8. The Beginning and the End
Chapter 8
The Beginning and the End
6 th Day of the Blood Moon
Temple of Achyron – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Kallinvar stood at the edge of the great plateau, his loose shirt flapping in the wind. Dark clouds streaked the sky in lazy brush strokes, mottled with pink and grey. The Blood Moon, full and clear, was a wound in the world, leaking across the night.
He could have summoned the knights to the war room or the Heart Chamber, but this was where he wanted them. He needed them to look upon Efialtír’s mark, needed them to feel The Shadow, to understand what it was they truly faced.
To Kallinvar’s left, Ardholm spread out across the mountainside, set into an enormous horseshoe-shaped inlet. Smoke wafted from the chimneys of the many homes, lanterns illuminating the hundreds of windows carved into the rockface. In the time from when Kallinvar had taken the Sigil until that moment, Ardholm’s population had grown tenfold, if not more. He had always known it as a village and still called it as such, but in truth, it was a city. And as the city’s numbers rose, they pushed deeper into the mountain, carving new homes, stores, chambers. He would do anything to protect this place, to protect its people, his people.
Ruon moved so she stood at his side.
“They will follow you wherever you lead,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder at the knights – what was left of them – gathering on the plateau.
Kallinvar nodded, pulling a lungful of air in through his nose.
“I need more…” he whispered. The words weren’t for himself or Ruon, but for Achyron, for the god who held them all in the palm of his hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I need more.”
“Come to me, my child.”
Just as it had before, the Sigil fused with Kallinvar’s chest ignited with a furious energy, sending a ripple through him. A brilliant green light burst across his vision, obscuring the world before him, and everything fell silent.
One heartbeat. Two.
A shriek pierced the silence, followed by a second and a third. A thunderous explosion roared in Kallinvar’s ears, screams and shouts, the clang of steel, the raging of fire and the wails of death.
Slowly, the green light faded.
Kallinvar stood on the rise of a hill covered in blades of grass that glistened like emerald shards. Hundreds of warriors surrounded him. Each was garbed in armour of shimmering green steel, the Sigil of Achyron emblazoned across their breastplates. Not one looked to be from a race Kallinvar knew. Their appearance was almost human, but the smallest was over a head taller than he, with skin the colour of terracotta. Its face was sharp and angular, its nose flat, eyes green from edge to edge with pupils that looked like beaded black slits.
A few of the warriors glanced in Kallinvar’s direction but gave him no heed. They looked out over the hill’s crest, towards a battlefield like none Kallinvar had ever seen.
A crush of bodies swarmed at the base of the hill. No fewer than a hundred thousand. Even from where Kallinvar stood, he could see the pulsing light of thousands of Soulblades in a myriad of hues. Arcs of lightning and plumes of black fire streaked through the mass while monstrous creatures as large as dragons tore through swells of bodies.
With every second Kallinvar stared, he saw something new: gargantuan warriors in red plate swinging axes larger than his body, creatures four times the size of a horse with three horns jutting from their skulls, winged creatures with dark jagged scales and ferocious mandibles crashed down again and again.
As Kallinvar watched in awe, a figure marched up the hill, armour-clad warriors at his flanks.
Kallinvar dropped to a knee, pulling his hand across his chest. After the disaster at Ilnaen, after so many of his brothers and sisters had been taken from the world, souls sheared, an anger had burned within him at the god who spoke in his mind. But still, in Achyron’s presence that fury melted away, replaced with shame for ever having doubted his god.
“Rise, my child.”
Slowly, Kallinvar lifted his gaze to see Achyron standing before him in the same green plate with pauldrons in the shape of blazing suns. Blood-covered armour. At least, Kallinvar thought it was blood. It wasn’t the deep crimson hue with which he was so familiar, but white and blue and glistening gold. Splodges of black marred Achyron’s cheek, a viscous luminescent purple dripping from his gauntleted fingertips. The god held a scintillating green Soulblade in his right hand and a shield wrought from the same light in his left.
