“While I was rising in the east, making a name for myself, our neighboring state was suffering from their own troubles. As I reach what will become the twilight of my life, I will be honest in my sentiments toward Midland: I detest that land. One of my only defeats lay on the blood soaked plains of that state, and what I had to endure was horrible. The future that was almost given to me makes my body tremble with fear and rage to this very day. If it were not for Mau, Drake, and the others I would not be here today. However, while my stomach turns at the very thought of the land and some of its nobles, none worth mentioning in depth in my eyes, I can at least take solace in all that came afterward. The conception of my firstborn, my beloved son, the evolution of my army, the evolution of my powers, the display of loyalty shown to me by those I thought would have abandoned me when things got difficult, and my dear wife, who stood by and continues to stand by my side. The people of Midland, I soon came to learn, would become dear to me too, hardy people like my own who understood my quest, and welcomed me into their arms. I have scars from Midland, yes, but today I’m happy to say that I can count those scars as blessings.”

“‘The Telling of My Travels’ Volume I, Written by King Ashur the ‘Wind Wyrm’”

The dark red light that emanated from the sky peered through Enyalius’ window like rays of blood. He was alone, sweating in his bed, as he watched in horror as the blood congealed into the form of a giant man. The silhouette of a man grew color around his neck and face as the blood formed into his patron Alysander. Upon meeting the fiery glare in his eyes, he felt as if the room was lit up in an invisible flame with the heat of the room rising to palpable levels. His sweat sizzled off of his skin, and Enyalius felt all the moisture in his mouth evaporate as well with him feeling his throat crack as he tried to cry out to the god.

“The cries of war echo through your home, follower,” Alysander’s voice scratched like talons on wood. The sound of his voice in this realm always gave Enyalius a sense of extreme discomfort, and he continued, “I hear all of them follower, but I they are all cries of disdain and cries of depression and rage.”

His throat felt like the tip of a knife poking the back of his throat as he swallowed and left his bed to drop to one knee, but he did it anyway and started, “This damned government of ours, patron, it demands our return to Tyrus.”

“Tyrus? Most of the city is rubble and the rest of it is in chaos thanks to you and your host,” snarled Alysander as he bared his teeth at Enyalius like a wild animal, “You dare call this slaughter a war? It is a mere mockery of one, a brutal systematic killing!”

For a brief moment, Enyalius could not understand why Alysander was here in the first place. But after a few heartbeats, the realization dawned on him.

‘The boy you trained,’ he thought, ‘you rage at his safety…’

“Patron,” he croaked, searching for an answer to his thoughts, “Why do you care so much for this city? Is it your young apprentice that has you so vexed?”

“What vexes me is none of your concern, Enyalius,” the god snapped at him. After a moment, he calmed down and turned his back to Enyalius and muttered, “My sight blurs with each passing day, all I know is that an army of black fire will reach him. I never foresaw a human host to arrive beforehand… I must warn him..”

Enyalius rose and tried to clear his throat which caught Alysander’s attention, “My family has been one of your only loyal followers on this continent for thousands of years. You can trust me, warn who? Ashur?”

Alysander bared his teeth once more before having a look of hesitation on his face. The two stood in silence for a time before the god replied, “Aye, Tyrus is to be the first battleground, Enyalius. Ashur… He is there as we speak investigating what lies beneath the city, the boy’s already starting to form a host of his own.”

Enyalius’ eyes widened incredulously at this prospect, “A host of his own? But most of the formidable men fought under Oremir, what army is there to form in that ruined city?”

“One so far that looks to be made up of many women and children,” Enyalius was shocked to see the god cringe as he made that remark before continuing, “He’s got some hardened veterans on his side, and he’s smart enough to know not to send women and children onto a battlefield.”

Alysander looked down at Enyalius, “Don’t expect this to happen again, but an apology from me to you must occur. I am stretched thin, my dear follower, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold back the tidal wave of destruction that is to come. This ‘war’ between you and Ashur, it must not happen. It cannot happen.”

“I wish to obey you,” Enyalius replied as he stared at the black blood stained on the god’s crimson plated armor, “But I’m going to need more details. I have a chance at making a better life for my people, and all we have to do is trample an already defeated opponent. If not, then they’ll suffer the fate their ancestors have suffered from the Sun King’s sundering up until my visit to Lunenmouth. I will not allow that to happen.”

