1 1000 Years

03.12.2022

Some wizards, those old enough to have lived longer than could be considered reasonable, often became flippantly dismissive about the weight of time.

But they were still creatures of time, experiencing time linearly and, for the most part, consistently. Whether or not they had lived for one or a billion years, a year was still a year. Objectively, it did not pass by any quicker or slower based on subjective experience.

And so no matter what those old wizards may said;

1000 years was a very long time.

There was a lot one could achieve in a thousand years. Even on a galactic scale. Especially, if one happened to be a wizard. Even more so if one happened to be a wizard of four and able to dedicate all their focus and parts to one singular goal.

He had done very well

Deimon Five, on the outskirts of the great galactic Empire of Treva, had been the first planet to turn desperate. As with many firsts, its cry for help was met with all the help the planet would have needed to survive its environmental crisis.

It had started with a strange bacteria, utterly harmless to the population, which had caused a dramatic decrease in a specific anemone common in the northern seas. It had been really unspectacular. Sea biologist had noticed, nobody else really paid attention. Until it caused the near extinction of several species a little while later but even that barely got the attention of the general population. It would be fine.

It would have been, if not for the change in power production a hundred years prior affecting the oceans currents. And then, brought on by a chain reaction deemed impossible, within thirty years Deimon Five’s seas had turned toxic.

The empire sent scientists and medical personnel, as well as food and medicine. D5’s population was given the chance to relocate though not many did, believing the planet would be healthy again one day. The great empire spared no resources in the relief efforts, adamant to not force the people to leave, and certain that indeed, things would be fine again.

It could have. If not for the civil unrest on Galapago turning hostile at the unlimited show of compassion towards D5 while their own population struggled under the strict regime of the provisional government (which had been provisional for almost 10 years already after the Incident which had killed all of the previous one due to unrest seeded almost 40 years prior).

Galapago had once been important. Not anymore. Until extremists, under the banner of the Galapean Unit, crashed a freighter posing as a relief ship into the VS Henshin - a relief ship out of Sol System. Then Galapago had been suddenly extremely important again.

Advised to take swift action the provisional government of Galapago was replaced by another provisional government - but in reality it was Earth taking over the settled world. Military as well as political staff was sent to Galapago, to take care of the extremist elements. Firm action, showing strength and decisiveness. But also a sign of an overbearing central government causing tense disapproval in several other systems. But then, many had still believed that Earth would manage to establish a new, now functioning government and establish safe trade routes again.

It could have.

If it wouldn’t have been for the genetic defects caused by a pandemic on Tul 150 years ago.

If it wouldn’t have been for the pirate faction breaking of Zoltan A almost 600 years ago which led to the loss of the Cyric Systems.

If it wouldn’t have been for the horrible accident on Rembran.

Or the ruined relations of the empire to their sister galaxy Deeproot.

Or the other hundred and one seemingly isolated events having transpired within the empire within the last couple hundred years.

Hundreds of singular threats all weaving together - and what a magnificent pattern of misery they created.

The year was 1991. And the entire empire was at war. Some with itself. Some with factions outside of it. And earth’s resources were spread thin. There were too many people in need, and too little resources left to help. Too many fronts to defend. Too much desperation, caught in a deadly spiral of ever increasing escalation.

And the wizards?

Absent. Careful. Uncaring. Knowing.

They knew the prophecies. The real ones, and those just heard in rumours. For hundreds of years they had lifted them up, a fleeting interest sparked by Izarax, the Hammer of the Lords Might, finding its owner on that one earth. But ever since the passage of time had whispered to them. Speaking of death and destruction.

They knew all this would crumble. So why bother. It was a lost cause. And maybe it just happened because they let it happen. Maybe that too was part of the prophecies.

Just on Earth and Luna the wizards still held on. But even those were abandoned by the nonessential wizards, portal by portal. For a while, Sol System had been one of the most populated and well defended systems by wizard standards. But not anymore. It had been a fad, a fancy, a short lived interest ready to be put aside and forgotten. If the rumours were true, they even considered extraction of their most valuable asset in this galaxy.

But that decision had not been made yet, and with all of earth’s towers there were still a lot more Wizards on earth than on most other planets, but it paled to its former glory. He could only imagine how desolated those halls must feel by now.

Quadirymir tore his eyes from the massive array of news and update feets. Casualty numbers, struggling relief efforts, propaganda — Images of pain and helplessness. He knew, objectively based on normal conventions, that it was… sad? Yes, sad was probably the right word. Or tragic. Either way, he was under no impression that what he was doing here was for benevolent purposes or a greater good. But, it made him happy.

He had to assume it had not been an intentional feature of his creation and the core values he had been given, but he had always been smart enough to not let anyone notice once he had realised it himself. Because wizards with defects like this usually didn’t live very long.

But here he was, alive and well, and the joy he felt was real. He liked doing it, he was really good at it, and nobody was there to stop him. It was an enjoyable existence.

The content smile on his face lingered as he left the operations centre node of the Dark Citadel.

He walked down to the Halls of Creation in a leisurely stroll. He was in absolutely no hurry. That would come soon enough. One last trigger to pull, and everything was set for a grand finale.

The halls were mostly abandoned. Most of the Dark Citadel was by now. He was good at a lot of things, but keeping people around wasn’t one of them, he’d admit that any day. That’s why Zenozarax had been so useful, as had been Atladin before him. No matter how childishly hot-headed Quadirymir thought the old wizard to be, he somehow managed to inspire loyalty to a cult-like extent. Unfortunately, that loyalty had not magically transferred to him as Zenozarax had been defeated and trapped on Charon. Instead, that rat Zenozarax had titled his second in command, Xaronzul, had taken their ships and those most loyal to Zenozarax and had disappeared into the darkness between the stars. Maybe it was better this way. A fresh start without the riff raff.

Quadirymir came to a well protected set of doors, magic and curse as well as good old metal and steel reinforced the small room behind. It hadn’t been opened for a thousand years. And no one on the Citadel even still knew what - or whom - was inside. Just one of thousands of storage blocks, having vanished in the array, with no reference to its existence.

Unlocking all the different locks, mechanical and magical alike, took the better part of a minute before the door slid open with a soft hiss.

And there he was.

Zenozarax.

Or well, what should be a Part of Zenozarax at least.

This was his Warrior. Zenozarax’ insane and risky backup plan. He had rebuilt this part while the Warrior had been still alive. Which was insanely dangerous, risky and came with very real side effects to the active part — but that wizard was insane after all.

With the Warrior before him, being already fully initialised, Quadirymir could have simply disabled Zenozarax at any point while his other Warrior was still alive. Just wake this Part up and let the critical error of double parting take care of the rest. Luckily enough, Zenozarax’ death really would be pointless — currently as much as back then. He couldn’t really control him, not the way he wanted to, but Zenozarax was still an extremely useful and powerful tool at his disposal.

Quadirymir had been under firm order to wake this Part in the eventuality the Warrior might not survive the bombastic grand opening of the occupation of earth and subsequent conquest of Treva. In Quadirymir’s estimation it had been more of a when than an if, actually.

Well, as he had expected, the Warrior had indeed died.

And Quadirymir had done nothing but taken the Dark Citadel and gone radio silent. Just watching the events on earth unfold. Because he had been the only one seeing clearly in that moment. If he had woken the Warrior up chances would have been good to inevitable that he would have lost both parts of Zenozarax in the pursuit of this senseless endeavour. And he wouldn’t lose an asset this valuable to the romanticised idea of ultimate power that would free them all. The whole harnessing the power of the stellar alignment part surely would have worked, Quadirymir had no doubt about that, the science and magic behind it was solid. It was everything Zenozarax had wanted to do with that power afterwards that was insane and utter nonsense that would have only gotten him killed. So Quadirymir had cut him off at the kneecaps, so to speak, when he had the chance to do so.

Nobody, not even Quadirymir, had expected the Hammer Izarax, the Lords’ Might, to become active. And that could have gone horribly wrong. Luckily, as heroes of that kind tend to be, mercy had been shown.

And so Zenozarax’ Wizard had been defeated, captured, and hung out as bait. Quadirymir had expected that. It was a set up he could work with.

And so, well calculated, Quadirymir had done nothing and waited for the dust to settle before getting to work. The lifeless body of the Warrior lay as unmoving before him as it had been a thousand years ago. But now he had engineered this whole galaxy into a position where rescuing Zenozarax was no longer a suicide mission, but a very real possibility with a solid chance of success. All that was missing was that one final trigger to pull. And this was it.

He gave the panel to the side of the work table a light touch and momentarily the entire slab lit up brightly.

And his eyes lay focused on the unmoving face. Waiting. Expecting. He could barely imagine the shock about to go through that wizard’s neural network. It would hurt. Preventively he cut himself off from his other Parts. This could become dangerous depending on how bad Zenozarax would take it. He knew that anger within this wizard well — he’d only needed to redirect it away from himself.

The light glimmer shot through the Warrior’s body, the ancient markings lit up brightly, then the pitch black eyes glowed intensely.

As it faded he made a step back without taking his eyes away from Zenozarax.

For a second he just blinked — and then…. There it was. A smile twitched on Quadirymir’s lips.

A hard gasp went through the Warrior’s body, like jolted by electricity his upper body shot up, his breath suddenly hard and quick. Utter confusion and unbearable pain in his face as the reunification shock coursed through his body. One hand grasped for anything, some hold, something to escape the memories crashing down on him. A pain filled shout as he almost collapsed onto himself, curled over his legs as if his entire body was set aflame and hurting.

Zenozarax stumbled as he tried to stand up, staggering in his stance, his hand lost in trying to find hold, shaking. Then he collapsed onto his knees, fists tight on the metal floor. Another roar of disorientated suffering as he bent over — but there was no getting away from his own body and mind.

Or well, there was. Because then there was a flash of light, a slow pulse below Zenozarax’ face — and Quadirymir knew he had just cut himself off from his Wizard again. An act of desperate self-preservation, as the memories flooding his mind were just too much to bear.

Then there was silence. Just the hard breaths in the room. Zenozarax curled onto his knees on the floor, his forehead resting on his fists. His whole body was still trembling.

Quadirymir felt a sting of dismay. He’d have thought it to last longer. That Zenozarax would have lost himself, at least for a little while, in that horrible existence.

Welcome back, Quadirymir muttered, barely concealing his disappointment.

It was like first now Zenozarax even realised he was there in the room with him. It was probably true.

Zenozarax looked up, another hard breath in his lungs and raging fury in the black eyes.

You… a dangerously low growl as he pushed himself up.

I know you’re angry but believe me it was for your own good. You can thank me later, Quadirymir said chidingly, opening up his arms. Zenozarax was coming closer. The look on his face was hard and drawn by impossible anger. Once you cooled off some.

He had barely finished the words when Zenozarax suddenly disappeared for only a split second before his eyes, reappearing straight in front of him quicker than he could have reacted and Zenozarax’ fist crashed into his face. There was a deafening crack shattering through his head, an intense wave of warning pain while he fell back and onto the floor.