Kallinvar made to speak. His lips moved, but no sound came. This was the god of legend. The god that had saved him from the brink of death. The god whose halls all souls wished to enter. This was The Warrior.
Achyron looked to the others around him and to those who had been waiting beside Kallinvar, then gestured towards the battlefield. Soulblades burst into life, their light reflecting in the emerald grass.
“Anatarion.” Achyron looked to a warrior with onyx black skin, streaks of marbled blue running diagonally across his face. Kallinvar had never seen the like before. White horns protruded from the front of Anatarion’s skull, wings of leathery blue at his back. “Take the Rhun?r around the western flank. Crush the Urithnilim from the rear. This battle ends now. Efialtír has pushed too deep into our lands. I will permit it no longer.”
“As you command, Blessed One.” Anatarion inclined his head, then set off down the western slope of the hill, the others moving at his back.
Achyron stared after them a moment before looking back to Kallinvar. “I told you the Alignment was only the beginning, my child.” He gestured towards the battlefield. “Can you see that now? This war does not solely blight the mortal plane. Efialtír has spent millennia waiting for this moment. He seeks to hold us here while his Vitharnmír work to cross him to your realm. And all the while, my kin feign blindness.” Achyron drew in a slow breath. “This battle is but one of a thousand raging across our world. He throws everything he has at us. The war in this realm is not one he needs to win. It is simply one he needs to wage. My brothers and sisters will soon see that they can no longer stand back and watch, but by that time, it may be too late. They will not act outside this realm until Efialtír crosses and, in doing so, breaks the last vow. But no matter the oaths, no matter the cost, we cannot allow that to happen.”
Kallinvar pulled his closed fist across his chest once more. Every shred of anger and doubt that had touched his mind was now gone, obliterated in Achyron’s presence. “Tell me what it is you need from me. It will be done. I am your sword.”
“Efialtír seeks to cross into your world, to take a form of flesh and blood. That has been his wish ever since the birth of the first life in the mortal plane. He achieved it once, millennia ago, breaking the sacred oaths we swore. On that day, he sowed his seed into the crust of creation and formed the tether that connects our worlds, the conduit that allows his power to seep through the veil – and to harness the essence of life that flows back. That was the day he earned his name. With his Chosen now in the mortal plane, he is closer than ever to crossing once more.”
Achyron folded his arms and looked out over the battle that raged below. “The Urithnilim we have captured alive speak of something called the Heart of Blood. It was difficult to tell through their screams, but from what we know it is a well of life Essence so large that in the hands of Efialtír’s Chosen, it contains the power to carry him across the veil. His harbingers do not possess the Heart, for if they did, your world would already be ash and dust. But they search for it ceaselessly. I need you, Kallinvar, and my children to find the Heart and destroy it. And failing that, I need you to keep it from Efialtír’s hands while the Alignment continues. This is not the same as his last crossing, my child. The fabric of everything will change if he succeeds.”
“We will not fail you.” Kallinvar lifted his gaze. He paused a moment. How did one address a god? That was a question he would need to ask Gildrick. For now, he mimicked Anatarion’s words. “Blessed One, how am I to find such a thing? A single stone across an entire continent.”
“Feel for his corruption, feel for the Taint that tarnishes the world. Follow it, and you will stand between Efialtír and his desires.”
Kallinvar nodded slowly. “It will be done, but… my brothers and sisters, our numbers are few, and the Chosen, they are not like us… They are stronger.”
The world seemed to shift around Kallinvar, blurring. A green light spread across Achyron’s body, and when it faded, the god stood no more than a head over Kallinvar, his eyes misting that same green light. “The Vitharnmír are Efialtír’s sworn champions, born of his own flesh and blood. They are amongst the mightiest of his warriors. In their crossing, they shed some of their strength, but godsblood still flows in their veins. They are creatures of this realm.”
Achyron reached forward and placed his open palm against Kallinvar’s chest.