Alysander's eyes grew sullen as he spoke in a somber tone, “Ashur is preparing for a war with the Phantom Folk, and in only a single night has laid the foundations of a host to defend his home. I will be too occupied to invoke wrath upon you, but you have three options to make a choice,” he raised his fist and lifted one finger, “You can choose to remain at home with your army, forsaking the pathetic Republic you willingly enslave yourself to, but you give Ashur and Tyrus a chance to eliminate the threat that lurks in the Thundering Hills.”

He lifted a second finger, “Your second option, you leave for Tyrus once your host has completed mobilization and you complete the task that your government has assigned you.”

Finally, he lifted his third finger, “The last option, you ally yourself with the lad and his host and fight off the Phantom Folk, but brand yourself a rebel and risk the safety of your home.”

‘The second option seems to be the safest,’ Enyalius thought, ‘I’m meant to ship the people of Tyrus to the east, not slaughter all of them. I can save most of them from the Phantom Folk, and upon entering as a councilmember, I’ll be able to prepare us for the real war to come.’

Even though he had already made his decision, Enyalius decided not to announce it to the god who patiently awaited his response. Several moments passed before Enyalius replied, “I’ll have to think about it and confer with my family and friends before I make a decision, patron. Then, and only then, will I be able to make a decision that would be for the best of us all.”

Enyalius’ blood went cold as Alysander’s patient stare morphed into a venomous, enraged glare. He could tell that the god had expected an immediate answer so his frustration terrified Enyalius even more once he realized that the god’s impatience was truly a troubling sign. The god of war calmed himself by shutting his eyes and taking a few deep breaths before starting, “The shadows of the Age of Gods and Men have decided to emerge, follower. The problem that lies before us is that there are no more gods for man to count on. Their realms are their own, separate from mine, and while a few still walk this earth, I have no means of getting into contact with them. Man’s greatest mistake was in the genocide of the Ashmedai that remained outside the mountains.”

Darkness filled the room and enveloped Enyalius when Alysander disappeared, chills ran through his spine and covered him a frigid sweat at the god of war’s parting rasp.

“Now, I fear man will be alone in this conflict, and all that we fought for will be for naught.”

Enyalius awoke in his room, the hearth lit enough that he could feel its warmth from his bed, Alissa was asleep next to him. However, despite the warmth of the room, he could not stop shivering.

Ashur stood outside an entrance to one of the many tunnels in the city with Mau and Dyserich. He had sent Drake and Danel along with a score of other men that ranged from militiamen to volunteer men and women that were rescued in the raid two nights before to scour all of the tunnels south of the river. However, the tunnel before him specifically sparked interest for him in particular. As they studied the map the day before in the cavernous tavern, there were many tunnels highlighted in red ink, but the only one to be highlighted and circled was the one that laid slightly east of the West Docks. It stretched as far south as the Farshade, which was along the city line west of The Fairs. He wrapped his feathered cloak around himself as he winced at the bitter wind that blew from the coast. This entrance was a feint in truth, the three lads stood staring at a well that was relatively unused for its dirty water, but they knew that within that well led the path, a path that could lead them to whoever was responsible for the kidnappings.

“Ugh,” Dyserich shuddered as he stared down the well, “We’re gonna freeze down there. How do we know that this is the entrance and not somewhere else?”

“He’s got a point Ashur,” remarked Mau, “If this isn’t the entrance, we can be trapped down there.”

Ashur rolled his eyes as he scoffed, “Both of you, quit your complaining. The well is small enough that we can climb back up,” he turned to Mau, “Light the torch and give it to me, I’ll go first.”

Mau nodded, and while he lit the torch, Ashur pulled at the well’s rope in order to lift the bucket from down below. Once the torch was handed to him, he gently let the bucket back down. He was surprised that the well was so deep, for he could hardly see the torchlight from so far above. This didn’t deter him however, and he grabbed the rope and prepared to slide down.

“Don’t put too much pressure on the rope,” Ashur muttered as he split both of his legs apart so that his boots hit each side of the well’s casing that surrounded him and proceeded to slide down. Looking downward as he slid, he saw that the well’s casing stopped for the last 5 feet, and he was forced to dive into the water next to the bucket. The water was ice cold, making Ashur’s heartbeat skyrocket and his breath almost get taken away. Some of the water entered his mouth, and he tasted an intense amount of iron. His head emerged from the water and his eyes stung when he opened them. Keeping himself afloat, Ashur saw that the torch was still resting in the bucket, and had not fallen into the water.

