Forum adverts like this one are shown to any user who is not logged in. Join us by filling out a tiny 3 field form and you will get your own, free, dakka user account which gives a good range of benefits to you: No adverts like this in the forums anymore. Times and dates in your local timezone. Full tracking of what you have read so you can skip to your first unread post, easily see what has changed since you last logged in, and easily see what is new at a glance. Email notifications for threads you want to watch closely. Being a part of the oldest wargaming community on the net. If you are already a member then feel free to login now.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

An Extract from The Angaran Chronicles: The Ritual

A False Legacy by Benjamin Agar

Year: 2387 AHV (After Holy Victory)

Age: Late Medivale Era

Country: The Kingdom of Everdeen

Everdeen. Arken, like many a Hunter, held a healthy hatred for the realm. Its corrupt aristocracy, its penchant for slavery. But as he rode in that horse-drawn carriage, he couldn't help gaze out the window, awed by Everdeen's brilliant white coastline as it wound with the blue sea, fifty metres below.

The road was smooth; there'd been nary a judder since Arken had left the city of Qarzert, about twenty kilometres ago.

That was what happened when labour was free. Maintaining the roads was cheap and trained; their slaves were taught well.

Arken reclined in his seat and watched the sun shimmer across the calm sea.

He could get used to this. Life had been like this all the time for him sixty-seven years ago when he was treated like a king.

Because he was a king.

Arken smiled. He actually didn't miss it, the stress, the intrigue. Now life was much more straightforward. Hunting and killing rogue vampires was far less dangerous than dealing with politics. And no, he wasn't being sarcastic.

Although, he wasn't sure what he was to deal with on this assignment. The Hunters were hired by Hasteq the lord of Qarzert to look into a town thirty kilometres north. A town named Jazewerth, a town that had stopped all communication with the outside world about two weeks ago.

And a town with a strange name like most places in Everdeen.

Usually, the Hunters wouldn't take contracts with the Everdeenian nobility, but the price lord Hasteq offered was just too good.

Arken had to meet the man back at his vast, overly ostentatious palace in Qarzert. Arken saw through Hasteq's jovial demeanour, despite his soft, pink, plump face, the second he saw him.

A slave towelled the lord's sweat-soaked forehead as another filed his toenails. The hot summer sun streamed through the stain glass windows, lighting images representing some long legacy Arken had no interest in. The lord in his gaudy opulent clothes sat upon his gaudy opulent throne in the large throne room and looked down at Arken with poorly hidden disdain.

'I pay so much, and I only get one of you?' Hasteq had said, by way of greeting.

Arken had bowed, but only to hide the contempt he couldn't help let to his face. 'My apologies, my lord. All of my colleagues are busy with other matters at this time.'

'Matters more important than this?' said Hasteq.

Arken bit back a retort and said, 'No, lord. They had just been assigned to other duties before your request came to us.'

Hasteq grimaced. 'And you do not look like much. Are you sure you are not an elf?'

Arken smiled. He couldn't blame the lord for thinking that; he was tall and skinny. Pale due to being born and raised beneath mountains. With slicked-back long white hair and sharp, almost feminine features. Arken didn't fit the bulky warrior archetype which Hasteq seemed to think he'd be.

'I hope I do not sound arrogant, lord. But I am much more than much. That I assure you.'

Hasteq let out a bark of a laugh. 'You do not sound arrogant. You sound extremely arrogant. I like that. I hope you manage to live up to your confidence, Hunter. I am very worried about the people of Jazewerth, they are my responsibility, after all. I would hate to see them hurt.'

Arken knew that Hasteq was more worried about his lost tax revenue and loss of material than the people. The man was easy to read, which baffled Arken. The nobility of Everdeen was infamous for their plotting and politicking.

A rare bump in the road brought Arken back to reality.

He'd hated bowing and scraping to Hasteq and not just because the man was a pompous arse. It still nagged Arken, he who was once a king, was forced to scrape to someone who'd once been so beneath him.

Arken forced the thought away. Even after all these years, his aristocratic arrogance could come to the fore. But Hasteq hadn't earned his position; he'd been handed it on a platter.

Arken had earned his crown; he'd fought on the front lines in countless battles against the armies of his cruel bastard half-brother and later, the lords rebelling against his rule. Hundreds of men had fallen to Arken's sword and hundreds of times he'd been a mere millimetre from death.

He grimaced, and what did he get out of it? All those bloody battles, all those deaths lead to nothing but more death and betrayal.

Where Hasteq, an enslaver, would likely live out a comfortable life of hedonism and excess.

It sickened Arken, but that was the way the world worked.

If the Hunters and the vampires of Valandri had it their way, that would change.

Change for the better.


'Sar,' said the gruff voice which brought Arken awake.

The carriage driver, a rather regally dressed dwarf, looked at Arken through the front window.

'We're about a kilometre from the town, as yeh ordered, sar.'

Arken glanced about. The sun was setting, and they were no longer on the coast. The forest now dominated each side of the road.

Arken cleared his throat, struggling to recall the driver's name. 'Thank you. I appreciate this, I do.'

The dwarf looked at Arken as if he'd insulted his lineage.

Arken reached into his pocket and pulled out a fist full of gold coins. Around fifteen Angarans worth, half of his allowance given for the assignment.

'Take this,' he said. 'Might help you escape this hell hole of a country.'

Before the dwarf could reply, Arken dropped the coins on the floor, retrieved his bag and slipped out of the carriage.

'Jaroai bless yeh, good sar. Thanking yeh. You're much nicer than other humans 'ere,' the dwarf said when the Hunter was a few metres away.

Arken turned on the balls of his feet, gave the dwarf a broad smile and a wave before turning and continuing onward. Arken just hoped the dwarf wouldn't be found with the gold.

That he could use the money and escape somewhere, make a better life.

He doubted it, though and it caused Arken a hit of regret, like a punch to the gut.

There were many different Hunters with many different methods. Some Hunters were infiltrators, they stuck to the shadows with religious zeal, only revealing themselves in the most dire of circumstance. Some waltzed into towns waving their sigil, relying on the respect the commoners had for the organisation for their co-operation. It mostly depended on the mission, who had hired them and how the client wanted it handled. But some Hunters were more adaptable than others; they were usually the longer-lived, more experienced ones. Despite only being in his late eighties, the Ritual having lengthened his meagre human lifespan, Arken was chief amongst them. He had been taught by the best.

Hasteq had neglected to tell them how he wanted Arken to do it, so Arken elected to do it the way he liked.

He walked right in.

