A drumroll of thunder sounded from the depths of the dark clouds, morosely skulking after the lightning that flashed across the blackened sky.

   A single bolt sharply broke the dense shroud of the storm and struck a lone tree, setting its boughs alight. Fires crackled in the silence of this gloomy realm, briefly lighting the ghastly bastion of black steel that was the source of the ubiquitous evil in this once-sacred world. What had stood proudly as the Antarika Citadel, the outpost of the Light, was now in the clutches of a foul-hearted monster.

   The lament of the clouds, a sorrow-filled melody of slow thunder and bitter sobs of rain against the somber crackling of fire, was the only sound amid the grave stillness of this lonely world. The ethereal chorus of the free souls who had found peace in the Nuhremorn no longer sang aloud, adopting instead a more taciturn manner and retreating to the far corners of this realm. Whatever natural beauty had once existed here had withered into lost memories.

   Ash from the burning tree rose slowly on a choked gust of wind, rising ever higher as it climbed the walls of the corrupted Sanctum. Rain fell with greater intensity as the ash drifted upward past the fallen hero in an upper turret who had led the realm to this dire state. The heavens’ cold tears ran along his soaked brown hair, passing along his face and his exposed torso.

   He slowly turned his head aside as the water dripped off the tip of his nose. The rumbling thunder sounded again, this time with greater gusto as the storm attempted to rouse the fallen hero. He alone could correct the disorder that plagued this mystic realm.

   Rezaaran Valhara opened his eyes to a familiar walkway. The wind felt cold against his bare chest. This and the gentle caress of water running down his arms and face began to rouse his mind. There was a reason he was here, but he could not quite grasp it. He attempted to draw his hands over his face but felt a strong resistance as he tried to move them. Looking upward, he saw glowing red energy bands binding his wrists to the walls. The young War Mage closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

   His last memories were of meeting Lord Salvidawn, who had granted him another opportunity to return to save Kashari. The Guardian King had been emphatic that Rezaaran rescue her. Unfortunately, his return to the Maelinthian had been brief—he had passed into unconsciousness upon the outskirts of Prashorida and mysteriously awoke in the Antarika Citadel.

   He drew a deep breath and tried again to pull free of his bonds. Once more, he could not muster the strength. Rezaaran let out a weary sigh, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

   How had it come to this?

   The power lust he had sworn never to succumb to had been his undoing. It had been the cause of his drifenira’s demise.     At his core, he felt too fractured, too shattered, to summon any real resolve to contest the dark magic that was holding him prisoner.

   The cool water on his skin cleared his mind. His thoughts soon transcended the regrets of the past and entered a more lucid state. Despite the shadows around him, he sensed two echoes from across the bastion. The stronger was the unmistakable presence of Yudhara, the false mentor who had led him astray. The other was the waning echo of the Elder Mage, whose goodwill, trust, and friendship he had betrayed in a quest for power. Whatever his intentions may have been, the truth remained that they had been at the expense of Kashari. For all her sacrifices, she deserved a better-quality student than what he had become.

   He was the cause of her suffering, and he alone could be her salvation.

   He had betrayed her once.

   It would not happen again.

   Rezaaran concentrated his strength and started pulling his shackles from the wall. The muscles across his arms and torso tensed, pushing the veins to the surface. With nothing but his indomitable will, he forced himself to power through the burning in every sinew. He would not submit to the pain—not when his friend needed him most.

That last thought was what he needed to rip the energy shackles completely from the wall. He fell to ground in a crouch and gathered his breath. The War Mage rose, feeling rejuvenated and ready to do what was necessary. Feeling the rain upon his face, he looked up, taking in the stormy skies.

   Antarika was no longer the beautiful citadel in which he had met Kashari at the time of his ascension. The very walls of the fortress had warped into a malevolent monument of steel and ire. The symphony of the free souls in song was now but a memory. There was only despair across this land. Beyond the walls of the fortress, against the backdrop of a dead forest, a solitary burning tree poignantly symbolized the affliction wrought upon the realm by Yudhara’s pernicious presence.

   Beyond this place of wickedness, wrath, and horror, Rezaaran sensed a flicker of hope that the Light would return. It resided in the presence of Kashari. She was the custodian of this realm, the mentor and dear friend who had saved him numerous times through her surreptitious interventions, never once asking for gratitude or recognition but selflessly fulfilling her role. It was now his turn to reciprocate the kindness the Elder Mage had shown him.

Rezaaran set off at a run down the ramparts, his bare feet noisily splashing through puddles as he sprinted to the courtyard—where he sensed Yudhara.

​

The soft sobbing of an Elder Mage who had once called this fortress her home provided a somber undertone to the Nuhremorn’s lament. Once the respected and powerful leader of the Vokarii Order, now she stood alone, in the very courtyard wherein she had met Rezaaran not long ago, awaiting her end due to his actions.