“Ok,” Ashur gasped as he tried to shout, “Come on!”

A few moments later, Ashur saw Dyserich flail into the water, and not too long after him, Mau did the same. In the darkness, they found their way to Ashur’s torch, and they slowly swam south. They swam about two hundred paces before the water began to fall from their shoulders to their waists. As it got more shallow, Ashur brought the torch close to his body in an attempt to dry his clothes. By the time the three hit dry land, they saw two rows of sconces with unlit torches mounted within them. Teeth chattering, Mau and Dyserich stumbled over one another to grab the first torches they saw, and with some help from Ashur, had their own torches lit. Shivering, an idea sprouted in Ashur’s head.

If I can generate enough wind through an emission, maybe I can instantaneously dry my clothing.

“One of you,” he called out to the other two, “Hold my torch and turn your back to me, I want to try something out.”

Mau grabbed Ashur’s torchlight and did what he was told, and Ashur squatted as he flexed every muscle he could. He felt the heat in his chest rising, and that heat began to spread through the rest of his body. He loosened the tension in his muscles with a massive exhale of breath, and his life-spark exploded in a torrent of wind that emanated from his body very quickly before he focused it to his eyes in an attempt to cut it off. He felt the moisture on his skin and within his tunic and trousers blast off of his body in all directions. Retrieving his torch from Mau, he held his light over his friend’s torch and began to study the wood.

It lights very easily, and despite being in an area with a large body of water, the wood hasn’t rotted yet. Someone must have been here…

As if reading his thoughts, Mau nodded, “Aye, I noticed too. You think our man is here?”

“No,” Ashur replied, “We’re here for my curiosity.”

“Your curiosity?” Dyserich asked with a bemused look, “People are being kidnapped and you diverge from the plan because you’re curious?”

“No,” Ashur said flatly, “It’s all part of a greater plan. You saw the map last night, why was this the only one to be circled? This could be a chance for you to get answers. Now, let’s move forward and see what we find.”

“Answers?” Dyserich whispered, “What answers could I possibly be looking for?”

Ashur looked at him with a genuinely confused face, like he was surprised he had to spell it out for him. “Who’s map is this?”

“Valan’s…” Dyserich said as his eyes widened, Ashur watched him slap his palm to the front of his face as if he realized his idiocy, “I’m cold, I wasn’t thinking straight Ashur.” Ashur grinned at this and chuckled to himself, but Mau’s bellowing echoed down the tunnel.

Aerith sat at the desk in her room reading all night until the sun reached high noon the next day. She waited for a time after she had reached her quarters for Willem to return from his endeavor into his family’s crypts for a tome ancient enough to hold the information she sought for their god. Since his return, she had combed through every line of text within the first quarter of the enormous book. It was almost as large as her desk, and the text was almost ant-like in its compactness. The tome, A History of Our Goddess Igyn: A Systematic Analysis of Her Bestowed Knowledge by Norgrod Sevada, is as cut and dry as its title. The portion Aerith had read had much to do before the time of man, dating back to the birth of the Ashmedai. Such knowledge was held to the Ashmedai and them alone, and no man would have been giving such knowledge of the Goddess’ birth and youth without her consent.

She had never learned of the stories during the Age of Gods and Men or the stories of their pantheon, for the only books and tomes in her father’s study dated back to the second age at the earliest. However, this tome alone which resided in the Sevada crypts covered histories that were lost thousands of years before the Age of Man. Aerith had so many questions, and would have remained in her room until her mind devoured and analyzed every ounce of text. But alas, she heard a knock on her door, and she only had enough time to throw a piece of cloth over the enormous book before her soon to be mother-in-law barged in with a snobbish look.

“I didn’t say you could come in yet,” gasped Aerith, hurriedly walking up toward Nazli in an attempt to block her view from the covered tome. The middle aged woman who loomed a head taller than Aerith looked down at her, studying the girl’s breathless demeanor. Aerith knew that whatever she did would not be enough to prevent Nazli from leaving no stone unturned in tearing the room apart to see what she was doing before her arrival. She stretched her long neck to the right and her gaze moved to the desk, where the tome bulged out from underneath the cloth.