His sight jittered slightly, and yet he kept his eyes glued on Zenozarax from the moment he opened his eyes again.

You were supposed to wake me! Zenozarax shouted at him, looking down at him, his fists trembling as Quadirymir noticed. In his face was more than anger, showing a sense of betrayal too — he was surprised to see it there as much as it was delightful.

And I did. Look, you’re alive and walking, aren’t you? Quadirymir wiped off some of the dark blood from his face. Most of his jaw was shattered, making his words sound a bit more loose and his smile lopsided. Wait! He quickly said as Zenozarax twitched. You don’t see it yet but it was the only way to keep you alive. The moment you died casting that spell, the whole operation was doomed to fail and you know it! Especially with the Hammer in the mix! But you would have thrown this one against that wall too and both parts of you would have been captured or died.

How long?

A thousand years, give or take. Quadirymir pushed himself back up meeting Zenozarax’ infuriated anger without any sense of fear. Just his gaze jumped across Zenozarax’ face and posture, soaking in all the signs of distress. But it was necessary— he winced back when Zenozarax’ fists twitched again, seemingly barely able to hold back the destructive violence he longed for right in this moment. To be honest Quadirymir was surprised to be even still alive.

Necessary? Zenozarax hissed through clenched teeth. Quadirymir knew he was one wrong word away from getting viciously killed. Not that it would achieve much, but he saw that Zenozarax didn’t care. Quadirymir knew this look too well, he wanted him dead, and preferably by his own hands.

I kept you from doing something rash and very stupid. Your Wizard is alive, and he is out there, and they have been waiting for you. You would have walked into that prison and they would have killed both of you. You know that. But you would have done it anyway. Just to stop …this. Quadirymir examined Zenozarax’ face closely. Behind the anger he could see it: The pain and torture burning in his memories as his other part was kept alive and frozen.

They were watching very closely. For a long time. But not anymore. Quadirymir smiled. His face still hurt but it was getting better already.

What do you mean? Finally the Warriors’ anger seemed to settle. At least enough to hear what Quadirymir was saying.

They are looking elsewhere now. They built an empire on your defeat, but that empire is crumbling under the pressure of war and decay. They are looking for the enemy everywhere — but no longer on Charon.

Charon…

They have become complacent in their arrogance. They can’t imagine anyone able to endure this for this long. But what is a thousand years for a wizard like you? his grin widened with malicious joy. We can make you whole again.

He met Zenozarax’ eyes, and he saw in his face that he realised that he was set on a path to do something Quadirymir wanted him to do. Zenozarax, surprisingly enough, always saw straight through him. Realised immediately when he was being manipulated.

But there was one very important lesson one had to consider when setting out to manipulate anyone really. And that was, that people were more likely to do something if they were already set on the path to do it anyways and just needed a last push.

Their eyes met for a long and quiet moment, Zenozarax’ breath was still hard, but the tension in his fists had loosened. Quadirymir had wondered when the right moment would be, and he tentatively doubted this was it, this could be extremely dangerous — but it might also be just the right amount of goodwill needed.

To aid you on this perilous rescue mission, I have something for you, Quadirymir exclaimed like it was Zenozarax’ birthday and he had just forgotten about it. To make up for all this. I assure you, even if you may doubt me now, your well being is in my best interest too.

What is it? Zenozarax squinted his eyes with raised suspicion.

Quadirymir raised a finger chidingly as to tell him to be patient. His eyes lit up for a moment as he deemed the risk of Zenozarax’s anger having calmed enough and he connected back to his other parts. Then a swirl of light and dark appeared next to them, a chaos teleport, and within the blink of an eye another part of Quadirymir appeared. The young woman held a rectangular and flat box.

The very moment Zenozarax already knew what it was. Quadirymir saw it in the way his eyes jumped from the box to his eyes and back. It didn’t need to be told to him what it was because he would feel it. Finally, after millennia, it had been returned to him.

You had it… the entire time? A strained pitch coloured Zenozarax’ words. Barely contained anger flared up within every syllable.

I kept it safe. For the right moment, Quadirymir said chipper as he opened the box - revealing the Knife Izvi.

And this is the right moment? Zenozarax hissed. Quadirymir, still holding the box, shrugged slightly.

Probably not. But it might give you a fighting chance in what’s to come. Of course he was framing it with ultimately altruistic motives, but in truth that blasted thing was starting to get on his nerves. Since Funnix he had tried everything, literally everything, to get this cursed knife to work. But no matter what he did, in his hands it was nothing more than an ordinary knife.

So he might as well gave it back to the one wizard who could actually wreak some havoc with it.

Then, not without glaring at him with a look that spoke of fury and murder, Zenozarax took the knife.

And preemptively Quadirymir made a generous step back with both his present parts. He was aware that he had basically armed the wizard equivalent of a nuclear warhead and there was a good chance he would need to teleport out of here to avoid the detonation and make sure to never cross Zenozarax’ path again in the future.

The cold glow enveloped Zenozarax’ hand and suddenly he looked calm. Almost at peace as his gaze rested on the knife in his hand.

Then his eyes darted up, Quadirymir actually flinched back a bit more, for the first time now an unsteady smile twitched on his lips. Every atom of his being was ready to teleport out of here at the first sign of attack. The next seconds would show if he had calculated correctly — or if he had just signed his own death warrant. Because with that knife, Zenozarax could actually kill him. Right here. Right now.

The last time they had their standoff in exactly this constellation, back in Funnix, even with the knife, Zenozarax had stood no chance against him. But now the same power that had been Quadirymir’s advantage back then coursed through Zenozarax’ veins as well. And he was so much more powerful.

But then Zenozarax simply walked past him Get Xaronzul to ready the Dawnbreak. I’ll be in my quarters.

Zenozarax- Quadirymir started, drawing out the word with a sigh, taking it as a good sign he wasn’t dead yet, but a truthful answer to this question might change the odds on that. It’s been a thousand years. They are not here.

Zenozarax had stopped, glaring at him. Quadirymir made sure to keep a good and proper distance between them as he continued, every word dripping in contempt making it clear that this one most definitely wasn’t his fault. That rat of yours took your fleet and bolted. Unless you have a way of contacting him I’m not aware of, your ship is gone.

Zenozarax’ eyes narrowed. Did he now?

To Quadirymir’s surprise, Zenozarax didn’t seem very angry about the revelation that that menace had basically stolen his ship. If anything he seemed thoughtful. So he had a way of contacting him. At least in theory.

He needed to keep an eye on that.

2 Goblin King

10.12.2022

The small, nimble eagle floated dark and quiet, following a tight orbit to the planet below, just in teleporting range. One could call the level of care Zenozarax took paranoid, but it was also extremely necessary if not vitally important.

He hadn’t moved the eagle in hours, just waiting and observing the area around for any unwanted arrivals. Those, in this case, would be either sent by Mezchinhar or Quadirymir. And all things considered, he was more worried about the latter.

He was vulnerable now, physically and mentally, more than he’d like to admit.

Having the Wizard still alive, suffering and disconnected from himself was a greater burden than the thousands of years he had spent with his Warrior dead. Greater than he could have ever imagined and he finally understood why hanging out a chaos wizards part as bait like this was so effective. Why they couldn’t imagine anyone bearing this state of mind for centuries without acting.

When he, the Warrior, had been dead, it had been this insufferable silence, the phantom pain of a Part of him missing that had kept the Wizard awake at night — but in the end, it had been manageable. This now, was something else. Even disconnected from the Wizard, suspended and tortured on Charon, frozen down to almost absolute zero, he sensed the distress and endless pain somewhere deep within that connection between them that couldn’t be severed. It was distracting and it was exhausting. He wouldn’t be able to bear it for long and it left his mind vulnerable and reflexes slow to any hostile curse or attack. Obviously that was by design.

He wasn’t sure how much Quadirymir was aware of his current state of mind and body, but the less he knew of it, the better.

They had never truly trusted each other, but until now (one thousand years ago) Quadirymir had never betrayed him this openly. It was hard to tell what Quadirymir was after at the best of times and that hadn’t changed in the last thousand years. A true agent of chaos in every sense of the word. Zenozarax had taken advantage of it in the past, because Quadirymir was very good at getting what he wanted if he wanted something, but he wouldn’t do so now.

He scolded himself for the sense of betrayal he felt. Yes, he had never really trusted Quadirymir in the first place, but he had thought there to be something like a mutual understanding after all that time. More than the silent agreement of not killing each other. As it turned out he had been wrong. Or maybe Quadirymir had been right.

Be as it may, he had felt it wiser and more safe for everyone involved to not inform Quadirymir of where he was going, which surely came as annoyance to Quadirymir once he would realise he was gone and that could become a problem. But if, then it was a problem for another day.

 

Zenozarax had made sure the eagle, which he had taken from the Dark Citadel, was cleared of any form of surveillance. Any possible beacon locator he had completely torn out of the system before putting a very strict spell onto it that would further restrict any function to the bare minimum. Coated in a thick layer of stealth plating and with its main drive offline, the eagle with its wings folded onto its body looked more like a pitchblack bullet someone had forgotten in space than a functioning ship of any sort.

The space around the planet was quite busy. The scanners only passively picked up any signals around but he knew of the countless ships surrounding him and had made sure to stay far away from the shipping lanes. There were many ships in this system, but they only appeared close on the faint holographic map. In truth each of those dots was hundreds to thousands of kilometres away from him so as long as he didn’t get so close that they could see him with bare eyes they wouldn’t identify the eagle as anything else but debris.

Now he stood in the small cabin within the eagle’s body, waiting to see if anyone had followed him. If anyone would come too close. Subconsciously his right hand had wrapped around the grip of the knife again, the cold seeping through his skin was soothing in a way. It was a sense of cold that was supposed be there and it stood out even against the cold air within the eagle.

Then he finally sent the message and waited again.

He would have folded his arms before his chest, but he kept them open and ready to act should the shit hit the fan.

This was happening. But it all felt …. distant. Like he wasn’t truly here. Like all of this was just another hallucination spun up by his frozen mind. The Warrior was still disconnected from the Wizard, but of course his memories lingered within him. Only a few times since he had awoken he had dared to reconnect to him again, to assure him that he would be saved. But every time he felt his mind cry out in agony. He could not bear it. Nor did the Wizard even realise it wasn’t just his delusional mind playing tricks on him. Whispers, memories, images, nothing of which was there, all poisoning the Wizard’s mind, desperately clinging to a last sense of existence even though all hope had withered away in the absolute cold.

His warm breath hung in the minimal atmosphere of the eagle’s interior. The cold air, only marginally warmed by his own presence, was biting against his skin.

A shudder went down his spine and he held the handle of the knife so hard the knuckles of his hands appeared to shine white through the skin. But the freezing cold of the knife and the air around stayed all he felt. He took a deep breath and, putting all caution aside, increased the temperature inside the cabin to a less freezing sensation. Momentarily he felt a sense of warmth against his skin and his breath calmed down again.

