Story 1: Interweave

This is a story that will be weaved within the current story. A little bit of this secondary story should be added to each chapter. However what follows includes a large portion of it. Please enjoy and feel free to tell me what you think.

Story 1
Interweave

Flames burst from his hands and swirled around him. It coiled and flew outward like a sinuous dragon’s neck, pierced through each of his enemies as swiftly as a fork stabbed into a cheesecake. It was beautiful and as long as he held onto the magic he could feel himself slowly fade away into the dark recesses of his mind. He succumbed to the allure of power, felt the tiny image of his soul begin to minimize until all he saw was the brilliant snake flames like serpents wading through grass burning the humans to blackened ash. The power of his magic overwhelmed him, flooded into his heart and embraced him in its warmth. 

“Nasaral, stop casting your magic. They’re all dead.” 

The flame mage heard the soft, creamy voice in his ears. It broke him free from his magic’s grasp, kept him away from its deadly allure for another moment. The voice had a different beauty than his magic, something gentle and sensuous and in no way dangerous. It belonged to the woman in front of him. It belonged to a woman that loved him as a younger brother. For an instant he wanted that emotion to be more, but stopped himself. Her heart belonged to someone else.

Nasaral looked at the woman in front of him. His cheeks became warm and he felt a faster tempo against his ribcage. The rogue picked up her daggers, placed them in the hidden folds of her clothes and folded her arms. Her soulful eyes pierced into his being, drawing out all the good feelings he thought about. A wind blew through her shock of black hair, and the woman combed through her mane with a gloved hand. She’d look more beautiful if she had longer hair, Nasaral thought.

“I heard you, Allieah. Sometimes it’s hard to stop.” The dragon flames winked out leaving ash and thin tendrils of smoke in the air.

“Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you remember. Maybe a knock on the brain will wake you up.” He felt a tap on his head and turned. Behind Nasaral was a very tall elf wearing bright white robes. His pointed ears stabbed through long blond hair and drew attention away from his blue irises. 

“That’s enough playing you three. If you have not forgotten we have an important mission we are trying to accomplish here.” Rohr was stern but he was right.

“What is wrong with a little levity, my love?” Allieah placed her hand on Rohr’s shoulder.

“These cultists are enemies ordained by the Council of Light. We were sent here to eliminate them before they enact their ritual. There is not time for playing.”

Despite his stern demeanor, Rohr had a high level of charisma.  People listened to him not because it was the right and logical thing to do, though it often was, but because he compelled them to do it.  However, he also knew when his words were too strong.

“I am sorry if I sounded too harsh. But the fate of many lives hangs in the balance and I do not want us to fail by losing our focus.”

“When have we ever failed, Rohr? Things will turn out to succeed through our efforts and our will.”

Nasaral could remember a few times when they had failed. Though with sheer luck and determination they had survived and managed to turn the tides on their opponents. He decided not to remind the others.

Nasaral remembered when they had started on this quest. The Council of Light, the most powerful religious faction on the continent, had sent a call to all the heroes of the land. Nasaral and his group were the most prestigious and so were selected by the Council’s priests to ascend the crystalline tower.

When they had reached the forest surrounding the tower they had encountered opposition from the Cultists and the strange beasts. Creatures made of claws, horns and fangs burst from the forest canopy and threatened to kill them. They were dark shadows that emanated magic from another world. Empowered by the Cultists’ magic they could not be slain through conventional means. Injuries that would kill creatures of the world would only slow the shadow beasts. The heroes had to do more than stab their hearts or sever limbs. With Nasaral’s and Elf’s magics they burned the summoned creatures with flame and holy light.

The Cultists called them Kyrath Sen Eon from the ancient language of the continent. It meant demons summoned from the plane of creation. The Council called the creatures kyrath, or summoned demons. They were the only weapon that the Cultists had. Beyond the summoning of these beasts, the followers of the counter religion could not rely on magic or weapons. Sometimes when the heroes slew the beasts, the masters of the kyrath were slain as well.

At first the heroes had wanted to talk with the Cultists despite the fighting that happened in the forest. However their fame was well known across the land and the heroes were known supporters of the Council of Light. The heroes were rebuffed from any form of dialogue with the summoners. Instead kyrath of all shapes and sizes were summoned to battle with the heroes and Nasaral had had to send them back to creation with the power of flame.

Nasaral had tried to offer them mercy but the Cultists would sooner sacrifice themselves than accept help from the Council. It was a holy war between the faiths of the Light and the Creator, except that the Council had sent heroes to do their dirty work. The flame mage had his doubts on which faction was right but he could not at any point make a decision. Instead he continued on the path he was on and followed his friends and companions.

A sinuous thing of shadow struck him in the center of his chest. He fell back against the crystalline wall confused by the sudden impact.

“Nasaral, don’t just stand there! Do something!”

Rohr’s words pulled him out of his reverie. The kyrath were attacking them.

While Nasaral was daydreaming the heroes had been surrounded by the shadowy beasts. There were nearly a dozen of the kyrath that struck at the heroes. The flame mage could not examine the room nor see past the creature that attacked him.

The kyrath that slithered next to him resembled a snake except that it had three heads each of which salivated a green liquid. As the saliva spilled from its mouths onto the crystalline floor it melted through the rocky substance. Nasaral felt that the magical wards threaded into his robes might protect him but he did not want to risk it.

The snake kyrath coiled back its necks and struck, not simultaneously but with enough time in between each head that it was nearly unpredictable for Nasaral to know when each would come. He created a barrier of flame to deflect the snake’s attacks, but as it battered with each of its lunges his magic weakened.

As the flame mage tried to think of how to retaliate he heard a screeching noise from behind him. He turned just in time to see a birdlike shadow dive at him. He raised his hands up to defend himself against the diving kyrath and a shield of fire sprouted in front of him.

“Nasaral, don’t just defend. You have to attack!”

He heard Rohr’s orders and gritted his teeth. He was not angry at the sword master but at himself. Flame mages were more offensive then he was. His timidity in protecting his life made him hesitate more than he would have liked. However, he had created new spells to supplement his more defensive nature.

Nasaral threw a compressed bolt of flame at the serpent’s body. It knocked the creature back into the tower’s wall with enough force that it was lodged in the cracks. He had enough time to deal with the avian kyrath that threatened him from overhead. The bird kyrath screeched and dove towards him again.