“What is that,” she hissed, and before Aerith could come up with an excuse she was pushed aside as Nazli effortlessly glided to the desk in her black dress. Nazli removed the sheet to reveal the tome and shot an ice cold glare at Aerith, “You stole this? A tome this large would only be found in our… Our crypts.”

A thin smile creaked up the Lady of Midland’s face as she seemed to be laughing to herself when she murmured, “My husband is going to have to hear about this.”

Despite the warmth from the blood rushing up to her cheeks, Aerith’s body and mind froze. This lady wanted nothing more than an opportunity to oust her from Midland and have her returning back to Balowardshire looking like a fool. She felt sick at the utter thought of what she had to do in order to preserve herself.

I’m so sorry Willem. You have been so kind to me, but I will do what I must.

Aerith cleared her throat as she straightened her posture and said, “Your son brought it to me.”

“Well, after I speak to Osferth about both of your transgressions, I’ll have Willem return it,” Nazli snorted as she closed the tome. Upon doing so, she read the cover and froze.

“Why are you reading about our Goddess,” she whispered with eyes fixated on the title on the cover.

Aerith folded her arms, “I wanted to learn about the goddess of this land. If this is to be my home, then the least I should do is gain a greater knowledge of the goddess and her history and miracles.”

“It’s been almost two decades since I’ve seen you,” Nazli whispered to the book as she caressed the hard leather cover with the back of her hand. It was as if, for a few brief moments, she had forgotten Aerith was even in the room before snapping back to her senses.

She turned to Aerith with a slightly softer gaze, “If you wanted to learn more of her merciful and benevolent nature, you should have come to me.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A genuine smile appeared on her face, “Well, you’ve certainly done that child.”

Nazli walked to the open doorway, “My husband and sons will escort you around the city now. A proper introduction to some of the people has seemed to be in order. I believe your sister will join you as well. Now, enough with the impressions. It is time for you to get dressed.”

“So you won’t tell the lord?” asked Aerith.

Nazli shook her head, “In this case, what he does not know will not hurt him. Now. get dressed,” and with that she shut the door.

Arshuc loved the feeling of flying above the clouds on Grandryt. As a child, his grandmother had told him the stories of the great dragons from the Age of Gods and Men. Tales of the days when all of the land in the world was once one, and the dragons unleashed terror unto the world. The blessed woman told these stories to him before bed in the hope that they would frighten him, wording them in ways that seemed to threaten children who did not obey their parents or the rules of their tribe and house. However, those stories did the opposite of him, for Arshuc grew up awestruck by the great dragons and their gods. The fact that beasts that were so ancient had the thought to worship gods in general was enticing enough, but he later learned that they had done more than just believe. Scattered across the deserts of the Samiran continent, remnants of giant temples once intricately crafted can be found. He had found them during his own travels, and it led him to believe that the deserts that cover most of the continent arrived after the Age of Gods and Men.

After the shattering of the world at the end of the climactic final battle between the light and dark, the great dragons returned to their cities and died off for unknown reasons. Arshuc concluded that their deaths were the product of the waning power of the void gods, but it still did not explain the birthing of wyrms and wyverns. It was as if the great dragons had split their most valuable assets, the ability to fly and the ability to breathe flame to the siblings in their species. The wyrms were larger than their wyvern brethren, but less intelligent, more ferocious, and unable to fly. They breed underneath the volcanoes in the Samiran continent before moving on to the untouched depths of the deserts, feeding off of the heat that the sands soak in from the sun. Wyverns had moved on from their homeland entirely, forming colonies around the world. It is believed that the Sun King killed off most of the ones residing in both Tegon and Samir, forcing the survivors to flee from both continents.

More than anything, Arshuc’s curiosity for the beasts peaked upon learning of the Sundering, and the rise of the product dragonsteel. He felt no guilt or shame in fleeing from his home. The anger in his father and the sadness of his mother and brother meant very little to him, for his passion lied in the mystery of what happened to the ancient powers. Although he would doubt himself from time to time since finding out his grandmother had passed in his time away, he would find solace in the fact that he found those answers for her just as much as himself.

And what I learned has changed everything. The darkness had been reborn, for however long, I am not sure. But the void has returned, that much I am certain.

