’ll come down once I spot the horses in the countryside!” Aerith yelled back down.

She could make out the portly maidservant’s sharp nod as she cupped her hands around her mouth to sound louder, “It’s your father’s orders, m’lady, this isn’t just a visit from the horse lords!”

Aerith cocked her head, wondering who else could have decided to visit. Her father may only be a governor, but he belongs to one of the ruling families on the continent.

Who could it be? It could be anyone… House Goodhall is one of the more well-connected houses in Tegon...

She made her way down the ladder, the maidservant motioning a few guards to surround the bottom in case she fell. When Aerith noticed them, she cautiously slowed her descent. In her youth, she had fallen down the ladder before; despite the frustration of being treated like a child after all these years, she swallowed that spite as she grinned down toward the guards.

“Your fathers in his study m’lady,” the maidservant glanced down at the book, “Is that from his study? You know how he dislikes it when you take things from there, m’lady.”

Aerith shrugged, “I have done so much for him since Aurora left, Minny, that he’ll just have to swallow his pride and deal with it. At least he’ll be there to see me return it this time.”

Aerith brushed the dust from the roof off of her nightgown as she turned right and walked toward the keep’s side door. The door led to the kitchen, and upon opening it, her senses were bombarded. The bright autumn morning and clear skies shifted to a dark kitchen, lit only by the oven flames and two small windows that gave off two tiny rays of sunlight. The calming sound of the sea and birds were now filled with an expletive-filled argument between the head baker Jon and the chief cook Bernadette. Jon was a mountain of a man, with short black hair cropped to the right, and the largest hands she had ever seen. He was the best baker in the city before her father took him into his employ. Bernadette was the one of the oldest crones in the city, but you couldn’t tell by the way she moved around and spoke. Despite her age, she moved around the kitchen nimble as a panther, and was as sharp as a barbed arrow with her tongue. She could get under anyone’s skin if she so desired, so much so that Aerith wondered how her father hadn’t fired her or worse. However, despite all of the verbal lashings she had given her father in the past and present, there isn’t a cook on Tegon like her in Aerith’s eyes. She always wondered how a woman so cold, and mean was able to show the love she had for people through her cooking. It took her back to the day after Aerith’s mother died. Her father was smitten over her mother, and when she died, she took a large piece of herself with him. Bernadette had made him his favorite foods, but he was only eating enough. The true love and care Bernadette had for House Goodfall showed when she made him his wife’s favorite meal. Aerith could still remember the tears they all shed and shared that night, Bernadette’s included. This morning, a delicious smell of roasted pork and fresh bread filled her slightly round nose, she licked full lips as her mouth salivated at the thought of the potential meal.

“Oi lil Aerith!” the burly Jon barked as he walked up to her, giving Aerith a start, “Who exactly is coming? I thought it was just gonna be the damned horse brutes, but your da gave me orders to feed ten more! Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but I don’t know if it’ll be those council fucks, or another govern–”

“How is she supposed to know!” the old chief Bernadette snapped, “I saw her walk out before I put in the roast you oaf!”

Jon shrugged his shoulders as he turned back to Bernadette, “worth a shot, aye?”

Bernadette let out a sigh as she went back to her work, grabbing a knife and dicing vegetables to put into a stew.

Aerith tapped her hand on Jon’s cheek, regaining his attention, “That’s exactly what I’m about to find out, Jon. I’ll let you know before I set off to get ready, but it’s no matter. A fancy meal is unnecessary when House Goodfall’s cooks and bakers make the most delicious meals.”

Jon smiled at that, and slightly bowed his head.

“As you say m’lady.”

“There you go speaking all proper, always after she compliments you,” Bernadette smirked as she finished dicing the vegetables and started to empty the contents on the cutting board into the stew, “A few more compliments like that and you might even be proper enough to become steward.”

“Hag!”

Aerith giggled as Bernadette snickered at Jon’s reddened face and left the kitchen.

The journey to Tyrus, while not necessarily difficult, was a long one. So long as they were on the Kingsroad, Ashur knew that the only right way to Tyrus was South. He had taken this road up to the Thundering Hills, after his mother disappeared, and even longer before that. His mother said that she had made the journey with him strapped to her chest a fortnight after his birth. Ashur felt like he knew this road like the back of his hand now.

The last night went smoothly after he managed to hunt some of the nocturnal game in the forest residing to the East of the road. He had Drake start a fire to light a beacon in the case that he did get lost, and he had fed his ‘subjects’.

Subjects, huh? That’s new, I guess.

Having about ten to fifteen men bow before him was something he had never experienced before, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Trying to make distance from the Dreadbird’s camp last night, some of the men like Drake joked around with him and expressed their gratitude with laughter. Most of the others remained silent until they made camp, when they began to sob their thanks and undying loyalty to him. They had been betrayed and had watched many of the people they grew up with get crucified. These men, all except Drake, were around the same age as him, and were dead to rights if not for the Dreadbird’s ‘mercy’. It was either death or a life of imprisonment and manual labor. A new thought landed in Ashur’s head that made him nauseous.