Arken expected the small town to be deserted, or be at least quiet but much to his surprise it was bustling with life. Many of the locals even greeted him on the street. Men were marching back from the mills or other odd jobs. When Arken found the tavern filled with rowdy locals who eyed him with anything but suspicion, it was all smiles and nods which disturbed Arken more than if they treated him with hostility.

Before he set out, Arken had done his research. There had been many times over the history of Angara when entire towns had gone silent. The most recent was in a country far to the north named Camaria when a large group of vampires moved in and killed or sired most of the locals. They were led by an original vampire named Kalthasin, who was one of the most dangerous and powerful mages of the time.

It took twenty Hunters to stop them. Seven Hunters in the battle and most of the town burned to the ground. But over fifty vampires lay dead and Kalthasin, who had not taken part in the fight, was later tracked down by the legendary human, swordswoman, Malidil and her apprentice. They managed to take down Kalthasin, but Malidil was killed in the process.

Her apprentice was still alive and now active as a Hunter, but Arken couldn't recall his name. He was an elf and-

Arken stopped just shy of the counter as the realisation hit him. Ever since he had started down the main street, something had seemed off, and now he knew what it was.

There were no elves or dwarves.

'May I help you there, sir?' said the barkeep.

Arken nodded. 'Yes, please. I would like a room and do you know where the best fishing spots are, by chance?' he said in his best Everdeenian accent.

The people in the tavern were watching him, and Arken didn't need the ability to sense magical auras to know it.

Arken stood upon a rock, doing his best to pretend to fish. The cool north-westerly blew through his long white hair. It was more than refreshing as it dispersed the humidity notorious for Everdeen.

To their credit, the two men tailing him weren't bad. Disturbingly good. But they were no match for his senses. Despite this, Arken couldn't help wear a constant smile. This was the closest he had to a holiday for a long time. With the waves smashing against the coast and the beautiful blue sky, he couldn't help feel relaxed.

The fact the locals had set a tail on him wasn't surprising. It confirmed there was something behind this ex-communication and the fact they had some skill announced they'd had training in it, either that or first-hand experience. If Arken had ghosted the town, he wouldn't have found this vital information so fast.

Arken hoped the town's people were rebelling against their corrupt aristocracy. Perhaps even wishing to free the slaves? If so, it was an admirable ambition, but too lofty. They wouldn't last long against the might of the Everdeenian army. But the fact there were no elves and dwarves around disturbed Arken.

He'd noticed the tail the second he'd left the tavern that morning, the second he'd been here, so had decided to go straight to the beach to fish. That'd been five hours ago. Arken was at now ease while they would grow bored and weary; he could keep this up all day. But that was the problem, as much as he didn't want to he had to stop soon as they may rotate the watch replacing the bored, tired locals with fresh ones.

With a curse, Arken packed his gear and began back to the town.

He took a different route back to the tavern, this time past the church. It was one pm, the holy time allotted by the Jaroai for the daily worship of the mindless masses. Arken had always wondered why the Jaroai had dictated that time in the holy book of the avatar. Perhaps it was because it was the time when the sun was at its hottest? That it had something to do with the fact the Jaroai could only use the light and fire magic disciplines? Arken had never encountered a Jaroai, but he'd heard stories.

The thought caused a shiver up his spine, and then he paused in his tracks.

Was that the sound of construction? And was it coming from inside the church?

Arken carried on and the closer he came to the church, the louder the sound became. The constant hammering and banging forced him to remember. He watched while his men built a siege tower, Arken's army had surrounded Hamar's capital, Valtagan. The tower was over twenty metres tall, one of the largest made by Mankind. That was one of the many things forgotten from his legacy after the church destroyed most records of the 'cowardly king.'

He turned the corner, and the church came into full view; like most of its ilk, it was gaudy, over ostentatious and well maintained. The churches usually ringed in the locals to work for free, contributing to the 'community spirit' and 'in the service of Jaroai.'

This, despite the wealth the churches held due to the donations were given by its parishioners, they could easily pay them. Arken would be more inclined to use the term 'sheep' when in his more bitter moods.

What made him pause was the beautiful stain glass windows boarded up from the inside.

Two men stood guard at the large double doors — big bastards trying their best to look intimidating.

This didn't stop Arken from approaching.

'Uhh, excuse me!' Arken said. 'I am visiting from Symbalmark and here for daily worship. What's going on? Is the church closed?'

'It is,' said the man on the left, his beard as thick as his massive arms. 'Church is closed for renovations.'

Arken nodded. 'D-do you have another place for replacement?'

The two guards exchanged glances. 'No, not yet, sorry,' said the one on the right.

Arken wasn't sure how his false persona would react to this. Most of the sheep would lose their minds, so brainwashed. But his character was faced with two large thugs him, and cosmopolitan Everdeenians weren't known for their faith.

'I don't understand,' said Arken.

'There ain't much to it, to understand,' said the right thug. 'Go and pray at the inn.'

'The book of Jaroai says-'

'Yeah it does, but unlike you city folk we don't have a place big enough,' said left thug. 'Everyone is doing it by themselves.'

Arken said nothing, frowned, but nodded then turned and walked away.

What could they be doing inside the church? And the strange thing was, he couldn't sense the aura of the local priest. Could the locals be rebelling? It would make sense they would kill their priest. But the absence of the elves and dwarves put paid to that theory.

This couldn't be good, not at all.

For the next three days, he wandered the town and fished at the coast. He was being tailed the entire time. He learned the whole layout of the town, the best escape routes and places to hide if needs must. From his room, he'd watch the locals returning from their jobs and found many were coming and going from the church in day and night shifts. This was confirmed further when he ghosted out one evening to find that construction in the church was still happening in the dead of the dark.

On the fourth night, he decided to see what was inside the church, so again he slipped out and de-materialised into the shadows like a spectre born. He wasn't the best at stealth, but that was because the Hunters standards were so high.

It didn't take long for him to reach the church, and he approached the northwestern corner.

He could sense the dozens of auras bustling about inside. Arken knew the general layout of the churches. Entrance in the south and the priest's quarters and storage rooms to the north. Arken intended to blink into the storage area, hide among the shadows and listen to them talk. Then once his blink had cooled down, blink outside and sneak back to his room and repeat the process the next night. Then he would leave for reinforcement if he deemed it needed. Arken just hoped he had some information to bring back.

After a long exhale, Arken blinked.


The second he phased into reality, Arken fell. He let out a yell, hit mud and slipped onto his side.

In the next split second, he was on his feet and had taken in his surroundings. Countless locals stood, watching him with undisguised surprise. The entire church had been gutted. And at its epicentre was a vast, strange cone-shaped thing, made from a material Arken had never seen before. It was half-built, scaffolding surrounding it, and it crawled with workers. Under it was a hole in the earth, at least twelve metres in diameter with a wooden walkway circling into its depths.