He tried out his new spells merging the ones he was taught at the school in Saiure with his own magical theories. He glanced at the bird kyrath and surrounded it in a sphere of flame. It tried to fly out of the fire but as it touched the edge of the sphere it burned its shadowy wings and retreated back into the safety of the center.

As it screeched and battered itself against the walls of the flame sphere, the bird kyrath remained defiant. Nasaral contracted the ball of fire and crushed the summoned beast in its flames. With the bird dealt with the flame mage turned to the serpent.

A ball of its acidic saliva splattered against Nasaral’s robes. If it had been a little higher the green venom would have splashed against Nasaral’s exposed face and neck. Again the heroes’ luck had managed to save him.

Nasaral raised his hands and channeled his magic. Like with the avian creature he formed three red capsules of fire that encircled each of the snake kyrath’s heads. The serpent tried to spit its poison through the barrier but it could not pass through the flame mage’s magic. Nasaral clenched his hands into fists and the red spheres crushed the snake heads in an explosion of shadow and green acid.

From their previous experiences fighting the kyrath Nasaral had learned they had no corporeal bodies. Instead the majority of the creatures was a shadow like material that was molded into teeth, horns, claws or fangs. Sometimes the shadows would be covered in a thick bone that surrounded the creatures like armor. Magic would be added to each creature by the Cultists who summoned them, gifting the kyrath flame breath, acid spit, lightning claws or any assortment of magical powers.

He looked around the room to assess how his companions were doing. Each of the heroes were still in the midst of battle, though they had each dispatched one of the kyrath. Both Elf and Allieah were fighting for their own shadowy abomination in their own way.

Elf raised his wooden staff above his head and called out to the God he worshipped. Waves of bright light blew out of his staff and knocked back the demon the elf was fighting. It looked like a large dog with flaming eyes. Whenever the dog kyrath barked tendrils of flame escaped from its lips. Elf hurled blanketing waves of holy light that shaved pieces of the kyrath’s body. Before it could reach the priest it was thrown back against the wall again and again.

Allieah’s style was completely different. She spun around dodging and weaving against the demon’s attacks. It was some kind of cat-like kyrath with claws and hair that trailed ice. The rogue struck with deadly accuracy throwing her Cal knives into the blue eyes of the cat. While normal blades would do little harm against the shadow beasts, Allieah’s knives were enchanted with magic that could sever the flows of magic itself. Each blade cut the ties the cat kyrath had to this world.

Nasaral turned to glance at Rohr but there was no need for the flame mage to worry. The swordmaster was the leader of their group, with skills that surpassed Nasaral and the others. He wielded Taras’Melen, an ancient artifact that could defeat the most powerful of foes. It was a sword made from an unknown metal that was crafted by an ancient kingdom lost to the whims of time. The black metal absorbed magic and redirected it against the wielder’s enemies. Without the sword Rohr would still be able to hold his own.

There were two corpses of the kyrath beasts on the floor around Rohr, another cat and dog demon with sword slashes cut into their necks. A massive bear kyrath with icy claws and fangs raised its arms up to maul the swordmaster.

The hero sidestepped and barely dodged the bear’s attack. It took an immense amount of courage and skill to move the way Rohr could. If he had been a fraction off no amount of armor could have protected him. After evading the bear kyrath’s arms he drove his sword directly into its heart. The beast doubled over and collapsed as its blue icy magic was redirected to harm the kyrath.

Nasaral cast his magic threading fire into barriers around the remaining kyrath. The magic surrounded the summoned beasts’ heads enraging the kyrath with bestial intensity. As he closed his fists, the shadow creatures died in explosions of shadow.

With all the demons dead, Rohr and Allieah cleaned their weapons of leftover kyrath residue. There were stains leftover of crystallized shadow, it was rough and dulled Allieah’s Cal knives.

“Now that we are done here let us proceed to the next floor. Keep focused Nasaral. We need your resolved for this final battle.”

~~~

They ascended the crystalline tower, cutting through cultists with their blades and burning monsters with their sorcery. Rohr had straightforward motions with his sword, his determination balanced with power in each slash. Allieah was nimble, her lithe movements and fancy knife work sparkled as each of her hidden knives flashed and flew from her fingertips. Elf kept them up with his healing, repaired minor wounds from lucky attackers and when his curative magic wasn’t needed threw bolts of pristine lightning at their enemies. Nasaral watched with amazement as his fire magic leapt out of his hands with a will of their own lancing through evil like a needle piercing cloth.

He felt invincible and truly alive. As they climbed floor after floor towards the top of the enemy lair he realized that this moment was his destiny, the sole purpose of his being, and the very reason he was meant to exist. And, though they hurtled towards certain doom to stop an omnipotent evil from resurrecting and unleashing death and destruction upon their world, he didn’t want the feeling to end.

With his friends and allies beside him Nasaral felt time slow until each beat of his heart extended from seconds to minutes to hours. He couldn’t count how many foul monsters he had slain with his fire, nor could he recall the myriad ways his flames killed wayward cultists. His sensations began to coalesce once more and time resumed its normal course. They stood in front of a massive gate, twice as large as Elf, made of a foreboding metal and encrusted along its borders with gemstones of all varieties.

Rohr placed both of his palms against the final door and pushed. Slowly it creaked open until the room inside was revealed. The last of the Cultists of Eon the Creator spread around the border of the room, their bloodied hands encircled with glowing wicked sorcery. Their forms locked on completing their ritual , they were defenseless against the heroes’ attacks. Rohr’s blade splattered blood across the jutting crystal walls, Allieah’s daggers became bloodied as they threaded through cultists and clattered against the jagged crystal protrusions. Elf’s holy lightning struck blindly killing youths dressed in cultists’ robes. Only Nasaral stood still, his hands raised in front of him. This doesn’t feel right.  The flame mage was immobilized as he watched in horror at the youths’ murders. 

“What is wrong, Nasaral? Why are you just standing there?” The sonorous tone of Allieah’s voice echoed off the walls in the room.

“I don’t know. This doesn’t feel right.” Nasaral lowered his hands and closed his eyes. In his mind’s eye he saw an image of his younger brother wearing the same cultist’s robes—cloth of yellow and white marked with a singular red ellipse. 

“It’s our mission, Nasaral. If we don’t stop them then this world is finished. It is as simple as that.”

“But they’re just children, misguided and foolish. They don’t really know what they are doing. They can’t possibly understand the magnitude of their actions.”

“Enough, Nasaral. We’ve talked about this many times already. Regardless of their comprehension, their sins in enacting this ritual endanger the lives of everyone on this world. Though they were ignorant and played the part of the demon’s pawns, they must be stopped.”

“There’s one more left for you.”  Allieah pointed to a young cultist at the far end of the room.  As Nasaral stared at the cultist’s face it turned into an image of the flame mage’s younger brother.

Even though Nasaral restrained himself, his magic had a mind of its own.  His sorcery flew out of his hands and struck like a snake snapping at its prey.  The fire’s fangs punctured the last cultist.

“The decisions that we make today are difficult. Few people can understand this harsh justice we must mete out. But, know Nasaral, that it is a necessary evil we do in order to ensure peace to the land.” Nasaral felt a frail hand on his shoulder and a gentle but firm squeeze. “Things are as they should be, my young friend.” The elf said. “We must do these things no matter how hard, and continue onward towards the light.”

“But why, Elf? Why must it be us?”

“Because we are the only ones that can.”