A message appeared on the screen he had been tensely watching. He was being invited and a heartfelt welcome was passed onto him. Followed by a set of coordinates that were ready to receive him.

Zenozarax took the information from the terminal with a brush of his index finger. Then he waited again for a good while before he sent an answer telling them that he would be there soon. And waited again. He didn’t want them to know how close he really was, so in the hopefully unlikely case that they would rat him out, whoever came looking for him would with the pretended transmission delay assume his ship to be much farther away.

To keep that pretence up he would wait a little longer and used that time to get dressed appropriately. He had brought a particularly eye catching outfit from his storage on the Dark Citadel with which he now replaced the more toned down uniform.

Naturally, the Warrior thought the outfit was pretty, as much as the Wizard would, however, the Warrior had never felt as comfortable in it as the Wizard. Simply because it restricted his movement just a little bit too much. After putting on the four layers of fabric this particular robe was composed of, he added some jewellery to his outfit, topping it off with a glistening circlet. He didn’t replace the very simple golden necklace he wore around his neck. He had started to wear it soon after he had been rebuilt the first time after Funnix. A reminder of a friend who had fallen by his hand. A reminder of why he was here now. And he wouldn’t stop wearing it now just because he didn’t quite fit the colour scheme he was going for.

The magnificent cloak he fixed on his shoulders hid the knife well enough and he took the staff he had brought for this very occasion. Overall, he looked very wizard-y now. And that was important.

Goblins had a very firm idea about how wizards should look. Not meeting that expectation was considered quite disrespectful, even dishonest. Ironically he felt that way now about wearing this robe and cloak, because they belonged to the Wizard and he didn’t like to pretend to be him. One could go around pretending one’s left arm was one’s right, but despite all similarities, it still wouldn’t be true.

Before leaving he set up an alert tied to the passive scan of the eagle that would warn him of any unexpected visitors in the area. They took a high risk seeing him and Zenozarax was very much aware of that. So the least he could do was to be gone in a moment’s notice if anything as much as twitched out here.

Then, after summoning an ordinary portal to the coordinates he had been given, he disappeared from the eagle. 

*

Grand Wizard Zenozarax! The small goblin bowed so deep his nose almost touched the ground. We’re honoured. Please, follow me, ke?

Lead the way. Zenozarax nodded for the goblin to hurry along and with quick steps he followed. The small creature was barely half as tall as him and consequently goblin architecture wasn’t well suited to house guests of his height. When they entered the corridor out of the hall he had ported into, the ceiling was merely a hand’s length away from the top of his head and several times he had to avoid pipes running across it.

It wasn’t pretty, but he knew not to judge the apparent crudeness for unsophistication. Goblins, while extraordinarily smart, were quick living creatures. The one leading him now seemed about middle aged, which meant in earth years he was about five years old. It would be hard for any intelligent species to develop a stable culture under those rushing conditions, but the goblins had an advantage that had made them into one of the most far-spread species in their part of the multiverse. That was their ancestral memory. Generations of knowledge accumulating within any one of them, past down and expanded upon generation by generation.

They were formidable, crafty, and extremely adaptable. They lived quick, but built even quicker. And after the wizards themselves, they were probably the most consistently advanced species under their watch. At least in those spaces where they weren’t hunted down and eradicated like vermin.

Led by his guide they entered a large hall which finally eased the danger of running into the ceiling architecture.

Zenozarax. You look good for dead. A snarling voice echoed through the room.

I never thought of it to be a very becoming state of being, your majesty, Zenozarax said with a sense of levity as he crossed the hall to approach the Goblin King. The goblin tongue got his own in a twist as he had so far barely gotten used to speaking Teshvo again with this new body. Now the sharp and almost hissing sounds felt not as suave as he wanted them to sound. But that was a problem that would take care of itself as long as he’d keep talking. It seems an introduction is unnecessary?

I’m of the line of Yaryax. I remember. The old Goblin King nodded. The more curious I am to hear what you want from us now? You’re a dangerous dead man to know now, ke?

For as much as it is in my power I promise no harm will come to you.

Now that is a promise you can’t keep. You are here, aren’t you? Leviathan’s Wrath may be right on your heels.

Zenozarax smirked, giving a gracious little bow to apologise. You are of course right about that, your majesty. So let us put the pleasantries aside and keep this visit brief then.

Please do.

“Xaronzul. Do you know where he is?”

“No.” Yaryax grinned and Zenozarax understood why as he continued. “But he gave us this to keep for you!”

A very young goblin hushed towards him holding out a little pillow with an amulet on it. Zenozarax recognized immediately what it was and he felt a little sigh of relief.

“Thank you.” He took the amulet and put it into his belt pocket. Xaronzul had left a trail of breadcrumbs at places he seemed to suspect Zenozarax to revisit after his return. It was the third of its kind he had now. The first he had found with Xaronzul’s belongings left on the citadel. The second he had found in his own secret void station, of which existence only his closest companions had known about.

This amulet too would send a very simple signal to its counterpart. Where this counterpart was impossible to say, but Zenozarax suspected all of them together would lead him back to the Edge of the Universe. But, he would not activate it yet, in case it was a trap afterall. He would also scan it very carefully once he was back on the eagle to make sure it wasn’t a beacon in disguise. King Yaryax seemed friendly enough, but it had been over a thousand years since they last had spoken. And a lot could happen in a thousand years.

Fen and Tanax were my chief engineers on the Dawnbreak and Twilight respectively. Has Xaronzul brought their kin back here?

“No. They are still with him. As far as I know,” Yaryax said. “If they are not, there are many eager hands to take their place. I’ll send word if you want.”

“Not yet, but I appreciate and will remember the offer.”

Goblins had always revered wizards as something holy; great messiahs out of space and time which brought knowledge and unimaginable progress. They were called gachxiu — the closest translation in spirit would be angel.

Henceforth, goblins had always been eager to serve these angels of the gods. They did not care about the power struggle of chaos and order within Mezchinhar and they held no loyalty to either side. Each wizard was met with the same respect.

While goblins were seen as troublesome and untrustworthy by most wizards aligned with the forces of Order, it was exactly that reason why goblins and chaos wizards seemed to be natural companions.

Every goblin worth their wrench was eager to serve on a wizard’s ship. Mezchinhar would never allow that, but most chaos wizards had no such reservations. And so many chaos wizards in possession of a stable base or ship freely accepted the offered help.

It was exactly this fact which explained the surprisingly widespread existence of goblins throughout the universes. Because like rats on a ship (in the most flattering way) they travelled with them from shore to shore, to sometimes establish new homes and worlds for themselves whenever the goblin population of any ship grew too large. Which was something that could easily happen. With their extremely short lifespan any goblin population would grow exponentially within only a few decades unless strict rules for reproduction were established. Since most chaos wizards had a principled disdain for any form of strict rules, and the spread of goblins as valuable allies and a thorn in Mezchinhar’s order wasn’t a bad thing all things considered, nature was usually allowed to run its course.

For the sake of safety and anonymity however, especially in those first thousand years when nobody was supposed to know him to be alive, Zenozarax had made it a point to keep the goblin population under his command stable. Not by force but by agreement.

Many chaos wizards would probably sneer at him, but Zenozarax understood that he could not achieve his goals without the presence of a firm command. Fortunately for all involved he was very comfortable with that, and even the chaos wizards following him were pleased with his style of leadership.

They could fight order and deny their own nature all they wanted, but Zenozarax understood that they all still were beings of Order. Every living creature was.

“Will you leave now or is there more you want to ask?”

It was impossible to tell if Yaryax wanted him to go or if he would mourn the fact. The old face of the goblin king showed nothing but amusement. However, if anything he seemed to sense that there was something else Zenozarax was here for.

It was something of importance, and now with the scattered memories of the wizard haunting his thoughts, these memories came back over and over again just more strongly. He had failed in the one thing he really had needed to do, because of his own ignorance and his mistakes.

So here he was, about to ram his head against the same wall again, hoping for a different outcome. But he had to try again.

He had to, not only for his own peace of mind.

Because he had left more than that portal in those tunnels beneath Treva.

 

“I have one more question, if you will grant me the time.”

“Go ahead, Grand Wizard. Ask. My ears are all yours.” The jestfull comment was underlined with a demonstrativ twitch of the old goblin’s ears which were admittedly pretty impressive in size.

“Your people have built hell portals before, yes?”

“Plenty over the countless ferlens since my first mother lived,” Yaryax confirmed.

“I need to know more about them. You have managed to make them stable, yes? Have you been able to disassemble them, too?”

King Yaryax let the short walking stick that might as well be a sceptre click on the ground. “Why do you need to know that?”

I built a hell portal into a natural rift space. The Goblin King peaked up, leaning forward, resting the weight of his upper body on the stick. King Yaryax was old already, probably way past nine, but his gleaming green eyes shone with an youthful and curious shine.

And you opened it? He asked with a barely contained grin.

I did. Briefly. Zenozarax nodded, starting to slowly pace across the room but not without leaving the King out of his sight.

And?

“And it almost tore itself apart. It lays dormant now, but —” he stopped himself, reconsidered his words, thinking about Ravalor, and how everything had fallen apart. A thousand years ago. Then he said “It can’t stay there.”

“What did you see?”

Zenozarax frowned as Yaryax ignored what he had said completely. Nevertheless he said,

I saw something. When I stared into that void, there was something that saw me. Something powerful.

The elder gods, Yaryax snarled. “Your people call them Remnants, ke?”

Only as long as they still roam time. I’ve seen Remnants before, those that roamed the multiverse by the lords’ will since before we came into time — but they were dormant. They become Lord Gova Atosas once they enter hell.”

“Gods without time,” Yaryax snickered like the name was an inside joke only he was in on. “Go on.” The King then waved his hand, demanding more details.

The Warrior paused, trying to really remember the very hell portal the Wizard and Ravalor had built below Treva. The memories were hazy, strained by exhaustion, mania and grief alike. For him, only seeing the Wizard’s memories it was hard to say what he had seen. Nevertheless he said, “Yes, I think I saw them in that very portal I built. But I can’t really explain it.”

Once there was one in this galaxy, and your people banished it into the place beyond. Horrible creatures of madness. King Yaryax’ chuckled as if to challenge the notion of who really was mad here. “I have seen them too.”

Zenozarax stopped in his pacing and blinked. “You have? How?”

For a while Yaryax mustered him carefully, pondering. There was still that gleam in his eyes but now there was something else. Something Zenozarax knew to be wary of. It was the spark of ulterior motives. Whatever Yaryax would tell him next would not be out of the goodness of his heart.

I can show you, Grand Wizard! the Goblin stepped down the steps from his throne. With his age bent back he was even shorter than the average goblin. “Here.” Yaryax had pulled out a small datatab from his pocket and opened some data that required several biometric confirmations and access codes. The device was eerily similar to the standard wizard design because in all likelihood it was based on it (Mezchinhar would say stolen.) Zenozarax took it and scanned through the information given to him.

You build a space station directly into a rift space? he asked, feeling reasonably tense at the idea.

