"Is this really a good idea?" a young, blonde woman's voice trembled, barely audible against the constant creaking of the raft's warped planks as she patted the baby strapped tight to her chest.
Her spare hand grappled a frayed rope, as she yanked it tight, steadying the raft's sail—a tattered scrap flapping in the ocean wind. She looked ahead at the dusk-smeared horizon, a blur of water and sky. Waves slapped against the raft's edge, soaking her cloth where she knelt, cold penetrating her bones.
Behind her was her husband, his eyes focused on paddling with a broken oar, wiping off sea water from his beard with callused fingers that had seen better days.
"It's dire back there...demons feasting on us every night, Lysa. We'll make it...I swear it."
His chest burned with the lie, desperation all over his face—village fires still burned in his mind, screams of the kin he couldn't save, louder than the waves around them.
She shifted, the baby's weight making her arms numb, doubt crawling in as the raft rocked, sea-spray stinging her broken lips.
"How long can we last out here? Supplies won't stretch...we're on a plank with a patched rag as a sail."
He thrust the oar deeper, water sloshing over his worn boots, clinging to the hope he forced into his voice.
"We turn back when they hit half...plenty yet. Others sailed out before us...took their shot."
Lysa turned back at him with a hard look, memory churning inside her—clustered figures on large boats, her brother's face among them, drifting out into a storm months ago. "They sailed into the endless storm, Tormen...and none came back. No word, no bodies...just gone."
Tormen stilled, his oar scraping wood as he met her gaze. "If you found safety out there...a safe haven...would you come back? I wouldn't waste the trip."
He gestured at the sea around them, the waves calm, seagulls squawking ahead, the wind swaying their sail. "The endless storm stopped for us...right when we shoved off, on this piece-of-shit raft. The gods are watching, giving us a chance at it."
Her breath snagged, a thin thread of hope stitching through the fear coiling around her—maybe something up there saw their ragged flight and pitied the child's cries.
"You think they'd care enough to bother?" She looked down, running a shaky hand over the baby's damp hairless head, it cooed in response.
He slowly nodded, gripping the oar like a lifeline, before plunging it into the water. "They've got to...why else this quiet? We couldn't afford a real boat, but here we are."
All of a sudden, dark clouds congealed into existence overhead, swallowing dusk's last light as they flashed with lightning. Strong winds raged, ripping the sail in two, snapping the ropes in Lysa's hands as rain poured down, cold and fierce, drenching the raft as it violently bucked against rising waves.
Lysa clutched the baby tighter, its cries drowned by the storm's wild roar, terror in her eyes and her pulse quickening—mercy was a lie, and she knew it now.
Muiric slowly emerged from the sea ahead, water sheeting off his majestic frame as he rose, levitating into the stormy air, his robes whipping wildly. His laugh cracked loud, carried by the storm itself, eyes glinting with menace as he hovered above them, rain droplets flowing down his smirking face.
"The gods care? For you?" His voice boomed with mockery. "We only care for our survival...your lives are mud we scrape off our boots."
He hovered closer, folding his arms as he looked down at them with contempt. "I step away for a heartbeat, and you rats scurry for the sea...my sea...thinking I'd let you slip?"
Tormen's oar dropped freely from his grip as dread washed over him, legs trembling under him. His hands grabbed Lysa close as he shielded her with his lanky frame. "Who are you?"
Muiric's grin widened, slowly spreading his arms as the sea boiled beneath him, dark and towering waves rising at his command. "I'm the endless storm," he roared, "the end of all who dare to cross my sea."
His hands twisted, conjuring a colossal wave, big enough to swallow the sky, and it slammed down on them, devouring raft, man, wife, and child in one merciless gulp.
While Muiric's storm devoured its latest prey far beyond the land's edge, the earth had also swallowed it's recent victims as mounds riddled the settlement field.
Garrick's voice growled low, more to himself than the others who were with him, cutting through the growing nocturnal ambience. "So all we had to do was be in contact with the wearer...those mages really outdid themselves with this one."
He trudged further into the field, the dome's steady hum fading behind as the sun dipped below the horizon, night covering them like a cloak. Aric followed him, gripping the reins of both horses, while Edrik flanked him, eyes on the settlement ahead.