His travels were legendary in the east for his numerous accomplishments. Samirans had called him ‘The Sun King Reborn’ for his feats in their ‘Royale of Heirs’. Riakosend was prized to only the rich and to those of noble blood within Samir, and being a Tegonian meant he had no right to the material at all, yet they had no choice but to gift him the armor of the prince he had slayed to place another on the throne. The smithing of the dragonsteel took many months to produce, but with his powers, he had walked out with the armor in a day. The incredibly light and form fitting material was something he has rarely taken off since receiving. The boost in his stamina, his speed, his natural strength, as well as what seemed like his own boost in life-spark was addictive. It was with this full body armor that he went into Volux and the Yuzuan Archipelagos with the mindset of not just the reincarnation of a king, but that of a god.

Through the marriage of his life-spark and high noble blood with the dragonsteel, he had been able to walk through the worst of the Raging Frontier untouched by the untamable wyrms, but upon leaving Samir, it had taken him almost two years to find any trace of wyverns. Volux had proved to be a pointless venture, for they had no places for the dragonspawn to reside peacefully. None of the common folk had so much as heard a story of one, and the farmers had no reports of one stealing their livestock. Ironbears and eelhounds, yes, but not even a glimpse of a dragon-like beast. Yezuan though, that was where he found what he needed.

The Yezuan emperor had tried to imprison Arshuc upon his arrival onto the capital island, but to no success. Arshuc at this point in his travels, well used to his armor and abilities had threatened to set the continent on fire should he be attacked, but to his surprise, the emperor was a great negotiator. He had received news in advance to their meeting that Arshuc sought a wyvern, and was willing to point him in the direction of an entire colony of them on the condition that he aid them in annihilating rival houses. The only consequence in Arshuc’s eyes was that he had spared none on that island, which wasn’t so much of a consequence as it was a learning experience. Through his lengthy experience in combat and emitting his life-spark, the heat of his sun-flame was hot enough to ignite the atmosphere if he so willed it. To this day, he has refused to test the maximum capabilities of his powers, because he did not know how that would have an effect on himself. Would he burn so hot that he would turn even himself to ash? Even now he still assumed that the feverishness of his flame would be suicide. He learned to limit his power as his life-spark grew, and only powered up to what is necessary enough to kill. He was taught by his grandmother that the more a life-spark is emitted, the greater its potential becomes. From the heir of the Sun King, restraint in not annihilating everything was the most important lesson he could learn, even more important than more power. After all, only a small amount of his power is truly needed to display his godly dominance.

Following his mission, the Yezuan emperor held his end of the bargain and directed Arshuc to the wyvern nest deep in their mountains. He had stayed there for a year, providing warmth for the wyvern egg until it hatched, and helping nurture the winged snakeling until it was large enough to carry him on his back. He grew quickly in his first year, but the growth has been incremental in the time since. It humored him to think that the emperor thought the beasts would avoid him, and the look on the old man’s face when Arshuc returned on the back of Grandryt is a golden memory that he’s held onto for twenty years.

The true power and superiority he felt arrived for their first battle. Flying on the wyvern’s back over a battlefield filled him with such joy as he would unleash his flame on the enemy. Separate, they were just individuals of their species, but together they formed a true child of the great dragons of old. Grandryt served as his wings, and Arshuc served as the wyvern’s flame. Together, they were a god in this world of man.

‘When will we reach our destination, father?’ A rasp breached in his mind, ‘I am hungry.’

“You’re always hungry, Grandryt,” Arshuc chuckled as he patted his mount on the side.

‘I am still growing, father,’ Grandryt echoed in his mind, ‘I can feel it.’

“Over twenty years together and you’re still growing. I still remember when you were the size of my forearm, now you’re the size of a hut.”

‘By the time I reach my full size, you will have departed from this world, father.’

“Maybe, my child. Alas, let’s not think that far ahead. We still have plenty of time together in the here and now. Descend so you can feed, but do not overindulge. Two to three sheep is fine, but any more from a herd can cause issues for me with the people.”

He felt Grandryt’s groan reverberate through his thick scaled body as he telepathically rasped, ‘Three will not be enough for me, for my hunger continues to grow!’

“Then pick two from separate herds until your hunger is satiated,” Arshuc snapped at him, “Steal a horse or a cow too, I don’t care! Just leave the herds intact, and keep me distanced from all of this. I’d rather hear of a report that a wild wyvern has entered Midland than a report of a wyvern-rider!”