   Fate, it seemed, was not without a sense of cruel irony.

   In her two centuries of training Vokarii apprentices, the young War Mage had been her most esteemed student. Alas, her pride in watching him flourish had blinded her to the growing darkness within his heart. Perhaps she ought to have been more vigilant. But what did that matter now? The events since Voltfes had frayed their bond to its final thread. She could not reach out to Rezaaran. But right now, his help was what she needed most.

   The Emissary towered over her, his looming wings casting an ominous shadow over his ragged victim. The Elder Mage lay weakened, but she had to hold on. She had to believe that Rezaaran was still alive. She had to fight down the urge to submit. For her student.

   For her friend.

   “You’re growing weak, my dear.” The words seeped from between the Emissary’s pointed teeth against the backdrop of the rolling thunder. “How much longer do you think you can withstand my power?”

Kashari caught her breath and emerged from her reverie with renewed resolve.

   “I am a departed soul. I fear no death.”

   “Perhaps,” replied the Emissary, admiring his black claws. “But I intend to break your spirit. And when I am done, you will be begging me for a reprieve from this pitiful existence.”

   He unleashed yet another agonizing blast of red electricity upon the Elder Mage.

   Kashari cried out in anguish at first, caught by the surprise of the assault, before she fought down the rising panic. She had to endure this torture with the mental serenity she had taught Rezaaran. She would not afford this Obsidious creature the satisfaction of knowing his torture was eroding her soul.

   Suddenly the Emissary ceased his assault and appraised her slow-breathing body. “This battle of wills grows tedious, Mage. I have made my demands; you would be wise to comply.”

   “Perhaps if you had more brains beneath that bone-laden helmet of yours,” Kashari wheezed, “you may be able to endure such a battle.”

   The Emissary scoffed at this. “How cute. Cute…yet undeniably pathetic that the great mage Kashari Alda-Fyre has to resort to meek insults. Do you finally realize that your feeble Zenorian experimental charms have no power to resist the might of the Obsidious?”

   “There is still some fight to be found with the Zenorians,” Kashari whispered, attempting painfully to stand.

   “Why do you cling so dearly to this apprentice of yours? Such loyalty would be admirable were it not so foolishly misplaced.”

   “At least I know where my loyalties have always been. Can you say the same for yourself?”

   The Emissary contemplated this as he pressed his heavy foot against Kashari’s back to keep her down. “I believe I can. My loyalty has only ever been to my true master. It is by his will that I am here now, serving the orders of Thaedis himself.”

   “What master?” Kashari asked as she unsuccessfully attempted to shrug off the Emissary’s foot.

   “Ah, yes…I forget you are merely a Zenorian mage misled by Tyrel Salvidawn’s skewed perception of the truth. That aside, he is not the one you have bound yourself to. No—he was your lord in an era long past. Now you serve the Valhara boy. He is the reason for this obstinacy, is he not? Do you somehow believe your lost apprentice will arrive and save you from the big, bad monster of the Obsidious?” The Emissary released Kashari, guffawing at the notion.

   “Rezaaran has not been lost. His soul remains true to the Light.”

   “If this is true, then where is the boy now?” asked the Emissary, theatrically spreading his arms to indicate the empty courtyard. “If he was bound to the Light, how has he allowed you to stand defenseless before me?”

   Perhaps there was some shadow of truth to the Emissary’s words. But Kashari could not let herself believe it. His words were a dark poison. They had corrupted Rezaaran before, and if she allowed him a foothold in her mind, it would be disastrous for her friend.

   No.

   She had to believe in the purity of her friend’s virtue. The only weapon that could defeat this monster was the strength of their bond. She would not forsake that now. No matter the cost to herself.

   The Emissary seized Kashari by the neck and drew her close to his red face. She looked into his soulless slate-gray eyes and felt her skin crawl as his venom-laden words flowed onto her cold skin.

   “My patience grows thin. I do not care for this tiresome war between the mortals, your weak apprentice, or the empty words of a powerless and broken woman. All I want is what Thaedis has sent me for so I can leave this insipid realm and return to the comfort of the Obsidious.”

   “Oh, you will find your way home, Emissary—and by Rezaaran’s hand, I am sure. But you will not get what you seek  from me.”

   The Emissary threw Kashari to the ground and snarled menacingly. He unleashed another blast of red electricity upon the mage, letting her taste his growing displeasure. “You may not be able to die in this realm, for your soul is already departed. But I can tear you apart piece by piece until your soul has disintegrated into oblivion.”

   This caught Kashari’s attention. She looked down at the stump of her arm, a grizzly reminder of her first encounter with the monster.

   “Yes, I think that will be a fitting levy for your obstinacy. Now tell me where the Sentinel’s conduit is, or I will hack what remains of your pathetic presence—”

   The Emissary abruptly ceased his tirade and sniffed the air.

