Kingspass – Earlywinter, Year 3081 After Doom
The screams and howls of the dying filled the air as the incandescent light of dragonfire washed over the central plaza, casting shadows of the dead across the stone. The Bloodspawn were in full retreat, minds shattered at the sudden loss of their Shaman, the imperial soldiers cutting them down as they fled. But even as the chaos raged around Arden, it blurred at the edges of his vision, his gaze focused on one singular thing. "Little brother…"
Arden took a step towards Calen, a weightlessness filling his chest, his hands trembling. When Arden had been granted the Sigil, Calen had seen only sixteen summers. He had been a boy, bright-eyed and eager to learn, following Arden around like a shadow. But it wasn't a boy that stood before Arden now. Calen's shoulders had broadened, a stubbly beard now adorned his face, and he had grown taller. But the true difference in Calen was in the way he held himself, the way those at his side looked to him. Arden had seen how he had fought, carving through the Bloodspawn like a maelstrom of death, the dragon moving at his side, scales gleaming. Even now, his face coated in dirt and blood, his body looking as though he'd been to the void and back, his left arm hanging limp by his side, and the luminescent purple glow of his eyes fading, Calen still gripped his blade in his fist, defiant. He was a warrior. But more than that, he was the Draleid.
All this time, Arden had never thought to ask the Draleid's name. What had it mattered? It was inconsequential. The thought that it could have been Calen had never crossed Arden's mind. He had always hoped his family was all right. It was easier to imagine that they were living on without him. When the knights had stopped the Urak attack on The Glade, he had wanted to search through every single body, to know for sure who had died and who had lived. He had wanted it more than anything else in the world. But he had sworn an oath. 'If we save you, are you willing to forgo your past life and everything that holds you to the person you are now? Are you willing to bear the Sigil of Achyron? To follow his creed and serve The Warrior until the day you are taken from this world?' Brother-Captain Kallinvar's words resounded in Arden's mind.
A gust of wind swept over him, spirals of dust and debris whipping into the air, fires flickering as the enormous frame of the white dragon dropped from the sky. The dragon alighted on the stone behind Calen, its claws crushing broken bodies, its black-veined leathery wings spread wide, lavender eyes fixed solely on Arden, weighing, measuring. The creature was the perfect blend of majesty and power. It stood at least thirty feet from head to tail, the orange-red glow of the city's fires glistening off its snow-white scales. Its body was layered with thick muscle that rippled with every movement, and ridges of horns framed its jaws and snout. Two frills ran from the base of its skull, down its back, and along its tail, which tapered off before turning to a spear-tip at its end. The creature stared at Arden with an intensity that left a nervous knot in his stomach, its neck craned over Calen's head, a deep rumble resonating from its chest.
Arden could hear people calling his name – Ruon, Lyrin, Ildris. He could hear them, but the words were muffled.
Calen took a step from underneath the dragon's shadow, his gaze boring into Arden, the defiance fading from his eyes, replaced by utter disbelief. In a fraction of a moment, all hesitancy evaporated from Calen's face and he dropped his sword, steel clattering against stone. No sooner had the blade hit the stone than Calen was running, slamming into Arden with a force that sent him stumbling backwards. Calen wrapped his one good arm around Arden, pulling him tight, resting his head on the chest of Arden's Sentinel armour, and for a moment Calen was the boy Arden had remembered. "Haem… you… you're alive."
Haem. Arden had not heard that name in such a long time. It had almost slipped entirely from his memory. A remnant of another life. A life he promised to leave behind.
Arden rested his chin on the top of Calen's head. He had always been far taller than Calen, but in his Sentinel armour he stood even taller again. As he looked down at his brother, a tangible pain ached in his chest, squeezing like a fist gripping his heart. Drawing a deep breath, he leaned into Calen's embrace, wrapping his arms around his brother. He released his breath in a sigh. "I've missed you. So much. I'm so sorry, Calen."
Even in his Sentinel armour, Arden could feel Calen pulling tighter and tighter, as though he was trying to squeeze the air from Arden's lungs. Arden closed his eyes, savouring every second before the moment was torn from him as he knew it would be, for this was no longer his place.
"How?"
Arden opened his eyes to see Calen staring up at him, his eyes bloodshot, his irises a pale purple in colour. What happened to your eyes? Arden pulled Calen in tight once more, letting out a sigh. Where could he even begin?
Before Arden could think to answer, a shiver rippled through him, emanating from the Sigil fused with his chest. It moved like a wave of ice, surging through his Sentinel armour, washing over his skin, filling his bones. He stumbled backwards, releasing Calen, his head spinning, pulse racing.
"Haem. What's wrong?"
Arden reached out, pushing Calen away, the sudden sensation shaking his knees and causing his balance to waver. But then, as quickly as it came, it was gone, replaced by a low thrum that resonated through his Sigil. The thrum had a source. He could feel it. Dazed, he turned away from Calen, his heart pounding against his ribs.
Lyrin, Ildris, and Ruon stood before him, other knights from The Sixth and The Third scattered around the plaza, stumbling through the mass of bodies. They all looked as shaken as he felt, their helms already receded into their armour, their eyes wide, bodies trembling. It was only then Arden's gaze fell on the origin of the thrum that resonated through each of them: Kallinvar.
Brother-Captain Kallinvar knelt where Arden had left him, Grandmaster Verathin's armourless body in his arms. It was strange to see Verathin's body that way. Unnatural, even. Grandmaster Verathin had been a tower of a man. Unyielding, unbending, unbreaking. Yet there he lay, lifeless, his soul sheared by a níthral, destined to wander the void restlessly, never to dine in Achyron's halls. It wasn't right.