He had finally found the elves and dwarves. They made up the majority of the workers; they were malnourished and dead-eyed with exhaustion. Their stench hit Arken. It made him reel and his eyes water.

'How did you get in here?' demanded a balding middle-aged man.

Arken couldn't begin to think of a reply, and they started to advance on him, their eclectic tools raised.

He raised his hand to summon his sword, but some instinct stopped him. Something wasn't right, the glazed looks in their eyes, the way they moved. It was almost as though it was against their will.

'My name is Arken,' he said, raising his hands in supplication. 'I am a Hunter sent to help you. I am not your enemy.'

They didn't reply, just continued.

Then they charged.

The first to reach him was a young, big burly human, who swung his shovel at Arken's head. Arken darted under it with ease, and his sidekick smashed into the man's ribs. The crunch was wince-inducing, and the man flew into two other locals, sending them to the dirt.

Arken parried the arm of a swinging hammer and his leopard fist uppercut into the soft skin beneath the malnourished elf's jaw. Arken's backfist cracked in the cheekbone of a dwarf, and his front kick crashed into the face of a human as she drew back for a hook.

To Arken, they seemed to move in slow motion, but it wouldn't take long for them to surround and overwhelm him.

A human threw a wild hay-maker, so telegraphed it was laughable. Arken caught it with both hands, broke the man's elbow, then spun and flung him into the human trying to flank the Hunter then the four other locals behind him.

Arken's round kick sent two attackers crashing to the mud. He followed it with a front kick which broke a man's jaw and sent him flying, writhing back.

A female elf threw a clumsy kick which Arken back-stepped and a dwarf threw himself at Arken with a roar. The dwarf got an elbow in the face for his trouble, then a back fist to the cheek. Arken felt the zygomatic bone shatter.

Arken blocked a punch from the elf, then ducked a humans hay-maker. He kicked the second attacker's legs out from beneath him. Arken's knife hand smashed against the elf's windpipe; then he shoved him away.

Two large humans rushed him, but Arken slipped aside and tripped one. The man stumbled and bashed into the wall with a cry.

Arken would've laughed if he didn't have to tilt aside a shovel thrusting for his face. Arken grabbed it and tore it from his grasp, before sending the attacker to the ground with a sidekick to the guts. The flat of Arken's new shovel clanged against the spine of a human who was punching, then bashed across the back of a female elf's neck.

None had combat training, few throughout the continent did, and even fewer knew how to fight as a group, to utilise their numbers. But they were learning and soon would start attacking in more than just pairs. Not only that, but he couldn't keep this up forever.

Using the shovel like a quarterstaff, Arken broke a woman's nose with a jab of the handle and swung it low to take a charging elf off his feet. He parried a man's smashing hammer with the haft then spun the shovel overhead and bashed it on top the local's skull. A female dwarf kicked for Arken's shin, Arken danced away then swept out the shovel, smashing her back.

Arken twisted the shovel, so its edge gouged deep into a man's elbow while in mid punch. The human didn't have time to cry out before Arken's hook kick threw him into the crowd, sending many writhing and reeling.

He didn't sense it, but instinct shrieked it, and he threw himself to the dirt a split second before the lightning coursed through the crowd, killing countless locals on its way to him.

A millisecond later Arken was on his feet and had located the lightning's source. An old man in plain grey clothes, his raised hand smoking and stood near the hole.

How hadn't he sensed the attack? No priest nor Hunter, nor original vampire could hide their aura when using magic. That wasn't possible.

'What the hell?' breathed Arken and the pause caused the weariness to hit him. Then came the hissing, the hissing which erupted through his ears. Pain coursed through his head. It caused him to stagger and clutch at his skull.

'Surrender, Hunter,' the old man bellowed, his hand still raised.

Arken couldn't reply as he tried to shake it all away. His limbs seemed to leaden, and his vision began to blur.

'We do not want any more violence,' said the man as he started to approach. 'I do not wish to kill any more of my people and do not wish to kill you. Your skill is great; you will be a great asset.'

Arken fought to keep his feet, his brain throbbed, and blood streamed from his nose.

'What? Who?' Arken managed through teeth clenched so tight he couldn't help fear they'd crack. The crowd began to close on him.

'Are you wondering who I am, Hunter?' said the old man. 'I was once a man who dedicated himself mind and soul to the light of Jaroai. But I and all of us have seen it as the falsehood it is. That it is a lie.'

Arken roared, summoned his sword and exploded into a charge. Despite the pain in his head and his aching limbs, in a split second, he was behind the priest, his blade held an inch from the priest's throat.

The priest gasped and froze.

Arken grinned. 'Tell your pawns to step down. Now.'

'This will get you nowhere, fool.'

'If you don't do it, you will never get anywhere, ever again.' Arken emphasised this by edging the sword closer to the priest's neck, causing him to flinch.

The locals were approaching. They didn't show any fear for their leader, just set determination.

'How?' said the priest. 'How are you able to resist?'

'Resist, what?' growled Arken, the buzzing was getting worse. 'Make...them stand down. Or I'll give you another smile."

The priest smiled and said a word in a language Arken had never heard before, and as one the advancing mob stopped, their heads drooping forward.

'I suppose it doesn't matter,' said the priest. 'You will give in to it, eventually.'

'What is 'it'? What's down the hole?' Arken snarled, shaking his head again. 'Tell me!'

'Why would I tell you, Hunter?' said the priest. 'When I can show you.'


His blade still near the priest's throat, they began down the walkway. Their footfalls echoed ominously through the blackness, no matter how light Arken tried to tread.

'How were you able to hide your aura?' Arken demanded. Every syllable was a struggle, and he wiped the blood flowing from his nose. The hissing had turned into a buzzing, his brain was no longer throbbing in his skull, but thundering, so much so he couldn't hear the priest's response.

'What?'

'I said, there is no point in telling you. You will see for yourself soon enough.'


Arken grimaced as he had to fight the sudden compulsion to let the priest go.

'Ahh yes,' said the priest. 'You need not fear me; I just wish to show you the Truth. I will not hurt you; please let me go. I am not evil like you believe.'

'You killed your own people!' said Arken as his sword arm started to lift away.

The priest shrugged. 'They-'

Arken interrupted him by bashing him over the head with the sword's hilt. The priest collapsed unconscious.

Straight away, the buzzing and throbbing weakened.

With heavy breaths, Arken wiped the blood from his face, stepped over the priest's sprawled form and continued down.