Grandryt roared in a response which Arshuc took as a begrudging agreement before descending below the clouds and gliding over the vast farmland below. The wyvern’s eyesight was eagle-like in that they were able to spot prey from so high up in the sky, and made a plummet downward toward the plains below where he soon spotted a herd of sheep. The beast’s shadow, which looked like the size of a coin from where they were previously, grew larger as the herd panicked in a cloud of darkness below them. The sheep attempted to flee as the wyvern slowed his descent to a halt before gliding after them, but only ran a few paces before one of them was plucked out of the herd as Grandryt pulled back up and sped up his flight. The caught sheep bleated out its last cries, talons dug into its midsection before dying in Grandryt’s clawed fist.

“Grandryt!” Arshuc shouted in his mind, “What did I tell you just now?! You were to let me off somewhere secluded before you went for your hunt?”

The wyvern’s voice sounded as if he was sulking at his father’s tone, ‘We were so fast father, it’s not like anyone saw us.’

“You risk too much!”

‘I am sorry.’

Arshuc sighed before spotting the start of a small forest ahead of them, “Just drop me off ahead of those trees, child. You still have much to learn insofar as patience and obedience it seems. You risk jeopardizing this mission with your actions if I was spotted.”

‘Yes father, I am sorry.’

The wyvern glided down to the front of the forest, where he rested on his bipedal legs and let the dead sheep slide off of his slick talons. Arshuc waited until Grandryt rested on all four limbs before dismounting and sliding down the wyvern’s hard scaled body. He stared into the dead eyes of the sheep with a scowl, if word gets to the council about my presence this far west, that could throw annoyances my way. All for some damned sheep he could have hunted after letting me off. Voidic fuck, such foolishness isn’t excluded to just men and Ashmedai.

He grabbed the sheep by the hoof and began to drag it toward the entrance to the forest.

‘Are you cooking that, father?’ Grandryt asked. Arshuc turned to see the beast cocking its head, and watched it cower slightly upon meeting his glare. It had been a while since he raised his voice or disciplined Grandryt in any way, so it was good to see the beast so shaken upon his disappointment.

“Aye,” he spat as he continued to drag, “Go on, hunt. I will be awaiting your return.”

As Grandryt flew off and Arshuc approached the first line of trees, he released his grip on the dead animal. Aiming his palm toward the sheep, the sleeve of the black cloak he had been wearing had slightly revealed the faint green body armor he had been wearing underneath. He sighed as he closed his eyes and began to emit his life-spark. The growing flame felt cool in his chest, and shot a chilled wave across his body and down his right arm until tiny sparks of fire began flashing in his hand. Opening his eyes, he tightened the muscles in his arm for a split second to increase the intensity of the spark into a ball of fire. Taking a deep breath, a beam of condensed flame shot out of his palm and lit a circle of fire on the animal’s midsection. It quickly spread across the sheep from its wool, and in a few moments the whole animal was lit ablaze. Arshuc leaned on one of the trees, ignoring the fire. He could care less if it burned to a crisp, for charred meat was the easiest for wyverns to digest and he wasn’t hungry. He took out a map of Tyrus and studied the tunnels. He had received a letter via raven the night before from Kibair in regard to the rise of a new gang and the fall of the one aiding him in the slave trade. They are to meet in person outside one of the tunnels near Smugglers Lane, the one that leads outside the city lines. There, he intends to learn every detail of what transpired that night in the old Citadel.

The three lads encountered a large circular room halfway through the tunnel, its walls lined in small, strange carvings etched into the solid walls. Ahead of them lay the hall that would eventually lead them toward the tunnel’s exit, but these carvings on the wall had all three’s attention.

Mau held a torch to the symbols, looking puzzled as he looked at Ashur who was standing beside, “Do you know what this reminds me of?”

“Mother’s teachings,” whispered Ashur as he nearly choked on the words. His mother didn’t teach them much of how to read in the present day language and text, the three children were forced to learn all of that when they had no choice but to survive off of the city. But, she did teach them the basics of the Ashmedai. These symbols written were of the same vein, and all of her teachings started flooding back to him. Mau’s frustrated look told him that those old lessons were lost to him, and only served him as a memory.