   He had sensed a ripple in the Vaux earlier that he had chosen to ignore. Yet there was no ignoring the unmistakable mortal scent of the last Vokarii War Mage.

​

Rezaaran looked out the archway, baffled by what he saw. He was certain this staircase led to the courtyard where he usually met Kashari, but now he was looking through the darkness upon a field shrouded by a veil of mist.

Stepping carefully through the steel archway, he felt his bare feet touch damp grass. No remnant lingered of what ought to have stood in place of this field, save the memories in the War Mage’s mind. But the fell deception at work here did little to beguile the young mage.

   Occasionally the mist flickered as it drifted around him. Steam hissed from the ground, and the grass beneath his feet intermittently revealed the cold touch of stone. The Vaux was writhing from the gross distortion it was undergoing. Rezaaran could feel the fractures beneath the probing touch of his mind. Something was amiss.

   He faintly heard the whispers of Kashari, but someone was making a great effort to mask the Antarika Citadel in shadows that stifled the Elder Mage’s voice. Although he could not hear her, he still remembered her teachings. Deception was a shroud strengthened by fear and destroyed by the eye of a calm mind.

   Rezaaran drew his breath slowly, stilling his mind. The mist around the War Mage crept aside, and his calming psyche repaired the integrity of the Vaux around him to restore normality. The purified zone continued expanding, at last revealing a familiar stone courtyard. But the intruder to Antarika was tenacious. The mist hung ominously upon the peripheries, oscillating as the conjurer and the savior contested wills.

   Now that he had drawn the weaver of this deception into the open, Rezaaran sensed the distinct echoes of two powerful entities. One was definitely Kashari, who was attempting to dispel this mist with what power she could spare. Rezaaran sensed that she was enduring great agony, yet her will to help him gave her strength to resist her torturer.

The other was a presence he had grown all too familiar with lately. It was clear that Yudhara was the conjurer of this mist—an attempt to dissuade Rezaaran from his course of action so that he would have ample time to break the Elder Mage.       But Rezaaran would not allow it.

   If Kashari’s will could resist Yudhara’s torment a little longer, then together they could escape this entanglement.

Rezaaran searched deep within himself for the strength he had once shared with Kashari. He closed his mind to the coldness of the mist and rain that relentlessly raked his bare chest. He shut out the booming thunder that echoed from the darkened heavens, for there was only one task his mind needed to fulfill now. However, more than a cruel storm contended with him in this misty field.

   The War Mage opened his eyes sharply. Something had moved near him.

   Pools of bubbling black sludge formed around him. The sludge congealed and rose, forming viscous, mangled corpses armed with various ancient weapons. Their slow, rasping breaths pressed in on Rezaaran, and they dragged their defiled vessels onward. The lashings of Yudhara’s dark magic spurred each slumping step they took.

   The War Mage closed his eyes again and ignored their advances. These resurrected souls were an extension of Yudhara’s morphed reality. If he shattered the warlock’s tapestry of illusion, these shades would no longer exist.

   He returned his attention to reforming his bond with Kashari, for in this bond lay the only cure to the plague of darkness that afflicted the Nuhremorn. Rezaaran felt her spirit reach out to him, and as he accepted her presence within his core, her muffled whispers found a clarity he had not heard since Voltfes.

   Kashari, can you hear me?

   He felt a surge in the connection. The Elder Mage’s will immediately strengthened at the sound of his voice, and the purified zone around the young War Mage expanded.

   Rezaaran? I knew you were not lost to the shadows! It is good to hear you again, but I do not know how much longer I can resist.

   Do not worry, my friend; I am here now. Where are you? And how do I get back to the citadel from this field?

   You are in the citadel, but an illusion is keeping you from seeing what is truly around you. The Emissary holds Antarika in his tainted grasp and can alter the truth within the citadel—unless you contest his will with your own. I fear it will not be much longer until he breaks this link. Hurry! I need your help!

   Kashari’s agonized scream filled the War Mage’s mind, and he felt the anguish of her torture as his own. His actions had released this evil upon the Nuhremorn, and now he would see it destroyed, regardless of the cost.

   And as this thought left his mind, just as had been the case on Imperitus a year ago, a familiar force began to manifest. When the situation around Rezaaran was most dire and friendship had been all that mattered to him, the bond between War Mage and Elder Mage was forged at maximal strength.

   Within his core, Rezaaran felt a warmth explode from his rain-covered body.

   He opened his eyes and watched a wave of white light obliterate the mist. A shadowy corpse standing before him with its broadsword poised to deliver a killing strike was instantly reduced to smoky remains that rolled away with the purged mist.

