Page 30 of Of Empires and Dust

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 Rhunîr 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.Hewas different. Voices called to his mind, faint, weak, andmuffled. 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.”

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