“I should have paid more attention,” he grunted, “I never thought that it would have been so important.”

Ashur rested a hand on his shoulder, “It’s fine brother, there’s no way you could have known. At least one of us remembers though, let’s see what it’s telling us.”

He began to study the carvings up close, and after a long moment his eyes widened, “Voidic fuck, this was from the Sun King himself. From… From after the Sundering…”

“Old gods,” whispered Dyserich from under his breath, “Are you sure?”

Ashur chose to respond to Dyserich’s question by ignoring it and continued to read, “I delved too deep. In our greed, we all did. The Ashmedai within the mountains, they’ve all been alerted to what was awakened in the deepest and darkest depths of Tyrus. Our once great city lies in shambles, most of it swallowed by the wrath of the few gods that remain on this world in an attempt to suppress the–” Ashur froze as he read the next parts in his mind. The completion of that sentence terrified him so much he dared not put it into words.

“What?” asked Dyserich, the volume of his voice rising as he asked another question, “What made you stop?”

Mau walked closer to study the symbols that had Ashur so petrified. He shuddered as he whispered, “I still remember a few words. Ashur, that’s not what I think it is, is it?” Ashur couldn’t respond, the words were getting caught in his throat. He swallowed as Mau continued to speak, “Ashur? Answer us, say it isn’t so!”

“They’ve returned,” he replied in a whisper, “They’ve been back in this realm for centuries.”

Ashur’s words struck like a club to Mau’s gut as he doubled over and rested his hands atop his head with a groan. Ashur continued to read the rest in his head as he still reeled from that revelation. After a moment, Mau straightened and replied, “Did he know where they went?”

“No, he had no idea. He only saw the one underneath Tyrus, but listen to this: ‘The cold felt like an invisible frostbite when he awakened. I know it in the depths of my heart, the rest have returned. The gods of the void have returned.’ Old gods, you two, this is bigger than I thought. Maybe this is what Alysander was trying to warn me about.”

“Alysander? Who’s that?” asked Dyserich.

“The god of war,” Mau muttered, “The one who mentioned the tunnels to Ashur in the first place.”

Dyserich was silent for a moment before shrugging, “I guess it kind of makes sense. I mean, nothing has made sense since leaving the Dreadbird’s camp but we’ve all been getting used to it. A god is helping our otherworldly comrade? So be it, not the strangest thing we’ve heard.”

Ashur nodded before turning back to the carvings, “Wow, so most of our controlled waters were once land before collapsing into the sea. A much larger network of tunnels were buried there, and the ones we found were all that’s left. Most of our opal mines are gone.”

“The Opal Dragons were working on restoring one of them, do we know where that is?” asked Mau as he rubbed his chin. Ashur nodded, for while they didn’t know its exact location they knew they would find it eventually if they scoured every tunnel that remained in Tyrus.

“Finding and restoring that mine should be our top priority after we find this Torcall fella,” Dyserich murmured, “producing jobs will be another way to get people on our side, and the people will have a sense of respect for you like they did with Oremir.”

“Aye, there’s much to do, much to rebuild.” Ashur replied, “But we’ll do it, in time we’ll rebuild our city to what it used to be before the Sundering.”

Enyalius sat at his kitchen table in the dimly lit room as Mautar and Brargo entered. Both were wearing their night clothes and seemed groggy. Since it was the middle of the night as well as the night before they left Dayton for Tyrus, Enyalius felt bad for ruining their last night for a chance at some decent rest.

“You called for us, sir?” Mautar mumbled as both soldiers gave salutes.

“Aye, but enough with the formalities for this night you two. I wish to speak to the both of you as dear comrades and not as a superior for this matter. I apologize for waking you at a time like this, but I’ve been robbed of a good night’s rest as well.”

Brargo spoke up, “Robbed? Was it the god that invaded your dreams by the Thundering Hills?”

“Aye,” Enyalius said as he rubbed his temples, “The bastard is not pleased with our mobilization and mission. He gave me three options.”

At this, both soldiers took a seat at Enyalius’ table, sitting next to each other directly across from him, “Alright,” Mautar said hesitantly, “Explain these options.”