~~~

                Because of his brother Nasaral had been conflicted. When the Cultists of Eon the Creator were formed years ago, his younger brother Maliel had joined the cult. It had been a surprise to the flame mage and though he did not understand his brother’s reasoning, Nasaral had allowed him to go with no reservations.

                At the beginning Nasaral had paid it little mind. However, rumors of their unholy magic began to spread along the countryside and all towns under Council rule. The cultists were summoning creatures of shadow, unnatural things made of darkness, into the world. The people of the towns believed that they were preparing for war to fight against the Council of Light. The cultists were gathering people from across the continent to bolster had joined the group. Maliel knew that he supported the Council of Light. Perhaps Maliel was jealous of Nasaral’s flame magic-he had always stared when the wizard cast his magic with bright wide eyes.

                What could have turned Maliel to evil?

                He did not know what he would do when he saw his brother again. Would he be able to turn him away from the wrong path? What words would he tell him to convince Maliel he had erred?

                With doubt in his mind and heart Nasaral met the heroes in the Capital, the Council of Light’s headquarters. The priests had asked the heroes to eliminate the growing threat of the cultists. Before Nasaral could agree, one of the Paladins, the Palarohk in the old tongue, had news to deliver to the young flame mage. An expedition of knights had stumbled upon a secret hideout of the cultists. They reported that the people they found there were participating in a dangerous ritual.

                When the knights entered to parley with the misguided people, the ritual was disturbed and many people were killed-Cultists and Council alike. Among the Cultists’ bodies they had found someone matching Maliel’s description. Nasaral’s brother was dead. They had brought the bodies to a storehouse at the edge of the city and wanted the flame mage to identify the corpse.

                A part of Nasaral knew that it was his brother. He declined to see the fate of Maliel. The Cultists were the ones to blame for his brother’s death. With new resolve Nasaral had another reason to fight the heretics.

***

The Council of Light had told them this was the only way. Through the killing of the cultists and the purging of the crystalline tower, the world would be saved. At first it seemed to be true. When the group first made its way to the tower they had encountered wave after wave of monsters. The cultists had found a way to summon and control the bestial things and had turned them loose upon innocent townsfolk. Nasaral and his group believed that this was divine retribution. They were an instrument of the Council to put right the natural order of the world and eliminate the heretics.

But as they climbed up the tower’s limitless steps the truth became clear. Elf found the first messages that would question their convictions. The first note was a dismissal of a peace between the cultists and the Council. The Cultists of Eon the Creator, also known as the Horn and Claw, had no designs to dominate the rest of the world. They only wanted to practice their rituals in seclusion. But then why had the Council directly send Nasaral and the rest of the heroes here, to kill people who had no wish to fight?

This was the first portion of doubt that crept into Nasaral’s mind. The second would be when they found the memory crystals.

Halfway up the tower Allieah found scattered amethyst stones that hummed with a faint magical aura. She passed one of the shards to Nasaral. The flame mage imbued the shard with a portion of his magical power and the unexpected happened. 

The memory crystal pulsed magical energy as Nasaral touched it. Purple light leaked out and flooded the room and the flame mage knew that its magic was soon inside his companions’ minds showing them a vision of the memory crystal’s last owner. Of what little Nasaral knew about the strange shards he recalled that students with arcane talents who had strong emotions at the time of their death often left behind these fragments. 

Nasaral had hoped to divine some knowledge from the memory crystal. Perhaps it would show a way to defeat the cultists, or grant a method of understanding their motivations. However, what it showed the group of heroes was something different entirely. 

The magic had allowed them to glimpse the final moments of one of the cultists. He was an old man. Nasaral could tell by the gnarled hands and slowed movement. The old man in the vision was staring at a young woman wearing the same white and golden robes.

“Ishiya, please daughter we must leave soon. They’ve almost found us.” A rough voice came from the center of the vision. 

“I know father, but this is important. I have to recover the book and deliver it to Lord Averi. Otherwise, the Council of Light will surely destroy us all.”

“This is not right,” the old man pleaded. “We shouldn’t fight them. It is against our ways.”

“They attacked us first, though we claimed we were pacifists. Those Paladins of the Light condemned us because of their ignorance. Our magic was strange and alien to them. They said it was against the laws of the light. Our very nature makes us enemies.”

“But our summoning was to help feed the poor. We can summon livestock to help the refugees and all those devastated by the last wars. It can’t be a sin to help those in need!”

“You are preaching to the choir, father. I should have never converted you. You would have lived a long life off on some farm away from all this madness. And maybe mother might be alive.” The priestess Ishiya made the sign of the circle and the cross, “strange words coming from child to parent.” She moved around the cabin searching through stacks of books along the walls and papers, some crumpled in balls and others rolled into scrolls.

His daughter grabbed a green tome from the top of a dresser and quickly flipped through the pages.  Her face brightened.  “This is it.  This is the book we need.”  She placed the book into her father’s wrinkled hands.  “You must go father.  I can sense them.  The Paladins are nearly upon us.  I will stop them here, while you bring the book to Lord Averi.”

“Ishiya, no!  I will stay and stop them here while you go.” He tried to return the book but she just shook her head. “You cannot give up your life for me.”

Ishiya smiled and gave him a hug. “I never said I would give up my life. Now Saran bring this book to Lord Averi. That is an order from your priestess.”

The old man had been shaking but with Ishiya’s last words he managed to restrain himself. “I will see you again, daughter.” He hurried out the rear entrance of the cabin just as three knights in white and red armor burst through the front door. Paladins of the Light. Saran could feel Ishiya’s magic radiating out of her as he left the cabin.