If I hadn't left, I probably would have ended up in their positions… Or worse, I would have been one of the young men nailed to those damned wooden crosses. And all of these men had been betrayed by their commanding officer. They won’t encounter such a betrayal by my hands, I can swear to that. They won’t be treated like subjects, but instead as members of my own family.

Family. Another thought that gave him nausea. His talk with the Dreadbird instilled a smidgen of fear for his own. He had already lost his mother, he had steeled himself to re-enter that house she built with her own hands, to eventually find her when he had the strength. However, he didn’t lose Mau and Rhamiel before he left. For all they knew, he was probably already dead. And for all he knew, they were probably the same too. The Dreadbird claimed he destroyed most of the city trying to get to Oremir and his Golden Dragons, and most of the citizens of fighting age joined Oremir in an attempt to flee the city. He didn’t get to see all of the bodies that were crucified, and the smell of burning flesh on the battlefield led Ashur to assume that the dead were already burned to ash.

Mau and Rhamiel, both were street urchins his mother found when they all were young. It seemed like fate that they were all the same age and complemented each other nicely. Ashur’s mother always had a thing when it came to fate or just plain old coincidence.

Mau was a genius, only after Ashur’s training did, he realize how strategically brilliant he was. Following his mother’s disappearance and Ashur’s departure, they scavenged off other gangs and fought off other gangs based on his quick-brained schemes and tactics. However, despite his courage in times where it mattered most, he was generally a timid boy who was only decent with a blade and didn’t aspire to much. That was left to Ashur, who was the dreamer, the voice, and the muscle of their rag tag trio.

That left Rhamiel. Ashur felt butterflies dance in his gut just thinking about her. The kindest soul he had ever met back then. She never got angry, never complained about anything, and was unwavering in her own little dreams and desires. Ashur remembered his mother telling him that Rhamiel was of strong Ashmedai blood, that her mother was one from the tribe that got exterminated in the Republic’s purge. Hearing her whimper for her mother at night was something Ashur can never forget nor get out of his head, and was part of the reason why he dreamed as big as he did, to make a better world for her to live in.

That wasn’t what made him smitten over her though. Being the only fighter in a trio meant that he had his life on the brink several times growing up. Like him, she had the ability to manipulate her flame, but it was far different from his abilities. He was taught by his mother to never expand his flame, because it was a power that he would never hope to control, at least at that point in time, but Rhamiel was able to casually expand her flame at will. While his powers lied with the element of wind, she had the ability to heal. With some help from his mother, she was able to use her flame to rekindle him at times when it looked like he would die.

Rekindling a flame was an emotionally complex feeling, one that in hindsight, might have been the main trigger to his love and devotion to her. She had always felt some way about him, and vice versa, but the rekindling of a flame is also a type of bodily investiture. She held a part of him, and he had a part of her. She may not have gained his ability, but she had healed him so many times throughout the years that they were now and forever inextricably linked.

Despite these feelings and events, his mind would drift elsewhere.

Does she still feel what I feel? Has she moved on? Will she be at home when I return?

Those thoughts rang through his head as he led Drake and the rest of his men back home. He started as he felt a thick hand land on his shoulder.

Drake, thank you, for snapping me out of these thoughts just now. I’ve got to focus on getting us home first.

“M’lord? You’ve been lost in thought for a while now.”

Ashur looked at him and shrugged, “I’ll be fine, just thinking about home.”

“Aye, I can say that we’ve all been thinking about it too, m’lord.”

“You and the rest of the men don’t need to call me that,” Ashur said with a sigh, “call me by my name: Ashur. I’m no lord, Drake.”

“Yes sir,” Drake said firmly. Ashur grinned at that, even when trying to make things more casual, he still called him ‘sir’. Drake hesitated for a moment while they walked before saying, “M’lord… Ashur, you never mentioned, where are you from?”

There was a moment where the only sound that remained was the sound of Ashur’s boots clapping against the road.

“I was born in Agosross, but I was raised in Tyrus… Well, a little South of Tyrus actually. My mother built our home with her own hands West of Bonegate, past the farms and a few miles outside of the city walls. I–,” Ashur turned to see all of the men standing still, as if a griffin had landed right in front of them, “What?”

A slender man named Dyerich swallowed, “Agossross? M’lord–”

“Ashur,” Drake correctively interjected.

“Ashur,” Dyerich corrected himself, “No one in Agossross survived. The Republic made it clear to all: the city of the revolter will be made an example of,”

“Well, I wasn’t really born there, my mother told me she went into labor before she had a strange feeling. I was born outside the city, but it’s easier to say I was born there than to say I was born in a carriage or something.”