​

Rezaaran rose and looked around warily, relieved to find himself surrounded by the familiarity of Antarika. The hatred and ire that cloaked this building did well to hide its beauty, but it could not expunge Rezaaran’s memories of his conversations with the Elder Mage when they walked here between training sessions. Regardless of the evil he was soon to face, he knew he would destroy it. Not in wrath, nor for glory, but for the sake of saving Kashari.

   He turned his attention to the two Zenorians of an era long past. Yudhara held a limp Kashari by the collar and seemed mildly surprised at Rezaaran’s appearance.

   “Weren’t expecting me, were you, Yudhara?”

   The warlock considered this as he dropped Kashari to the ground and stepped toward the War Mage. “Well, I would not consider this a complete surprise. You Zenorians are particularly irksome to eradicate. But I am amazed that you arrived at this courtyard before I intended you to be here.”

   “The ties of a true friendship cannot be undone by deception,” Rezaaran replied as he cast his eye over Kashari. She was still breathing, albeit slightly.

   Yudhara laughed loudly at this as he too glanced at Kashari. “You continue to astound me, Rezaaran. There is such potential within you, yet you place loyalty in the hearts of weaker companions. Orin, Kashari, Ashana—you would do anything to protect these people. But you fail to realize that your attachment to them stifles you. Yet perhaps your greatest undoing is your attachment to Zaran.”

   This piqued Rezaaran’s interest. “What do you know about my father?”

   Yudhara smiled smugly. He knew he had the War Mage’s attention now, and he was all too familiar with this vantage point. With only a slim foothold, he would be able to easily sway Rezaaran’s allegiance to the master’s plan. “I know you witnessed his death at the hands of Thaedis. That you have been reliving that memory every night. You would do anything to reap vengeance for his murder.”

   “What are you talking about?” Rezaaran asked hesitantly.

   Yudhara’s jeering laughter was calculated to goad Rezaaran into acting rashly, but the young mage remained calm. Anger would slow his mind. At some point, the warlock would lower his guard for only the slightest moment, and Rezaaran would need to be ready to seize the opportunity.

   “What is this plan your master has?” Rezaaran asked calmly.

   “You are different from my memories of you,” replied Yudhara shrewdly, ceasing his mockery and appraising the War Mage. “You are no longer directed by emotion. Purpose now drives you. Perhaps there is some use for you after all.”

Rezaaran awaited the answer to his question.

   “Well, if you are to join us, the substandard education you received from that whimpering whore will not do. You are most probably thinking I refer to Thaedis, but he is not the master of whom I speak. Thaedis Silvermire is perhaps the most powerful mortal, but he too must answer to a superior. My true master is Nethriziin, the Great Scion of Darkness. Born from within the Vaux, he has been the ever-present shadow since the dawn of Anmor’s creation. He is the father of my people.”

   As he spoke of the Scion, Yudhara held a reverence about him, respectful even though he was beyond his master’s gaze.

   “For the longest of ages, Nethriziin has had one purpose: to see Anmor burn in Obsidian fire. To this end, he embarked with an army of Edarians on the grandest of wars to fulfill his destiny. Alas, we met countless failures at the gates of the Aetherealm—until Thaedis Silvermire joined our conquest. Thaedis showed Nethriziin the flaws in the Anmorian Guardians, and this allowed my Edarian kin to overwhelm the pious Guardians, corrupt their reason, and enslave them to the Obsidious. Thus ended the rule of the Guardians, and the time of the Archlords began.”

   “The Archlords…are actually the Anmorian Guardians?” Rezaaran asked blankly. He had been slaying the beings charged to protect Anmor against horrors such as Thaedis and Yudhara.

   “Well, they are nothing more than vessels now for the Edarians who control them. With these incredible war machines at our disposal, we were ready to fix our gaze upon the last realm: the Maelinthian. However, the instability of the Vaux posed a problem for our kin. Those who held the Archlord vessels could enter the Maelinthian but could spread our rule only one world at a time. Nethriziin was not impressed, but he was patient, and between the Archlords and Thaedis, we have slowly edged our cause onward…until the day you took the sword on Imperitus. That was the day it all changed.”

   “Why?”

   “When you grasped that sword, it sent a roar through the Vaux that alerted Nethriziin to the presence of another mortal who could advance our cause. He instructed Thaedis to recruit you. Yet to do this, we needed a means to sway you.”

   “My father’s death was that means to your end,” Rezaaran remarked grimly. The scheme was materializing before his eyes, and he not could believe how blindly he had played into it.

   “I must commend Thaedis on whatever he did to you before you arrived here. You are far quicker on the uptake than I remember. I traveled to the Nuhremorn, where I gravitated to the stream of your memories surging through this dreary world. For the most part, your recollections were equally droll. Yet I soon came to learn of your idolization of your father. You had all but forgotten that Thaedis had killed him when he was regenerating. You were too young to have taken in everything amid all that chaos. I very carefully fished that detail forward so that you could reexperience it, to get some hatred bubbling within you.”

