A man sat alone on the edge of the world, his eyes shut beneath bandages tightly wound as he watched a peculiar storm rage on in the distance.

“How far should you go when you’re trying to save a man from himself?” The thought danced in his head as he lay in a small, muddy patch of disturbed earth.

“Why did you come alone, Ken?” A shaky voice asked, just barely loud enough to pierce the heavy rain. Ken opened his mouth to respond when lightning struck somewhere just off to his right, followed hot on its heels by a long rolling thunderclap. He was thankful for an extra moment to consider the answer, but it brought no clarity.

Ken pushed himself into a sitting position and stared at the man across from him, also sitting, breathing heavily, and leaned against a toppled grain silo. The man, Jacob Kergin, looked furious.

“Answer me, Ken. How did you know I would be here? My plan? Why are you alone? Surely Scott will show up any moment, he’s never very far...” Jacob’s anger seemed to fuel his stamina; the more he went on, the louder he got and the less out of breath he seemed. “... Maybe Marcus? Always reliable. Miss. Treiv will come running to the rescue soon no doubt or—”

“Stop,” Ken grunted as he rose to his feet. “No one is coming. I’m alone because... I suppose I’ve convinced myself that this is my responsibility. As for the rest, I followed you here because your intentions have been growing steadily worse for a while now.”

“Ah yes, of course, I suppose there’s no way to hide from a seer.” Jacob stood. “None of it matters anyway.” He stepped forward and stopped at Ken’s shoulder. “Dallas.” The city was just visible in the distance. “People all around the world are too comfortable in the knowledge that they will see tomorrow. We wait for the Dragons to arrive while they sit on their hands, so blissfully unaware. I can prepare them, so what if one will die, one hundred, thousand, million…” If Jacob saw the punch coming, he didn’t show it; the shockwave tore at the ground, and Jacob slammed back into his spot at the base of the toppled silo. He coughed and held his chest as he rose back to his feet.

Ken, meanwhile, stared blankly at his closed fist as he reflected on his question. “I suppose I have my answer,” he thought as he turned his gaze to Jacob. He didn’t move as the transparent wall silently rose up from the earth behind him; there was no need to look at it, as beautiful as a medieval castle in its heyday but as clear as polished glass and harder than steel. Jacob laughed. “The defensive art suits you, Mr. Rook, but you can’t protect everything.” Ken didn’t respond; Jacob’s attempt to goad him wasn’t worth responding to, and he definitely had his answer. He reached behind him and pulled a steel bar about a foot long from the sheath on his belt, nothing fancy, just polished hardened steel, but it did what he needed it to do.

Jacob glared at Ken, a piercing gaze but no ordinary stare. His brown eyes rippled, white filled their center as their whites turned brown and the black from his pupils rushed to fill the gap in between. “Let no one ever doubt,” Jacob smiled, “that Ken Rook possessed the soul of the Hero.” Ken’s eyes followed suit, and as blue filled their outer edges, he became painfully aware of everything Jacob had become, everything he always was. Had the serpent not been so powerful, had his soul not towered over this burning wheat field, Jacob would have been invisible, swallowed up by the black intentions that flowed from him, filled the air around them, and clawed at Ken’s skin.

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Had Ken been as weak as he was only moments ago, had his question remained unanswered, he would not have noticed Jacob’s tattered duster falling to the ground where he had been standing only a moment before. Jacob passed like a shadow through the dark, his black fighting knife silently slicing through the air as it raced for Ken’s neck. Stepping into the attack, Ken’s weapon exploded through Jacob’s forearm just below his wrist, his scream of pain choked down to a yelp by Ken’s left hand. The Seer of the Hero watched Jacob wriggle in his grasp, a serpent struggling for freedom, but as he began to squeeze, Jacob melted from his hands and Ken watched the fool slither out of a puddle in front of him. Jacob was gifted with the art of illusions, but he had leaned on his ability a moment too late; his right hand was useless.

Jacob pushed himself to his feet and took his blade into his left hand. His second charge was as swift as his first; his metal fang shattered as it met Ken’s weapon in a thunderous clash, and the shockwave held the rain at bay while the Hero’s strike found its target at Jacob’s chin. As he was launched through the air, the shockwave gave way, and the water came down in a torrent. Ken watched in shock as his opponent's assault continued without pause, soil seeking refuge as Jacob’s feet found the Earth, arm dangling, jaw loose, a cloud of dirt marking his passage as he charged Ken a third time, grasping tightly the jagged piece of steel that remained of the serpent's fang.

Ken could see a man blinded not only by rage but also by some strange sense of purpose, stepping free of the near-blind charge. Ken took hold of Jacob by his damaged arm and the base of the neck, carrying through the charge and slamming him into the wall behind him. Jacob howled as Ken’s wall held solid against the impact, his breathing becoming more erratic as Ken twisted the arm in his grip. The serpent swung wildly with the broken knife in his free hand, but it found no target. Ken wanted to speak, but he found no words; again beginning to squeeze at Jacob’s neck, he felt pain for the passing of a friend but peace for the passing of an enemy.

He almost didn’t notice the darkness swelling up behind him. Turning with Jacob still in hand, he found the serpent sitting in a small crater, exactly where he should have been after Ken’s last blow, holding his jaw. He spat blood in the dirt as the Jacob in Ken’s hands melted in the rain. “I’d be doing them a favor, you know.” He snarled from his position. “How many will die when the Dragons arrive? They don’t even think we exist! They don’t know how to fight something like that!” Ken began walking forward. “I… I can save them, Ken.” Ken’s grip on his steel baton tightened. “I can show them, I can teach them.”

Jacob began to howl with laughter as Ken stared down at him, his mind desperately seeking an emotion. Sadness? No. Anger? No. Joy? No. Pity, it was pity, or at least, that was the best word for it. Jacob’s manic laughter skipped as the baton drove his head into the mud. Silence followed as the sun pierced through the then-puttering rain. A deep breath drew Ken’s attention as Jacob freed his head from the ground and rolled himself over to stare at the sky. “I could never defeat you as I am; I doubt ten of me could. You really are… the most powerful Soul-seer in centuries. If this is to be the age of the dragon, your power will be desperately needed…” Jacob’s face became strained, and he spoke through gritted teeth, “however…” his eyes turned red as blood vessels gave way to pressure, his left arm began to rot in place as the rest of his muscles tightened and his skin shriveled to his body.

Ken watched as the signs of a spell too powerful for its caster made themselves known one after another. He pondered whether Jacob could survive his attempt, if it might fail, and if Jacob even cared either way. What could Jacob be so desperately, recklessly attempting? Ken knelt down to look Jacob in his eyes. The sun faded as the storm began to regather overhead. As blood began to run from Jacob’s eyes, nose, and ears, Ken saw it in the serpent's mind. The art of destruction. Powerful, uncontrollable, and unquenchably thirsty for the life of its wielders. Ken closed his eyes, and a column of lightning connected him to the sky.