Drake cackled at that, but Ashur could see the sweat on his brow. Everyone else seemed to relax, and Dyerich said in a sigh, “Well, if I’m following you, I’m only praying that you inherit your mother’s sense for ‘strange feelings’. And that you tell us if and when you get them.”

Aerith, still in her dirty nightgown, approached her father’s study. The wooden door was as large as her and looked like a shadow over her in the hallway. Despite the beautiful, sun-filled day, the hallway was dark saved for a few torchlights. Her father had the stonemasons cover what was a window at the end of the hall, for he loved the dark. She knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the dimly lit hall. Her father opened the door with a grunt and a scowl, turning his back to her after noticing the book and walking back to sit at his desk. Candles lit the room a bright orange, one on top of every shelf, the two nightstands next to the couch in front of the desk, and on his desk.

“Hello Father,” she said as she walked to place the book back where she left it.

“How many times have I told you not to take texts from my study,” he growled at her. She walked over to the couch facing his desk and laid across it.

“Our guests are arriving shortly father, I assume you're calling me here has nothing to do with renting books from your study,” her eyes narrowed on her father, “Who are these new guests arriving with Midland? It’s become the talk of the Keep.”

Rainmere Goodhall, Governor of Balowardshore, sagged his shoulders a bit before leaning back in his chair and lighting his pipe of Euleaf. Aerith scowled at him as she watched him take a puff and release a few small coughs. Euleaf, known originally as the Euphoria Leaf, gives a potent high to its smokers, putting them in a somewhat daze. Rainmere had picked up the habit after his wife died, to help ease his thoughts of her, Aerith hated that. She hated seeing him so eager to hit the pipe to forget her mother, or to hide from his primary duties. Her sister Aurora had been the true head of the household after her father turned to the leaf, and now that she was in Wemnoth with the Coven, Aerith had to pick up where she left off.

“Your sister is returning,” he said before he growled, “and my brother.”

“A head of the council and a Seer?!” She shot up off the couch.

“Those damned Horse Lords went to a Seer. It seems they already predicted you’d turn down their youngest lord’s hand in marriage.” He said as he coughed again, “and what’s worse, what Aurora saw was bad enough for us that she is coming to tell us.”

Aerith ran her hands through her hair in a fury, “The youngest damned lord! Unholy Void, father! And why is Uncle coming?”

Her father giggled as he began to take another hit, “Some trade talks and news.”

She slapped his pipe out of his hands, ash and leaf scattering across the wall and floor.

“Get your act together and take an ice bath, old man!” she snarled. Her father’s face grew red with rage as he locked eyes with her, but he didn’t say or do anything. He just nodded, stood up, and walked out of his study. Now alone, she let out a shriek of frustration.

A deep mist rolled into the mountainside with a blood red aura stemming from the sunset. The smell of rotting flesh filled the air sound Oremir and his fifty men as they trotted on their horses up the Kingsroad. The Thundering Hills was indeed a last resort, a last rest resort for retreat, but also to save the world.

What Oremir had found down in one of the forgotten Opal mines gave him some clues of what was buried beneath these mountains, as well as the God that resided above them, ever watchful of the Ashmedai that lived silently inside the mountain.

But was this range truly cursed? They have been walking for a day now, and no sign of anything extraordinary, just plenty of game: boars, deer, goats, rabbits, cows, chickens. A few foxes, but no predator truly terrifying like the old stories said.

Maybe the real predators know better than to tangle between immortal entities. This was their land.

“Oremir, we should be approaching the mouth by nightfall,” his second in command Valan said, scanning the map they had taken from the forgotten mine.

“Good.”

“We’re risking a lot by assuming they’ll be friendly,” Valan murmured.

“The choice was either die here at the hands of whatever lies here, or die later, after the Republic forced us to watch our families die first,” Oremir growled.

Valan grunted in a reluctant agreement before saying, “Let’s just hope they want the same thing as us.”

“They will, I’m sure of it.”

They approached the mouth, a giant cave that remained pitch black despite the setting sun shining in its direction. The large entrance blew a cool draft as it was if it was attempting to devour the light around it. Their horses started to neigh in panic.

“Sindri!” Oremir yelled out to his men, a burly man sporting the plate armor he scavenged off a Dayton soldier he had killed a while back, came to the front of the line on his horse.

“Yes, sir?”

Oremir pointed to the forest a few hundred paces behind them, “Take the men and get them to tie their horses a few hundred paces back. We have to go on foot, and I don’t want any of these mares running off!”

Sindri spat on the ground and nodded, holding his hands out on each side, requesting for Oremir and Valan’s reins. Once handed to him, they got off their mounts and watched him slowly spin the horses around and guide them to the destination.

For a few moments, the two were alone, a faint groaning filled the air as a damp breeze exited the cave. The Ashmedai were inside, Oremir didn’t know how deep they were, but he knew for certain that they existed. He was going to find them and unleash them.