   “Why would you want me to see that?”

   “Revenge is a powerful motivator.”

   “I did not start this seeking revenge.”

   “What were you pursuing, then? Justice? The chance you could prevent a similar fate occurring elsewhere? Call it whatever you want, Rezaaran, but were it not for that memory, you would never have hunted Thaedis with such vigor. I needed to ignite that fire in you. I had to turn you into a weapon worthy of Nethriziin’s great plan.”

   “What? Now you want a thank-you?” retorted Rezaaran.

   “No need to be bitter. I would say that you turned out for the better. Admittedly this transformation seemed impossible at first. But after I saw the results of my little intervention, I realized that you throw rationality aside when your father is concerned.” He paused a moment, allowing his last point to sink in. “However, breaching the citadel proved more difficult than expected. Powerful, ancient magic permeated these walls—the joint effort of Salvidawn and the Elder Mage to protect a conduit of power that none knew existed. I reported to my master my suspicions of what this fortress had been built to house. Nethriziin ordered me to secure the conduit along with you. However, I needed entry through the barriers. I attempted to sway you on Zeema-Tamius when I fabricated your father’s spirit. I knew that slaying the Archlords would augment my power, and with the memory of Zaran, I urged you to do so. I expected you to heed your father’s advice without question. However, your empathy for that brat was something I had not anticipated.”

   “Perhaps you weren’t as powerful as you thought,” Rezaaran said with a smirk.

   “Normally I would flay the skin off your face for such insolence, but in this instance you are right. There was a self-righteousness lying dormant within you that I had not foreseen. It fortified the Elder Mage’s barriers of this citadel and made it impenetrable to my influence. I knew I needed patience and more power.”

   “The darkness in the shards,” Rezaaran whispered to himself, remembering the uneasy feeling he’d experienced after defeating Arlen and Sephiron.

   “Indeed. With every Archlord’s power you gained, you also took a darkness into your being that strengthened me. After Sarganium fell, I had enough might to breech Antarika’s defenses, and I lay in wait for your arrival to offer you my aid.”

   Rezaaran said nothing. Words did not matter now.

   Despite intending to be a symbol of light in these times, he had unwittingly opened the floodgates for shadow  to  creep in. He had played right into the cold hands of the Obsidious. Each victory had been a farce. Every action he had carried out under Yudhara’s instruction had merely been part of an elaborate ploy to entrap Anmor within the Scion of Darkness’s plan.

   “Ah, well…my time here is nearing its end. I have a fair idea that the conduit is within this fortress. Nethriziin will be able to dismantle the protective charms and do as he wishes with it. I need a reprieve from my year in this banal realm. What will it be, young Zenorian? Will you bow before my master and accept your place in his army? Will you stand beside Thaedis as he purifies the Maelinthian? Will you join us in our last battle as we conquer all of Anmor?”

   “You want me to stand beside the monster that tried to kill me? After all that you’ve done to me, I should just forgive the Obsidious and accept this offer?”

   “Well…yes.” Yudhara seemed surprised that Rezaaran had to ask this. “Look, the business with Thaedis on whatever that backwater world was called—most regrettable, I must admit. However, a bigger plan is in motion here. Thaedis acted rashly in trying to kill you, but if my master decrees you his ally, Thaedis will have to obey. Once the Maelinthian falls into darkness, Nethriziin will not care which of you lives. You will be free to destroy him then. I am offering you a way out of here, boy. I suggest you take it.”

   Rezaaran considered this carefully. This was a familiar position. Yudhara’s dark whispers had veered him off course once before. But he had been waiting for this opportunity. He had to do what was necessary for survival.

   “So your master will just accept me with open arms, and we will all just be friends?”

   “Well, now that you mention it, there is a matter of a tribute to pay.”

   “Name your price.”

   Yudhara looked behind Rezaaran at the Elder Mage.

   Kashari was slowly raising herself with her one arm. Although she was alive, the tussle with Yudhara had severely crippled her.

   The warlock returned his cold eyes to the War Mage. Rezaaran had cast her aside once before, but if he was to join the ranks of the Obsidious, he needed to sever all ties to the Light.

   “Bring me her head,” he said with a cruel smile. “Oh, better yet—I believe this would be more fitting.”

   Yudhara held his hand aside and, with an explosion of black fire, summoned Harkenathor to his grasp.

   Rezaaran looked at the blade he had wielded as his own, surprised to see the sacred weapon once more. The warlock telekinetically passed the blade to him. He looked down and took the sword; it felt foreign in his hand, yet in his heart, he felt the stirring of the power he had once known.

   “As you wish.”

   Rezaaran walked toward Kashari, clearing his mind. He knew there was only one course of action to take. The distance was a matter of only a few paces, yet the walk seemed to take an eternity.