We did. The only reason we build there. The rift space. Yaryax explained proudly. Very dangerous this one, ke? Spins with the planet, so now we always know where it is!

There was another advantage goblins had. Absolute and suicidal fearlessness. But it was an advantage, he couldn’t deny that. Compared, wizards were like poor little scared kittens and admittedly the chaos wizards were even worse in that regard than their orderly counterparts due to how hard it was for them to get the materials to rebuild their Parts. But it was more than that. Somewhere during the last two billion years since the Last Whisper they had lost their sense of bold curiosity.

“Those coordinates are for the space elevator. If you bring us there, I can show you.”

“Is it within the rift space?”

“Of course not. I don’t want to kill you, wizard!”

Zenozarax clenched his teeth. It was risky, and he had to trust Yaryax to tell the truth. If he was lying now, and he opened a portal into that rift space, he would die. But if he insisted on manual transport, it would not only take considerably longer, but also show Yaryax clearly that he didn’t trust him. And then he wouldn’t get the information he needed.

“Very well.”

Taking a deep but well hidden breath he raised his hands and with a snap the portal opened. When he then was not spontaneously ripped apart, he let the breath escape again.

“You wizards are so scared,” Yaryax chirped as he already stepped brazenly through the portal. Zenozarax barely kept himself from rolling his eyes.

After a short walk, passing only one security checkpoint, Yaryax’ led him to the elevator cabin. It was as rough design wise as everything else, and without even giving them much chance to settle, the cabin shot up into the sky. Soon through the glass planes surrounding the elevator to three sides they rose above the surface, pierced through the sulfuric clouds and left the gravity well behind. Zenozarax settled his stance with a little bit of magic while Yaryax relied on magnetic boots.

The space elevator was tethered to a massive space station. Against the black of the universe the entire station seemed to glow. But it was a glow only Zenozarax could see.

When did you build it? The space elevator started to slow down and passed the translucent border into the rift space. There was an irrational part of his mind expecting it to just explode.

35 generations ago. And it still floats. It is safe. Yaryax obviously had understood the real question in his question. Nevertheless, or because of it just to tease him, he added, Before that we build another. Right here too. That exploded and ignited the atmosphere. Yaryax’ shook his head and sceptically Zenozarax glanced down at the King.

Comforting. He assumed there wouldn’t be artificial gravity in the station itself, since the station had no spinning parts and any magical way would probably disrupt the rift, so he caught his floating cloak and wrapped it around his waist, fixing it into his belt.

But we rebuild, better and safer! Look— the elevator door opened up and they stepped into yet another corridor which barely accommodated Zenozarax. The industrial sense of style was consistent here but looked a lot newer all around. Goblins busied past them as Yaryax led him into the heart of the station. The light of the rift space danced around him almost blindingly so. It wasn’t the slow steady movement he expected, instead the light rushed past him and swirled, being drawn again and again into the direction he was now walking. He knew what that meant.

That cold sense of casual terror became stronger the moment Yaryax opened a set of double winged doors and they stepped into an observation area. It was open to a scientifically furnished laboratory with large screens and long control panels around a large construct.

The style was different, but it was a hell portal alright.

And it was opened.

Somehow he managed to not freeze in his steps but instead stepped up right to the railing of the observation area.

The tension in the air was suffocating. He couldn’t believe it. Even if the portal would have been opened right before they had entered, it was already way surpassing any standard safety regulations he knew. These portals weren’t supposed to be opened for longer than a few seconds!

How long has it been open?

17 generations. The pride was dripping out of Yaryax’ words of insanity.

About 85 years. That’s… impressive. Zenozarax couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. And he realised that maybe, possibly, this was just another of Mezchinhar’s truths he had never thought to question.

But this was exactly what he needed! If they had this much knowledge about the stable construction of a portal like this, they ought to have at least some pointers that could lead Zenozarax into the right direction as to how to safely disassemble one as well. After all, undoubtedly there would be maintenance needed ona portal this old. Maybe he could even convince some expert with this knowledge to join him!

This was more than he could have ever hoped for, and he scolded himself for not having come here before. Maybe he could have already disabled and disassembled that blasted portal below Treva the last time instead of the unmitigated disaster it had turned out to be in the end.

 Can I?

Of course, of course, come, here. Yaryax waved him to follow and they stepped down from the observation area onto the floor of the laboratory. Very slowly Zenozarax stepped closer to the portal. Then he stopped. Only about three metres away, the massive gate into hell filled all but his peripheral vision.

And whatever he had seen there way over two thousand years ago, he saw now again. Everything around him had changed, but in there, everything was still the same. As he stared into that nothing that was everything, he felt what the Wizard had felt, like dark, ice cold tendrils drilling into the back of his mind, he felt there was something aware of him. Watching him. But it wasn’t one thing he realised now, it was thousands, millions, but nothing, gazing, peering into his soul. A whisper in the back of his mind. Countless voices as one that spoke to him, writing in his mind where he did not see…

It is pretty, ke?

He didn’t know how long he stared — it may have been a few seconds or an hour. When finally he heard Yaryax’ voice again and managed to tear his eyes away, the Goblin King stood near a laboratory counter, now without gravity dragging him down he no longer had to lean on this stick. He had watched him.

Zenozarax swallowed hard, looking back to the portal. It is. But how …can you even look at it?

Yaryax snarled. Adapted to it. All the first generation died when they opened it. Then we started to look more carefully. Fraction of a second, then a second then two. Those who didn’t bleed from their ears could look longer the next time, and then their children longer even.

Brute forcing evolutionary adaptation the way only goblins could. Zenozarax just nodded absentmindedly as his eyes were drawn back to the hell portal and the wispering nothing embraced him in the light of an invisible galaxy swirling around him.

Now you see.

Zenozarax didn’t even hear Yaryax. He had come with a plan. But now he barely remembered what it had been. He felt that ever present anger within him claw onto something. A thought, an idea, a purpose... Was it his own? Did he want that? Or did he need to do it? He did, didn’t he?

He had had a chance. He had been so close. And they had ruined all of it. His one chance of absolute freedom - torn down by betrayal after betrayal.

And there it was.

He took a deep breath as that flame swallowed him whole. It was but a mere whisper. No, even less than that. Like a thought that wasn’t his own, not a voice, not an anything. Something inside of him tried to stop it, but he couldn’t.

As he stared again into that swirling mass of hell he felt it calling to him, something that was unimaginably older than even he was. Something deep within himself resonated with it, his exhausted mind was embraced by an unfamiliar jolt of energy and he felt those claws dig deeper and deeper.

Without noticing he had made two slow steps forward. Nothing but the fantastical show of light around and the endless nothing before him. If he were to raise his arms he was close enough to reach—

Suddenly he stumbled back as something pulled hard on his cloak. His heart jumped in surprise and with wide eyes he swirled around — just to realise that it had been two goblins having torn the cloak from his belt to pull him backwards.

They are calling to you, ke? Yaryax said with an almost gleeful snarl in his voice. He was aware that he had just saved Zenozarax’ life. Chances were good he’d never let him live that down.

It took all his strength for Zenozarax to turn away from the portal and fight the temptation to look into it again. He still felt dazed as he tried to wrap his thoughts around this strange sensation. He could still hear that something that was nothing whispering.

They want to get out… he whispered, but not to anyone in particular. In fact for a moment he had forgotten where he was.

Of course they do, Yaryax confirmed somberly. As if it was a great injustice. The great beyond is not for them. They don’t belong!

That was true. A wisper…

Is it possible? He asked, feeling a strange sensation. He looked back to the portal. Hope?

Possible? Yes. Advisable? No. We do believe these gods should not be in there. They poison the beyond. But - there is believe, and then there is common sense, ke? We let them out here and we no longer have a place to live.

But in theory, it is possible? Zenozarax asked more tensely, dragging his gaze away from the portal, now staring at Yaryax. The Goblin King squinted at him, but there was less suspicion than there was curiosity. Maybe even a hint of excitement. Can you show me how?

You free the elder gods? Yes, maybe you are strong enough to do so. You are old. You are powerful. Yaryax grinned that sharp wide grin again. And faintly Zenozarax realised it was the very reason Yaryax’ had decided to even show him this — but that didn’t matter. I will help you, yes. But not here, ke? That portal you built? A devious gleam appeared in the goblins face. On earth, ke?

I never said it’s on earth, Zenozarax noted and he understood why Yaryax was so willing to help. It would win him this war. But the goblin king didn’t understand. He knew nothing of what it would do. But Zenozarax did. He saw it all now.

You speak of it with care and importance. It was something you built before you became who you are now and can’t no longer freely go to it. But I’m right. I can see it.

Zenozarax stayed quiet, waiting for Yaryax to state his terms.

I will tell. But you tell me more about them. About the remnants of yours! And all you will see when they come back into time!

As much as I know I’ll tell you. He would tell everything, because it wouldn’t matter. Because the fire would spread anew.

It was rotten. All of it. He understood that now. Suddenly it was so clear in his mind like his eyes had been opened to a truth in the universe that had always been there and he had been just too blind to see it. Everything he had wanted to do before was merely a band aid, a half-hearted attempt to free them from Mezchinhar’s rule.

But now he understood that it had to end. All of it. The strange whisper in the back of his mind dragged his thoughts back to that undeniable fact again and again.

Because he suddenly understood what the Law of Fire really meant. Ancient knowledge by even older forces beyond his grasp now ingrained into the anger in his heart.

The universe needed to burn.

So from the ashes a new order could arise.

3 Charon

17.12.2022

Ser Valeron was an old knight already — especially compared to most of the others, whose youthful energetic ways made him feel older than he was. He had become a Knight of Amuthon at the age of 23 and had been finally stationed on Charon shortly after his 35th birthday. His first marriage had not survived the posting as his time spent on earth had been reduced to 4 weeks of vacation and 4 days of what they colloquially called shore leave per month and his then wife had refused to move to Otmar I  - the outpost surrounding the Fortress of Amuthon.

He had been heartbroken, of course, but convinced himself that it probably wouldn’t have worked out anyways. They never had kids and by the time he turned 49 he made peace with the idea that he probably never would have some. His mother had already passed and his father never talked about it with him. His father didn’t talk about much with him anyways. He had no siblings and his only aunt had moved with her husband to the Belgian Isles decades ago.

So, lacking any familiar reason to return to earth he had dedicated himself to his duty, rarely even taking the offered shore leave, only his vacation he still took with pleasure. Every year without fail he went to Fiji, got horribly sunburned in the first week and then spent his days lazing around and reading books. By the end of those four weeks he was always glad to return to Charon and be working again.

The first time that changed was in 1980, he had been 51 then. In that year he met a woman from the colonies named Calisto (A name that had been very popular when the Jovian system had been first settled but had fallen out of style since as she had told him. But it was a beautiful name for a beautiful woman — and he may have said it like that after one too many glasses of wine. Fortunately she had taken it well). They had talked, and laughed, and where first he had chalked it up to no more than a vacation fling, he found his heart heavy as he had to return to Charon.

They had kept in contact and from then on he took his shore leave every time he could and every year they spent his vacation together, on Fiji.