Unleash them in this world, which has grown so rotten.

A crimson sky was fading to a reddish violet as the sun began to set in the West. Ashur laid on the soft grass next to the road as Drake stoked the campfire, listening to Dyserich and the other men tell stories of being pickpockets or scavengers in Tyrus. It was the first in his time around them that heard them all laughing as they munched on some venison they cooked over the flame. It seemed like they started to get over the shock of their survival and embraced their second chance at life.

Moreling, a short stocky man with long dark blonde hair, took a bite of his venison as he asked, “Ashur! Do you have any stories to tell?”

Still laying down, Ashur smiled and shook his head, “Nothing too different from what you have all gone through, my friends.”

“Ahhh c’mon Ashur,” Drake chided, “tell us about the Thundering Hills! C’mon!”

Sitting up, Ashur shrugged, “I’ll tell you one thing, but first I’ll ask you a question first. What do you know of the tales of the ‘Age of Gods and Men’?”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Most of the men looked around in confusion, shaking their heads. Dyserich raised his hand and said, “My grandma told me a few stories of the Gods, that’s about it.”

Ashur looked over to an eating Drake, who nodded, “I had… experiences in my youth with the Ashmedai north of Dayton. I’ve heard my share of stories.”

Ashur stared at him, the violet hue fading to a dark blue, the moon’s light shining brightly, “All of the stories they told you Drake, they’re all true. That’s all I’ll say…”

Drake’s eyes widened as he choked over the venison in his mouth and began to cough. His head shot North, toward the Thundering Hills, “Voids…. Okay, let’s change the topic. Tell us about your childhood. What was your mother like? Did you have any siblings?”

He laid back down, “My childhood was good, peaceful even, until it wasn’t. And here I am now.”

They all sat there silently, as if waiting for more, but he could not give them more. Those thoughts were ringing in his head again, “And the only release from them now was to sleep.”

Ashur awoke in the same spot he fell asleep in, but the world had utterly changed. Looking up at the sky, he saw fire in an eternal dance in its place, stretching as far as the eye could see. He could not feel the soft patch of grass he had gone to sleep on, but what felt like rough, scarred skin. He turned his head to see the ground had been replaced with corpses, stretching across the plains, replacing every forest and blade of grass.

Fuck.

Leaping to his feet in a flash, he unsheathed his opal blade as he saw their depthless black eyes open to him.

Sheath your blade, apprentice, a familiar voice echoed in his skull. Yes, a voice he had become well acquainted with over the years. Ashur did as he was told.

“Master,” he choked out, the heat of this realm stifling his breath.

He looked North, to the Thundering Hills. Ashur squinted his eyes as he could make out a spec of a silhouette on top of the mountain that he himself had climbed all those years ago. The Hills rumbled as they began to move closer, inch by inch, “What is happening, master?”

The spec disappeared with a hiss loud enough that Ashur could hear it from that distance, and his master appeared only a few paces in front of him in a conjoining of blood and fire from both the torched sky, and the corpses below. His master, a man wearing blood-soaked armor, with tinges of its original gold underneath. A man towering over him in size and stature, with long black hair that was braided down to his waist.

The God of War.

Alysander raised his brow slightly when Ashur did not kneel before him. Despite how close they have been while training, it still perplexed him that this boy would not. Wouldn’t a mortal, regardless of lineage, feel the need to bow before an ascendant being such as himself? But that was precisely why he liked the boy.

How goes your journey, young apprentice? It seems as though my follower has indeed let you live.

Ashur scowled at him, “You’re the reason he held back? Wasn’t he my final test?! What’s the point if a God already dictates the outcome?!”

He was not the final test, Ashur. I was wrong, he was simply the first.

“I won’t be a God’s plaything!”

Alysander’s face softened, you are not. Hear me, boy, you must get to Tyrus. Your dream has to become a reality. I will not, and I cannot interfere in this. The Phantom Folk living under Mount Teniscord, they’re planning something. Planning something and I cannot see it.

Ashur hesitated before bringing his gaze up to the Hills, “Is that why these Hills move closer?”

Yes. More and more die around these Hills, I venture deep into the earth to slay those cursed Ashmedai, but I’m not even making a dent, and the Hills move ever closer, devouring the souls of every corpse both in my realm, and yours.

“What must you have me do?”

Alysander sighed, I… Do not know. For now, set out to achieve your dream. Rebuild the Opal Kingdom to what it once was. I will venture ever deeper; I will try to slay all of them no matter their numbers. If anything, else, to buy you time and a better chance, should I fail.

“Can a God fail?”

A moment of silence passed between the two, and Alysander’s eyes told Ashur everything he needed to know.

It is an ancient evil. From the time of Gods and Men. Humanity will not believe you if you tell them this, for to them it is outlandish. Restore the Opal Kingdom.