   He came to a halt before the weakened Elder Mage whom he had once called his mentor—the spirit that had sworn the most solemn vow to him and that he had known as his friend.

   She raised her glassy eyes toward the young War Mage. She was too weak to find the words to plead her case, and the look in her eyes told of a will too shattered to fight the pain of another betrayal.

   Rezaaran placed the sword at his side as he considered what he was about to do. The weapon seemed much heavier than it ought to have been, compounded by the gravity in his heart of the actions to come.

   “Forgive me, my friend,” Rezaaran whispered as he came to a decision.

   “Do not tell me you have cold feet now,” Yudhara remarked as he crossed his arms. “Do you not see that she holds you back from the power you deserve? Just get this business over with, and we will leave. She is not important to us.”

   Rezaaran raised Harkenathor over his shoulder, preparing to deliver the final strike to the mighty Kashari Alda-Fyre.

   Yudhara looked on with a self-satisfied smile. He may have failed to find the exact location of the conduit, but when Nethriziin learned that Rezaaran had joined them, that failure would be forgotten. His pride blinded him to the deception at the fore of the War Mage’s mind.

   Kashari dejectedly looked at her student, who offered her a surreptitious wink. He slammed Harkenathor down in front of her, releasing the hilt as the sword sparked off the steel floor. He stretched his arms aside, taking aim at the older Zenorians.

   “There is nobody who is not important to me,” Rezaaran whispered as he reached deep into the Vaux to snare  Yudhara’s soul.

   The warlock had grown complacent awaiting Rezaaran to strike down his mentor and, his guard lowered, was unable to fend off the spell.

   Rezaaran siphoned the life essence of Yudhara into Kashari, using his soul to filter the darkness of the warlock’s life force. The evil Zenorian’s attempts to resist were futile.

   But this powerful spell was not without cost to the caster. Every vein on Rezaaran’s face surfaced as blood dripped from his nose beneath the strain of the power he was handling. A dusky dye seeped through the engorged vessels as black pearls of Yudhara’s energy coursed through the War Mage’s body.

   For a flicker of an instant, he felt the roaring battle hunger reignite, demanding violence to quench its appetite. Yet he remained steadfast. He had seen what that temptation had led him to before, and he would not walk that path again.

Using the might of his will, he contained the darkness within him. A white ribbon of pure light flowed to Kashari, bearing no taint of the warlock’s spirit. This sanctified power was healing her battle wounds, even allowing her arm to regenerate.

However, the foul essence of Yudhara was not making the young War Mage’s sequestration easy. Rezaaran bound the evil within his soul and took the tormenting forces deep within himself. He could feel that darkness attempting with all its fell might to break the confines of the prison he had crafted for it.

   Rezaaran ignored the pounding within his skull and blocked out the mad rattling of his heart against his ribs. Reaching deeper still, he ripped apart the last shreds of Yudhara’s existence.

   The warlock dispersed with a loud explosion amid a cloud of smoke and cinder.

   Rezaaran took the moment to gather his breath. He looked at Kashari. She had collapsed from the rapid infusion of power she had received, and it would take her some time to regain consciousness. Yet something in the pit of his stomach told him that he might not have time to wait. A sinister force had roused, drawing closer to the War Mage. And Rezaaran was uncertain that he would be able to contest this foe on his own.

​

From the shadows of the courtyard stepped a phantasm born of the deepest enmity. Nethriziin himself had crafted these creatures in the black fires of the Obsidious to exude despair as they swarmed across battlefields in his name.

A powerful flap of its red wings instantly cleared the smoke and brought it to stand before Rezaaran. It lowered its slate-gray eyes to look at the War Mage, revealing its needle teeth in a malevolent smirk.

   “So…you chose to reject my offer.” His drawling voice echoed the smugness of Yudhara, but this creature was far from being a Zenorian. “Well, a simple no would have sufficed; the theatrics were a bit much.”

   “What the hell are you?” Rezaaran asked, tightening his grasp on Harkenathor.

   “Well, since you so rudely destroyed my vessel, I have had to resort to my true form. Have you any idea how long I’d kept that vessel intact, you obnoxious bastard?” The creature’s snarl was an attempt to intimidate Rezaaran, but it knew such an act would meet little success against the brazen soldier. “I am an Edarian, the original inhabitants of the Obsidious created in the image of Nethriziin’s perfect army. Now, this is my final offer to join our cause. I am being benevolent, boy,  but you are testing me.”

   “Drop the act, for it will not absolve you for your crimes against Kashari. Now…who are you?”

   “I am curious to see whether your heart will bleed like this when I tear it from your chest. My true name is Tolbetrius. Some call me the Emissary of Darkness, for I go where I must to carry forth the will of Nethriziin, the Great Scion of Darkness. Well, if you will be calling me by my true name, then it would be fitting that I return the favor…Loradún.”

