Readers, have you ever heard of the tragedy of Athanasius the Wandering Prophet? I should hope so, if you are Yakobinian. But for the sake of posterity, I shall write it on these pages.

Athanasius was a prophet of El Shaddai. He was a wise man with the gift of prophecy who lived during the days of the Holy Kingdom. The High King of Santara at the time was a wicked man and had turned from the God of his fathers. El Shaddai commanded Athanasius to rebuke this king and call him to repentance.

But Athanasius failed to do so, out of fear and reverence. Fear for his own life; and reverence for the King, for Ahaz was a mighty king who brought greatness to Santara. For this act of disobedience, Athanasius was cursed by El Shaddai: to live to see the fall of the Holy Kingdom and to never die until its restoration.

Years later, King Ahaz was mortally wounded in battle. The king repented before his death, but he would have done so earlier had Athanasius rebuked him as El Shaddai commanded. With the death of King Ahaz, the Holy Kingdom split in two: the Eastern Kingdom and the Western Kingdom.

As El Shaddai had decreed, Athanasius continued to live as the generations passed, witnessing the two kingdoms squabble and their eventual conquest by Tionghoa.

Truly ironic. In trying to save his kingdom, the prophet had actually doomed it.

I can already hear the readers crying, ‘that’s not the end of his story!’ And they are absolutely correct. In the following pages, I shall write on when I met the Wandering Prophet for the first time.

After we took Khatulistiwa, we prepared ourselves for the journey west to the Tomb of the Patriarchs. But first, we spent a few weeks in the town fortifying our positions and supply lines. The Sea Peoples and their huge fleet were very helpful in this regard, keeping the seas friendly to us and hostile to any Tionghoa incursions.

It was just before our march west when Athanasius appeared to us. His presence was unmistakable, as was his white beard. When he commanded us to halt, we did as was told.

Was that El Shaddai at work?

Regardless, the prophet’s attention was on Aron. As the King of Dun-a-din, my lord was the last of Borromeo’s bloodline. As such, he was also the heir to Isildur, the Sacred Sword of Borromeo.

There was one problem though: Aron did not possess the Machabe. Also known as the ‘Mark of Borromeo’, the Machabe would manifest itself on one’s palm – a crest of star, carved by flames, yet the fire would not burn its bearer.

When I first heard about it, I thought the Machabe to be nothing more than a myth. There was no way such a thing could be possible. Not that I ever said it out loud.

The conversation between Athanasius and Lord Aron went as follows:

“King of Dun-a-din, I come to you bearing the Word from El Shaddai!” said the prophet. “For He knows that you intend to take the Sacred Sword Isildur for yourself.”

“Are you going to stop me?” Aron asked.

“No,” Athanasius responded. “I am here to warn you. The Sacred Sword is only meant for those chosen by El Shaddai Himself. You are not one of them. But if you persist in taking the sword for yourself, then you will be punished. And you will surely die.”

I knew that the prophet’s thunderous voice had shook my lord as he was at a loss for words. He paused for a brief moment before he responded: “I understand, prophet. May El Shaddai guide your everlasting journey.”

“I will keep an eye on you, as El Shaddai wills!”

And with that, Athanasius bade his farewell. It would not be the last we see of him.

As we marched to the Tomb of the Patriarchs, I could tell that Lord Aron was on edge. I wanted to say something to him, but I didn’t know where to begin. Thankfully, Paradisa was there for him. In fact, she wouldn’t leave his side.

As for me, I couldn’t help but feel creeped out throughout the whole trip. The Tomb of the Patriarchs was once the location of Yakobia, the capital of the Western Kingdom. But the Tionghoa razed it to the ground during their conquest of Santara. It was now nothing more than a graveyard, and the same could be said for much of Kaliman island’s interiors. The thick forests made for a difficult trek, even with the roads (centuries old roads, granted).

Little did we know, the Tionghoa had been moving to counter our move. General Diem Fu was a decorated general. Having fought for the Dragon Emperor in distant continents around the world, Diem Fu knew how to make use of the local terrain to his advantage.

The locals of the Kaliman island were either Khmerians, Goyans, or not very bright to begin with. The Tionghoa were able to convince them to an alliance, allowing colonial soldiers to move through their territories and set up an ambush right around the Tomb of the Patriarchs.

Meanwhile, the Padri struggled to navigate through the deep jungles. Food was an issue, and we would have never made it to our destination by foraging alone. We owed the Puncakians; their flyers allowed our supply line to extend deep into the Kaliman jungles.