A flood of darkness crashed into the Hills like a tidal wave, making its way to them. Not three heartbeats later, and the darkness had devoured everything in sight, leaving Ashur alone in its cold embrace. He wanted to scream in terror, but it was as if the void itself was swallowing his cries. However, he heard the faint whisper of his master despite all of it.

Restore it…

Ashur awoke with a start, sitting up immediately panting and in a cold sweat. It took a few heartbeats to feel the brisk autumn air and the blades of grass underneath him. He looked up to see the moon shining ever brightly, the night was clear, and stars lit up the sky like holes peeking into a heavenly realm. Ashur turned to face the Hills, a towering presence that one could see as far as Tyrus, but it did not look like it had actually moved. He pondered the metaphor of what that vision, or dream, meant.

What did he mean?

The camp’s fire had died out, the ash of the wood almost glittering in the moonlight. He rose to his feet and nudged Drake with his boot, stirring him awake.

“Get the men ready, Drake. Time is of the essence, and we need to move.”

“Move now? It’s still dark,” he yawned, stretching his arms and legs.

“At the pace that we’ve been going, it’ll take us at least two full days to reach the city. I want to make it there earlier; a full day of walking, and then we can rest.”

Drake rose to his feet, scratching his head. Giving a confused glance at Ashur before ultimately shrugging in resignation, he turned and started nudging everyone awake. Dyserich awoke with a start, as if the group was under attack, before calming himself. Ashur took that as typical for a young Tyrus man, for they had to remain alert at all times in case of ambush from rival gangs, cutthroats, and thieves. Moreling was already awake, leading Ashur to assume he was a naturally light sleeper. The other men quickly rose as well, and while a bit drowsy, did not complain. They all wanted to go home just as badly as Ashur.

Drake walked up to Ashur, “We’re ready when you are.”

“Good, let’s move out.”

The Dreadbird’s Host were camped out to the East of the Hills, needing to circle around them to make it to Dayton, which was on the coast North of the mountain range. They were about a day away from reaching their home, and with that, Enyalius and the men would rest until the Council’s next mission. He sat in a stool within his tent, A few candles rested on the nightstand to light his view. It was late, and the camp was dead quiet in the night. There was no need for any soldiers to work a night shift watching for enemies, no one would be foolish enough to test a Republic camp, especially from this host.

Probably another order to return to Tyrus in a few years.

Enyalius had sent word the night before via raven to Lunenmouth, capital of the Republic, to announce to the Council of their victory. He predicted that a reply would be sent to Dayton by the time he would arrive. He poured some more wine, its dark-red contents spilling into his tankard. As he brought it to his lips and gulped it down, its bitter taste burned the back of his throat and almost brought tears to his eyes, to which he simply blinked away as he swallowed. Enyalius wanted to sleep, but he hadn’t been able to since last night. He was constantly on edge since his patron’s molestation of his dream state. The heat of that realm, the horror of all of those bodies, some of which he had contributed to, and the interference of whatever had Alysander on edge, ran through his mind so much he couldn’t even fathom of sleeping. He wasn’t going to give his patron the chance to do that again. And if that wasn’t enough, thoughts of that boy with the shrieking blade, Ashur, lurked in his mind like a shadow.

You had the backing of Alysander too, which would almost make us kin in a twisted way, but you had someone else blessing you as well. What was that sword? It was like nothing I have ever seen before, the way it devoured your aura like a starving wyrm. Believe me, I will find out when I return home. The ancestors’ catacombs MUST have the answer.

Enyalius awakened out of his thoughtful trance to the sound of footsteps walking up toward his tent before stopping.

“M’lord? Are you still awake?” Mautar whispered.

“Are you alone?”

“Brargo is with me, sir.”

Enyalius grunted, “Alright. Bring stools in for the both of you.”

A few heartbeats later, and the two entered in a single file line, holding their stools in their left hands. Upon entering, they straightened their backs and saluted, the salute being a jab with their right fists into their own hearts before straightening their free arm.

“At ease, gentlemen,” Enyalius said as he waved a dismissive hand and reached for two more tankards. He poured each of them wine as they sat down.

When his tankard was filled, Mautar raised it, asking, “What shall we toast to, sir? To the end of the war?”

Enyalius nodded and raised his tankard, “To the end of the war.”

Both of them turned to Brargo, who was still silent, but ultimately raised his tankard too and muttered, “To the end of the war.”

After they all took their first gulps, Enyalius studied Brargo’s face. The most loudmouthed lad in the host, the one who seemed to be the most fearless and unchanged of them all, was silent and looking down at his drink, failing to make eye contact with him.

“Ward, what troubles you? You seemed hesitant when we toasted too.”

Brargo stared at his drink a little longer before taking another gulp and narrowing his stare directly at his general.