She only ever asked once about his work and when he told her that he couldn’t really talk about it she never brought it up again. He loved that about her. Because she accepted him and his life as it was.

In 1984 they married and finally moved in together, at least on paper as Ser Valeron of course still spent most of the year on Charon. They had entertained the idea of buying a house on Charon, the outpost, Otmar I, offered ample space for all Knights, their families and service personnel, but Callisto preferred to stay on Earth (saying she would miss the sun too much). Unlike his first marriage, this did not cause another divorce because both were fine with the way their relationship worked.

Since Calisto was quite a lot younger than him the topic of children came up more than once and both sides were very enthusiastic about that idea. But unfortunately any attempt they made failed.

On July 13th in 1986 Ser Valeron was murdered by his wife Calisto on their yearly vacation to Fiji. There was no murder weapon nor a body to be found — unless a lost traveler would stumble upon the frozen corpse floating in the oort cloud.

On July the 23th 1986 Ser Valeron returned to Charon, cutting his vacation short.

His colleagues noted that he seemed a little different than usual and he explained that Callisto had broken up with him due to their disagreement about children, as she actually did not want to have any. This was met with a lot of sympathy and words of encouragement and a few months later, when all the divorce papers were finalised and dealt with and the house sold, everything had returned to things being just as they used to be, with the only difference that Ser Valeron kept taking his shore leave, and did so for the next 6 years.

The year was 1992. April.

God, this makes me nervous, Ser Altalus said tensely as he kept staring at the screen before him. It showed nothing of interest. They were blind and deaf while knowing the enemy was approaching.

They can’t see us. They will pass by, Ser Valeron reminded the young knight.

Yeah, that’s the problem. This is wrong. We should fight! Altalus snarled, turning away from the useless screen. This is obviously just a scouting vanguard. We can take them. Give earth a little more time to prepare while the main fleet is still this far out.

Ser Valeron nodded thoughtfully. Altalus’ desire to fight didn’t strike him as very genuine, more like an act he played up to be called off by a senior knight such as Valeron himself. And so he played along. Maybe you’re right. But it is not our decision. Trust the Grandmaster and trust the crown.

I do. Of course! Altalus assured him with a little fear in his voice, he wouldn’t want to imply his loyalty was in question.

Chances are good you will be fighting sooner than you like. Once the actual fleet arrives, Earth will recall us. Ser Valeron moved his hand over the consoles, checking some of the internal security sensors. Everything was working as he needed it to work. Then he turned to the communication console. The display showed a large red warning informing them that they were on emission control and no messages could be sent.

You think so? They’ll have us abandon our post?

If earth falls, they will learn of Charon one way or another. You know how goblins are. They would free him.

In the brightly lit security control room, and away from Altalus’ idle gaze, the slight glow in the tips of Valeron’s fingers was noticed by no one. He was still very careful, because he couldn’t trust Altalus.

The wizards wouldn’t let that happen, Altalus said firmly.

No? Where are they then? Last I heard there is still no single ship of theirs at the King’s side, Valeron muttered and Altalus didn’t answer.

The panel was just that to humans, a simple view screen, but as most of the equipment in the base it was built by wizards and would allow them access the way wizards were intended to use them.

He turned back to Altalus and the view of countless cameras observing the in and outside of the Fortress of Amuthon. On one of them they could see the sun, just a small dot in the darkness. The moon’s rotation had turned them away from the incoming enemy force and so without any of the orbiting external sensors powered on they could not see them.

Then the communications console lit up and a loud blare went through the room, announcing a critical priority tight beam message from earth. Both knights jumped up and went to the console.

This is for Grandmaster Borelius directly! Altalus’ noted as the transfer finished and the message information was displayed. He sat down and Valeron watched him transfering the message directly to the Grandmaster.

Maybe we get to fight after all, Valeron muttered.

Not we. They. Altalus added, now sounding frustrated. Because if it would come to a fight, they both wouldn’t be fighting it. Their station was right here.

Settle down, Ser Valeron said and sat back at the security console. Let’s not jump to conclusions.

Reluctantly Ser Altalus’ did as suggested. But his eyes lingered on his wrist tab. Ready to jump up at a moment’s notice should he receive the order to fly anyways against all odds.

*

Zenozarax felt the anger burning within every atom of his being — but where a fire would ravage through its fuel and eventually burn out, this flame feasting on everything sane within him, surely having taken all that was to take already, was undying.

It was like an eternal flame deep within him, and it had lasted for weeks already, ever since he his visit to the Goblin King. And there was nothing metaphysical he could do to stop it. He had to take action and every day he didn’t he felt more and more restless.

He needed to do something about it to make it stop.

Though in the past restless nights, suffering the unbearable separation from his Wizard, he wondered if even that would help.

Once upon a time he wouldn’t have spent a second thought on Charon. Zenozarax had been on its surface a very few times back when he had surveyed the system, almost twelve thousand years ago. But beyond the ash grey frozen surface, tainted partially red by tholins like proudly presenting a bloody wound, there hadn’t been a good reason to pay too much attention to this unassuming satellite of Pluto.

But by the lord’s how much he just wanted to blow that whole moon to atoms. Something unfamiliar deep in the back of his mind whispered, urging him to destroy. The moon, the system, the galaxy, the universe — he would burn all of it to ashes.

But not yet.

Zenozarax knew any blunt attempt of retrieving (or at least to kill) his other Part had failsafes in place to prevent exactly that. That was the point. To lure him out here and try to save his other Part the hard way.

Nevertheless, as the Warrior stared at that dull reddish moon on the viewscreen, it really took all the restraint to smother the urge to just destroy all of it.

The only saving grace was that neither the Twilight, nor her sister ship Dawnbreak were equipped to deal that kind of damage. They were quick, nimble fighters, not destroyers.

The Fortress of Amuthon wasn’t visible, but it was there. And Quadirymir was inside. Had been for a couple of years, coming and going as he pleased. Whoever Quadirymir had been once back in Mezchinhar had undoubtedly been an Envoy. Infiltrating the Fortress of Amuthon couldn’t have been easy, requiring years worth of preparation, and in addition it was extremely dangerous. So close to the other Envoys posing as Knights of Amuthon in their own right.

Once more Zenozarax found himself in the unfortunate place of having to trust that wizard. Once the battle started, and they had that opening they were waiting for, he had no choice but to trust that Quadirymir wasn’t playing a completely different game than him again. The only comfort was that this plan really would be the most convoluted and most inefficient way of killing him Zenozarax could imagine. With all the preparations and work Quadiryymir had put into it, it seemed unlikely that he would betray them - at least in this battle.

Zenozarax knew he should be thankful (to an extent) that Quadirymir was giving him this opportunity. But if anything he was just glad Quadirymir wasn’t on his ship right now. The further away he was the better.

The Deeproot forces will reach effective firing range in 30 minutes, Moakatan announced, dutifully monitoring the advance of the fleet. They didn’t know they were here. Neither side did, and they intended to keep it that way.

Amuthon has not yet lowered the barrier.

Hm. Zenozarax frowned as he kept watching the moon. Arms crossed and back straight. Do we have confirmation on the order?

Not yet, Moakatan answered.

This was the first critical moment. The Fortress had to lower the dimensional shield surrounding it for them to teleport into it. With enough magic and force these barriers were breachable, but doing so would set off every possible alarm immediately.

And it only needed one. One misstep and his frozen part would vanish from his reach and centuries of preparation would burn up in flames.

This seems a little bit too easy. Xaronzul stepped up next to him, for a moment glancing at the view screen as well before his restless gaze jumped to Zenozarax, then to Moakatan who monitored the activities of the Fortress of Amuthon carefully. With how his eyes jumped from person to person it would have been easy to suspect the other chaos wizard to be nervous — Zenozarax though knew it was excitement.

Easy? Zenozarax replied dryly. From his point of view nothing about this seemed easy. Or well, safe.

Xaronzul grinned as to concede the point. All I say is that I wish our reconnaissance info came from someone else. Xaronzul was lightly bouncing on his heels, frowning at the viewscreen as if his will alone could make the fortress appear before them. I mean, only one sentinel? There have to be dozens in there.

One he knows we can’t avoid. Zenozarax reminded him. We’ll stick to the path he suggested till we reach his dark spots. First then we’ll see how much trouble we will face. Even he can’t know how many wizards are really between them. Though by now I don’t think there will be as many left as you think.

The great danger of their kind. It was ridiculous to imagine that Quadirymir had spent the last years side by side with some of the most order bound wizards, chatting, eating, and training with them day by day. And neither side was able to recognize the other for what they were. Each of them built and trained so well that they blended into this human environment like any normal human. Every magical trace and function was so well hidden and coated with deceptive layers of false information that not even the most advanced scans could reveal them for what they were.

Just proof that Mezchinhar’s paranoia was actually very well founded afterall. That Quadirymir had managed to stay undetected, despite the heightened sense of paranoia surely present in the stationed Envoys, was testament to his skill of deception.

Which in turn only heightened his own sense of paranoia. They waited in silence for a few moments longer until Xaronzul said,

We could have done this ages ago. He sounded uncharacteristically frustrated and for once he actually stood still.

I thought you two agreed?

Xaronzul scoffed so genuinely outraged that he temporarily drew the attention of everyone in the control room. We agreed alright. Like god damn Gan and Helva we agreed. Neither of the two had directly said so, but yes indeed, from all Zenozarax had heard so far it was a wonder that agreement had gone over without anyone ending up dead. Wouldn’t have needed to happen if he had just done what he was supposed to do! By now Xaronzul was again restlessly bouncing on his heels.

Zenozarax grunted in approval, unsurprisingly enough hearing it spoken out loud did not make the anger he felt because of it better.  

Their eyes met again, and once more there were things neither of them said but both knew. They couldn’t trust Quadirymir anymore to stick to a plan without going behind their backs based on his own plans. And sooner than later this would become a problem they had to deal with. But that felt distant now. Like a problem not really worthy of his attention. Not now. Maybe never again.

“Don’t fret…” Zenozarax mumbled more to himself as he looked back to that dark moon. “It won’t matter anymore soon.”

Order confirmation received! We’re in. In a paradoxical moment, Moakatan’s excited announcement sent a wave of relief through him as well as set the tension in the room to new levels of intensity.

Fantastic! Let’s go people, you know what to do! Xaronzul exclaimed with a clap of his hands, seemingly perfectly unaware of the tension and more taken by a sudden wave of hyped excitement. Things will get hot out here, so stay safe!

Suddenly the light in the command centre turned red, even before Moakatan announced The tower’s shields are powering down! The eagles are launching! Shield frequency and security system parameters received, one lifeform present at port location!

Can you give us another?! Zenozarax almost cut her off before she had even finished. Before them out of nowhere the Fortress of Amuthon appeared on the moon’s surface.

No way, you need to go in 5 seconds or not at all!

With a quiet nod and a last deep breath Zenozarax looked at Xaronzul, his own hand wrapped tightly around the grip of the knife on his hip.