Down into the unknown.

For what felt like hours, Arken walked. All the while, the hissing grew into the buzzing crescendo of earlier. Every fibre of his being screamed to give in. That it'd stop the pain and the blood, make him happy. That he would learn everything, he wanted to know. But he didn't, he wouldn't. He was Arken! He led one of greatest armies the continent had ever seen. The best Hunter of the age taught him. Arken had survived a Ritual performed by only one Hunter; usually, it took five or more, a feat no one had ever accomplished before.

He was better than this. He was stronger than this. Whatever the hell 'this' was.

Everything, his thoughts, his vision eventually swam into a blur. Every step was a war.

It felt like an age before he found the bottom of the shaft. It took Jaroai only knew how long for him to realise his feet had stepped on stone.

The buzzing was horrific, but still, he shook it away and glanced about. In the north side was a cave and the lanterns lining both walls blazed bright white against the dark green of his low-light vision. Even then the light seemed wrong, unnatural almost eldritch in aspect.

Arken felt his jaw clench. His instincts screamed; it was the Jaroai. Still, the locals were mind-controlled and nowhere in the millennia since they manipulated humanity into conquering the continent did the Jaroai exhibit this power. If they did, they would've abused it to hell and back. And as far as Arken knew the paths of light and fire magic just weren't capable of it. Could it be something else? Something worse? Arken had never encountered a Jaroai. Few Hunters have. His master had once; he'd told Arken the story and Arken couldn't begin to imagine anything worse. It took six Hunters and two vampires to take it down, and only two, one Hunter (his master) and a vampire managed to walk away.

Even so, he started toward the cave. It was insane, stupid, and perhaps the buzzing in his brain was controlling him. But he needed to see. He needed to know.



Arken turned off his low light vision and wished he hadn't. He'd thought the flames had been white and green, but they were pure green and seemed to writhe and whisper, swimming with eldritch runes which warped and broke apart to form again into new ones. But what sent a sudden stab of terror through Arken, what made him tear his gaze away, as he was beginning to understand them.

The blood bubbled from his nose, now and the buzzing whispering grew louder with every step.

Again, time turned into a blur, the blood from his nose flowed like a waterfall, so much so he couldn't help worry he might lose consciousness.

And the tunnel went on and on. Arken lost count the times he had to stop and regain himself.

The whispering and the buzzing seemed to intertwine, and he started to discern the things it was saying. Despite his curiosity, despite every iota of him screaming he wanted to, he needed to, Arken refused to listen.

Arken snarled like an animal. He needed to verbalise his defiance somehow, but to his surprise, it seemed to work. The voices quietened, and the flames lost some of their intensity.

A few truths managed to penetrate his thoughts. Truths he discerned he needed to know. It confirmed his suspicion that the priest was a living conduit for the mind control, that the cone-shaped thing, was an amplifier and it would not be long before it was completed. Two days, just two days before every town in a one hundred kilometre radius would hear the buzzing in their skulls. Jaroai only knew how long before they would be under its control; this gave Arken purpose; it gave him strength. He couldn't give in. He pressed on and on, and the voices seemed to become more and more desperate, with every metre.

He managed to reclaim his mind when he stepped into the vast, perfectly circular chamber. At its centre stood an obelisk so tall its tip scraped the darkness at least fifty metres above, and its width was a good five. It was made from the same alien material as the cone, but green, pulsing veins circled it and into the floor, growing out like the roots from a tree. The same eldritch ruins as the flames and ones Arken had yet to see, short-lived spectres across its surface.

The sudden sound of deep clapping echoed. Arken jumped, and a figure stepped out from behind the obelisk.

The troll stood at three metres. Its arms were almost as long as it was tall as its large clawed hands smashed together with inhuman strength. Its grinning, lipless maw filled with battered, brown teeth which jutted out in odd, chaotic, angles. Its chest and arms were skeletally thin, but its belly bulged out a good metre from it, like its snout. Its beady eyes jutted on stalks from the sides of its skull. The trolls legs were short, not even a half metre in length. This troll was like all others except for the green veins running through its scaly hide and the runes moving through it, just like the obelisk.

'You have done well, little Hunter.' Its voice was clear, without the growling droll and spluttering syllables trolls were known. 'You have made it far. I am impressed. The priest almost made it here not too long ago, but he, like everyone, gave in eventually.'

'Just like you believe I will, I am sure,' said Arken.

'Just like I know you will, little Hunter,' said the troll.

'What is this?' said Arken, nodding to the obelisk. 'Why is it here?'

The troll burst into a mocking chuckle. 'You will know. You will know everything. True enlightenment awaits you if you give in. All the universe's secrets will be yours.'

Arken frowned. He knew the troll told the truth. What could he do with such knowledge? He could use it to create an army with a level of technological advancement that could put him back upon the throne of Hamar. An army that could conquer the continent and bring to heel both the vampires and the Jaroaian religion an army that could cross the seas and take over the scattered continents and islands to the west. He could-

Arken shook it away. If he gave in, he would wind up another pawn to the obelisk.

The troll shrugged. 'That was worth a try, I guess. You truly are an ambitious little Hunter, aren't you? Rare for your kind, but you were a king, I suppose.'

Arken snarled and reeled. 'Get out of my head.'

'Or you will what?' It sneered.

Arken's replied by bursting into a charge.

'I knew you would do that,' it roared, but it didn't take a mind reader to figure that out, Arken was beginning to believe the troll wasn't as adept as it wanted him to think at reading his thoughts.

And used its race's first and only magical ability: it summoned its goblins. In blasts of light, two dozen short grey-skinned, snarling, creatures threw themselves at Arken, brandishing their primitive swords and axes.

Arken's horizontal cut opened the throat of the first goblin and smashed away the wild thrust of a second. His sidekick crunched in the face of a third goblin, and he back stepped another's slash. Arken's riposte stabbed into the last attacker's guts then he tore out his blade from its side, in time to parry an axe arcing for his head.

The gutted goblin squealed so loud it hurt Arken's head, but he didn't have time to put it out of its misery before being forced to weave beneath a swinging sword then sidestep a stabbing knife.

One goblin threw itself at Arken, trying to shoulder-barge him with its sharp, rusty pauldron. Arken slipped aside and sliced his sword across the side of its scrawny neck.

The voices came back then, erupting through his thoughts like a boulder flung from a catapult into a city wall. Agony burst in his brain and Arken fought the urge to cry and reel. He still managed to block a goblin's blade and cleave its skull open.

Arken cut into the chest of another with the diagonal backswing and darted back before the others could flank him.