“It’s just that… It doesn’t really feel like we won, y’know? Sure, we defeated the enemy we were tasked with, but then a wildcard just showed up and defeated you. Defeated you, sir. I never thought anyone else was like you, and I certainly never thought it possible for you to lose. All of the men, sir… They feel like they did when we were fighting in the city: miserable, dejected, angry. It doesn’t feel like we won at all.”

Mautar was silent out of respect for his liege, but the look on his face spoke in agreement. He was never good at hiding his emotions, even when trying. Brargo was the only one to speak bluntly in his presence, something that Enyalius greatly regarded. To Brargo and Mautar’s surprise, Enyalius actually nodded in agreement.

“Aye, it does seem like that, but I saved us from an incomprehensible fate,” Enyalius stood up and walked to the closed entrance to the tent. He stuck his head out and looked around, seeing empty campfires scattered around the entire site.

Alright, so everyone DID retire for the night. Good, it’s time.

Walking back and plopping into his stool, he poured himself another tankard of wine and downed it in only a handful of gulps.

“I lost before he even entered our camp, gentlemen. A God visited me in my dreams when I retired after the battle, threatening me with his wrath, as well as the wrath of another God, should I slay that boy before he reached his first destination.”

Mautar’s brow rose in bemusement, and Brargo eyes widened as his mouth was agape. Enyalius felt like he was frozen in time until Brargo grabbed the bottle of wine with desperation and drank from it without even bothering to pour into the tankard. Mautar sat there, eyeing the dirt as he held his hand out for Brargo to hand him the bottle like a baton pass. He filled his tankard until it overflowed, then drained it and poured again, “So what you’re saying m’lord, is that your own God, the one your family has followed generations, would have wiped us all off this damned earth if you won?”

“Precisely,” Enyalius slightly winced at the ridiculousness of it all. It truly was a story no other man would believe.

“I need to drown myself in ale and women,” Brargo muttered, “What a fucking couple of nights we’ve had, aye? How am I gonna spin this to the men?”

Enyalius sighed, running his hands through his hair, “Fuck, I don’t know. Divine intervention? Mercy?”

Brargo thought for a moment, “Mercy. You wanted him to join our army, so you did not wish to harm him.”

Mautar nodded, “we’ll say the bastard went all out while you held back. Technically, it’s not a lie.”

Enyalius walked outside to the chest resting right outside his tent. The camp was still dead silent, the campfires producing dim lights without anyone to stoke the flames. He opened the chest and grabbed another bottle of wine, then entered his tent.

“Very well, gentlemen.”

He sat back down in his stool, and uncorked the bottle, re-filling his tankard with wine.

“Another thing,” Enyalius said as he leaned forward in his stool, clutching his tankard with both hands as his arms rested on his thighs, “We return home tomorrow. I don’t want one word leaking out that Oremir and the Opal Dragons brass escaped into the Hills. The Republic has eyes everywhere, even in Dayton, and should they hear the truth, they might even send us back there to fish the bastards out. You know how they’ve wanted their pounds of flesh.”

Mautar nodded pensively, “Aye, I’ll tell the men to forget all about that final day. Hell, I think they’re trying their damndest to do that already.”

“Good, now off with the two of you. It’s time I try to get some sleep, we have a long day of marching ahead of us at first light.”

Mautar and Brargo stood and saluted, to which Enyalius stood and saluted them back, “Thank you. Both of you.”

Both men nodded as they eased, before sharply spinning around and leaving the tent.

Aerith laid in her tub with her eyes closed as maidservants scrubbed at her arms and feet with soaped up brushes. Her room was large and lavish, behind her was her enormous bed, with dressers and paintings lining the walls of the immense room. Twenty paces to her right were a fireplace blazing so hot that she could feel its heat kissing her cheek. In front of her was a large oval window, the moon shining so bright that she didn’t even need candles; the fireplace and moonlight were more than enough to enlighten the room. Minny opened the door and entered, before locking it behind her.

“We’ve spotted the guests across the horizon, m’lady. Reports from the countryside spotted about a dozen horses entering our lands.”

“And my uncle?”

Minny shook her head, “No sign of him or his wyvern in the skies m’lady.”

Wyverns, it made Aerith’s skin crawl just thinking about how a man like that managed to find such a beast. The descendants of the great dragons that she had read about in stories, wyverns while not having the ability to breathe fire, and not the same size as their parents, were just as ferocious. Her Uncle was the true scion of their House, in both birthright and power. Her sister was blessed with a brilliant ability of foresight, but her uncle had more practical abilities. His strength made him among the most valuable assets to the military forces of the Republic, and they matched his cunning. A man who always schemed, who mocked the little game while playing the long one.

Where in his travels did, he ever come across that beast.

Aerith rose from her bath, her maidservants ceasing their brushing and bowing slightly. Her naked body felt the slight chill of the room’s air, and she stepped out of the tub to dry herself in front of the fireplace. She could feel the eyes of her servants following her as she turned her back, analyzing the sway of her full hips as she walked.