“First option, we stay at home and do nothing. An ancient army is to emerge from the Thundering Hills, one large enough to stress even the god of war. We give Ashur and Tyrus the freedom to use whatever strength they will gain to fight them, and we won’t weaken them before that army crashes into them.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad of an option, so many of our soldiers are dreading the return,” Brargo cut in, “You’d be looked upon more favorably if you choose that option.”

Mautar shook his head, “On the outside, it would indeed seem that way Brargo. Alas, going against the Republic at a time like this would be along the lines of treason and rebellion. They’ll starve us out again like they did all those years ago. Too many of our citizens remember that, and they’d grow to hate our lord even more than if he were to go and get us all killed,” his eyes met Enyalius’ as he continued, “am I correct?”

Thank the old gods you’re this clever, my friend.

Enyalius nodded and continued, “Our second option, we complete our mission but at the risk of letting this new enemy loose on the continent. I don’t know the severity of the damage they can cause, but this is the option I’m most inclined to take. Our reward for this is a higher standing with the Republic, and my promotion to a council member. We can save the population of Tyrus with our escort of them to the east, and with the power of the council I can take the initiative of warring with this enemy.”

“I’m sure the god of war didn’t like that much after all he did to get you to spare Ashur,” snorted Brargo.

“Aye,” Enyalius begrudgingly agreed, “He didn’t like it one bit.”

“That’s not a bad option since it screws the Republic as well. They’ll be fighting on two separate fronts, their forces split. Even if you do defeat this ancient enemy, the Republic might still fall, and that’s not exactly a bad thing.”

Yes, the war in the South is still ongoing, and poorly at that for the Republic. Why didn’t I think of this?

“Our final option, we aid Ashur and Tyrus. We risk certain death in helping him in this battle, and even if we survive, we will be branded traitors to the Republic like in the first option.”

“We don’t even know if Tyrus would ally themselves with us,” Brargo remarked, “They probably won’t, considering we destroyed half the city.”

“Brargo’s right,” Mautar muttered with a sigh, “That option has too many unknown variables.”

“What are the positives of that option though?” asked Enyalius, “Alysander wanted me to push for this option above all the others, what are its benefits?”

Mautar sat in silence for a moment, “If by chance we ally ourselves with them and are victorious with minimum casualties, we start a rebellion of our own and push through to Midland, where if we conquer it we would be able to hold out on their grains and livestock. And this ancient enemy, if it’s so much that even the god of war cannot hold them back, what good can a makeshift army from Tyrus do? With our help, they might stand a chance. This enemy is the true enigma, for if we do nothing and let them run wild, who’s to say they don’t turn their sights on us and Dayton next? I propose a fourth option that we take.”

A fourth?

“Go on, I’m listening.”

The room was quiet for a while as Mautar thought it over before breaking the silence, “We form an alliance with Ashur and the population of Tyrus, and then we get the fuck out of the area and go straight to Midland. If we lose Tyrus, we lose it, but before we escort anyone, we gather as many as we can to form the largest army possible to handle this threat. An alliance between our two cities and a whole state should be enough to quell this enigmatic force, don’t you think?”

Enyalius’ eyes widened at this prospect and he stroked his chin in surprise at how this sounds like the most likely option, “Even the god of war didn’t think of an option like this,” he chuckled.

“Maybe he did, but didn’t like it enough to offer it?” Brargo replied, “I don’t know how likely it is that we can get an alliance out of Midland, did you hear the news when we returned?”

Both Enyalius and Mautar looked at one another before shaking their heads in unison. Brargo sighed and sank his head as he ran his hands through his matted hair, “They allied themselves with the Dragon of Goodhall, we’re just as likely to get an alliance out of them now as we are of getting our own dragons.”

Voidic fuck, the dragon is involved with them?

He felt a creeping sense of unease fill not just himself, but the whole room at that revelation. The man who led the push through Agossross, the very man who was responsible for most of the salting. Enyalius had to watch the man flying on his wyvern laughing as he unleashed torrents of fire over the city. Fire so hot that it turned anyone who touched it into ash in a matter of moments, he was the architect of destruction.

“We’ll have to go with one of the options given to us by Alysander, Mautar,” Enyalius shivered as he politely rejected the fourth option, “It’s best if we steer clear of that… that ‘man’ and his interests.”

Mautar swallowed, “Aye, sir. It was foolish of me to mention it, I don’t want Dayton to turn into another Agossross.”

The very thought of that happening made Enyalius sick to his stomach.