We did the right thing, the Lightmaster reminded himself as he watched from the top of the renowned Palace of Kings in Belgrave. Stretched out in front of him was the whole city, or what was left of it.

The destruction had been dire.

Painful lessons drew blood.

It had to be done.

The King had already vacated his seat and left for Dunwell, where he would re-establish order and prepare to give a speech to his people. Newspapers would write his deeply emotional words, the regret and the pain of it, but more so the inevitability of their reality which came knocking on their door when they least expected it.

A true reminder. Will it be worth the price, I wonder?

The revelation had been clear. Lord Zodros himself appeared before him in his ethereal form, told him of their fast-approaching end. Enough with this farce, He had said. Haven’s Reach had to be prepared for the grave future that awaited it with its claws.

He never told us that there would be two of them, however.

The Lightmaster shook his head as he heard the steps of his men working the Riftgate underneath the Palace of Kings. They would be in the Broken Lands soon, reuniting with the rest of the Guild to bring the young ones to complete their Trials. Fresh blood for their cause, and this destruction would bring more to their ranks.

Churning fog tingled on his back, prickling his skin as if he was touched by something dark. Green through and through, with its insidious presence trying to seep in.

Then came a tap of a great cane, and a figure stepped slowly beside him, wrapped in a black robe.

“A fine battle should have three things,” Zahul muttered in his rasping voice, the sockets in his skull almost gleaming with mirth. “Unexpected complications, surprising revelations, and a great deal of hectic chaos. This one, I daresay, delivered grandly on those expectations. Proved a touch scenic, as well. As if those weren’t enough, that Healer saved you from killing the Evercrest’s spawn. Reckon you couldn’t have asked for more, eh, Lightmaster?”

“You knew he was a Surgemaster,” the Lightmaster muttered, voice heavy.

“I had my doubts,” the Lich nodded.

“Which you kept to yourself.”

“Your ignorance is not something I should burden myself with to consider its implications,” the Lich said, snickering. “We all have our plans.”

“If you’d managed to get a handle on that soldier of yours, this could’ve gone more smoothly for us,” the Lightmaster said. Deviations in a plan were always expected, but happening on this magnitude left a bitter taste in his mouth. “You have given the Church a chance to perform.”

“And perform, they did. An extraordinary attempt at keeping the people alive, I must admit, while your underlings scampered away to the Broken Lands like the other guilds,” Zahul said. “Just like your King, whose scent was hardly felt across the capital.”

“Your incompetence will cost us dearly,” the Lightmaster said. Anger was there, boiling in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn’t seem to feel it. Even when he had all the reasons to get furious at this devious bastard, he couldn’t with the lingering stench of the dead stabbing at his nose.

“I wasn’t aware of their connection,” the Lich said, voice deepening. “Those two have formed an unlikely friendship, which is why I can’t seem to bring myself to hate that little undead’s guts. Fought a hard way across the Underworld to steal those shards, and even brought himself to your city to reunite with his savior.”

“And I suppose you intend to let them get away with it?” the Lightmaster asked.

“What can I say? My curiosity often gets the better of my obligations to the Underworld,” the Lich shrugged, then pointed a bony finger to the Golden Church. “And you’re not in a position to speak, either. Look, one of your children is keeping them company. A tiny little Berserker who turned for the better. As I’ve said, these are all a part of a fine battle.”

She’s seen everything.

The Lightmaster sighed. Celme had been one of their promising youths who had the potential to become a big part of their future plans. The Lord himself favored her and granted her his blessing.

A stubborn child, but it doesn’t matter. She will come to see the truth for herself.

“Keep your men in that pit you call the Underworld for now,” the Lightmaster said gravely. “My Brother wants you to stay out of sight for at least a year. Haven’s Reach will learn of your betrayal, but given enough time, they will forget, for the end is near.”

“I’ll have my hands full with the other Legions anyway,” the Lich said. “They either will see this as a chance for a rising, or try to shun us out to keep themselves clean of dirt. Either way, times are beginning to change. That Surgemaster won’t stop until he claims the entirety of his legacy.”

“Pointless,” the Lightmaster shook his head. “Alone, he is but a speck facing the looming shadows of the Forsaken. A lost sheep away from his flock. What could he do all by himself?”

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“I’ve met many a Surgemaster back in the day when I was alive, and that taught me a few things,” the Lich said, giving him a pointed look. “Never count out a stubborn fool whose heart beats for the living. A single spark could prove enough to set the whole world ablaze, and that kid has the spark, alright. Has a fiery storm burning in that little body of his.”

“Good,” the Lightmaster said. “Then those creatures will be busy chasing a ghost from their past while we claim back what was ours.”

Golden lights flashed across the distance.

“Knock, knock, Lightmaster,” Zahul said, waving a hand to Belgrave. “They are here to clean up. Patching the boundaries wouldn’t be easy even for them. Reckon you’ll be busy with the afterwork for a while. Try to keep it limited to Belgrave, will you? Don’t let this slip out of your fingers. Caligians wouldn’t appreciate it.”

The Church is here.

The real Church, not their pitiful representation tasked with keeping an eye on Melton. Dawnkeepers were coming, but even they couldn’t stop the terrors rising from the depths of the earth.

I’ll miss this place.

“Sacrifices,” he muttered heavily. “Someone has to make them.”

…….