The masks closed in front of their faces, hiding his own tension as well as the downright manic grin on Xaronzul’s face.

Now! Moa announced.

And then with a flashing swirl of light and darkness, both wizards disappeared from the command deck.

*

This was the second critical moment. They had only a detailed plan of the top levels of the tower, the parts where the stationed Knights of Amuthon as well as the wizards among them would spend most of their day. Even after years of infiltration, Quadirymir had never reached the rank to be allowed in the lower levels. And he couldn’t have gone there without blowing his cover. So down there, they’d be going blind.

The Wizard, frozen below, would be on the very bottom of this tower. But they couldn’t teleport directly there. Not only had they no idea about the layout but there was also the certainty that everything below the normal levels would be trapped and cursed to hell and back.

Both Zenozarax and Xaronzul appeared back to back in the communal area of the fortress of Amuthon - Zenozarax sensed Xaronzul move and before he’d even turned around he heard a gasp and a seemingly deafening crack snap through the room.

The one unlucky knight that had happened to be there fell dead to the ground before he even knew what happened. His neck broke with such force it had almost torn his head off.

Even before he had hit the ground, Xaronzul had drawn a knife from his belt and rammed it into the knights chest, the impact on the floor sounded deafening, but not as grizzly as the crack that filled the air as Xaronzul ripped the knight’s chest open from sternum to navel.

It was a mess, but the only way to really be sure they hadn’t just alerted an Envoy to their presence. Fortunately, in the gush of blood and guts there was no trace of magic — and both Xaronzul and Zenozarax relaxed again. At least a little. The dead Knight had his arm in a cast, it seemed an unlucky accident had been the reason he had stayed behind and not been sent out to fly like the rest.

This could have gone terribly wrong, but for now, luck seemed on their side. If this would have been a wizard, everything would have fallen apart right this moment. A deserted room would have been preferable, but when it came to teleporting, it was imperative that the wizard in question knew exactly where they were going.

The chaos teleport was a far more defused shift in the very fabric of reality than the violent snap between spaces that the normal portals were. Quantum states in the dark matter surrounding them switching states and places with chaos from one space to another — it was so subtle in the way it changed reality that it was near impossible to detect by external sensors. It was however even more dangerous than the use of portals. Because one wrong calculation and nothing would stop one from rematerializing halfway into a wall and dying instantly. With portals sometimes guessing was okay. Not so while chaos teleporting.

Even here the shift in natural chaos hadn’t triggered any alarm. For now they would read to any security system as only two more perfectly normal human beings. The moment they were to use any of their magic however, that pretence would go up in flames. The whole tower was probably lined with top of the line magic detection. They both knew that, and so instead of a magical blast the knight had met his fate by good old fashioned physical violence inflicted upon him by a being much stronger and quicker than he had been.

However, they still would appear on the cameras undoubtedly dotted around the room, and currently they presented the picture of two suspiciously dressed strangers that had appeared out of nowhere and a dead Knight of Amuthon.

Zenozarax briefly glanced around, trying to spot the well hidden cameras but found nothing. He knew Quadirymir was aware of where he was right at this moment and hopefully had taken care of the cameras. Just to be on the safe side he signed Xaronzul to hide the body from plain view while he himself went to the door.

Carefully he looked up and down the corridor outside, but to their luck, the fortress seemed deserted with possibly almost all available knights being either battle ready in the upper levels or already sent on the eagles into space. There could only be a few left to guard the way down. But there could be resistance. And some of them would be wizards.

He waved Xaronzul to follow him quickly. The body of the dead knight wasn’t very well hidden, having been halfway shoved under the sofa, but it was hidden from the door. The large stain of blood was harder to hide and in lack of any better option Xaronzul had simply thrown a thin blanket over it that had been on one of the sofas.

Shield is back up, Xaronzul whispered. While still disconnected to his own Wizard inside the tower itself, Zenozarax didn’t feel the slight shift in the connection to the outside. But they were now trapped in here — at least until they decided to break cover. 10 minutes till engagement of the fleet.

Zenozarax nodded.

They ignored the deactivated port doors, one of them undoubtedly would lead them straight down but its activation would be monitored by automated systems outside of Quadirymir’s control. Instead they found the service staircase (which had been left unlocked earlier by one very forgetful Ser Valeron) and made their way down. Their entry was naturally logged and noticed, but Quadirymir would make sure he was the only one seeing it. Ser Valeron had enough time during these last years to make many very small changes that all were crucial now to hide their advance down the tower. Because it allowed them to move freely without being noticed.

The centre staircase was spacious but dusty. It was clear that most inhabitants of the tower had preferred the comfort of the port doors for the last few centuries. The space was maintained, but not more than that. And so unsurprisingly on their quick way down they ran into nobody.

2 minutes. Xaronzul said as they reached the very end of the stairs.

He’s got to be close, Zenozarax answered, then signed to be quiet.

With feather light steps they left the staircase. They stood in a circular room with five hallways leading away from the centre. The entire level was slowly spinning around its centre axis - just another security measure to make teleporting in even more dangerous. Both of them took careful notice of the speed and spin direction relative to the static stairwell.

Taking a deep breath, Zenozarax eyes lit up briefly and at once the torturing impressions from the Wizard flooded back into his mind. The delirious and agonising memories were still distant and unclear. But he also, finally, sensed a vague draw of his presence. He was close. Then he cut him off again.

He turned towards where he had sensed his Wizard to be and as quiet as possible they continued. Xaronzul gave a low click of his tongue and as Zenozarax glanced at him he saw him point along the walls. And he nodded. Lined into the very fabric of the structure he sensed the magic ready to tear them to atoms the moment they detected any use of their magic.

They reached a corner and stopped, carefully glancing around it. And their carefulness wasn’t misplaced.

In front of a door in the middle of the hallways stood a knight of Amuthon in full armour. Hands resting on the pommel of his sword that stood in front of him.

He was so perfectly unmoving that Zenozarax immediately knew that this wasn’t a human. Of course not. They wouldn’t leave this job to a human.

He leaned back, careful to not touch the wall and make any noise as he met Xaronzul’s eyes.

They had expected this and planned for it. It was a sentinel: His purpose wasn’t primarily to defend whatever was past that door but to act as sentient alarm in case anything did happen. To notify Mezchinhar’s army and trigger the security measurements inside the chamber behind him.

He would be disconnected from his other parts. In case he spotted anything out of order he’d reconnect and another part would immediately call in the disturbance. If he was killed before that, the other part would know immediately that something was wrong and again, raise the alarm.

So in any ordinary situation, they would be fucked right now. As they couldn’t engage him nor kill him, even if they were to dare using their magic and trigger the traps surrounding them.

But there was one little variable neither Mezchinhar or the Knight’s of Amuthon had considered.

Zenozarax grasped the knife on his hip, quietly drawing it. It’s cold spread into his fingers and he felt it’s excitement. He knew that it knew what they were about to do. And it was ready and eager to do so.

For a brief moment he closed his eyes, making sure the layout of the corridor was clear in his mind, every step carefully calculated, the rotation of the level carefully considered. There was no room for mistakes. He had one chance. The third critical moment.

Then he opened his eyes, Xaronzul had stepped a step away from him and then with a flash of diffused dark light he vanished from the very place he had stood and momentarily appeared right behind the faux-knight. For a fraction of a second his heart stopped as he appeared half a metre away from where he had wanted, probably due to the rotation of the level, putting him dangerously close to the wall, but he was just still in reach.

So he gave the Sentinel not a single chance to even react as the very moment he had fully reappeared the knife came down. Maybe for a split second the wizard had realised something was happening, but it was the same moment the Knife Izvi was rammed with such vicious and inhuman force into his back that it pierced even the plated armour. Immediately a pulse shot through the wizard’s body and within the blink of an eye, the faux-knight was under his control.

He was still there. Everything that made this wizard (whose name was Raion, Zenozarax now knew. An Envoy, going by the name Ser Gordon among the knights) was still intact, but he was now part of Zenozarax and completely under his control, by the magic of the knife.

If he wanted to, he could make this part of Raion reconnect with his other two parts and just kill him. But that would defeat the point.

Xaronzul came around the corner while Zenozarax pried the knife out of the armour. Quietly he signed him to stay close to the wall and as still as possible. Xaronzul did however make a quick circle with his hand, pointing out they had to hurry.

Raion grunted slightly as the knife was pulled from his back but stayed quiet beyond that. Just watching both of them silently. Via the com Zenozarax now heard the status of the fleet, about to engage. With Raion’s memories he knew the entire layout of the tower to the millimetre. He knew who was where and why right now. He heard the status of the battle reported to him.

And most importantly - he knew exactly who among the knights was actually a wizard in disguise.

*

Raion appeared straight into the security centre. As expected, immediately a notice flashed at the use of a portal but Ser Altalus was for a moment too startled by the appearance of their friend and colleague to take any action that might have saved him.

Ser Gordon?! he had jumped up, not even noticing that Ser Valeron hadn’t reacted surprised at all or even moved from the consoles. Not even noticing the brief flash of a blade. By the time he finished the name of the wizard he had trusted, the last sylaby already was a mere gasp as that cursed blade was driven deep into his abdomen.

I had a feeling about that one, Ser Valeron, aka Quadirymir, said unimpressed and opened some panels. Need your clearance here, Ser Gordon. Quadirymir leaned back and, after pulling the knife back out of Altalus’ body, he placed his hand on the console confirming all the changes Quadirymir had requested from the system.

Ser Althalus - or well, the wizard he really was - turned towards them and sat back down, seemingly ignoring both of them. An inquiry from the fleet came in to confirm clear skies behind them and Altalus answered them dutifully. Every part of him was continuing their work as they had done before. But in truth he was trapped now within his own mind, bound to Zenozarax’ will. The control the knife had over both of these Wizards was absolute. They didn’t even truly notice that anything was different. There was no struggle, no consciousness fighting against the foreign control - because by the force of the knife and using it as a proxy, these two wizards now acted as parts of Zenozarax, unable to even realise that they were different now or that what they were made to do was not what they actually would do in this situation.

How many is that?

Four parts. Zenozarax said through the voice of Ser Gordon.

Shame. You sure we can’t take them all? We really could use the resources. You know, with all the rabble you choose to pick up again.

That one— he nodded to Altalus, —we can have, the rest need to stay where they are, Zenozarax said firmly.

Fine. Quadirymir turned back to the console. There. You should be able to cast now. But the moment you open that door, the failsafe will trigger. I can’t disable that from here. So make sure you’re all set up before you do that.

Ser Gordon nodded.

*

We’re clear. Zenozarax announced and he heard the grin in Xaronzul ’s voice as he proclaimed a very excited Hell yeah! But the moment he raised his hands he hesitated as if concerned his own enthusiasm was getting the better of him. You sure?

Well Quadirymir said so. Zenozarax murmured, which earned him an disgruntled Ech from Xaronzul, then they turned towards the blasted door. Give me all you got.