He scurried out into the fields of corn staying low to the ground like a rat. He clutched the book tightly in his hands, embraced it against his chest and ran through the farm land as quickly as his old legs would take them.

As he neared the clearing and began to decide which direction to travel, Saran felt two sharp points of metal pierce into his chest. Arrows. He collapsed to the dirt road and the book tumbled out of his fingers. He struck the ground with surprised wide eyes and when he realized what had happened tears streamed down his cheeks. The last thoughts he had were of his daughter the priestess, still the young girl who was innocent to the violence and sin of the world.

***

As he came out of the memory trance, Nasaral could feel his cheeks slick with tears. Residual emotions from the crystal affected those who experienced the memories locked within. Nasaral wiped them away with his sleeve.

“So, now what do we do?” He asked.

“What do you mean?” He heard Elf’s cold voice echo around the room.

Nasaral did not know if it was a difference in culture or simply Elf’s cold personality that reacted to Nasaral’s question.  “We can’t continue killing these cultists. Neither the Cult nor the Council is just.”

“We continue with the original plan.” Rohr said. “We eliminate any trace of the cultists and destroy this tower.”

Nasaral shook his head. He could not believe Rohr had said these things with such a calm, controlled voice.

“I have to agree with Rohr.”  Allieah said.

The flame mage reasoned in his head. “Maybe Rohr would say that—he can be logical and not care about anything but the mission. But you, Allieah?  You’re one of the most caring people I’ve ever met. How could you agree with him?”

“Look Nasaral. We’ve gone too far to turn back now.  Most of the cultists are dead by our hands.  Do you think we can just apologize and join their side now that we’ve killed so many of them? As soon as we stop, we would face the wrath of the Council.  I’m sorry, Saral, but we have to finish what we’ve started.”

Nasaral turned to Elf. “What do you think?”

Elf looked at him and said with a dull tone, “My people the Elves of Seum do not regret any of the actions we take. Instead we continue without looking back knowing that we will be punished for our sins in the next life.”

Nasaral did not know what to do. He was outnumbered by the heroes he trusted. His opinions were contradicted by his companions and he knew he could not go against them. His magic was formidable but he could not defeat the three of them in combat nor did he wish to. Nasaral’s mind worked as quickly as it could but there was no answer in sight. His shoulders sank and he sighed. All Nasaral could say was “okay.”

Perhaps an option would open itself up in the future and he would not have to participate further in this slaughter. Hours ago he was killing them without a second thought because of what the Council had told them. And now because of this vision he doubted himself and everything he had done up to this point. 

Maybe the council decided to be ignorant of the cultists’ true motives because exterminating them would be easier. There would be no need to reflect on their guilt.

What kept Nasaral moving was the knowledge that he was a hero, whether chosen by the Council or not. He would do what he believed was right.

***

There was one more chamber behind the cultists. Nasaral felt a chill run down his spine. A voice in his mind, which sounded nothing like his own, begged him not to go further. But he pressed in because he was a hero and heroes cannot choose their own destinies.

In the center of the chamber was an orb of shadow. It pulsed and bulged with dark light. As Nasaral reached towards it with his flames, his magic recoiled at the darkness’ presence. The flame mage approached the sphere oblivious to the danger and placed his hands around the dark device.

“Do you know what it is, Nasaral?”

“I’m not sure, Allieah. I can feel the same magic coming from the cultists before. I think they were trying to summon something but it is different from the others. Most of the cultists’ summons were bestial in nature—I could feel a primal force, of claws, horns and fur. But this is alien. Almost as if there is a sentience and an otherworldly intellect.

“Can you stop it?”

“I can try but maybe Elf can do better.”

“I’m afraid not, Nasaral. My magic only works for healing and invoking divine wrath. I know nothing about countering negative magic.” Nasaral nodded and channeled forth his inner flame. From his hands arcane magic swirled outward and surrounded the orb like a snake swallowing an egg.

His flames pressed inward and tried to crush the mass of energy with his magic. Nasaral expected it to burst like a bubble, but he could still feel the orb of shadow within the fire’s embrace. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down the side of his face. He stayed focused to his task and remained staring at the combination of magic but he knew if he looked up he would see the rest of the heroes just as fixated as himself. 

They needed him. If he could not remove this leftover magic, then they would leave a danger others might exploit. 

After several minutes of trying to eliminate this dark blot, Nasaral could feel his strength fall away from him. Reluctantly, he let his fire dissipate and hung his head.

“I have failed.”

The darkness pulsed as if in response to his admission and dark light exploded across the room. The crystalline background disappeared replaced by the blackness of space. The heroes stood on their world, a massive globe of blue and green. Above them instead of the crystal stalactites was their sun, Radia, blanketing them with rays of warm light. As they watched the stellar transformation, Radia changed hue from red to liquid blue.

The heroes stood in silence unable to grasp their weapons or call upon their magic. Nasaral felt his mouth and throat dry so he tried to swallow any liquid to speak.

The thing that emerged from the image of the Blue Radia was something entirely alien to Nasaral. At first it looked like a demon resplendent in robes of white and gold. It had large horns that curled almost into spheres on its head. And its eyes glowed violet in the darkness.

Then in an instant it seemed to invert itself. In the demon’s place was a man with alabaster skin wearing armor the color of midnight. Blonde hair, nearly white, replaced the horns and a crown of flames encircled the white man’s forehead.

He spoke in a voice that was neutral, emotionless and matter of fact. “I know that you mortals cannot recognize me, for you have not seen one such as I. But know that my very presence here is like a miracle and that you should bow before me.”

Rohr took a step forward breaking the trance the other heroes were in. He pulled out his straight sword from his scabbard and pointed it towards the alien.

“Who are you that we should show reverence?”

“I have been given many names over the millennia, none of which fit or explain the depth of my character. Some call me ‘The Destroyer,’ others, ‘The Horn and Claw.’ The cultists of this world, my world, call me ‘Eon the Creator.’ By my language, the tongue of the Demons of the Endless Reach, my name is unpronounceable to mortals such as you, and may simply drive you crazy thinking upon it.”

“Draw your sword, demon. By the Council of Light, you are to be vanquished.”  

“I need no blade to beat you. I am invincible. No man made weapon, artifice or magic can touch me. Tremble before divinity, before the beginning of your unmaking, the end of your mortal history. Make no mistake, child, I know that you mortals are sheep who cling to authority you deem worthy. I do not seek to understand your foolishness, but such audacity against a god must be punished.”

