Kallinvar stood at the edge of the plateau, the light of the sun spraying through grey clouds, the rain cold against his face. His shirt and trousers clung to him, saturated. He could have summoned his Sentinel armour, but there were times when he just needed to breathe.
He looked out over the elven city that wove through the valley, twists of bone white snaking in and out of the rock, the sun glinting off the famed erinian stone, the crashing of waterfalls unceasing. He'd missed sights like this. For centuries, all he'd seen was Ardholm, the temple, and battle. Even before The Fall, the knights had remained in seclusion more often than not. They had not been granted a second chance at life to spend their time absorbing the wonders of the world, they had been granted a chance so as to preserve the wonders for others.
"Grandmaster."
Kallinvar allowed his gaze to linger on the beauty of the city before turning to see Ruon, Lyrin, Varlin, Ildris, and Arden stepping onto the white platform. Each knight was garbed neck to toe in their Sentinel armour, the Sigil of Achyron emblazoned in white across the chest. "Brothers, sisters. I take it the journey across the Burnt Lands was relatively without incident then?"
"We lost some," Ruon said, sadness flickering in her eyes. "But most survived. The Taint has consumed the wasteland. It clings in the air like a fog, seeps into the sand. It has been so long since I've set foot within the bounds of the Burnt Lands, I'd almost forgotten. But it's worse than it was, thicker, heavier."
"What does that mean?" Arden asked, looking from Ruon to Kallinvar. The young knight hadn't been there at The Fall. He'd not truly experienced what it was to wade through a world weighed down by the Taint.
"It means that as the Blood Moon grows closer, the veil between worlds grows thinner. I'd already felt it before you crossed. There are other places where the veil is thin, but nothing like the Burnt Lands. The entire waste is covered in the Taint." Kallinvar looked over the parapet at the city. "I spoke with the elven rulers. They, too, are wary of what is coming. And even they, with all their games and politics, understand what is at stake. They have agreed to allow us to attend council alongside them, the Ephorí, and Aeson Virandr's rebels – including the Draleid." Kallinvar said, resting his hand on Ruon's shoulder. "It seems that escorting the Draleid here and finding this place has taken more steps in securing allies than any of our other efforts. Messages have also been sent to the leaders of prominent factions and those who have a distaste for the empire, inviting them to talk. I will join talks when possible, but in my stead, Sister-Captain Ruon, I trust in you."
"Understood, Grandmaster." Ruon inclined her head in a way that was too respectful for Kallinvar; it was not something he was used to.
"Kallinvar, my child. Hear me."
Kallinvar closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath.
"Are you all right, Kallinvar?"
Ruon's voice cut through the noise in his head. "Fine." He opened his eyes, meeting her gold-flecked green stare.
"How long are we to stay here, Grandmaster?" Varlin inclined her head as she spoke.
"As long as you are needed, Sister Varlin. Is there a problem?"
Varlin looked up, the light catching the black ink tattoos on her neck and arms. "I just… I don't like being out of the fight, Grandmaster." She looked at the others – Ildris, Ruon, Lyrin, Arden. "Our brothers and sisters are out there, holding back the Shadow, fighting… dying. And we're here, watching over the Draleid like mother hens – drinking and growing fat. It doesn't feel right."
"I, too, feel uneasy, Brother," Ildris said, his gaze fixed on the stone of the platform. "I will go wherever you send me, wherever Achyron demands. I will do what is needed of me. But…"
"I understand." Kallinvar drew in a long breath. "And I know that what I'm asking of you is not easy. For any of you." He passed his gaze over each of the knights. "But when you took the Sigil, you knew that nothing would be easy. You know why it is important to ensure the Draleid is safe, even here. Nobody thought Ilnaen could fall until it fell. Nobody thought The Order could be destroyed until it was. The moment we believe we are safe, fat, and happy is the moment a knife will open our throats. Protect the Draleid. Stay vigilant. Gildrick and the other Watchers predict the Blood Moon will tarnish the sky in a matter of months. They say this cycle is shorter than the last, and the moon will rise sooner. I feel it. The Bloodspawn activity is growing. Their attacks are more frequent, their numbers larger. The Bloodmarked are becoming more resilient, Fades more numerous. The veil is thinning. The storm is coming. That much I promise."
Kallinvar pushed open the door to Verathin's study, the wood cracking against the stone. He cursed, shaking his head as he closed the door more gently behind him.
"The veil is thinning, my child. You must be ready. You must listen to me. It is not simply the storm we must fear but what comes after."
"Get out of my head." Kallinvar pressed the fingers of his right hand into his temple, passing the many open compartments on the right wall, scrolls and old texts poking out.
He dropped into Verathin's chair. The desk was covered in the time-worn journals of the old Grandmasters. Kallinvar had read through almost every one of them. He'd not found even a single instance of a Grandmaster hearing Achyron's voice – which troubled him greatly. What if this wasn't Achyron? What if this was all some trick?