'Get out of my head,' he bellowed through clenched teeth, and blood burst from his nose again. Goblins were nothing. But he couldn't keep this up for much longer, everything hurt.

'All you need do is give in,' the troll's voice echoed in his mind. 'Then you will know peace.'

Arken screamed in defiance, as he ducked a goblin's blade and sent it writhing back with a kick to its chest. He sidestepped a stab and took the legs from under the attacker with a sweep of his foot, then cut its throat in mid-fall.

'Ahh, I see now,' said the troll. 'I see it now, your anger, your bitterness. All those years wasted.'

'Shut up,' Arken snarled, darting aside a swinging axe.

'You were merely a puppet, first for the church then for your master,' said the troll. 'You were manipulated brilliantly.'

Arken grimaced while punching a lunging goblin in the throat then stabbed another through the chest.

'Don't you hate it? The humiliation you had to endure? All of those years, thinking you were in control, that you ruled, that you could use your influence to bring down the church.'

'Shut. The. Hell. Up,' Arken roared and reached within himself. Using his rage, he summoned the shield of light that burst from his hands. It sent the enclosing goblins screeching and writhing off their feet their weapons flinging from their grasp.

He raised his hand and summoned a fireball. He filled it with all his will and all his aura; it eclipsed his arm to the elbow. Arken's master had been a dedicated infiltrator and swordsman, so taught Arken only the fundamentals.

When Arken threw that fireball no one was more surprised than him when it exploded in the troll's face in the wall of flame so large it coated everything around it in a good four-metre radius.

It took a second for Arken's surprise to wane and he felt a grin spread as the voices began to ebb.

Then the flames cleared.

'How?' Arken cried.

The troll still stood, its giant hand raised, emitting a light shield.

'How?' Arken said again, stumbling a step forward. 'Y-you can't-'

'Trolls cannot use magic?' said the troll as it dismissed the shield with a flick of its wrist. 'Besides our racial ability to summon goblins? The pillar showed me much, little Hunter. Taught me much, as well. Do you see now? It can bend not just others to its will, but the very laws of this world itself.'

The goblins were now on their feet and moving to surround Arken again. Their cackling, sharp on his ears.

'Now, little Hunter, I have been holding back,' it said. 'Do not make me destroy you. You will gain power beyond your ken.'

The voices came back, stronger than ever, and it almost froze Arken. Arken's sword flickered and cut down the nearest goblin, and he began to absorb the world's magical radiation. He flinched at how fast it absorbed into his being. It seemed the obelisk wasn't just enhancing his enemy's magic for a reason he could begin to comprehend.

He dodged a slashing axe, then parried a stabbing sword. His riposte sliced through the back of its legs as Arken burst into a sprint. One goblin tried to tackle into him, but Arken punched it away.

'What are you doing?' the troll snarled.

Arken smiled. He had theorised it couldn't read all his thoughts and this confirmed it.

As Arken thrust for the troll, it sneered, and in the last second, projected another shield which Arken's sword smashed off in a spray of sparks. Then Arken tried to use blink, but nothing happened.

Arken bellowed out an enraged roar and slashed, again and again. He ignored the impacts up his arms. He must have hit a dozen times in the span of a few seconds, and as he did, he absorbed radiation.

So he summoned another fireball.

'What are you doing?' said the troll. 'That will not penetrate my shield. All you will do is cook yourself.'

'It isn't for you,' Arken grinned then turned and tossed the fireball amongst the goblins charging toward him.

Their simultaneous screech as they were flung or immolated was almost deafening.

The troll snarled and expanded the shield, forcing Arken to dart back.

'That is enough,' it roared and swiped out at him.

Arken weaved under the arm then darted at the troll, but its punching claw caused him to slide aside.

It bashed down, and Arken sidestepped. Its elongated arm crashed into the floor, sending debris exploding outward along its entire length.

Arken dashed to cut into the arm but the other one swept around. Arken knelt beneath the blow. He heard it inhale.

'gak,' he said, turning just in time to see it exhale fire, like the dragons of legend.

He threw himself flat a split second before being cooked. His evasion so desperate, agony tore through his shoulder, but he didn't have time even to cry out before he was on his feet and running. The flame followed him by less than an inch. Sweat sprung from his every pore.

Arken grimaced as he saw the cavern wall getting closer and closer, yet the flame had not even begun to abate.

He didn't have much radiation left, but he had just enough.

Arken summoned it to his hand, and with a desperate cry, flung a burst of light into the troll's eye.

It screamed in pain and reeled away, clutching at its face.

Arken slid into a turn and charged, drawing his blade back to stab it in the throat, but he almost ran full tilt into the troll's light shield.

Arken let out a scream as frustration burst to the surface.

'Do you fething have an infinite supply of radiation?' he roared.

'You ungrateful little gak,' the troll said. 'I offer you knowledge and power beyond your imagination, and you repay me like this.'

'I-," Arken was interrupted as, against his will, he took a step forward.

The troll's laughter echoed through his skull.

'There it is. Everyone gives in eventually. Even a freak such as you.'

Arken took another step and threw his sword to the ground with a clatter.

The troll dispersed the shield and looked down at Arken with its one working eye.

'The obelisk wants you dead,' it said as it began to approach. 'You have angered it almost as much as I.'

Arken clenched his teeth and fought to stop the next step.

'I will enjoy this, and I can assure you, little Hunter, it will not be quick.'

It tilted its head. 'Nor painless.'

'That is enough,' bellowed a voice behind Arken and the troll straightened at what it saw.

'How? How did you get down here?' demanded the troll.

Arken turned despite every iota of his body protesting, and shock tore through him. The priest stood, his staff raised in defiance, the side of his head running with blood. It wasn't just him. The entire town seemed to be filing into the cavern; their faces contorted in rage and strain.

'We are here because you lost concentration, troll,' said the priest. 'And we are here to reclaim our minds.'

'But. You know this is all pointless,' the troll exclaimed with surprising desperation. 'You know the truth. Without its guidance, why have you not given into despair?'

'We do not care. If we die, we will die free,' said the priest as fire exploded from the top of his staff. 'Free from you, it and Jaroai.'

'You traitorous filth,' the troll snapped. 'I will enjoy killing you.'

Then with a roar, the troll charged.

'Avert your eyes,' the priest bellowed as he spun his staff and a blinding beam of light blasted from its tip. It was the most significant, most potent piece of light magic Arken had ever seen.

A shield erupted from the troll's hands, and the light beam hit it so hard the troll was sent stumbling back a few metres.

It roared and kept onward, struggling to take each step against the beam.

Arken pushed away his surprise and started to fight to regain his body. He couldn't just watch.

