Caym
The pane that holds me grows thin. I reach out through this pitiful cage they deemed worthy of containing me.
“Kneel to me,” I command.
The ruddy-faced King of the West Corridor does as told.
Haag Bringham’s anger rules him.
And I rule his anger.
“Yes, Master Caym.”
“I offer you a world devoid of magic; that is what you desire, is it not?”
The king nods, kneeling by his throne. His pupils dilate in fear as he peers at me through a mirror.
It took many years to figure out how to reach a new envoy through the panes.
“The sword that pierced my heart will poison its beholder. Soon I will release my power. I count on you to distract the other meddlesome rulers of the realms.”
“Yes, Master. I will do whatever you wish.”
A slice cuts the King’s cheek, and he shouts, holding his palm to the open wound. Blood drips onto the gray stone beneath his knees—his blood oath complete.
The other Source Origins think their descendants can stop me; their faith in them is futile. This world and every pathetic creature within it will be mine.
The western King will see a world devoid of magic, yes.
It will be devoid of everything.