The ground underneath his feet trembled, rattling the cage of his chest as the Dread took a slow step from where it had been pinned a second before. It was a clumsy, ponderous step as if it were slowly waking from a deep stupor, which Edric could understand as his mind still reeled with the pressure.

He pulled himself wincing to his feet, blinking around at the group that had arrived in a gust of wind to the ground, carried by the Healer’s magic. The former Wailborn and an odd woman rushed toward them the moment they set foot in the broken square. Words had been exchanged. Whispers uttered under shading hands. Nervous smiles and pats on the back.

But his own boys demanded his immediate attention. Dain and Gain had both passed out, with Lenora barely managing to keep her eyes open, bodies smeared with dark blood and pus. What was odd was that the skin visible under those looked soft. Softer than a baby’s, perhaps, which told Edric that the Healer kept an eye over them throughout this ordeal.

Not a Healer. He is something entirely else.

Edric nudged the few disciples standing behind them forward. Told them to fetch his boys and Lenora and bring them somewhere safe. Most of the people had already fled the square after suddenly coming to themselves, while a miracle had cured the wounded in the blink of an eye.

The dead?

Edric doubted much of anything would remain of them once this place got flooded by Dreads and Terrors.

“Captain,” Valens said as he stepped over to them with his eyes gleaming. There was something about him that made Edric pause. A sense of weight, a feeling of control. It was as though the battle had unraveled the folds he used to hide himself. Little clues had always suggested there was more than met the eye, but now, as Edric stared at him, it was hard to find words to describe the sensation.

What do you say to a true Ancient?

Mas flinched back, fingers around his sword’s handle trembling, eyes bloodshot as he stared at Valens’s face. He looked lost between the choices. Edric felt much the same, but there was some history between them.

He gestured for him to halt while Valens waved a hand to the Templars the disciples carried to the back.

“Give them some time. They are going to be all right,” he said with a nod. “We have found the true culprit, but I’m afraid we couldn’t stop her in time. She has opened that Gate. Used the connection between the Wretched Mother and Lenora to feed the ritual. I’m sorry, Captain.”

“Belgrave is no more,” Edric stated, refusing to let his emotions affect his voice. An Ancient he might be, but he looked like the same Healer they had accepted to the Golden Ward. The same fool of a Healer who kept poking his nose into matters that went beyond him. Now he could understand the reason for it. This man was never meant for little things, as he was now. “The help is coming. We will patch this city and keep the dwellers caged inside. So long as the other boundaries are active, there shouldn’t be any problems.”

But I’m afraid this is only the beginning.

“About that,” Valens said, averting his eyes for a second while the undead beside him snickered with a rasping, disturbing voice. A sword through that false heart of his would keep the conversation limited to the two of them. A sword would give Edric a place to vent his feelings.

It remained hanging from his hand.

The day had already seen too much blood.

“The things you’ve seen today—”

“We all have our secrets,” Edric shook his head at him. “I can’t blame you for keeping them to yourself. Not like it matters anymore. We have lost. They sneaked into our Church under our nose, and we were too blind to see it. The Bishop… Died an honorable death. His sacrifice will be remembered.”

Edric studied the young man’s face for a second. He looked worn. Broken, much like everyone else here. It certainly didn’t fit the image of the Ancients he had in his mind. After all the things he had done in the name of good, here, under that air of control, was a sorrow so stark that it resonated with Edric’s inner flame.

Were these how the Ancients were supposed to be? Displaying real emotions, acting disturbingly similar to the people? And here Edric thought they were all monsters and creatures beyond anything human.

A Surgemaster in flesh. The Church will want a piece of him. The higher-ups would kill for a chance to take him under control. A prize to be used, a machine to be utilized, and he is all alone in a golden box.

“You should go,” Edric muttered just when it looked like Valens was about to say something. “You can’t stay here.”

“Captain!” Mas snapped his head at him, his hold around the sword tightening. “You’ve seen what he did. We can’t let him get away. Not before we learn the true reason behind all this. The Church would demand answers from us. What are we going to tell them?”

“The Divines are real,” Edric said, turning slowly to face him. He stretched a hand out, Mas flinching slightly at the gesture, and patted him on the back. “I have felt their endless strength coursing through my veins. Saw them with my own eyes clasping a terrifying sword and severing the Wretched Mother’s eye. I felt their warmth in the depths of my heart. You have felt it too, eh, Mas?”

Mas nodded weakly.

“Then let them deal with it,” Edric said, and when Mas tried to argue, he smacked a hand across his neck, sending him to a blissful sleep. The other disciples round the back froze as Mas crumbled to the ground. A single glance at them sealed their mouths shut. Good. His head was hurting from all this noise, anyway.

“Thank you, Captain,” Valens said just then, looking thoughtfully at Mas’s back. “For whatever it’s worth, I will find the truth behind all of this. I will find it.”

Edric gave no reply. He just stood there, watching the distant fires gnaw at the remains of Belgrave’s proud towers. The city had screamed for hours, and now, it wept in silence.

He turned his back on Valens. “Go before they arrive. If they see you, there’ll be no more talking.”

They walked away in silence, leaving them alone in the square, Edric closing his eyes and lending an ear to his heart. It thumped a loud song, his inner flame. Wavered in his chest just like the flames rising from all around his city.

Then he turned and walked over to the disciples tending to Lenora. They gave way to him and drew silently back. Leaning over, Edric took her face in his hands, wet with tears and blood. He felt her soft lips on his own, then hugged her with gentle care.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I couldn’t protect you.”