“I cannot forge you into what they are, nor do I want to. You are Voran Thrace, son of Hallain and Yor Thrace, brother to Lok, Allay, and Sanira. You are the son of a fisherman and a basket weaver. You spent your childhood defending your sick brother and earning every penny you could to help put food in your family’s mouths. When your mother died, you swore yourself to the Amendell Royal Guard and sent all your coin to your father. You rose to become the queen’s shield, her most trusted warrior. And that is where I found you, the breath aching in your dying lungs, the blood spilling from your veins, the city burning around you, and the queen and her family alive because of your strength. You have spent your life giving everything for others. At every turn, every fork in the road, every branching path, you chose to shoulder the burden so that others would not have to bear its weight. I choose my champions with care, Grandmaster Kallinvar. And I chose you.”
Achyron turned back to look at the battle below. “As for your numbers. It is time for you to replenish. War consumes your world. I will allow the dying voices to speak to you. Find those who are worthy and give them the chance to save it. Let them bear the weight of my Sigil.”
A blinding purple light burst into life on Kallinvar’s left, and a voice boomed. “What is the meaning of this, Achyron?”
Achyron’s jaw clenched. He looked to the light, which had forged itself into the shape of an archway, then back to Kallinvar. “This is it, my child. All paths end here. This task was always yours. It was always meant to be you standing at the precipice. Do not doubt.” He glanced back towards the archway that had formed from thin air, wisps of purple mist sweeping forwards. “Go now.”
Kallinvar’s Sigil pulsed and that same sharp noise sounded in the back of his mind. “Please, before you send me back—” Kallinvar clamped his hand to the side of his head, trying to drown out the high-pitched sound. “One of my brothers was pulled into the tear in the veil when it closed.”
“Brother Tarron.” Achyron inhaled slowly, looking over his shoulder at the dark figure now stepping through the archway. “He is alive. I can feel his soul tethered to mine. But I do not know where. Something masks it. You must go.”
Kallinvar wanted to ask for more, but the piercing noise grew louder, an unending shriek, and green light once more filled his vision. In a heartbeat, a cold breeze rolled over his cheeks, air filling his lungs.
He opened his eyes to the Blood Moon etched into the night sky, its light piercing charcoal clouds that blanketed the horizon. Kallinvar pressed his fingers against his shirt, feeling the cold metallic touch of the Sigil in his chest. Something was different. He was different. Voices called to his mind, faint, weak, and muffled. Some lasted only seconds, while others clung on, unwilling to be silenced.
“Sigil bearers…” Kallinvar’s jaw slackened as he realised the voices were souls of the dying, the last calls of those who still clung to life.
He drew several long breaths, trying to calm the chaos in his mind.
“Kallinvar?” Ruon’s voice sounded from over Kallinvar’s shoulder.
He allowed his gaze to linger on the Blood Moon for a moment longer before turning to her.
“You walked to the edge,” Ruon said, looking past Kallinvar to where he had been standing only moments before. “You looked as though you were in some kind of trance. I called to you, but… you just stared out at the clouds.”
Kallinvar clasped his hands on Ruon’s shoulders. “I was there, Ruon.”
“You were where?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“In the realm of the gods.”
Ruon slowly lifted her gaze, looking into Kallinvar’s eyes. Her lips moved, but no sound came.
Kallinvar nodded to the unspoken question. “I was there.”
More knights ascended the stairs to the plateau, falling in around Kallinvar. He spotted Ildris, Lyrin, Arden, and the others of The Second amongst them.
Kallinvar looked into Ruon’s eyes for a moment, then stepped forwards, casting his gaze over those gathered. He caught Gildrick’s stare from among the other Watchers and priests.
As silence settled, shuffling feet coming to a stop, murmurs fading, eyes fixing on Kallinvar, he drew a breath, then spoke. “I have called you all here, under the light of the Blood Moon, to tell you that our time is now. Each and every one of you has suffered loss and hardship. For some, hundreds of summers have passed before your eyes. We have watched our homes burn and fade into the annals, our loved ones die, our bloodlines wither. And we have stood by, keeping our creed. But we were, each of us, chosen. For our strength, our will, our hearts. We carry this burden because we are the only ones who can. We carry it so that others need not know its pain. We are the Knights of Achyron. We stand when others kneel. We fight when others falter. And we charge when others yield. It is our duty to protect those who cannot protect themselves, to defend this world against the coming shadow. I am not Verathin, nor will I ever be. I assure you, if I had the choice, I would take his place in a heartbeat.”