“You’re dismissed, all of you except for Minny,” she said, not taking her eyes off of the fire.

She heard the sound of their footsteps and the opening and closing of the door before she heard Minny ask, “What will you wear tonight, m’lady?”

“The silver dress, Minny.”

“The one with the golden neck brace? Aye, I always thought it brightened your hair, m’lady. Makes you look like the pictures I saw of the murals I saw of the Sun Queen.”

Aerith thought of that for a moment. Yes, the Sun Queen was a queen indeed, but she wasn’t always. Her family was born into status, but she had to claw her way up to noticeability for the Sun King to take notice. She had seduced him into marrying her, where she became one of the most beloved figures in Tegon lore. Even the Republic found it to be political suicide to erase her legacy. Void, some writers from that time even credit her for the usurpation of her husband and the birth of the Republic itself. The Sun Queen epitomized power in a woman in this nation, especially for the elite.

And power is what I need to convey.

Zoning out as she watched the light film of water dry into pellets, then as the pellets dried off her skin, she heard a knock at the door, her father’s voice muffled behind her large wooden door.

“Child, our guests have arrived in the city. They will be here within the hour.”

“Very well, I’ll be ready to greet them by the time they meet the keep,” She called out.

Aerith spun around to meet Minny, who had the dress resting across both of her forearms. Putting it on was an easy process, Aerith did not have large breasts, so there was no discomfort up there when she slipped into it. The dress had once been Aurora’s who was only slightly bigger than her, but the dress looked slim on her still, and the slight bagginess in the back and tightness in the front showed her form in a provocative manner. Looking in the mirror, she could see her whole body outlined within the dress, her full hips attracting her gaze the most. Latching on the gold brace around her neck to keep the dress up, Minny looked at Aerith in the mirror with an astonished look on her face.

“Beautiful, m’lady… I’ve never seen a woman look so beautiful in my life. Not even your sister was able to look this royal,” Minny whispered with glassy eyes.

Aerith blushed, her cheeks matching her auburn hair, “Thank you Minny, I am inclined to agree. I wear this dress much better than my sister!”

Both giggled a bit before Minny walked over to the makeup dresser to their right, “Do you wish for a powdering, m’lady?”

Aerith shook her head, “Just some lip gloss will do.”

Nodding, Minny grabbed the lip gloss and walked over to Aerith, lightly slathering her lips with it. Looking in the mirror to see her lips glitter in the moonlight, Aerith smiled for the first time since noon. She always loved to dress up, and more so to look pretty. She adored the look of herself. Her older brothers used to call her a narcissist, but she never paid much attention to them. If they looked half as good as she did, then they would be a bit arrogant as well.

“I’m off Minny, I want your eyes and ears peeled for anything and everything that goes on tonight.”

“Aye, as you wish m’lady.” Minny said with a smile.

Walking down the stone carved stairs, one hand resting on the handrails, Aerith could see her father talking to two of the guards. As his gaze left them temporarily and reached hers, he nearly jumped in a start, eyes widening. The guards both turned their heads to her before their mouths dropped, and they were forced to snap their heads back to Rainmere. She giggled internally as she caught one of the guards double take to her, skin pale beneath his helm as if he had just seen a ghost.

Her father met her at the bottom of the stairs, “Aurora’s dress?” he whispered almost with a rasp, “Void, those horse lords won’t take ‘no’ for an answer now.”

She wrapped her arm around his as they walked to the keep’s door, “If this dress was enough to get your intoxicated self to fluster, father, then they won’t know what hit them. I’ll hold the power from the moment they lay eyes on me.”

Rainmere stiffened, “I’m not high at the moment, Aerith. And I’m sorry, it was just the news that he was coming… Fuck, I hate that man.”

Aerith’s shoulders slightly sagged at her father’s apology. She knew it was hard on him as it was that she was the only family he had left in the keep, hell the city. She also knew how much of a bastard her uncle is, and how his torment of her father will only exasperate him more once she is finally married off. Her father was weak, she knew that, but she also knows how hard he tries.

I won’t leave you yet, father. I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to stop these snakes from poisoning our family anymore.

She heard a horn sing from outside the large entrance of the keep, signaling that the horse lords had arrived. The door opened, and she saw a hundred paces worth of soldiers lined up on each side of the cobblestone road that led from the keep’s gate to where she was, and two men on their horses in front of a carriage. One of the men hopped off his horse, he had a long, well-kept beard that went all the way up his cheeks to his ears. He had short brown hair and was wearing the regal green garbs of his house. A pair of swords was strapped to the man’s waist, one on each hip. Aerith could tell that he was going to make his way to the carriage, but he had stopped what he was doing upon taking in the sight of her and paused for a moment. He grinned and nodded before making his way to the carriage. The other man, around her age, had a sharp face, was clean shaven, and had long brown hair that covered a part of his face. He had an amused look in his eyes, and after a few heartbeats delivered a crooked smile. He was wearing a dark green garb with the crest of his sigil, a black horse on an emerald background, on his chest. He stepped down from his horse and walked with a cocky sway that gave her unease.