It felt like hours as the troll came closer and closer to the priest and his people. Arken didn't know how long the priest could keep it up for, but he suspected it wouldn't be long enough. When the troll was around seven metres away, Arken managed to start moving his fingers. About five metres, his arms. Nearly four, his knees. Arken roared with the effort and clenched his teeth so hard he feared they would shatter. Then near three metres, Arken could move his feet. It was then the priest's beam began to weaken.

The troll was only about one metre when Arken regained his legs.

Arken fell into a run, as fast as he could with his pained, deadened limbs. It was like he was in a nightmare. Arken knew he wasn't going to make it in time and he scooped up his sword.

But then the priest stopped his light blast.

Because the troll's weight was so far forward, it lost its balance but was quick to recover.

The stumble lasted less than a second, but it was enough time for Arken to catch up, and with all his strength, he plunged his sword into the back of its knee.

Troll screamed in agony and collapsed into a kneel. Its shield flickered and died.

'Out of the way, Hunter!' the priest bellowed.

Arken dived aside as the priest summoned a fireball and threw it, encasing the troll from head to toe in flames. Such was the fire's intensity that all it took was a few seconds before the troll's screams died and it fell face-first to the ground, dead.

But that didn't stop the whispering in Arken's head, and he soon lost control again.

Then he started toward the crowd of cheering bellowing locals.

'You have to run,' he wanted to scream. 'You must run.' But he couldn't, no matter how hard he fought to yell.

The priest noticed him, and his eyes met Arken's.

'It is time for me to return the favour I suppose,' he said, then smacked the pole of his staff against Arken's head, causing the world to waver, then go black.

Arken awoke with a start. Despite the pain thundering through him and his blurred, spinning vision, it took an instant to see he was in a cell. The walls were stone, the bars iron. It reminded him of the cell he'd been kept in by the Hunters, years ago. He felt the cold iron manacles clasped around his wrists and heard the chains rattle as he writhed.

'Good,' said a voice and Arken's attention snapped to its source. A large, well-built human who seemed in his late twenties stood in the cell with him. His arms were as thick as a troll's gut, and his features looked like they'd been carved from granite. He was shaven bald, and his thin, scarred lips smirked down at Arken. 'You are finally awake; I've been waiting and waiting.'

The man's accent was Varmorian, throaty and coarse like his throat was forever inhabited by thick phlegm, but nasally too.

'Who are you?' Arken managed through dry lips.

The man hushed him, approached, took out a flask and forced Arken to drink.

'If you must know, detective Arken, my name is Garron and I, like you am a Hunter.'

'Never heard of you,' said Arken.

'Ohh! How could you hurt my precious feelings like that,' said Garron. 'Or I would be saying that if that wasn't the point. You are not meant to know about me, young Arken. Most of your kind don't.'

Arken's eyes widened, and he almost spat out the water, instead, he inhaled it, and Garron had to take away the flask so Arken could writhe in his coughing fit.

'Oh? What is wrong?' said Garron.

'Why?' managed Arken through his coughing. 'Why am I here? Am I a prisoner of the Hunters? Why am I a prisoner? Did I do something wrong?'

Garron burst out in laughter, but it held no humour. 'No. No. You perform exemplary. To above and beyond, even to a fault. We think.'

Arken felt his eyes narrow. 'What?'

'You didn't kill them — the townsfolk. We wish that you did. You would have saved us much dirty business. Much, much dirty business, indeed. We killed everyone — even the priest. Every bit the hero, aren't you not? Managing to resist the influence of the pillars longer than anyone has before.'

This information should've horrified him, but he felt nothing.

'Obelisk,' said Arken.

'What?'

'It was an obelisk, not a pillar.'

Garron smirked again and pointed at Arken with a wobbling finger. 'Ahh yes. There it is. You have potential, Arken. It was a shame; I wished we could have sired those people. Would have been great, we could have used more bodies, more vampires for when we finally break the dimensional barrier and start the real war against the Jaroai. But they knew far too much. There are secrets in this world, or worlds, to be precise, that mustn't be known. Secrets we were created to protect.'

'I...I don't understand,' said Arken.

'No, young Arken,' said Garron and his huge hand began to reach for Arken's head. 'And I am afraid that you never will.'



Year: 2500 AHV

Age: Late Industria Era

Country: The Republic of Hamar

City: Valtagan


Arken sat in the interview room, straightening his note papers on the desk. He fingered and thumbed his eyes and blinked up at the light hanging overhead. With a sigh, he took the speaker horn.

'The next interviewee, please,' he said. This was the sixth today, and thankfully the last.

He glanced at the notes, knowing that he should check the interviewee's CV and profile, but he couldn't be bothered. She was a one-human vampire, that was all he could remember.

A few seconds later, the door opened, and she stepped in, and Arken had to fight the urge to drop his jaw.

Like all vampires, she was beyond pale. Her long, pitch-black hair was immaculate, straight as straight and fell well past her slender shoulders. It wasn't just her intoxicating beauty that took him off guard. Still, she reminded him of Salria, the priestess of Jaroai who'd been his lover during his tenure as king, the priestess appointed to be his "supervisor" more than a century and a half ago. He was quite the womaniser back then. Like father like son, Arken supposed. Arken was just one of many, many bastard children sired across Hamar, and perhaps beyond, by king Frelkson.

'HeadHunter, Arken?' she said, pausing in the entranceway.

Finding himself struggling for words, Arken could only motion for her to sit.

She nodded and walked in. The sound of her red high heels on the concrete floor seemed to echo, resonate with sensuality, confidence. Across every millimetre of her, she appeared the stereotypical seductive vampire.

Arken said nothing, electing to shuffle his papers, regretting now not looking at her C.V. He perused it, then noticed she'd started to smile at him.

Arken frowned. "What are you smiling about?"

'Oh, nothing. I just can't believe I'm in the same room with the famous Arken.'

Arken fought back a sigh. He didn't feel "famous."

'So...Dalitti-'

'I'm sorry, it's just in Valandri we've heard so much about you. The former king of Hamar. The only...the only-'

Arken's hands clenched his hands into fists, with such strength his nails dug into his palms they and drew blood. 'The only what?'

Dalitti's smile fled from her, full red lips. 'I uhh the only Hunter in history to kill a Jaroai single-handed. Do you know? Was it in a small town in Everdeen? Around 2387 or 2388 AHV? Don't you remember?'

Arken's fist smashed on the table, causing Dalitti to flinch. 'Of course, I remember! But it isn't relevant to this interview.'

Dalitti didn't reply; she just gaped in shock.

