1 Prologue: Deus Ex Machina

Zenozarax had lost his mind.

Not in a hyperbolic way, not even in a psychological way, but in a very concerning literal way. He had absolutely and completely lost control over his own being.

But he didn’t and couldn’t realise that it had happened. Like the Lords’ curse that gave the Knife Izvi its powers, the whisper of the elder gods from the depths of hell had taken over his mind and actions without him being able to recognize it.

For the first time in his life, he was subject to that same terrible kind of magic — and he just couldn’t realise it. Bound to the eternal darkness from within the hell dimensions he was reduced to but a mere pawn of vengeance.

The vengeance of beings unimaginably older than even he himself was. Remnants of a time where they all had been one. It was the whisper of gods that had commanded their every move and action for billions of years. Forces that were out of control now, no longer bound to the will of the Lords.

Who he had been was still within him. Strained by the dimensional rift between them, their control was not more than a weak tether to hell.

But it was just enough.

Zenozarax felt the anger, felt how it drove his actions, and it made sense to him. He had been robbed of the chance to make things right, so the next logical step, the only thing he could still do, was to tear all of it down. Burn it to ash so it may all start anew. The desire of beings driven mad by eternal abandonment, lost, and without guidance, festering within his mind.

There had been a fight within his inner circle, and it had turned his anger even more furious. Betrayal from within his own lines. What a disappointment. Sukatar and Moakatar had left him. He couldn’t understand why, not when they were so close.

Xaronzul had followed him into battle. At least he could still rely on him. He was loyal. Always. Zenozarax had given an order, and so he had followed it without question.

Surely because he too understood that this was what had to be done.

The ancient caverns.

The portal.

Ravalor.

Ravalor had made another step forward — he had to be stopped. Zenozarax’ hand shot up, a blast of magic, slow enough to be easily deflected, and Ravalor did. There was shock in his friend’s face. He hated seeing it there. It hurt somewhere deep in his mind.

But there was no other way. Ravalor needed to leave.

Go, Zenozarax said, his voice low and threatening. But it felt unsteady to himself. Like it was not even his voice at all. Leave this universe now because there won’t be anything left of it once I’m done with it.

Why?

Why …? For a moment his mind staggered.

Something grinned, something was hurting. And it hurt badly.

Why? Now it was him making a step forward and Ravalor backed off in turn. He looked scared. Scared of him? He wanted to reach out — his voice thundered, After you let me rot in that frozen hell, you ask me why?! No, no, no-

His memories blacked out, skipping erratically, the whispering from the portal drowned out everything, there were words but he didn’t know where they came from nor who spoke them, before suddenly there was Ravalor, distress, fear, hurt in his eyes — his own hand grabbed tightly into the fabric of Ravalor’s robe, pressing the young wizard against the wall. Magic still sizzled all over his body. He had been attacked?

Zenozarax... Don’t— Ravalor swallowed hard, —you don’t have to— and his voice failed him.

And for a moment, everything hurt. For a moment Zenozarax was aware. As the elder gods grasp over him slipped away ever so slightly by the sheer force of emotion his actions caused within his subconscious. Here he was, attacking and hurting the one wizard he needed to be safe, the one wizard whose safety was more important than his own, and it just didn’t make sense. He heard these words, words Ravalor had said to him once already, begging him to stop. He hadn’t stopped back then.

He couldn’t now.

But not like this.

I don’t want to kill you, Ravalor. I couldn’t bear doing so, not again. Don’t make me, don’t try to stop me now.

His memories and mind staggered once more, something tightening its grasp over his mind as the whisper from the portal grew ever louder. And his awareness slipped, forgetting it had been there in the first place.

For a moment he was there, looking at Ravalor, Ravalor looked back. There was so much there. So much that made him angry, desperate, so much that made him want to tear down the whole world. His face hardened, the confused thoughts entwined themself into a firm thread that led to only that one goal. Nothing else mattered. He was so close.

The universe would burn.

Ravalor was gone and whatever he was at that moment didn’t think about that.

Everything was gone. There was only him and the portal, the dimensions in tension screaming at him. He didn’t know how much time passed. But he felt it in the power surrounding him that he should not hesitate. He grasped the staff that had been firmly anchored into the altar. The magic crystal on top glowed with the intense radiance of a thousand stars as the sheer energy within was near bursting. Tethered to the portal, it was like a bridge of pure energy that was drawn into the portal and into the nothing behind it.