   “What did you call me?” Rezaaran asked, staring blankly at the Obsidian messenger.

   “Your soul bears a unique name, for it is one of few bound to the conduit of this realm, and through that tether is its secret to wielding such great power. This is why we need you, Loradún. A soldier of your might would be a fine addition to our ranks.”

   “I will use every ounce of strength I have to fight the Obsidious across every realm of Anmor. I will lead IRIS in however many battles it takes to contest Nethriziin at every juncture. But I will never join you.”

   “Tell me, how will you be leading them when you are too busy fighting them as my vessel?”

Tolbetrius hurled a screeching shadow of himself at the young War Mage, but Rezaaran was unperturbed. He leveled Harkenathor, preparing for battle.

   “I am impressed. You can resist my terror shackle, which was more than your Elder Mage could do. I will relish the challenge of enslaving you!”

   The Edarian thrust himself skyward and unleashed a surge of red electricity upon the youngster. Rezaaran raised Harkenathor, absorbing the spell into the dark-gray blade. The runes burned a bright blue as magical energy overcharged the weapon.

   Tolbetrius plummeted to the ground, driving his fist through the empty space where Rezaaran’s head had been seconds earlier. But the War Mage was more agile than the lumbering monster. Rezaaran rolled aside.

Harkenathor flashed through the air as lightning crackled overhead. Tolbetrius evaded the slash and swung a heavy tail into the Zenorian’s chest. Rezaaran steadied himself and unleashed a flurry of slashes, which the Emissary parried with his heavy talons.

   Tolbetrius caught Harkenathor’s edge in his armored hand and ripped it from the War Mage’s grasp, punishing the stunned warrior with a series of punches to the midriff. Swinging his tail, he thrashed the battered fighter aside.

The Emissary looked at the sword in his grasp with disdain and threw it to the War Mage. “It has been a while since I have been entertained in this place. I may as well make the most of it.”

   Obsidian fires ignited along his outstretched arms, and two large pools of the black, viscous liquid formed beside him. The Emissary raised his hands, summoning the sludge higher to congeal into two heavily armored knights brandishing axes.

   Rezaaran shifted his gaze tentatively between the two adversaries lumbering toward him. “I hate these things,” he mumbled, holding Harkenathor firmly before him.

   The young mage charged forward, meeting his foes with the valor for which Zenorians were renowned. He dodged the first swing, sinking Harkenathor into the belly of the aggressor and drawing the blade to deflect the strike of the second minion. However, his slash afflicted no damage, and the first viscous knight pulled Rezaaran’s feet from under him with the handle of his pole arm. Rezaaran crashed to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

   The Obsidian knight lifted his ax and brought it to bear upon the Zenorian, who narrowly evaded it by rolling deftly aside. He leaped to his feet, and Tolbetrius struck him in the face with his bone-plated gauntlet. In a quick follow-up, the Emissary flung Rezaaran skyward, where a wyvern made of the same viscous black liquid caught him in its claws and carried him higher. Rezaaran swung Harkenathor, slicing the winged beast’s feet to free himself. But another wyvern bearing an Obsidian knight caught him on its back midfall.

   The War Mage fiercely dueled with the conjuration, attempting to knock his adversary to the ground below with a spectral blast—but to no avail. He still could not use any of his abilities. He dodged another swing of the battle-ax, losing his footing on the wyvern’s back and falling toward the citadel.

   Ready and waiting, Tolbetrius caught him with two hands around his throat and sped them toward the cold metal floor of the courtyard. Using his great wingspan to break their descent, he landed, his heavy feet powering into Rezaaran’s chest before rolling aside.

   The War Mage spluttered blood and gingerly clutched at his chest. Rain beat relentlessly upon him as he realized the fight was too much to handle. Without his powers, he was nothing more than a pile of flesh for three hungry predators.

   “Ah, well…this has been fun. But in the end, you were born to be broken by my superior might. Good riddance, you useless bastard!”

   The wyverns screeched as the Zenorian raised himself, using Harkenathor as a crutch. Rezaaran looked toward the wyverns, which were almost indiscernible against the inky backdrop of the stormy sky.

   If this was to be his penance for the darkness he had brought to this realm, then he would face it with the courage of a Zenorian warrior, regardless how unfairly weighted the skirmish had been.

   The wyverns flew toward Rezaaran, preparing to claim their prize. But the young War Mage did not stand alone. An enormous broadsword made of pure light flashed through the air, cleaving one wyvern in two. Another similar sword flew through the air to skewer the other conjuration into the steel floor. Seven more swords of light energy appeared out of the stormy sky and embedded themselves around Rezaaran and Tolbetrius, forming a warding dome that bound the Edarian in place.

   The Emissary growled as he appraised the situation. The pure light that formed these swords would incinerate him on contact. He was trapped. But this was impossible! The boy had no power in this realm. Unless…no, it could not be!