Arken did remember it, he remembered all of it, how disgusting and eldritch it was, how it summoned its Shalazquai slaves and had them slaughter all the innocent townsfolk, how he failed to protect them.

But there was something else, something deep in his subconscious that made him rage whenever anyone brought it up. Arken didn't know why, but something was just off about the memories, something, subtly strange. Ever since it'd happened, Arken couldn't even start to understand why. There was also something else which put him on edge. The memories they were perfect, too perfect. It'd been decades since he'd defeated that Jaroai but it all came back with clarity which even memories only a few years old didn't hold. Hell, even memories a few weeks old didn't compare. It was as though, as though...Were they manufactured? Not real?

Arken shook away that train of thought, exhaled and calmed himself. Such a thing wasn't possible; there was no form of magic able to manipulate memories. A ridiculous notion. 'My apologies, Dalitti. Let us start again.'

Dalitti frowned then seemed to find her confidence.

'Well, okay then,' tilting her head aside. Showing her neck was a sign Arken knew it was one of the ways women show attraction. 'Head Hunter Arken?'

Arken forced a smile; he hoped it didn't seem too fake.

'Good to meet you, Dalitti. Let's get started, what made you leave Valandri for Hamar?'

Alathis is just a day away from taking part in the Ritual. A Ritual which is required so he can become one of the magically enhanced super assassins, a Hunter.

The Ritual which only one in five survives.

But before he can, he needs to work through his tremulous and traumatic past.

 A past which would've driven anyone else insane or broken them beyond repair.

Will he become one of the One in five?

Or a corpse?

The first chapter uploaded on December the 30th!




Much to Alathis' relief, he found the training room empty. He'd thought so; it was six in the evening, so most neophytes were busy with study.

Alathis ignored the training dummies lining the left wall and the wooden weapons on the right while attempting to avert his attention from the large mirror in the north. Weapons of every type hung there, from daggers to double-headed two-handed axes. In the first few years, every neophyte was encouraged to practise with all weapons. First, to learn how to wield, so if they fought an enemy who used one, they knew how to fight it. Second to choose which one to specialise. Alathis had fallen in love with the long sword almost straight away. It wasn't too heavy or too short. It could stab and slice. Its hilt and cross-guard could be used as weapons if needs must and wielded with one or two hands. In short, it was adaptable, practical. But above all else, there was certain artistry, freedom to the long sword. It could be wielded like a curved cutting blade or even a specialist stabbing blade such as a rapier.

Faster than even his eye could follow, Alathis drew his sword and was in a ready stance. Then he launched into it. His every technique, his every step, every cut, stab and parry were perfect. He'd perform a, a downward vertical strike or any other, then the appropriate dodge, block or dart. Then counter. It was called shadow swordplay. He did it by instinct, with no rhyme or reason. It emptied his mind, forced the fear anyway — the anxiety.

They'd been taught meditation from a young age. It'd never worked for Alathis: Sitting and humming couldn't calm his forever busy mind. But swinging a sword or punching and kicking the air, did. Alathis wasn't as naive as most of the other acolytes; he knew Hunters were, for all intents and purposes, assassins. And he knew he had to be a damn good one to live even a year of his apprenticeship. That's if he managed to survive the Ritual somehow.

He was so lost in his training he failed to notice the vampire enter the room.

'Neophyte Alathis.'

Alathis leapt so high he almost hit the ceiling and turned to find Kolmath approaching. The once-elf vampire's face was unreadable, her hands behind her back. She was tall for an elf: around 1.77 metres. Like all her kin, she was long-limbed, graceful. She wore plain white robes like all other teachers. Her skin just as inhumanly stark as her robes. She stared at him with large, dark green eyes and her long grey hair pulled back into a bun. She was beautiful, even for an elf she. It almost made him forget his ingrained instinct at recognising the wrongness vampires exuded.

'Teacher,' said Alathis.

Kolmath waved dismissal at Alathis' formality and approached the wall of weapons.

'Karetil came to me,' she said. 'He's concerned about you.'

'He is?'

'Indeed,' she said and reached to touch a broad sword. 'You underestimate him, I think. He may act childish, but he has every bit the same training at reading people like you.'

Alathis didn't reply, he just cut the air, first horizontally, then upward diagonally.

'You know, when you first came to the coven, I was not sure what to make of you,' said Kolmath, while running her long, slender fingers along the haft of a great axe. 'You were so sullen, sulky you more so than the other survivors of the attack. I understood why, after talking with Telric.'

Alathis treated her with his most murderous glare. 'I don't want to talk about that, teacher.'

Kolmath turned to him. 'You will have to, Alathis. One day. What you went through, what you had to do, is something even the hardiest of us would find hard to cope with. It might be a good idea to speak of it before going through the Ritual.'

Alathis couldn't help flinching at her mention of The Ritual.

'Ah. So you are afraid,' said Kolmath as she took a small axe and tested its weight. 'Do not be ashamed; it is only natural.'

She swung it a few times, but the swings were so fast Alathis couldn't count them.

'Every neophyte in your position is afraid before the Ritual.'

'Well, except Karetil,' said Alathis.

'He, too, is afraid, young Alathis,' said Kolmath. 'Again, you underestimate your friend, he is just far better at hiding it. Or you might be overestimating him, from a certain point of view.'

Alathis swallowed. 'I don't want to die.'

'Everything dies,' said Kolmath. 'Even Hunters, even vampires, even the Jaroai. It is nothing to fear. It is just nothingness.'

'But-'

'You can back out,' Kolmath interrupted, but without anger or condescension. 'Stay here as a mortal or I could sire you, right here, right now. There is nothing wrong with that; many have chosen that path over the centuries.'

Alathis swallowed, despite how much it'd hurt, he forced himself to remember, of the promise he'd made five years ago. He hoped it'd steel him, chase away the fear, it didn't. But it caused him to stop considering Kolmath's offers.

Kolmath studied him in silence, her slender features still unreadable. 'You are a strange one, Alathis,' she said, and it caught him off guard.

'Excuse me?'

'You heard me. You can be so confident, almost arrogant in one thing but lack confidence in another,' she said. 'You remind me of someone.'

'Who? May I ask?'

She laughed. Alathis liked her laugh.

'I do not think he would appreciate that.'

'I've had a hard life, teacher,' he said. 'Even before the church took me. Even before the...incident.'

'I can see that, Alathis. You are wise beyond your years, but you are still young and have much to learn. Jaroai! I am two hundred and fifty years old, and I still have much to learn. But you must remember...'

'Remember what?'