The wind whistled and gusted, sweeping dust across the stone plateau. Kallinvar settled himself with a breath, rolling back his shoulders. He had spent hours preparing a speech, thinking on how he would tell the others that he heard Achyron’s voice in his mind, how he would convince them that he wasn’t within insanity’s grasp, that a god had truly spoken to him. But all that melted away as he looked out over the gathered crowd of knights, Watchers, and priests.
“Achyron has spoken to me.”
Murmurs spread. Shock clear on many faces, confusion on others. But within seconds, the murmurs had died and Kallinvar saw only expectation. All eyes were on him.
“He spoke to you?” Sister-Captain Emalia of The Tenth stepped forwards. There was no scepticism in her voice. Her gaze was fixed on his.
“He did.” Kallinvar nodded. “I can hear his words in my head even now. He took my soul to the Godsrealm, showed me the war that wages there, and gave me our path forward. I know how it sounds… I thought I had lost my mind at first…”
Sister-Captain Olyria dropped to one knee, a closed fist drawn across her chest. She lifted her head so her gaze met Kallinvar’s, but not a word left her lips.
Brother-Captain Gandrid knelt beside Olyria, with Armites, Darmerian, and Airdaine following suit. Ruon moved past Kallinvar and joined the others, a soft smile curling her lips.
The last of the captains to step from the gathered crowd was Sister-Captain Arlena of The First. She had fought at Verathin’s side for centuries, been his sword and shield – his friend. The sound of her armoured boots clipping against the stone rose above the silence. She walked past the others, stopping before Kallinvar. Arlena stared into Kallinvar’s eyes, the green of her irises swirling with specks of brown and gold.
“You are not Verathin.”
The words lingered in the air, hanging heavy, but as Kallinvar made to speak, Arlena continued. “But nobody could be. I trust you with my life. Your word is without question, your deeds without equal. It has been my honour to fight at your side and answer your call. And when my soul finally leaves this world, I will walk into Achyron’s halls telling The Warrior himself that I died fighting alongside Grandmaster Kallinvar, alongside one of the greatest souls I have ever known.”
Arlena knelt, resting her two palms across her bent knee, then lifted her chin to look at Kallinvar.
“We were not given our lives to spend them sitting next to a warm hearth and getting fat on ale and cheese. Tell us where Achyron needs our blades. Even if it is to the void itself, we will follow you.”
As Arlena spoke, the rest of the knights across the platform knelt, resting their hands across their knees and looking to Kallinvar. Even the priests and Watchers followed.
A surge of pride swept through Kallinvar, and for a moment, he felt as though Verathin stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder.
I never thought I would do this without you, old friend.
“Achyron asks us to find an object of great power – the Heart of Blood. A vessel that holds the Life Essence of hundreds of thousands. We are to find it and destroy it so that Efialtír can never cross into our world,” Kallinvar called. “And if that cannot be done, we are to ensure that the Heart never falls into the hands of The Traitor’s followers while the Blood Moon holds sway over this world. We will strike every convergence of the Taint, burn it out root and stem wherever it dares rise. We will scour the lost city of Ilnaen, strike into the heart of Mar Dorul, storm the mountains of Wolfpine Ridge and Kolmir. But we will not do it alone…” As Kallinvar looked out over those gathered, he saw the faces in his mind of those they had lost: Verathin, Daynin, Mirken, Illarin, and so many others. “Achyron has opened my ears, and the voices of the new Sigil Bearers call to me. We cannot bring back those we have lost, but we can ensure their loss was not in vain.”
Kallinvar stepped forwards and summoned his Soulblade. As the green light burst from his closed fist, he thrust his hand into the air, allowing the light of Achyron’s soul to carve through that of Efialtír’s moon. “The Godwar has begun, my brothers and sisters, and each of us has a part to play.”