Allieah was the first to attack. She charged the demon and hurled the daggers from her hidden folds. Four blades flew like shooting stars against the celestial background striking Eon’s heart, throat and eyes. Before they struck the monster however they bounced back from a magical shield that materialized in an instant. Undaunted by the reflection of her blades, she circled around the demon and held more of her knives in her hands.

Rohr came next. He moved swiftly though not as fast as Allieah had. With his broadsword that had nicks along its edges, the sword master made slashes that were precise and with enough force to cut through a normal human.  He cut at each of the monster’s appendages and along its neckline but each of Rohr’s attacks were reflected like Allieah’s. 

Next Elf stepped forward. His staff glowed with an unearthly brilliance. If normal strikes had no effect than surely magic, holy and divine light, would be able to injure Eon. Light that was pure and blinding shone from Elf’s arcane weapon and bathed the demon with Heaven’s power. Eon laughed and did not resist Elf’s magic with his own barrier.

“Three failures before my might. One left to test his prowess against my invincibility.” Eon turned his burning gaze on Nasaral. “Finish your assault, ‘heroes’ and despair in your futility.”

Nasaral felt his hesitation dissipate. What stood before him was not a creature of this earth, something so alien and unnatural that he knew he must act. Though the Cultists had summoned this creature, it could not be connected to their ideas and beliefs. He could still feel the visions from the memory crystal—the old man and the young priestess’ motives were still embedded in his thoughts and feelings.  They would not have brought something of this evil to fight their enemies no matter how desperate they were. The Cultists were not from one place however, many had joined from all around the continent willing to gain a power that their normal lives would not give them. What had made them so dangerous in the Council’s eyes were the differences in nationality, belief and values of each Cultist member. Some had employed the summoning magic to fight against the small governments of their respective towns and cities, to pillage and murder borderland villages and cause terror to the world.

As Nasaral held onto his magic he felt the repulsiveness of the demon before him. It radiated darkness from its soul. The creature called itself Eon the Creator, the patron God of the Cultists, the maker of life and creation. However, Nasaral knew that it was a deceiver, that it made and empowered beings, gifted them with power that they could not control and unleash them on a world in order to sow chaos and destruction amongst all peoples.

He burned and became engulfed in his own power. His magic evolved and Nasaral could feel his flames becoming new spells, innately he called out the new forms. A ball of flame crested through the space background, becoming a serpent with many heads that bit its fiery fangs at Eon’s barrier. The demon tried to swat at it like an insect, but it flared with a stronger blue flame and became a phoenix. The fire bird flew high into the stars and dove into the summoned God’s face.

Eon’s magical barrier cracked and broke apart in a flash of amethyst light. The explosion of magical energy caused Eon to kneel, his black claws dug into the crystalline floor. The rest of the party stood paralyzed and stared at the magnificence of Nasaral’s magic.

“The races of this world are weak and foolish as I have made them. Killing me will only banish me from this world, and in time I shall be summoned again. You only delay my involvement in the chaos of this world. Without my influence, your races and nations will continue to struggle against each other. Without me they will focus their hate and anger towards each other.” The celestial landscape vanished replaced by the crystalline tower’s walls. 

“Nothing has been decided yet, Eon. There is still time to make the world a better place so that this tragedy does not happen again.”

“We shall see, Child of Flame.” The demon’s eyes focused on Nasaral, willing for the final blow.

As the flame mage pooled his magic for the death stroke he heard footsteps ascending from behind him.

Knights dressed in white armor marked with three red stars on their chest plates entered their floor. They held swords made of white metals in one hand and in the other metallic orbs of impenetrable darkness. 

A man in white leather armor limped behind the knights. After arranging themselves in a circle around the demon and the heroes, the leader spoke. He wore a necklace made of pearls strong into a repeating pattern of white and black pearls. The necklace connected in the front with three red stars that symbolized the Council of Light. Nasaral released his magic. He knew the man as Illus Vander, the grand priest of the Council.

“You have done well, heroes. Your effort and dedication to our most righteous cause will forever be remembered by all the people of this land. We can take it from here. Your services are no longer required.”

Something about Illus rubbed Nasaral the wrong way. It was not his physical features though he looked odd. The grand priest of the Council of the Light was inches shorter than the knights. In fact he was shorter than average height. When he walked towards the demon he limped slightly and stroked his thin line of a moustache. Illus had a very small gap between his eyebrows that formed a unibrow when he squinted his eyes. 

What made Nasaral feel uneasy was the casual and almost indifferent way that the grand priest behaved. He seemed younger than his age and seemed open to new ideas. It was a good attribute to have in an authority figure, however it was out of place on Illus. Nasaral knew that it did not match up, that all of Illus’ liberalism and openness was a front for the deceptions he carried in his heart.

“What do you mean we are ‘no longer required’?”

“The evil has been dealt with, the Cultists and their misguided ways have been eliminated. You shall be praised by the people for your deeds.  However there will be no place for you in the new world.”

Nasaral instinctually drew his magic around him like a cape of flame. He felt Elf’s holy magic behind him like a warm pulse. Rohr and Allieah must have been ready as well.

However, Nasaral was unable to cast his magic.

The knights threw their orbs of darkness onto the ground and when the spheres broke suffocating black smoke gas oozed out of the devices. It leaked out covering the room in a thick gas. Nasaral held his breath for as long as he could but eventually he inhaled the darkness. Soon the magic he had held on to left his grasp and the room became blurred. Nasarals’ senses dulled and he lost consciousness.

***

When Nasaral awoke his body ached all over. He did not know how long he had been unconscious. The room he was in was dark and cold but he knew from the stones that he lay upon and the metal bars that separated him from the hallway. There was no sign of his companions in the small cell that he lay in. 

His captors, the Council of Light had not even taken the time to place him on the cell’s dirty bed.  Nasaral stood up and moved to the bars and pulled. The bars he grasped groaned slightly but as he expected they did not budge at all. He tried to call upon his magic but the gas effect still lingered. He thought about calling out but there would be no one that could help instead he spoke the names of his companions hoping that they were awake in the nearby cells.

Nasaral received no response.

The flame mage sat on the bed and waited. Hours passed with little change in the cells. Every few minutes he would try to draw upon his flames but with little effect. There were no guards that came to check on him, no food was delivered for him to eat. If things continued this way he would weaken and eventually die in this dark prison. This was his reward for saving the populace from the evil of the Cultists. Nasaral paused and pushed away negative thoughts. He would need to stay determined, keep his hopes high and be prepared to act when the opportunity presented itself.