My pleasure, Xaronzul cackled and the gloves and gauntlets of his armour started to light up, amplifying the magic from within him, erratic sparks danced over the dark surface as the imminent space around his hand started to shimmer and twist.

Zenozarax felt the chaos around them increase as it was drawn towards Xaronzul. As if the air was becoming more heavy and too thick to breathe, it was filling up every space between every atom and tingled within his own body.

Xaronzul may lacked the fine skill to weave this power into more cohesive and pointed spells or attacks, but he was an unmatched aggregator. On his own, his powers were crude and aimlessly destructive, but if paired with a wizard able to control this chaos, he was an invaluable asset.

The lights around them started to flicker as the chaos drowned the entire floor and every conduit within. Then it failed all together and the lights turned off. The only light left was the erratic dancing sparks now surrounding Xaronzul’s entire body.

With an unsteady giggle Xaronzul dropped his hand That should do it! He said, almost breathless.

It just might.

A flash of dark light appeared near them and Quadirymir appeared, the two knights under Zenozarax’ control in tow. Now it’s all up to you, Quadirymir said with a lopsided grin while Ser Gordon gave the Warrior the knife back. Try not to die.

Zenozarax didn’t bother answering as he sheathed the knife again. Then he raised his hands, took a deep breath himself, focused his mind, focused on the chaos around him. His hands lit up and at once, he pushed them together and expanded them out again and a flash exploded before them. It was a mere second in which that ball of light expanded so rapidly it was easy to miss that it was indeed a small sphere growing rapidly in size before it seemed to have vanished again. But the sphere of chaos was still there, surrounding them and then - stabilising.

The very moment Zenozarax dropped to his knees.

But he was still alive. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, taken by a brief flash of terror as he felt his own self tear apart as the chaos entity expanded around him. Disconnected, yet with the suffering Wizard on his very thought, he was much weaker than he was comfortable with. He realised that this one move, even though it was such a small sphere, had due to the lack of any channelling device almost cost him his life again. He shuddered as he pushed himself up again and wavered in his stance.

Neither Xaronzul nor Quadirymir said anything, nor made any attempts to help him, they just watched him tensely and with mild interest respectively. From the last fractures of communication Zenozarax had received from Ser Gordon he knew the fleet was second away from engaging. Now the channel was dead, cut off from the outside as everything else within the sphere of chaos.

We have to hurry. Zenozarax pressed through his teeth. Open the door.

The panel was useless and dead now and so Xaronzul fired a erratic flash of dark energy against the door which exploded into atoms before them.

Zenozarax would like to pretend he could have done the same, but in his current state he feared that would be just the thing to send him into the void for good. He had exhausted his strength, now he had to be more careful than ever.

Past the smouldering opening they saw a faint glimmer of half burned out magic that still tried to do what it was intended to do. The breaching of this room had triggered the final failsafe, an automated static portal that should open up below the containment chamber and make it disappear to a safe place.

But the portal couldn’t open anymore. The magic just twitched and gleamed weakly on the matt surface of the floor as they walked in.

Zenozarax felt downright sick as they approached the containment chamber. Not due to tension or nervousness, but because, as he stepped closer, and he finally saw his Wizard, almost frozen to the bone, he was more angry than he could ever remember being.

He didn’t feel what the wizard felt right now and by the lords was he thankful for that, because the memories alone drove him downright insane. A thousand years of this. Trapped within himself and this world of freezing cold. Unable to move, breath or talk. Pain biting into every atom of his being, foreign magic and curse forced through his veins, burning him from the inside, and yet with his mind torn enough for him to be unable to do anything about it. His own magic crippled within him — he couldn’t even end it himself anymore. And how often he had wished he could.

A cold shudder went down the Warriors spine as he realised that if only it would have been possible, on his delirious state of mind the Wizard might have chosen death over this continued existence of torture. And then the Warrior would have never woken up. Not as the wizard he was.

With forceful steps he closed the distance, standing in front of the container, propped up in the middle of the room like a priced exhibit to be watched and ogled.

The defreezing routine wouldn’t work now, everything here was dead, the sparkling pale blue liquid was already losing its stable temperature. And without a second thought the Warrior raised his fist and smashed the glass into pieces. The massive tank shattered, Dynazane gushed over and past him, it was so cold that the water in the air immediately froze, forming a sparkling cloud of ice crystals in the vapour. The Wizard fell, collapsing forward as the Warrior had already hasted up to catching him before he could have fallen.

And for a moment, the world was reduced to only the two of them. Recognizing and finding each other, as the Wizard woke from his dazed existence and realised reality around him again. Held firm and safe by the Warrior who had sunk to his knees without noticing. The Wizard’s body was still freezing cold, his hair soaked, frozen, and sticking to his skin.

The Warrior rarely spoke out loud to him, not like the Wizard would in turn, but right now he did. Gentle words of reassurance and care as he caressed the Wizard’s face. And finally, after what had felt like an eternity, the Wizard’s eyes found his. Their thoughts realigned. Time and space made sense again. And within the growing clarity, anger rose. And the Warrior embraced it, every spark of it as he knew it coursed through the Wizard’s body just the same. Because they were whole again.

That goddamn cunt… the Wizard said, his voice was hoarse and weak, and momentarily he coughed again, spitting more of the faint blue liquid from his lungs. I’m going to kill him.

There was no disagreement with that. Carefully but firmly he helped the Wizard up, having to steady him just for a moment as his knees seemed to give in. But then he stood. Hair still dripping wet. The faint mist of frost rolling from his body. While his every muscle was tense and still freezing cold, vengeance burned within his soul.

Let’s postpone that shall we? Quadirymir said, having stepped up behind them, leaving Ser Gordon and Ser Altalus near the door. Xaronzul eyed him suspiciously but kept quiet, again bouncing on his heels.

Maybe not— the Wizard hissed, magic ignited from his hands as he stepped forward - or at least tried to as he was caught momentarily by the Warrior as his legs gave in. While the Warrior already had enough time to process and, to an extent, get over the sense of betrayal, it now was set aflame anew by the clearing memories of the Wizard. Fortunately for everyone involved, while still feeling frozen to the core, the Wizard really was in no condition to fight anyone right at this moment. Nor was the Warrior, still exhausted by having been pushed to the brink of absolute chaos mere moments ago.

I hate that he’s right and I’m all for viciously trying to kill each other, but, really, let’s get out of here first okay? Xaronzul suddenly declared, sensing the very palpable hostility and growing increasingly restless.

You want to keep the old man? The Warrior said, demonstratively resting his free hand on the knife while keeping his other arm around the Wizard’s waist, stabilising his stance. He was still shaking badly and freezing cold.

For now, yes. He may still have some use. Quadirymir said. Also the math doesn’t add up otherwise. Those two wouldn’t be enough for another part. Quadirymir nodded to Gordon and Altalus.

Very well. He let go of the wizard and took Ser Gordon’s hand. A flash went through his eyes and vanished again. He was now primed with chaos and once they had left he would channel the chaos within the sphere to reach an unstable frequency which would lead to the detonation of the sphere.

Move out.

 

4 Ser Regalus

24.12.2022

Grandmaster, he’s here, Ravalor said as he received the confirmation of the extraction team and Grandmaster Dasidevi looked up. He didn’t sigh, but the breath he let out seemed more heavy than usual. The Grandmaster shut down the holographic displays before him and picked up on the datatab from his desk before he stood up and followed Ravalor out of the office.

He’s still the only one?

It appears so, sir, Ravalor confirmed, letting himself fall back just enough that the Grandmaster walked next to him. He kept his distance and hands behind his back with the appropriate respect. He held no high ranking position within this division, but the Grandmaster usually kept him close by for any tasks he needed doing. Wildly speculative rumours had it that he may be grooming Ravalor for command but Ravalor would firmly doubt that, besides really dreading the idea. He had absolutely no interest in taking up command. He was fine where he was and people didn’t bother him too much about it with ample chance to work in peace and quiet. However, there had to be a reason for Dasidevie’s confidence in him, but Ravalor to this day couldn’t tell if it was just to keep an eye on him or merely Dasidevi’s idea of showing him a goodwill amount of trust. Chances were good it was both.

The division under Grandmaster Dasidevi didn’t shine with legends of skill or unmatched bravery, on the contrary, many of his fellow soldiers had histories that spoke of no such things, and yet they were the ones sent first to investigate situations that were potentially extremely dangerous. They were made most replaceable like that. But Grandmaster Dasidevi never let them feel that.

It was a duty and purpose that had to be fulfilled. Maybe they were easily replaceable, but never expendable.

The lone survivor. That makes him either extremely lucky or very dangerous, Grandmaster Dasidevi said more to himself, lost in thoughts, than to Ravalor. They passed two portdoors and reached the interrogation room. Hold on. The Grandmaster stopped him before they could have entered.

Pull those sleeves down, we’re not going to threaten him. At least not yet. Grandmaster Dasidevi said dryly and Ravalor did as he was told. He didn’t like the more constricted feeling around his wrists when he closed the cuffs but he wouldn’t complain.

Sir, do you really think he might be involved? Ravalor asked with a light frown as he resettled his arms behind his back.

Involved, Grandmaster Dasidevi repeated almost mockingly, but his face kept neutral. Ravalor knew he wasn’t making fun of the idea itself, but the speculative nature of it. First we have to find out what exactly it would be he might be involved in. There is nothing of use from the Envoys yet.

But, given his lineage and the long-standing loyalty of his family to Amuthon and the crown, it would seem unlikely. However, weirder things have happened when chaos wizards are involved. The Grandmaster shook his head slightly.

Then he nodded toward the door.

Ravalor stepped into the room before the Grandmaster did. A safety precaution that should be unnecessary on the ship, but everyone adhered to it nevertheless. Though from what he had heard, Ravalor doubted there was any threat left in the person locked into this room.

The man, the human, sitting in front of him at a plain table looked ashen and shaken, but otherwise unharmed. The dark blond hair was slightly dishevelled, but that was about it. Yet there was trembling in his fingers and a still shocked shadow on his face. Nevertheless he looked up as they entered, and there was some glimmer of hope. Ravalor wondered what the knight thought there was they could say to make what had happened any better.

Fortunately it wasn’t his place to figure that out. He kept standing next to the door as Grandmaster Dasidevi stepped forward.

“What happened?” the man sitting at the table finally asked as nobody else seemed eager to start this conversation. He wrapped his hands around each other to mask the shaking.

“That is a good question. We might be inclined to ask you that, Ser Regalus,” the Grandmaster said as he sat down across the knight who frowned puzzled for a moment. Ravalor no longer could see the Grandmaster’s face, but he could observe Ser Regalus clearly. And he noticed the moment of shocked realisation.

“Do you— It wasn’t our fault!” he said breathlessly, his eyes wide. “It exploded! The whole moon exploded!”

“Yes it did,” the Grandmaster confirmed with a passionless nod and a faux-sense of amazement that struck Ravalor as unnecessarily cruel, whether or not this knight knew anything about it. “Now, how could that have happened?”

“I don’t know?!”

