Epilogue
The Arabel had been destroyed by the titan’s rise through the harbor, along with many other ships.
All the Horadrim found of it were a few large pieces of wreckage, still bearing the paint of midnight blue with yellow trim.
The three men mourned its loss, just as they mourned Keldon’s death, but they were also aware that it somehow would not have felt right to sail the Arabel without her captain.
Tyrael did wonder how they would leave Skovos and return to the continents, but Adreona solved that problem by giving them a small ship, another single-masted sloop to speed them on their way.
After bidding farewell to the new queen, they departed the Great Harbor of Temis.
The three Horadrim stood at the helm, with Lorath at the tiller.
“Where to?” he asked.
“North, for a time,” Tyrael said. “But then, turn west. We sail for Skartara.”
Lorath and Donan looked at each other. Tyrael had kept his plan to himself until that moment.
Though he trusted Adreona and believed she would be a good queen, it would take time for her to disband the Askarra Guard, end the smuggling, and root out the corruption within the Amazon ranks.
The location of the vault had to remain a secret, which meant they had to disguise their course.
Lorath did as Tyrael asked, and the three of them sailed in silence for some time.
Tyrael knew they were each of them lost in private thoughts about everything they had just experienced.
Lorath had obviously formed an attachment to Adreona and would no doubt miss her for a time.
Their relationship seemed to have helped Lorath to heal, at least a little, from the pain and fear that fueled his rage.
Donan had likewise bonded in some way with Alenia, whom Tyrael secretly noted was about the age of the younger man’s mother; it seemed perhaps Donan had also experienced some healing from past guilt and loss.
As for Tyrael, he had not found in Skovos what he had hoped to find. Sho-Ren and the other Horadrim in her expedition had perished, which meant that he, Lorath, and Donan truly were the last of its members. They still had much work to do in strengthening the order.
Eventually, Lorath steered them west. They sailed until the roiling smoke of Skartara reached over them, as if it were trying to pull them into its fiery domain.
They observed no permanent Askari settlements on its jagged shores, which allowed them to land unobserved.
From there, they made their way across a torn and lifeless landscape.
The black basalt beneath their feet never seemed to cease trembling.
Rivers of molten lava tumbled down fissures and channels like feverish gashes that could not heal.
Other cracks in the island’s surface vented noxious gases, which burned their lungs and caused the three of them to cough and gag when Mount Hefaetrus enveloped them in its volcanic breath.
As they ascended the island’s treacherous slopes, they began to see signs of Firstborn construction: fallen pillars and plazas half covered by flows of lava, cooled and hardened like stone tumors.
Eventually, they came to a tunnel that led them into the mountain, to the entrance of the vault, and at last, Tyrael felt waves of memory crash over him.
He recalled the last time he had stood in that same place, the first Horadrim at his side.
He remembered each of them vividly—Tal Rasha’s leadership and optimism, Jered Cain’s humble solemnity, Iben Fahd’s insatiable curiosity, and Zoltun Kulle’s ambitious genius—as if they were there with him now.
He held up his hands and unlocked the magical seals upon the vault entrance with ease, and then he entered, with Lorath and Donan behind him.
Tyrael found the vault within as he had left it. It seemed Sho-Ren had done little to disturb its contents. A cold pale light shimmered over its library of ancient texts, its reliquaries and relics of power.
Donan hurried straight to one of the bookshelves, where he scanned the volumes. “This is more like it,” he said.
Lorath chuckled. “Don’t get too comfortable. I doubt we’ll be here long.” He turned to Tyrael. “Right?”
Tyrael nodded. “We should not linger. The longer we stay, the more chance there is of being observed. This vault must remain hidden.” He glanced around. “I am satisfied that no one else has found it.”
A short while later, they left the vault, and Tyrael again raised his hands to restore the magical seals upon its doors.
Only someone with knowledge of Horadric spell-keys would be able to open them.
Then they descended the mountain, returned to their ship, and were soon back on the open water, sailing away from Skovos.
“It all came true,” Donan said.
“What did?” Lorath asked.
“The prophecy given to me by the Oracle Queen. One queen shall fall, and two shall rise. One queen shall throw the spear, and another queen shall retrieve it. One queen shall call the beast, and another queen shall free it. Thus, shall Skovos be saved. ”
“It is said the Oracle Queen is never wrong,” Tyrael said.
“But how can that be?” Donan asked. “Then do any of us have free will? Could our mission to Skovos have ended another way?”
“I don’t know,” said Lorath. “But thinking about it hurts my head, and I’d rather believe that I am in control of my fate, just as I am controlling this tiller. Speaking of which, where to? If we three are the last Horadrim, I think we should turn our efforts to recruitment.”
“I agree.” Tyrael turned toward the northern horizon. “Let us travel to Aranoch. I have heard rumors of a very promising mage in Lut Gholein.”
“What’s their name?” Lorath asked.
Tyrael answered, “Elias.”