'That whatever you have been through, young Alathis, there is always someone, somewhere who's been through worse. The elves and dwarves that were enslaved for so long and those who are still enslaved by the church. The starving, poverty-stricken children in Iritain. You have received the best education on the continent. You know the truths of this world.'

Alathis grinned. 'I could've been a priest of Jaroai; they are far more privileged and are higher in this society than Hunters or vampires.'

Kolmath laughed. 'I doubt you would have made it through their trials, were you ever a true believer, Alathis?'

'No, not really' said Alathis, shuffling his foot.

'I could tell that from the start. If I could tell it from a glance, the church would see it too.'

He frowned. 'I could pretend-'

'The church of Jaroai might be driven by blind illogical faith, but they are not stupid. Maybe you could pretend it now, after years of training, but as the child you were. No, just no.'

She slashed her axe again. 'Do you know the longest a neophyte has lasted against me in a sparring match?'

'No,' said Alathis, not liking where this was going.

'Twenty seconds, do you think you can last any longer?'

'I...I don't know.'

Kolmath fell into a ready stance. 'Let us find out.'

She lunged at him.

Her sweeping axe forced Alathis to back-step. Then he sidestepped her downward vertical blow. He stumbled to keep his balance and lashed back with a wild upward diagonal slash. With ease, the vampire wheeled away then darted into the horizontal cut at Alathis' skull. Alathis leaned back from it. Kolmath was holding back, moving at a pace his human eye could follow.

His riposte was a diagonal cut headed for her left hip. Kolmath parried it almost contemptuously and sent out a front kick which forced Alathis into scrambling away.

Kolmath slipped at him, her axe swinging for his chest.

Alathis had no choice but to parry. Her strength far exceeded his; thus, the odds of being disarmed were tremendous. But he'd practised for countless hours, for countless days, more than any other neophyte in the coven and thus his parry was executed with perfection; knocking her axe aside at the exact right time.

'Nicely done,' she said.

Alathis' footwork was seamless as he slipped onto her flank and simultaneously sliced crossward for her throat. Kolmath leaned back, beneath it then swung diagonally up at Alathis' exposed side.

In desperation, Alathis blocked, placing his left hand on the blade to reinforce it. It didn't stop the chop but slowed it, allowing him to slide out the way.

'Very, very good,' she remarked.

'Yeah, it's only because you're going easy.'

Kolmath shrugged. 'I am going as hard and as easy as against any senior neophyte before or after you. This is just a sparring match, and the thing is, I want you to last. There would be little for you to learn this if I went all out. You are still only human, Alathis. Once you have been through the Ritual, your reflexes will be on par with mine, perhaps beyond.'

'Who knows,' she said, sending Alathis dashing back from another arc of her axe. 'You may receive that mutation, the one that increases a Hunter's strength to that of a vampire's. The odds are against it, but you never know. The only Hunter that has it today is a human named Jelcine.'

Alathis nodded as he tried for a stab which caused Kolmath to raise the haft of her axe to block. It was a feint, Alathis reversed it into a vertical downward slash at her skull. But Kolmath seemed bored as she tapped it aside.

The sword almost flung from Alathis' grasp and he was sent stumbling sideways in his trouble to keep hold of it.

Kolmath pushed her offence, slipping at him into an upward crosscut.

Alathis back-stepped it and moved more to gain some ground, any ground. In the pause, Alathis realised how short of breath he was.

"This...sucks," he managed through his gasps. 'I hate this...gak.'

'You are aware that I am not counting the seconds we talk,' said Kolmath. 'Well, to be more precise, when we are not fighting.'

He sighed. 'Man!'

Then he was on his arse, pain coursing through his side.

'You should know by now, not to allow for distraction,' said Kolmath while watching Alathis climb to his feet. 'If you are to survive the Ritual, you mustn't avert yourself.'

'What exactly happens in the Ritual?' gasped Alathis.

She shrugged and twirled her axe. 'I am a sired vampire, so you know I have not been through it, but have witnessed it many times since I became a teacher. All that I can say is, it seems different for everyone. No Hunter that has lived I have asked about it, have gone into detail. You, I suspect, will not be any different.'

Alathis nodded, fighting the disappointment welling within his guts. 'How long did I last?'

'Twelve seconds. Not bad, young Alathis.'

Alathis sighed. 'Who was it that lasted twenty?'

Kolmath smiled, a rare expression for her. 'Her name was Calian after she took her new name.'

Alathis' jaw dropped. 'The Calian? Calian who's one of the greatest sword masters of the Hunters today?'

'The very one,' said Kolmath. 'She is up there with Arken and Anargrin in the top three, despite being only a century old. Do not beat yourself up too much for lasting only twelve seconds. When I sparred her, she was not a day from going through the Ritual. She did not have such a distraction, such a fear looming over her. To last twelve seconds despite this is impressive. Take pride, Alathis, in this achievement. But also take it as a lesson.'

'I understand,' he said, it wasn't a lie.

'You have potential, Alathis,' said Kolmath. 'I saw that the first time we met, but if you are to live up to that potential, you must be aware of your strengths and weaknesses. Yours is fear, anxiety. You feel it stronger than Karetil than most people, in fact, so it is harder for you to hide.'

Alathis frowned, his gaze fell to the floor then it hit him. 'Is it a strength or weakness, ma'am?'

Kolmath smiled again. 'That is the question I hoped you would ask. That is a skill many do not possess, being able to ask the right question at the right time. In truth, it is both a strength and a weakness.'

He furrowed his brow. 'I don't understand.'

'Do you know the true definition of courage, Alathis? It is not the absence of fear, but being able to face it, conquer it. You declined my offers for the easy way out; you still stood against me despite knowing how much I outclassed you, you still managed to aid her despite-'

'No. Don't.'

Kolmath shook her head. 'And there it is, that is one thing you will not face, that you allow the fear to rule you on. You are willing to face death itself, or now, at least, but not that. What I am saying is to be proud, have faith in yourself and your courage, and I know you will live through the Ritual. And you might one day be able to face what happened five years ago.'

She turned, returned her axe to the wall, then began for the door.

'It is not faith, actually,' she said. 'I have given you enough evidence to make it logic, real. I will leave you to think upon this.'

'Teacher,' said Alathis as it hit him, causing her to pause at the threshold. 'You took the easy way out, didn't you?'

Kolmath didn't turn. 'Maybe I should re-consider my compliment. Maybe you do not ask the right questions, at the right time.'

A sudden pain exploded in his chest, like a jagged piece of ice being thrust through him, but he held his ground. 'I will take that as a "yes", then.'

'So now you know that I speak from the most utmost of experience on fear, Alathis. I wish you luck.'

Without further word, she left.


Here it is: https://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/783915.page