"Kallinvar."
"Get out of my head," Kallinvar repeated.
"Kallinvar."
"I said get out!" Kallinvar swept his hand across the desk sending journals, scrolls, and stacks of parchment crashing to the ground. He stood, shaking, his breaths deep and ragged, his jaw clenched, fury burning within him.
Hear me!
Burning energy radiated from Kallinvar's Sigil, pulsing through him, and with it came a blinding green light. He fell to his knees, closing his eyes and pressing his fists against his head. Slowly he peeled open his eyes.
"What in Achyron's name…" Verathin's study was gone, and Kallinvar knelt on a plateau that sat at the edge of an enormous cliff, waters of luminescent blue swirling about him, cascading off the edge. Before him, enormous islands floated in the sky, their tops covered in canopies of lush green. Gargantuan buildings rose through the canopies, looking as though they had been wrought from the same metal as his Sentinel armour. Rivers and streams of luminescent water flowed off the edges of the islands, crashing down hundreds of feet to the lands below.
A shriek pierced the sky, and Kallinvar stumbled backwards as three birds as large as horses swept upwards past the cliff, their feathers shimmering in a mix of metallic purples and blues.
"Welcome, my child."
Kallinvar's Sigil pulsed, ripples of energy sweeping through him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He swallowed, his lips dry. Kallinvar drew in a breath, pushed it out slowly, and looked back.
A figure wrought entirely from shimmering green light stood before him. It was easily twice his height, its body thick and broad.
"Who are you?"
"You know who I am." The voice came from the figure, but at the same time it echoed in Kallinvar's mind. The green light dimmed, revealing a man who stood at least twelve feet tall, encased from neck to toe in smooth green plate. The pauldrons were wrought into the shape of burning suns, the metal rising and twisting like flickering flames, while the breastplate pushed together in the centre forming the shape of a downward facing sword.
The man looked young. Thirty summers, no more. His hair was dark as night, his eyes a glowing, almost incandescent green from corner to corner.
"Achyron…" Kallinvar dropped to one knee, bowing his head and pulling his hand across his chest. He clenched his fingers into a fist so tight they trembled. "Forgive me, I have lacked faith."
"My child, rise. Your faith is unwavering."
Kallinvar's heart hammered against his ribs, pounded in his head. But even so, he rose, looking upon the warrior god himself. "This cannot be real…" He looked to Achyron and past him to where more islands floated in the sky. "It cannot."
"This is very real, my child, and the hour is urgent, we have little time. Efialtír grows stronger with each day as more Essence of life flows through the veil and lesser gods flock to his side. That is why I have spoken to you. That is why I am risking everything by pulling your soul here. You must hear me, and you must be ready."
"I am yours, Achyron." Kallinvar inclined his head. He felt the urge to kneel once more but fought it.
"The Alignment – what you call the Blood Moon – is almost upon us. It will paint your skies red within the passing of three moons. You must be ready, Kallinvar. The Urithnilim – the Fades – are but minions. With the tears already made in the veil, this Alignment will allow far greater forces to cross and take physical shape in your world. I…" Achyron turned his head towards the sky, eyes narrowing. He stepped forwards, looming over Kallinvar like a mountain. "I must send your soul back. The others are searching for me. I cannot step between the worlds, lest I break ancient oaths that I am already bending. But know this – as the veils thins, and the Alignment approaches, Efialtír is not the only one whose sway on this world grows. I will do what I can. What I have brought you here to tell you is that the alignment will happen, my child. It is inevitable. You cannot stop Efialtír's harbinger from widening the tear in the veil. Too much has been set in motion. But you must meet him when he does. You must limit the crossing and close the tear. Then prepare the world for the war to come." The god's eyes pulsated with green light as he looked down on Kallinvar. "The Alignment is only the beginning – only a single step in the Great Deceiver's plan. Do not doubt, my child. This was always meant for you. You are my chosen."
"Pain is the path to strength." Kallinvar bowed his head.
As Kallinvar went to speak, his Sigil pulsed, and a sharp noise pierced his ears while blinding green light obscured his vision. It felt as though his body was being pulled in a hundred directions, dragging, tearing, ripping.
"Kallinvar?" Watcher Gildrick's voice echoed in Kallinvar's ears. "Kallinvar, what happened? Watcher Ilmire, get a healer! Now!"
Hands rested either side of Kallinvar's face, and he opened his eyes to see he was kneeling on the floor of Verathin's study, parchment, scrolls, and journals scattered around him. Watcher Gildrick knelt before him, hands clasped at the sides of Kallinvar's face, eyes fixed on Kallinvar's own.
"What happened? Kallinvar, answer me. Are you all right?"
"I saw him, Gildrick."
"Saw who? Look at me, Kallinvar. Saw who?"
"Achyron. I saw the warrior god."