Even so, we were walking into our doom unaware.

Or we would have been if I hadn’t taken some precautions. While I had no idea of the Tionghoa’s designs at the time, I knew that we could easily be ambushed given the dense foliage around us. Thus, I split up half of the Dunadinian army from the rest of the Padri and move them to the rear. I also instructed them to march at a slower pace. My hope was for them to be incognito while the main army drew the bulk of any possible attention.

I put Drusus in command of this contingent. More importantly, I made sure Livia was in this army. Putting Livia made sense; as a Nodian, she knew how to remain hidden, and the contingent could use her advice. However, putting the warrior without equal there was a huge risk given how important he was to our army. But King Aron trusted me and allowed me to take this gamble.

This maneuver of mine also meant that the bulk of the main army now consisted of Paloeans. Readers should keep this in mind.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Now let us move on…

At the time, the Tomb of the Patriarchs had been abandoned by its people. I saw it for myself when our army arrived. The jungle was reclaiming the huge temple complex, which was now covered in green. As for the habitations, I saw no traces of them. They were gone.

The interior was no less depressing. It was dark and damp, so we had to bring in torches. Sultan Kochba’s fire magic became handy, perhaps the only time I ever felt grateful for his presence.

Within this complex were the bodies of the Twelve Patriarchs: Penn, Jerzy, Delaware, York, Giorgi, Virgo, Masa’chus, Marius, Carrolus, Borromeo, Kon, Hamshur, and Rhodos.

Those unaware with Santara and the Yakobinians may be confused right now, for I have just listed thirteen names for the Twelve Patriarchs. Just as well.

Amongst the thirteen sons of Yakob, Borromeo was set aside. While his brothers were given the general inheritance from their father, Borromeo was given the priesthood and was thus special amongst the rest of his brothers, the Patriarchs of the Yakobinians.

The special position that Borromeo had was clearly seen in how the Tomb of the Patriarchs was arranged, which began with one spacious room. At the edges were Borromeo’s brothers, each of them had their own entombed chambers. Closer to the center was Yakob himself. But at the very center was Borromeo, who was interred inside of a stone coffin.

At the top of the coffin was Isildur, the Sacred Sword of Borromeo. But the sword itself, safe for the hilt, was encased in a stone block, known as Borromeo’s Block. According to the Scriptures, only a successor of the Warrior Priest could pull the sword out of that block. Anyone else who would attempt to do so would be struck dead by El Shaddai Himself.

I was there in the Tomb’s Great Chamber when King Aron was to take the Isildur out of Borromeo’s Block. My lord had been on edge ever since his conversation with Athanasius. And this was no different, his walks were slow and unsure. And he stopped his hand short before it could even touch the sword.

“What is the meaning of this delay?” barked Kochba. “Take the sword, now!”

Aron stood still and said nothing in return.

But this enraged Kochba even more, who growled in anger. A fight would have broken out if Inferna hadn’t intervened. She held the Sultan’s arm tightly.

“Please, Sultan. Surely you understand the king’s predicament.”

“That’s right,” Paradisa interjected. “I’m sure Lord Aron was thinking of what would happen to him. He doesn’t have the Machabe after all, and he had been warned by the prophet. He may be a descendant of Borromeo, but can he even wield the Sacred Sword?”

Indeed, this was the one question that had confused Yakobinian scribes for centuries. Could a son of Borromeo who lacks the Machabe wield the Isildur? Thanks to the Tionghoa occupation, the Sons of Yakob never had the opportunity to find the answer.

The Sultan’s response was a surprise to me. “Fine,” he said begrudgingly. “You win. I’ll let His Highness take his time. I know he will do the right thing.”

I didn’t think the Puncakian sisters’ plea would work for the coldhearted Sultan. But I didn’t question this gift from El Shaddai.

However, the question still remained: what now?

And Aron had little time to think about his decision as General Diem Fu sprung his trap as soon as we entered the tomb complex. Having hidden themselves within the deep jungles of Kaliman, the Tionghoa army attacked, quickly and suddenly. And our entire vanguard was wiped out in one fell swoop.

There were scant survivors. One of them, a Paloean lancer, was able to make his way to the tomb and informed us of the massacre.

We were surrounded. Diem Fu sent a messenger to us. His message was clear: surrender or be destroyed.

I’d like to think that even without the Tionghoa forcing his hand, Lord Aron would still do what was needed to free Santara from the Dragon Emperor’s dominion. Even so, it was the threat of complete destruction that pushed the King of Dun-a-din to take the Isildur out of the Borromeo Block.