Ravalor mildly raised his brows as he watched the knight. There was anger rising in his voice, overtaking the shocked confusion which made him unfold his hands from his back. The last Knight of Amuthon didn’t know yet that this was his new title (though he might be suspecting it). He also didn’t know how many eyes were watching him now because of it.

“Then tell me what you do know. What did you see?” the Grandmaster asked. He leaned back, folding his hands on his lap, looking impressively relaxed. Ravalor however knew that right this moment nobody on this ship was anything close to relaxed. Not while they hadn’t found even a trace of Charon’s infamous prisoner. But of all warriors on this ship, Ravalor knew that he needed to be the last one to show how much that fact unsettled him.

Ser Regalus mildly shook his head, looking away, lowering his eyes with that pain filled expression in his face. Then he looked up again, meeting the Grandmaster’s glare.

We were at full emission control to keep hidden from the enemy, but Earth ordered us to intercept the arriving fleet. Though unexpected, Grandmaster Borelius of course followed orders and so we mobilised. We launched the eagles, staying in the moon’s shadow till the enemy fleet came around it. We caught them by surprise,” Ser Regalus explained, an unsteady tremble in his voice. The Grandmaster just nodded.

“We flew smart, and quick, we were slightly outnumbered, we knew that, but we flew good.” Ser Regalus stressed adamantly. “We did everything right.”

“Did you see anything unusual? Any ships that didn’t show up on the scans before?” The Grandmaster ignored the emotional tone in the knight’s words as well as the desperate need for confirmation. To be told that yes, they did everything right, it wasn’t their fault.

“No. There was nothing. One Zantalus class destroyer, a few attack ships and many fighters. But nothing we didn’t know about.”

“What about their weapons? What ship fired on the moon?”

Ser Regalus looked at the Grandmaster, wide eyed, searching his face, then a miniscule shake of the head. “They didn’t.”

A short moment of silence.

“Then how did it explode?”

“I don’t know!” Ser Regalus’s hands slammed onto the table. The Grandmaster didn’t even flinch.

Who received the order from earth? He asked instead, catching Ser Regalus off guard by the sudden switch of topic. He blinked, frowning slightly.

It was a high priority message for Grandmaster Borelius personally. Tight beam. Ser Regalus frowned trying to remember. Ser Altalus was on coms and security, and I think Ser Valeron too. It was his shift but I didn’t hear him.

Dasidevi nodded ever so slightly, that much they knew, Did you hear the message from earth?

I- no. I didn’t. Ser Regalus said, searching the Grandmasters face again for the reason for these questions.

Why wouldn’t this order be delivered by courier? Were these orders confirmed?

The confusion grew into a stressed frown in Regalus’ face. I’m not— As I said, we originally were supposed to stay hidden, we were on emission control, with the shield up, as to not show up on any scans. When the tight beam arrived, it was mere minutes till the fleet would have past us by, we’d have lost the element of surprise had we—

Ser Regalus, there were no orders from Earth to attack.

But…

Did the Grandmaster confirm the authenticity of this message? Did anyone else hear it?

I don’t know! I wasn’t there! Desperation seeped through Ser Regalus’s voice. He wanted to help, and he didn’t want to believe what he heard. The implication that the entire destruction of his order, the death of all his friends, had happened based on a lie.

The interrogation continued for almost an hour longer, returning again and again to the same topics, the same details. By the end of it, Ser Regalus was a slumped over husk of the man had been before. He looked haunted, exhausted and distraught. There had been no words of comfort the Grandmaster had bothered to give him.

Keep an eye on him, Grandmaster Dasidevi said to Ravalor after he had stood up. I’ll inform earth of his survival.

Ravalor nodded quietly and the Grandmaster left the room.

He didn’t move. Just keeping his hands behind his back, stance straight and head held high. He didn’t directly look at Ser Regalus as to not appear staring, but he kept him in his field of vision.

With the hard frown and sense of duty before it had been easy to see something of the one Knight of Amuthon he had ever really known. Now however the look in the narrow face just looked too young and too lost.

Almost 10 minutes passed before Ser Regalus looked back up to him. His voice sounded weak and hoarse as he asked,

They are all dead, aren’t they?

Ravalor now really looked at him. The shock had faded. Slowly the realisation set in. And the unimaginable pain caused by it.

He didn’t answer.

Yes, they were all dead. They both knew that.

And then there was silence again.

*

The door opened again, Ser Regalus reacted slowly, looking back up, but the moment he did his eyes widened.

Ser Gordon? Altalus? Ser Regalus jumped up from his seat, You’re alive! Endless relief filled the knight’s words as he came around the table.

Ravalor glanced at the two people who had entered and back to Ser Regalus, then back again. And he understood. The two wizards that had stepped in were warriors too, but not of his division. Ravalor didn’t know them, but he doubted their names were actually Gordon or Altalus. These had to be the warriors of some of the envoys stationed on Charon. Unlike their Envoy parts, these two were easily identifiable as wizards, at least to Ravalor. They didn’t wear their uniforms however, both had been given some unsuspecting and plain overalls, they carried a similar one too for Ser Regalus, as well as a bottle of water that should do wonders about the raspy tone in Regalus’s voice after an hour of talking. Some warrior had undoubtedly made a quick trip to earth or one of the colonies to even get that one on the ship.

We were lucky, Ser Gordon said as Altalus kept quiet. Unbelievably so.

Ser Regalus gave Gordon a heartyfelled hug before anyone could have stopped him. And Gordon actually patted the knights back, indulging the hug.

It was a strange picture, to see a warrior engaging in this kind of behaviour. But it was just how Envoys were trained to be.

It was something he could never see himself doing.

How did you survive? They say they are all dead… Ser Regalus asked, his voice sounded dangerously choked as Ser Gordon held him at his shoulders.

I only remember waking up here. Ser Gordon shook his head as he seemingly effortless and without words guided Ser Regalus back to his chair. He himself sat down, taking the Grandmaster’s seat while Altalus kept standing to their side, watching quietly. They had put the spare overall on the table, and Ser Gordon offered the bottle of water to Regalus who took it greatfully. Altalus was in the security centre, the blast didn’t penetrated the room. They barely found him in the debris in time. Valeron… didn’t make it.

Ravalor knew that all of it was a lie, the entire fortress and outpost had been vaporised. Nothing had survived. Quietly he glanced to Ser Altalus who hadn’t said anything so far. It seemed like Ser Gordon was much more comfortable keeping his Envoy persona up with another Part of him than Ser Altalus was. Ser Regalus probably would assume it was shellshock though.

Unexpectedly he met Altalus’ eyes.

Ravalor gave him no reaction that would blow their cover, but he was strangely taken aback by the look in Altalus’ face. For a moment he looked at him with a strange sense of familiarity. For a moment he felt like he knew this wizard even though they had never met. Then Altalus turned his head back to Ser Regalus who, after taking a generous sip from the water, had asked,

What happened? Altalus, did you see anything?

Ser Altalus shook his head. No. There was nothing unusual until suddenly everything exploded.

That can’t be! Ser Regalus said desperately. Something must have happened. They asked me if any ship had fired a weapon but there was none, I swear this to you by my honour as a knight. It had to come from inside! His hands were now tightly wrapped around the bottle in his hands.

We will find out what happened. Ser Gordon said quietly, Altalus didn’t voice an opinion.

As Ser Regalus spoke again, his voice had become quiet too, almost whispering as if he feared speaking the words out loud would make them true. Did you hear what they said about the orders? That they were false? He looked back to Altalus. You must have seen it, right? They had to be valid!

Ser Altalus’ shoulders dropped, it made him look a lot younger and uncomfortable. There were no orders, Regalus.

What…

We never received any message. When we got the command to lower the barrier we assumed the Grandmaster to have gotten the order directly. We didn’t–

What are you saying?

I don’t know.

You don’t think— for the first time since the other two wizards had entered Ser Regalus’s eyes briefly twitched back to Ravalor. He was an outsider in this conversation, at least as far as Ser Regalus’s would perceive it. —The Grandmaster?

It seems insane but… possible, Ser Gordon said grimly. There were many eager to meet that force head one. Maybe Grandmaster Borelius acted on his own, maybe it was planned. We just don’t know.

A short silence followed before Ser Regalus asked crestfallen, Do you think… he escaped?

I don’t know. Gordon shook his head.

I don’t see how. The explosion killed everything, Ser Altalus said, hanging onto the idea that it was simply all to blame on one man making the decision to fight. He didn’t sound very convincing.

Not everything.

You’re still alive, though, Ser Regalus noted, confirming Ravalors thoughts even though they meant completely different things, and at that everyone fell silent again.

Are you alright? Ser Gordon asked.

I’m not. But… I should ask you that. I’m so sorry, your family— Ser Regalus looked back up, but Ser Gordon looked away.

I know. And for a moment there was genuine grief in the faux-knights face that was attempted to be hidden behind dutiful stoicism. He was very good and for a moment Ravalor had almost forgotten that he was not the griefing human he pretended to be. We all will realise how much we really lost soon enough. I still can’t believe…

Silence again.

What are we supposed to do now? Ser Regalus’s voice was weak and heartbroken.

Earth needs us, Ser Gordon answered quietly and Ser Regalus scoffed bitterly. But before Ser Regalus could voice his thoughts, Ser Gordon continued,

No, listen, they do. Earth needs the Knights of Amuthon now more than ever!

They’re all dead!

A brief moment of silence.

Not all. We three are alive. So are the rookies still training on earth. And the memories and legends of the Knights of Amuthon will always live on. Your family always kept it alive! And earth needs this beacon of hope now more than ever. We’ll give them that hope again. Give them the heroes they remember. But you need to be there too. Show them that the Knights of Amuthon do survive!

Ser Gordon sounded passionate, genuinely worried and caring alike. Ravalor wondered how much of what the wizard now said was actually true or even how they really felt. Envoys were usually prolific liars — there would be nothing in his tone or body language that would give away any pretence or falsehood.

It was impossible to tell if this were his own thoughts or what he was told to do.

Ser Regalus didn’t know that though.

But Ravalor choose to believe Not-Gordon to be genuine. Even though it was only because he did not see why Mezchinhar would bother with this, given their impassive actions in this war so far. And he felt a sense of sympathy for that wizard. Maybe even pity.

Of course, Parts of him were glad to see at least someone caring, but he also knew that getting this attached to the fate of humans was a pointless endeavour that only would bring this wizard pain. And he would have thought especially an Envoy of all wizards would know better than this.

Ravalor did not care much about the prophecies written that had doomed this galaxy, but he saw the actions taken because of them. It wasn’t his place to question it, it wasn’t his place to change anything about it. The fate of this universe had been decided upon, and no single wizard could do anything to change it.

The only thing of importance was now to find out what had happened to Zenozarax.

A great burden had been lifted from his shoulders the moment of Charon’s destruction. It was a sense of relief, as if the knowledge of the end of this torture on his once best friend was a badly needed aid on his own mind. However, as one burden was taken from him, he knew it couldn’t last. It wouldn’t. And so he had to find him.

It was the only thing that mattered.