Gradually, Arden's gaze moved from Verathin's body, to Kallinvar, the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up, the air fleeing from his lungs.
Where once Kallinvar's Sentinel armour had been identical to Arden's with overlapping plates of flowing green, golden ornamentation now trimmed the Sigil of Achyron on his breastplate, accented his pauldrons, and ran along the edges of his helm. The golden markings continued all over his armour, shimmering in the firelight.
Arden watched as the other knights dropped to one knee, putting a fist to their foreheads, then holding it to their chests, each bowing their heads, each uttering one word: "Grandmaster."
Arden followed suit, a vibration running through his armour-clad knee as it hit the stone. He brought his fist to his forehead, then held it across his chest, his eyes fixed on Kallinvar. "Grandmaster."
Arden watched as Kallinvar's helm turned to liquid metal, receding into his Sentinel armour, revealing the man's tear-streaked face and despondent, bloodshot eyes. To become the Grandmaster of the Knights of Achyron should have been Kallinvar's proudest day, but Arden could see only anguish and loss in his eyes.
For a few moments, all was silent. Even the men and women of the empire had stopped to watch with barely a murmur between them as the knights knelt. Men and women in leather armour; soldiers in full plate and coats of mail; warriors astride obsidian-black mounts, curved swords in their fists; a handful of Battlemages, cloaks billowing behind them. They stood, watching, their eyes wide and mouths ajar. Many had never laid eyes on a single knight in Sentinel armour. But on that night, they had watched near thirty fully-armoured knights drop from the sky, Soulblades shimmering. And now those knights knelt before them, witnessing the rise of Grandmaster Kallinvar.
Kallinvar lifted his head, his gaze lingering on Verathin's lifeless body for a few moments before taking in the scene before him. Letting out a subdued grunt, he lifted himself to his feet, nestling Verathin's body close to his chest like a mother would nestle a newborn babe. Kallinvar stumbled slightly, his body trembling. Out of the corner of his eye, Arden saw Ruon begin to rise, her face painted with concern, but she held, watching as Kallinvar regained his footing.
Arden was still kneeling, his fist pulled across his chest, his heartbeat thumping through his veins, when a shiver swept over him, tickling the back of his neck. A deep thrum resonated from his Sigil as a green orb flickered into existence before Kallinvar, spreading outwards, turning to deep black at its centre.
Arden rose to his feet at the sight of the Rift, glancing towards Calen who stared back at him, the white-scaled head of the dragon arching above him with pupils narrowed to black slits. Three emotions vied for control over Arden's heart: relief, regret, and pride. Relief in seeing that Calen still drew breath; that he had not been in The Glade that night the Bloodspawn attacked. Regret for not being there when Calen had needed him. And pride in seeing the man his little brother had become. A Draleid. A warrior of legend. A leader.
He wanted to pull Calen close and hold him until the walls crumbled around them. In truth, he had never thought he would lay eyes on his brother, or his family, again. And he had come to terms with that. He had made that choice when he accepted the Sigil. It had been that or death. But now, looking at Calen, seeing the wounds that laced his body and the dark circles that ringed his eyes, Arden's heart broke. His brother needed him. But he couldn't be what his brother needed.
"Arden."
Arden turned at the sound of Ruon's voice and the touch of her hand on his shoulder. As he did, he caught sight of Kallinvar walking through the Rift without a word or a glance, Verathin's body still in his arms.
"We need to go." Ruon's regret swam in her eyes. "Kallinvar needs us."
"I just…" Arden looked back at Calen, who simply returned Arden's stare. "I need more time, Ruon. I—"
"No." Ruon shook her head, her eyes cold and hard. "This is the choice you made, Arden. It is the choice we all made."
Arden nodded, his throat tightening. There was so much he wanted to say. So many things that needed to be said. So many questions that needed to be asked. But he had spoken his oaths. He had pledged his life to The Warrior.
"I'm sorry." Drawing in a deep breath, Arden cast one last look at Calen, then turned, following the other knights towards the Rift. "I promise I will come back."
"So that's it? You're just going to leave?"
Arden stopped at the sound of Calen's voice echoing through the plaza. Fury seeped into each word.
"They're dead, Haem. Mam, Dad, Ella, Faenir. They're all dead!" Calen's voice shook as he shouted, a tremble setting in.
Arden's heart stopped, numbness sweeping through his body, an iron grip closing around his throat. He turned back to Calen, his lungs struggling to drag in air. "Calen… I didn't know…"
"Where were you?" Tears streamed down Calen's cheeks. "I needed you… I still need you. Haem, I need you."
"Pain is the path to strength, Arden," Ruon whispered, resting her hand on Arden's shoulder, urging him to keep walking. "We fight for Achyron to protect the ones we love. That doesn't make it easy."
Gritting his teeth, Arden nodded. "I will be back, Calen. I promise."
Arden drew in a deep breath, turned. The Rift's icy embrace washed over him, his heart aching.
Pain is the path to strength.
Kallinvar dropped to his knees on the stone floor of the Heart Chamber as the other knights stepped through the Rift behind him. He could hear voices, echoing, calling to him. At the edges of his vision, he saw the Watchers rushing towards him, their motions panicked and frantic. But he ignored them; he ignored everything. Instead, he focused on the aching hollow in his chest and the emptiness of his hands.
He released his Sentinel armour, watching as the now gold-flecked, green metal turned to liquid around his fingertips and receded, flowing back towards his Sigil. As the armour melted away, Kallinvar's gaze remained on his empty hands, clean and untouched by blood. Only moments before, he had cradled his oldest friend's lifeless body to his chest, but now his hands were empty. Verathin's body belonged to the Rift.