And when he did, there was a pause. That Lord Aron was able to pull the sword out of the stone was no surprise. However, everyone in that room expected the King of Dun-a-din to be struck dead right then and there.

But he wasn’t.

With Lord Aron holding the Isildur aloft, I saw the blood red glow emanating out of the sword. And I felt hope. We all did.

The lone exception in that room was the Tionghoa messenger. The panicking goy was trying to escape, but a fiery wind exploded next to him and sent him to the ground. At first, I thought that was Inferna’s doing, or Kochba’s.

But instead, it was Aron. I was shocked, not because of the culprit’s identity. Either Inferna or Kochba would have killed the messenger on the spot. The shocking part was how it was done. The Isildur possessed preternatural qualities: with a swing, its wielder could strike enemies from afar with a combination of fire and wind magics.

King Aron stepped towards the cowering messenger and gave his own message: “Tell your master that we’re coming for him.”

And come at General Diem Fu we did. The Tionghoa general was so sure of his victory that he set up camp at the ruins of Yakobia. He made sure to surround the temple with swordsmen and musketeers, ready to strike or shoot down anyone who got out of the tomb.

But the Tionghoa didn’t take the Isildur into account. How could they? The Sacred Sword of Borromeo hadn’t been used since the last High King of Santara was killed, since the Holy Kingdom split in two, centuries before the Dragon Emperor came into the picture. To the Tionghoa, the legend of the Isildur was nothing more than a fable, a story concocted by a conquered people to comfort themselves.

The Tionghoa who guarded the tomb’s entrance had the honor of being the Isildur’s first victims since the Death of King Ahaz. They were blown away or burnt alive by Aron’s preternatural attacks. This allowed us to break out of the Tomb.

Lord Aron was the first to rush out into the open and I was shocked by how quickly he was able to clear out the nearby enemy. It seemed like with every swing, he was able to take out one, if not two Tionghoa soldiers. And with Arphaxad and the Riders of Dun-a-din helping him, those Tionghoa never stood a chance. Not even Drusus could have done what my lord did.

Of course, we were still surrounded. But we still had the rearguard under Drusus and Livia. I knew that Diem Fu hadn’t gotten to them. Otherwise, there was no way the Tionghoa could have surrounded us so easily.

We needed to get Drusus to help us, and Paradisa had the honor to be that messenger.

I would have been her passenger to protect her, but I was needed to hold our position at the Tomb’s entrance. We had brought a squad of Dunadinian swordsmen with us into the Tomb beforehand, and I ordered these men to keep Inferna and Kochba safe from Tionghoa cavalry. Thanks to their protection, the two mages were able to wreak havoc on the Tionghoa from relative safety.

Even so, we were fighting a defensive battle. We were vastly outnumbered and not even the Isildur could have gotten us out of this situation… until Drusus’ reinforcements arrived.

Strangely enough (or perhaps fittingly), it was Livia’s black hole magic that heralded Drusus’ arrival, as it engulfed a chunk of Tionghoa soldiers. Then from the sky, Drusus bore down on his enemy atop his black wyvern.

When Paradisa returned to us, we knew that Drusus had already engaged the enemy. That was our sign, and we began our own offensive. With Drusus’ rearguard on one side and King Aron’s main army on the other, our aim was to cut through the Tionghoa encirclement and link up our forces.

But during our advance, I spotted General Diem Fu giving out orders. He was wearing a helmet with a plume that looked like a horse’s mane. That was a telltale sign of a high-ranking Tionghoa general. As for how I could have known that: I hadn’t the slightest clue, yet.

As soon as I told Lord Aron of this fact, he immediately rushed to kill General Diem Fu. If my lord had been wielding any ordinary sword, his actions would have been nothing short of suicide. But he had the Isildur, and it wasn’t even close. He cut through the Tionghoa general’s retinue with his preternatural attacks; then with a single swing, he decapitated Diem Fu.

Afterwards, the battle was all but won. Once the Tionghoa caught wind that their general was dead, they scattered like rats.

And once we confirmed our victory, I was so proud of myself. We were able to extricate ourselves out of a very sticky situation. But best of all, the vast majority of the vanguard killed by the Tionghoa were Paloeans.

I’m sure Kochba was aware of what I had done, the Sultan was a smart man and a good tactician. But I did not regret my actions. I still don’t. After all, I haven’t forgotten Khatulistiwa.