Aerith swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, as she broke from his gaze to return to the older man, who had opened the carriage and let out a young woman in a dark blue garb that looked black in the night. Aerith made it out to be her sister, a woman with glowing light blue eyes and cherry colored hair that dazzled in the moonlight when she wrapped her arm around the older man’s right arm as he led the three to the keep’s entrance. In her robes, she looked just as regal as Aerith, an observation that boiled Aerith’s fury. Having always played as her second in everything growing up, Aerith’s resentment became clear on her face as her cheeks flushed in anger.

As the trio walked up to them, Rainmere looked to Aerith, before bellowing, “Welcome, Horse Lords of Midland, and Seer of Wemnoth! It is an honor to have you in our keep! Come! You must be tired from your long journey!”

The three came within three paces of Rainmere and Aerith, with the old man giving a slight bow out of respect, “I thank you for your hospitality, governor. Long have I wanted to make your acquaintance. My name is Osferth, the Lord of Midland,” he rose and straightened his back as he turned to the younger man to his left, “and this is my youngest son, Owin.”

He then gestured to the woman who was wrapped around her arm, but she had let go and clasped her hands behind her back.

“And no introduction is made for me,” she said flatly, “Hello father, and hello to you as well sister.”

Aerith’s eyes danced with a bemused fiery anger. Her sister had been gone for years, and that was how she had greeted the family she loved? Aurora had been a cheerful girl, and was cheerfully oblivious at the insecurity her sister had felt when they were children. She loved her family more than anything, Aerith remembered her weeping as the Covenant stole her from her home. Now, she saw no love in Aurora’s eyes, only a dullness behind the shine that sparkled on the outside. In her voice, she heard no joy, but an ambivalence that almost bordered on disdain. It was then that Aerith’s face softened as she realized that this was the cause of those damned Seers.

“Welcome home, Aurora. You look well,” Aerith said, giving a slight nod to her.

What did the Covenant do to claw the life from you, sister?

Before they could say anymore, they heard a high-pitched shriek coming from the skies as a wyvern descended from the clouds. It’s black form parting the clouds as it dived towards the keep. Rainmere stiffened, and Aerith looked to see her father’s face had paled and started to sweat.

“Fuck me, his timing is just perfect,” he whispered to her while Osferth and Owin lifted their heads. Osferth’s face was flat as stone, but he muttered a curse at the beast and the Council, and Owin gaped in awe before chuckling something to himself. Aurora however kept her eyes on Aerith, and Aerith could see that her sister had something on her mind. Something that said, we must talk in private, when all this is done.

Soldiers fled to either side of the keep’s walls as the wyvern landed on the cobblestone road in front of the carriage. The horses neighed frantically at the beast as it roared at them, forcing them to scatter in the direction of the soldiers. A man came down off of the wyvern’s back, taking off his royal purple cloak to reveal a simple black tunic. The man’s hair was brown with gray streaks, and his face was lined with wrinkles, yet he walked as nimbly as a large cat. His hazel eyes didn’t glow like Aurora’s, but they pierced Aerith’s soul with something more intense. They blazed with amusement as he didn’t take his eyes off of his brother, and he delivered a toothy grin as he walked to the group in front of him.

“Good of you not to start without me, brother!” He laughed as he embraced Rainmere in a hug. He held the hug until Rainmere started to squirm before saying, “Or was this Aerith’s idea? She’s been your brain since that pathetic wife of yours passed, aye?”

“We did no such thing, you’re just a master at timing, aren’t you Uncle?” She pointedly asked, “Guess we have the wyvern to thank for that, aye?”

Uncle released the hug, towering over his brother as he established a dominant glare over him, “Don’t you look ravishing, my dear,” he said without even looking at her, “Aurora wore that dress on the day I brought the Covenant, didn’t they? Trying to show us that you’re the leader of this family now?”

“You were awfully eager to make your way here on such short notice, problems in Lunenmouth?” She jabbed back, “I heard there were problems in that war to the West. Yet with all the renown and prowess that you possess, you hid in the capital and refused to lend aid,” Aerith then snickered, “Like a coward.”

She could see that she had gotten under his skin now, for he had unnervingly chuckled to himself. He had lived with them long enough for Aerith to catch a few of his mannerisms, and how he hated any and all slights to his character, like a true narcissist.

“I actually bring news on that, little second, as well as some more,” he said, finally leaving her father to face her. He towered at least five heads higher than she did, and he leaned over her like a child inspecting an insect, “Come, let’s go inside and chat.”