Fatigue began to grip him and his stomach growled. When he saw the grand priest again he would make him pay for his betrayal.  The image of Illus’ face was singed into his brain, the unibrow and the strand of moustache.  He remembered the first time he had met the grand priest and he had had his suspicions. However, he was too distracted by the task at hand to do anything about it.

He had not told the others about his idea, because he never had the opportunity. Before he knew it they were standing before the crystalline tower and the Cultists attacked them. But now they were imprisoned or worse and he felt powerless. He felt like a discarded blade, no longer useful because there were no more meat to cut or enemies to slay.

The image of Illus returned to his mind and he considered the various different ways he could burn him with his magic. 

As if on cue he heard footsteps approach him from the hallway. One of the steps was slower than the other and seemed to drag on the floor. Nasaral knew that it was Illus who was advancing towards him.  The flame mage stood up from the bed and waited for the grand priest.

The leader of the Council’s priesthood wore a cape of silver fur, a frivolous adornment only worn on important occasions. He held in his hand his staff of office an ivory staff ornamented with the three red stars of the Council.

“You are awake, Nasaral. Good. I won’t need the guards to wake you.”  He dismissed his retinue with a wake of his hand. 

“Where is everyone?”

“They are being interrogated to see if they have influenced by the Cultists. We can’t have another uprising happen led by heroes such as you. It would destabilize our current rule. We cannot have any dissent with our true religion.”

“What happens after that?”

“If you prove to be tainted by the Cultists’ heresies than you will be executed. Secretly, of course. If the people knew you were affected by the very evil you sought to cleanse they would be afraid. Fear itself leads to chaos and anarchy. If, however, you are clean and pure of any brainwashing then I am afraid you will meet the same fate. Death.”

“But why? Why will you kill us if there is nothing wrong?”

“I told you before child Nasaral. You are no longer needed in the new world. If the people believe you sacrificed your lives in ensuring peace, in turn they will aspire to act as you have. They will give up things precious to them in order to serve their faith—to serve the Council of Light.”

Nasaral felt his anger build up inside of him and latched on to a tiny fragment of his magic.  It bubbled like boiling water and he could feel it growing with each pump of his heart.

“Now, child Nasaral, let us begin the interrogation. I believe it will take less time if I simply ask you here and now the questions I have in mind. The solace gas’ properties for controlling magic users will only last for a few hours from now and I’d rather not have to waste any more on you.” It is useless to struggle. I can see by your expression what you are feeling. When you’ve answered my questions you will find a peaceful death is your recompense.”

“Now then, child Nasaral, flame mage of Saiure, are you a believer in the Council of Light? 

Nasaral did not answer instead he grasped onto the bars and gathered more of his magic together. In his mind it was a ball of flame that grew until it filled his sight. 

“If you will not answer, mage, then I will have to bring in guards to get the answer out of you. Now, are you, child Nasaral, a believer in the Council of the Light?”

Nasaral’s vision changed. Instead of the dark confinement that he saw, his view was strangely lit. He could see the heat emanating from the grand priest’s body, stronger in the center of his mass and less projected in his limbs.  Inside of the flame mage he could feel his magic building and becoming intense warmth. On the outside he could feel more warmth being drawn to him, but he did not know where it came from.

“This is your final warning. Are you a believer?” Illus eyes squinted in a frown and he tried to move down the hallway. However, he collapsed to the ground—his legs were numb and he had trouble walking.  “What is the meaning of this? What are you doing?  Guards and Knights! The flame mage is trying to escape!”

Nasaral then realized what he had been doing. In order to counter the effects of the smoke, he drew heat and flame from his surroundings, from the Grand Priest Illus himself. Nasaral’s magic was evolving.  It was not the practiced forms he had learned from his wizard academy, flames that engulfed, or balls of fire that were hurled. He was controlling it as if it was a living thing and he could go beyond the regular spells he had learnt.

He passed the flames through his own body cleansing himself of the solace gas. With the poison out of his system he channeled his arcane might into a cloak of flame. The fire surrounded him and moved of its own accord, swaying like a real cloak. He touched the bars and they melted into molten metal.

He walked past the grand priest who was still screaming for assistance, and proceeded down the hall. He had to save his companions.

***

As he traveled down the hallways, the flame cloak that he wore illuminated the jail with light. Whenever a knight entered his path and tried to attack him with metallic orbs of solace gas or their pristine white swords, he would burn the area with his fire. He had no more mercy left for the Council or those that served it. The only thing that was on his mind was finding Rohr, Allieah and Elf and escaping form the prison.

He had been to these prisons only once before so he did not have a clear memory of its pathways. They had brought and escorted a member of the Cultists who served as a messenger—he carried with him a scroll containing a declaration of their religious formal separation from the Council. It included their ideals, beliefs and a statement of peace and friendly cooperation in having all the people of the land the free choice to believe in any religion.

The Council adamantly opposed the document the Cultists delivered and had the messenger imprisoned. The heroes protested this unfair treatment but the priests assuaged their complaints with news of the more radical members of the Cultists who had assaulted the pro-Council border town of Lavera. It was one of the first times that the heroes, Nasaral, in particular, had voiced his disagreement with the Council. However, the act of the radical members, coupled with the clever words of the priests snuffed out any dissension.

He called out to his companions whenever he approached a new set of cells but he heard no reply. The cells themselves were strangely empty though he knew they should be filled with many of the captured Cultists. Before the crystalline tower, the Paladins of Light, the elite troops of the Council along with regiments of Knights led by the Council priests, and even the heroes themselves had defeated bands of Cultists and brought them to this jail. Many criminals that his group had incarcerated were violent practitioners of the Creator’s faith.

He wondered what had happened to all of them. Were they lurking in the depths of the prison bereft of food and light, or were they executed so that they could keep the people under one faith? 

As he passed by one of the cells he thought he heard a moaning so he turned to check out the cell. He saw Elf leaning against the side of the bed. His staff was broken in two—its wooden halves splintered into sharp, jagged ends. The elf was disheveled, his robes were torn and dirtied with sweat and his hair was unkempt as if he had woken from sleep. There were splotches of black and red spots along his arms and neck, flecking the pale white skin of his people.

“Zedril, what happened to you?” Elf’s real name escaped from his lips. When they first met with the elf they had teasingly used his race as his name. Nasaral had come up with the idea, stating that he could not tell the difference between any of the elves he had met. He had meant it as a joke, but Zedril had agreed that it would make it easier for the humans to remember. 