They passed a group of men hauling pieces of the makeshift barricades into the heart of the settlement, working relentlessly in spite of the darkness and growing cold.
Aric struggled to shove Faleir's riddle to the back of his mind but it still clawed at him and this mess stank of more than just Widowmakers—maybe Faleir was right—he thought.
The trio sighted the flicker of candlelights as they neared the settlement—Selenna, Garvan, his boy, and a small crowd of settlers standing solemn at fresh graves.
Selenna's head snapped up, spotting them approaching. Without taking her eyes off them, she gave her candle to another settler beside her, and hurried towards them, Garvan following suit.
She crashed into Aric, arms wrapping him tight in a hug, her breath hot against his neck. "You saved a lot of us...thank you, Aric." She pulled back, nodding at Edrik and Garrick, her face still smudged with dirt as she had not cleaned up since the attack. "And you two...thanks for bringing him back."
Aric shrugged, his bones were aching already but Selenna's gesture provided a bit of warmth. He knew that; a good deed didn't need any thanks, just doing. "Had to...couldn't leave you all to die."
His voice dipped, guilt pressing down on him as that kid's dried up husk flashed in his mind. "About the little one, though...I tried, Selenna, I..."
She cut him off, waving her hand in the air, with a fierce look. "Don't...don't beat yourself over it. It wasn't on you...I know you tore yourself apart looking. This screwed-up world's the reason, not you."
Garvan stepped up, clapping Aric's shoulder with his large rough hands. "Saved me, my boy, damn near everyone...especially the women and girls. Could've been a slaughter without you."
Aric looked at Garvan with a confused brow, the specificity odd to him—women and girls? "Why mostly them?"
Selenna's lips thinned, she and Garvan exchanged a glance before she spoke. "Garvan and near every woman on her flow were holed up in one house...Widowmakers almost broke through. You pulled them off and led them away."
Edrik stepped forward, seeing the opportunity, still looking nervous. "About that, what actually happened...how'd those things get here?"
She nodded, her eyes still sharp but tired. "I'll tell you...come to my place, out of this cold." She turned, walking past the graves towards the settlement.
Edrik hesitated, looking at Dunmore's towering South Wall in the distance. "We don't have long...the others will wonder where we're at."
Garrick snorted as he strode past him towards Selenna. "Screw that...I could eat a horse, not just ride one."
Aric grinned, hunger beating up his guts, Faleir's riddle now forgotten. He pulled on the reins and the horses followed him as he trailed behind Garrick. "Yeah, I'm in...let's hear it over some grub."
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Lugh stood on the citadel's balcony, staring into the infernal horizon. His mismatched eyes seemed distant, lost in the thoughts that had been eating him up since he got up to date with recent events.
Footsteps came from behind him—Macha, her steps were slow and deliberate, black steel armor shifting as she approached. She sat on the railing, violet hair swaying faintly in the sulfurous breeze. "You're quiet," she said coldly, without sparing him a glance. "Not like you...something's off."
Lugh's shoulders shifted, his eyes still fixed on the molten landscape. "I'm fine," he muttered.
She crossed her legs casually, hands resting on the railing, her demeanor chill regardless of the hot atmosphere. "Don't play coy...I've watched you yap through worse. Now you're a statue. What's eating you?"
He exhaled, rubbing his hand through his hair, the knotted strands rasping under his fingers—her insistence had cornered him. "Fine, you want it?" He turned to her, his eyes already betraying him.
"Dain...the great Dain who most of us looked up to...tried to rip it all apart. Titans, demons, the whole damn mess that I thought was over, and I was stuck up there, idling in chains while he played god. A century locked away, and I come back to this...his soul locked up, Faleir a turncoat, you slaying his kids to bits. To think that I'd have burned with the rest if he'd pulled it off, Macha. All my tricks, my spark...nothing."
She tilted her head with amusement, unfazed but letting him ramble till his breath hitched. "Enough," she cut in. "I get it...you're spooked. Seeing Dain's ghost's got you rattled."
Lugh's lip twitched, he knew couldn't argue that. She smiled, pushing herself off the railing and pacing about the balcony. "Listen...life's a blade, and you're still holding it. I still remember how I gained my divine consciousness in the middle of the pantheon war, my mother on one side, my father the other. I had to choose a side and I chose my mother's. Regret's for the weak."