   Kashari stood boldly beyond the dome of light swords, fully healed and at her student’s side. “Your corrupting touch will be lifted from this realm. The Obsidious will never prevail!”

   Four concentric rings of light formed over the dome. Sirantanian runes appeared between the rings, and at the center of the middle ring, a powerful white light glowed with gathering fury.

   Rezaaran, this spell will obliterate all who are composed of Torementhicite. It will destroy Tolbetrius, but I cannot guarantee that it will leave you uninjured.

   Kashari, if you have the shot, take it. We cannot allow him to survive after the havoc he has wreaked already.

   When the swords part for the cataclysm to release, he will have a fleeting moment to escape. You need to keep him contained so that the spell can make a direct hit.

   Rezaaran watched the Edarian turning frantically, seeking a weakness in the prison that held him. The War Mage charged forward, slashing at the monster with Harkenathor, but the blade only embedded itself in his bone-plated armor. With some annoyance, Tolbetrius turned around and slapped Rezaaran away. But the young Zenorian was unrelenting. Using Harkenathor as a brace to bind him, he locked his arms around Tolbetrius’s waist, using all his strength to keep the beast in place as the Emissary struggled to free himself.

   “You fool,” Tolbetrius grunted as he tried to break free. “What are you doing? If that spell is unleashed, it will disintegrate all Obsidian Valinthicite. Mortals are composed of as much Obsidian as Aethereal Valinthicite. You will die in this act!”

   “If that is the price of taking you down so you may never hurt anyone else again, then it is a price I am willing to pay.”

   “You’re insane! You may have a death wish, but I do not!”

   At that moment, the light swords parted, and Tolbetrius glimpsed his fleeting opportunity to escape. The Emissary opened his wings wide, breaking free of Rezaaran’s bindings.

   Rezaaran lunged forward, thrusting Harkenathor into a chink in Tolbetrius’s bone-plated armor.

   The Emissary roared with rage as the blade pierced his tissues. He spun around, slashed Rezaaran across the face with heated talons, and ripped the blade from his flesh. Too late, he looked woefully skyward as the giant cataclysm of power was unleashed upon them with a burst of light as bright as if every star had exploded.

​

Kashari lowered her hands as the scouring light of her attack faded. The sheer force of the blast had disintegrated the steel floor, awakening the flagstones from their dormancy. She no longer sensed the echo of the Edarian, but she also had trouble locating her apprentice.

   She had warned him of the risk, and he was right when he’d pointed out that they could not allow Tolbetrius to escape. The Emissary knew of the conduit, and if left alive, he would pass the information on to Nethriziin, leaving little hope for Anmor’s fate. Despite the necessity, she felt her heart grow hollow as realization dawned that she had lost her greatest friend.

   But as the glow faded, there—where the cataclysm had landed—stood her apprentice, looking skyward.

   Rezaaran turned to face his mentor. He chuckled lightly and ran over, dropping Harkenathor to embrace Kashari.

   Tears sprang to her eyes, and the Elder Mage held her student tightly, glad that he was safe once again.

   The young Zenorian looked Kashari in the eye and smiled warmly. A cauterized wound ran across his face, beneath his eyes and over his nose. But despite the grievous wound, he glowed with the warmth he’d had the first time they had met.

    “I am so sorry for everything I have said and done to you, my friend,” he said, meaning every word that passed his lips.  “Despite it all, you never gave up on me.”

   “And I never will. What matters is that you are safe once more.”

   They looked back at the site where the light array had landed and blasted away the black steel, revealing the original beauty of Antarika. The steel casing around the citadel began to crack and fall away as the last outpost returned to the Light.

   “You did it, Rezaaran! You won back the Nuhremorn from the Obsidious.”

   “We did it, Kashari,” he corrected her with a smile as they watched the rain falling over the forest beyond the citadel. “I feel clearer than I have in years.”

   “Your echo is also far purer. The Light magic from the cataclysm seems to have eradicated all traces of Obsidian Valinthicite from you and healed your wounds. I am afraid, though, that the mark Tolbetrius scarred you with cannot be lifted. It is beyond my healing powers to remedy such evil.”

   “Ah, well…I am sure I will be able to live with this,” Rezaaran remarked as he ran his fingers across the wound. Secretly, though, he felt that perhaps he deserved the mark to remind him of the price of his ambition.

   “There is only one thing I am uncertain about,” Kashari said.

   Rezaaran passed his mentor an inquiring look.

   “How did you arrive here? Ordinarily you cast your soul to the Nuhremorn through meditation and using our bond. But this time you did not consciously will yourself here.”

   The War Mage looked back over the Nuhremorn with alarm.

   “Will I be able to return to my body?”

   “I do not know the answer to that, Rezaaran.”