Elf’s eyes opened and Nasaral could see that his irises had changed from light blue to red.  “Is that you Nasaral?”

“Yes, Elf I’m here. What happened? What did they do to you?”

“The priests told me their plans. They were delayed by the meddling of the Cultists but now they were beginning their true scheme. We were used Nasaral! We have to escape and warn my people.”

Nasaral let his magic cloak fade out and cast a swirling orb of flame the size of an apple and made it hover in front of him. He burned away the iron bars and walked into Zedril’s cell. He picked up Elf’s broken staff and placed it into the large pockets of his robes. He then knelt down and braced Zedril as they walked down the corridor.

“Tell me about their plan, Zedril. What are they going to do? And what did they do to you?”

“Now that they have dealt with Eon’s Cultists, the Council is going to extend their influence to all people. They are going to destroy the elves with this disease they have afflicted me with. If I were not under the effects of the solace gas, I may be able to cure it with my holy magic, but it feels strange. I believe the longer it stays on me, the more it will become irreversible.”

“Let me try something then. It’s something I just learned a short while ago. It may be worth it to risk your life, I hope that you can endure the pain.”

Nasaral placed Zedril on the stone floor and leaned him sitting upright. He placed his hands over Elf’s heart and concentrated. Using small particles of magic he delved inside Elf’s body using the flame and saw the infection spreading slowly throughout different parts of his body. The flame mage’s eyes turned red and he slowed his breathing.

As Nasaral scanned the insides of Zedril he saw black and red spots on his bones and this muscle tissue.  Some were bulbous growths that beat like mini hearts. He used some flame to try to pop the growths like balloons but as he burst them, the red and black fluids spilled out and contaminated more of the elf’s flesh and bone. There was nothing that his magic could do for the elven illness but make it spread faster.

He looked higher and found traces of the solace smoke in Zedril’s lungs. The black smoke had become tar that covered the walls of the lungs eventually it would pass and be exhaled by Elf’s respiration. Nasaral used tiny sparks of flame and burned the tar. The viscous liquid melted onto black water and then into smoke.

Zedril coughed up the smoke in weak bursts. His fingers clenched onto Nasaral’s red sleeves until his knuckles turned white.

“I’ve burned away the smoke. You should be able to use your magic now.”

“You always surprise me, Nasaral. How did you do that?”

“It seems my magic has changed during the battle with Eon the Creator. Something inside me is different, my grasp on my magic is stronger and I can see new possibilities. It is surely a gift, but where did it come from?”

“When mortals such as ourselves are stressed we grow and improve beyond our limitations. That is one possibility. However if we cannot adapt, then ultimately we perish to our own complacency.” Elf was a priest himself though not a member of the Council of the Light. His sermons kept his people strong, and his advice thought they were based on his own thoughts and experiences, bolstered his peoples’ resolve through the past wars. “Thank you for helping me, Nasaral.”

***

Zedril had spent an hour channeling his holy magic to cure the disease. Nasaral watched as brilliant light enveloped the elf. At the end of Zedril’s healing time he said that he was unable to cure the elven disease completely. It had receded enough so that it would not be a problem for years, however since Elf’s knowledge of diseases, in particular this affliction, was lacking he did not know if it would reemerge.

Elf looked weaker from using his magic. He seemed more exhausted than when the affliction was potent but he was able to stand and walk. When Nasaral was sure the priest was rested enough they proceeded down the jail’s narrow hallways.  There were no turns, only a straight path filled with cells along each side.

They entered a large room that had barred walls separating the different segments, however with Nasaral’s magic the barriers posed little obstruction. When prison guards, wearing the three star symbol on their armor, tried to stop them, Nasaral used his newly learned spells to steal the heat from their bodies. Some of the guards tried to charge at him or throw their weapons before they were incapacitated, however the mage of flame retaliated with fireballs that knocked back attackers and deflected thrown objects. Zedril continued to conserve his strength and his magic.  He hid behind Nasaral and called out when new enemies entered the room.

Nasaral’s magic replenished itself. He did not need to rest or slow his progress. In fact simply holding onto his flames reinvigorated his mind and body. So did having an important purpose. After they cleared out the room, they exited and found themselves outside of the prison. Past the confines of the jail was a cleared space and beyond that was the Barlen Forest.

The prison was built outside of the Capital, near enough to be seen but out of reach for most of the populace. The citizens wanted to know that criminals were captured but they did not want to see or interact with them. No prisoners had ever escaped from Barlen Prison. The guards and knights were well trained in combat, many of them even participated in the last wars. Many of the knights had no access to magic so they were armed with spheres of solace gas to incapacitate and temporarily nullify spellcasters. Nasaral had killed many of the soldiers that protected this place, but there were no prisoners that needed guarding.

Nasaral was interred near the end of the jail. As Zedril and the flame mage had passed through the compound he had not seen any trace of Rohr or Allieah. Where could they have gone? 

“We need to go back. They must be in there somewhere, unless they were killed. I don’t believe that happened. I can’t believe those two perished.”

“There is no time to save them, Nasaral. We must save my people. If I do not go to my village they Council will commit genocide. I have to go.” Elf’s visually composed face was contorted in a frown.

“But we can’t just leave them here. They’ll be executed. We’ve worked so hard together. Zedril, we cannot abandon Rohr and Allieah to the Council!”

“Nasaral,” Elf sighed, “they are no longer here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw them being escorted out of the complex by Paladins of the Light. It happened hours before you arrived. I tried to stop them but there was nothing I could do without my magic. The Paladins opened the gates of my cell and beat me. They even laughed while they did it. And then they administered this poison into my system.”

“Why didn’t you tell this to me earlier?”

“Because I knew that you would want to chase after them. You have to make a choice, Nasaral.  Go after Rohr and Allieah, not knowing where they may have been taken or whether they still live. Or help me save my tribe, the last of the Zeun elves, before the Council spreads their disease. You know my decision. You know what Rohr and Allieah would choose as well. All you need do is say it.”

In his mind he knew the right choice. It was still difficult for him to say. Rohr, with his calculations, would say, “what were two lives compared to all the elves that would be slaughtered? It is only logical to help the elves.” Allieah, with her compassion, would advocate helping those in most need. The elves for the most part were not fighters, only gatherers and priests. They were carpenters, builders and traders. 

“I will help you, Zedril.”