She paused as Lugh turned around to face her, her arms folding over her chest. "My mom always used to say that 'The grave waits for all and the strong decide who fills it first.'" She continued, her words grimly encouraging. "You're still here because Dain failed...his madness didn't claim you. That's your shot, Lugh. Pick a side, be part of something bigger...Duvran's forging a future where we don't crumble. Keep the Titans caged, keep the realms balanced. You can be useful...prove it, and you're gold."
Lugh's jaw rolled as he pondered, her words piercing—pessimistic as hell, but they carried weight. "Yeah," he said convincing her as well as himself. "I'll be damn useful...Duvran'll see it. Give me time, I'll shake this off...back to the old Lugh."
Macha's lips curled, something that could pass as a smirk. "Good. Come on."
She turned walked into the citadel with Lugh following swiftly, as she led him through the citadel's arched corridors—walls veined with flowing magma, torchlights burning red. She led him down spiraling stairs as they descended to the ground floor of the citadel.
They entered into a chamber—Duvran's sanctum. Duvran stood near a slab of volcanic glass which acted as his mirror. Belenos stood beside him, burning cinders floating from the seams of his bronze armor. He slid a black pauldron onto Duvran's shoulder, grunting as it clicked tight.
Faleir stood nearby, his own sleek, pulsing armor hugging his lean frame while Balmeir's staff was propped against the glass slab.
"What's all this?" Lugh asked, stepping further into the room. "You lot gearing up for a parade?"
Faleir looked over at him, his expression one of superiority. "Mortal realm...we're summoning Balmeir's echo there."
Lugh's grin almost faded, but then his eyes glinted with curiosity. "Mortal realm? Why drag it there...why not here?"
Faleir chuckled lightly. "You're quite dimwitted for a trickster. But let me test you...where are the gates to the realms?"
Lugh crossed his arms, smirking as he rolled his eyes. "Mortal realm...easy."
"And where did Dain open that rift?" Faleir continued, enjoying the game.
Lugh's smiled died, a hint of that dread resurfacing in him. "Don't know...Eolan had me locked up when that went down."
Faleir gave him a smug look. "I'm aware but let me help you with that...the answer is the realm gates...same spot. It's no coincidence. The Wane's a plane beyond reach, but the gates amplify it...perfect for pulling Balmeir's echo. That's where we're headed."
Lugh's eyes shifted to the staff, then back to Faleir. "Take me along...I'm in."
Faleir let our a derisive chuckle. "You don't get a choice, Lugh...you're the conduit." He walked to the slab and picked the staff. "Balmeir's your brother...his spark's in you. You're the bridge he'll cross, although anyone can be the conduit, you're the best option for this."
Those words hit Lugh like a bombshell, he blinked, bewildered as his breath caught in his throat. "Conduit? Doesn't the ritual burn years off the conduit's lifespan?"
Faleir nodded. "It does...good to know you've got some sense tucked away."
Lugh's eyes swept the room—from Duvran's menacing eyes watching him while Belenos fastened a greave onto his leg, to Macha's cold stare. His glancing paused as Macha gave him subtle nod—reminding him of her words on the balcony.
He breathed out quietly, then smiled at Faleir, his usual nature taking over. "Well, I suppose I didn't see that coming, thought I'd sit this one out. But you know what? I'd have said yes anyway...burn a few hundred years, save the realms, sounds like a laugh."
Then his smile faded and his expression turned serious. He walked up to Faleir, staring him in the eyes. "I never liked you, though...witty bastard, sure, but you rub me raw. Always have."
Faleir's lips tugged at the side of his mouth, amused and composed. "The feeling's mutual...but your dislike won't shift the stars. We've got a job, and you're in it."
Belenos hammered the last plate onto Duvran's chest and stepped back. Duvran stood tall, a tyrant's silhouette and then, strode to Lugh. He rested his hand on Lugh's shoulder—Lugh's eyes darted to it, then back at Duvran. "You've been useful, Lugh," Duvran said. "From fetching Balmeir's staff to this. There's a handsome reward for your deeds."
Lugh's grin lingered, but his mind twisted with thought—was that a reward or a threat?