Nasaral should have said it immediately when the priest had asked but something about Rohr and Allieah’s disappearance stayed in the back of his mind.

***

They walked for most of the day past the borders of the Council controlled countries to the borderlands in the east where Zedril’s tribe, the elves of Zeun, one of the few remaining elven groups survived. The sun dipped below the horizon bathing them in crimson and violet light. Earlier than normal the moon peaked behind a small tuft of clouds, and when they finally reached the town, a ramshackle village of hastily made wooden houses and straw huts, night cast a deep indigo hue over their surroundings.

The elves had few resources in this part of the world but they managed to survive. They endured the harsh wilderness that surrounded them, particularly the frontier and its savage beasts that encroached on their environment.

What welcomed them was not the silence of a sleeping town but the screams of the dying.

All around him Nasaral saw chaos. Elves were being killed, some with bright white swords that became stained with blood, others engulfed in flame from torches thrown by soldiers, and still more were covered in black and red splotches from diseased metallic orbs. The Council’s army was shouting “heretics,” “heathens,” and “nonbelievers.” The soldiers smiled and laughed, possessed of a zealot’s spirit, some knelt and prayed as they did the work of God and the Light. The elves ran away or put up a negligible defense but, however much they struggled, they were put down like animals.

Beside him Zedril was broken. The elf priest had tried to call upon the powers of his holy magic, the true light, but without his resolve and determination, it escaped from his fingers. Elf knelt to the ground and wept as he stared at the destruction of his people. He begged for the soldiers to stop, for his people to be rescued, and for a God that would not turn his back to this atrocity.

Nasaral could feel the pain his friend felt. The injustice of the Council and the helplessness of the elven tribe filled the flame mage with deep feelings. He hunched his shoulders and felt himself instinctually call for his magic. It wreathed him in blinding white light and as he looked around at the genocide of the Zeun people his eyes blurred and he no longer saw what was around him.

Pure flames of light erupted from his hands, and as the fire swept out of him, the soldiers and the knights of the Council were engulfed in Nasaral’s purification. As the humans were burned alive in heavenly flame Nasaral could feel their pain and hear their innermost thoughts and hearts. He purified the hate and corruption in their souls until they wept liquid fire tears. 

The soldiers and knights, the depraved murderers of the Light, understood for a brief moment all the sins they had committed. They cried out for forgiveness to the elves they had poisoned and slaughtered, and their voices rose like a banshee’s scream. To Nasaral it was a divine hymn. When they had uttered their final words, they turned into blackened ash. Nasaral released the intense heat of his magic and looked down at Zedril.

The elven leader had lost consciousness. Nasaral left him in that state for he knew that there was nothing he could say or do to make him feel better.

***

Nasaral snuffed out the flames that had been burning the village and brought the separate natural fires into the magical fire within him. Littered across the floor were bodies of elves. Most were dead but some still had faint signs of life. The villagers that survived were covered in the elven disease though the affliction had progressed much farther than Zedril’s condition. Their breathing was labored and as they coughed blood and spittle spilled from their lips.

Like with the elf priest, Nasaral’s magic could not cure the disease. It would only injure them further and they already looked to be on the brink of death. He needed Zedril’s magic. It was the only thing that could help them.

Nasaral knelt beside Elf’s near comatose form and placed his hand on Zedril’s shoulder. He used a bit of his magic to bring warmth to his fingertips to try to coax him out of his stupor. “Zedril, my friend, your people need you. Only your magic can heal them. My flames will only exacerbate the disease.”

Elf did not move nor raise his head. He murmured a prayer to his God, repeated the words again and again, like a talisman that kept away his dark thoughts. Nasaral had to awaken Zedril from his trance if he were to save the priest and any of his elves. No matter the pain it might cause, he had to continue. 

“You have to face this darkness, Elf. You must fight against the Council. Recover as many people as you can and lead them away from this tragedy!”

Nasaral pulled out the broken staff from the pockets of his robes. He held each piece in a separate hand and using his magic he melted the wooden staff together. Liquid fire leaked out of his hands like melted wax and formed a spiraling adhesive along the length of the weapon. He forced the glue to cool and the staff became whole.

The flame mage took hold of Elf’s shaking hands and placed the staff into them.

Zedril clenched his fingers around his weapon and turned his gaze upwards. His blue eyes were tinged with faint traces of the red disease. “What must I do, Nasaral?”

With Nasaral’s instruction Zedril set to work reviving the remnants of his people.

The elder leader worked beyond the point of exhaustion infusing his magic to cleanse the taint from each elf citized he could. Nasaral supported him and kept him awake and energized with sparks of fire magic that restored his energy. Zedril had no time to rest, every minute meant another of his people might perish.

Nasaral spent his time clearing away the debris and making room for the living and the dead.  He found blankets from a few of the untouched homes and made makeshift beds inside the houses. Using an orb of flame to light his path made working at night possible. He watched Zedril cast his magic and made sure that he was not again stricken with grief. Whenever the priest would fail to save someone one he would place his hands over his eyes, then his mouth and then his heart, and offer a prayer for their soul in the afterlife. Nasaral did not know the specifics of what each gesture meant nor did he care to disrupt Zedril’s most important work to ask.

Through his diligence and methodical work, Zedril had regained his composure. The elf leader had a frown on his face as he walked over to where Nasaral was standing. He had finished saving all the elves in the village, some of which were found on the borders more unfortunates that had run for their life. Zedril’s eyes were piercing and he sighed before he spoke.

“You know what must come next, Nasaral. I cannot come with you to find Rohr or Allieah. I must tend to my people, find them a new place to live so that my tribe can survive.”

Nasaral nodded. While he helped Zedril he knew that it was coming, had reasoned the need of a leader and his people. He had accepted Elf’s choice because it was the right thing to do.

“I will find Rohr and Allieah. I will also help you find a cure. If I have to destroy the Council by myself, then I will for you, my friend. Where will you lead your people?”

“We will join one of the remaining elven tribes. Then I will begin gathering the elven tribes. Though we are few, together we should be able to survive and perhaps even thrive. Our desperation will make us stronger or we will perish.” Zedril held out his hand.

“May the flames keep you warm.” Nasaral grabbed Zedril’s hand. His pulse was fast but he still managed to give a strong grip.

“May the light guide your path.” 

The sun began to peak out over the horizon sending shafts of light through the trees. The devastation of the elven village was apparent more so now than with the aid of Nasaral’s magic. He walked off towards the capital in search of answers.

***