The staff in his hand vibrated violently by the pure amount of stress and energy put upon its molecular structure. The metal was scorching hot and burned through the artificial skin on his hand, but Zenozarax didn’t even notice.

Mania had taken his mind. He grinned, maybe he laughed as the power flooded his body and mind, feeling the relief of knowing what would happen. Freedom — just moments away!

As he pulled the staff back, he felt the resistance of the tether, the artificial bridge of time and space bleeding into hell as unimaginable power coursed through his veins and —

The world around him vanished into a blinding light.

A thousand colours exploded around him, forces assaulted his mind, short circuiting through his neural pathways, stars bloomed before his eyes. Every sensor in his body sent dozens of conflicting information into his brain that made no sense at all. His memory overloaded as it was no longer able to process the flood of input, the chaos of colours began to stutter before his eyes — then his mind shut down.

2 The Great Sheep Wizard Zenozarax

I - Kaltenmoor

Zenozarax stared into the stormy sky.

Unmoving, not even blinking — if he was breathing it was so shallow it was undetectable.

The grass was wet, cold, beaten by a harsh wind and tickling against his hands and neck.

His clothes were soaked. A single owl called the storm.

Zenozarax kept staring into the powder blue sky. A few clouds travelled slowly above him, but the sun was strong and warm, warming his no longer smouldering body. At first the stench of burned fabric and magic had been strong, but now nothing but the scent of nature filled his nose. The scent of sheep too.

Sound birds chirped in the distance. A small hawk circled above him searching for pray on the meadow.

He felt a tug on one of his sleeves but ignored it. Heard the bah of one of the sheeps that had gathered around him. At first hesitant, now having accepted him as part of their meadow and declared the cornerstone of sheep society.

And Zenozarax kept on staring into the night sky.

He was still unclear on what exactly had happened.

He remembered the feverish and unsettling mania in his mind when the power of the portal had flooded the chamber. The mad gods out of time taking hold in that dimension again, dragged from hell to destroy everything they touched. It had been a blinding light, the power of the crystal embracing him and then that vortex of colours, his mind overloading.

He understood, factually and by experience, that he had shut down. A forced hard reset after his mind had unexpectedly stopped working, followed by a slow and careful reboot of his bodily and neurological functions. And then—

And then … he had been here.

Eyes opened. Staring into the blooming sky. The staff was still in his hand, but it felt broken and powerless. Yet his mind felt clear and sober. For the first time in weeks he could think clearly. Just that it didn’t help much right now.

If he was dead, and this was what lay beyond the void, he would have some serious objections to raise. A green meadow and blue sky didn’t seem too bad, if anything a bit boring and cliché — but why were there sheep?

Carefully he considered the possibility that he was, indeed, not dead. Hm.

By the dreaded Lords, he had been so angry. So focused on what he wanted to do. To take his revenge by fire and fury, that now he felt like someone had splashed a whole ocean of ice cold water over him; No longer even understanding what the hell he had been doing and why, leaving him paralysed and detached from reality as that burning anger was gone and replaced by absolute confusion.

What didn’t ease said confusion was the fact that he could still sense his Warrior. He was there, somewhere, but something was off about that. He didn’t see him, at least not in motion. He was there, but seemingly static. Like either of them were frozen in time. Nothing happened that should have affected his Warrior, but he, the Wizard — yeah he figured that it actually might be him, being somehow, somewhere suspended in time.

As to tell him that that was stupid, and time was very much intact and had not stopped moving forward, another sheep baaed loudly right beside him.

Fine. Time was still running. But something was not right either way. And he better found out what it was before he’d start growing roots here.

Finally Zenozarax blinked. Took a deep breath. And sat up.

Startled, the sheep around him bolted off, voicing their surprise loudly.

Ah, be quiet, he grumbled as he stood up, brushing away the dirt and grass of his half scorched robe with his hand. Then he looked at the staff in his other hand. The crystal at its top had shattered, leaving only broken shards. The magic within was dead, but he withstood the urge to just throw it away (arguably always a bad idea with anything magic) and instead looked up again. At first just to make sure there wasn’t suddenly someone in his vicinity trying to surprise murder him in this might-be afterlife (but, not counting the sheep, he was alone) and first then paying attention to his surroundings.

A wave of disbelief and even stronger confusion overcame him as he stared at the horizon and the land around. It was strikingly familiar, because it was earth. He had been on this planet for thousands of years and he remembered this land throughout the ages. He knew this land, the plains and forests, their names and the names of every burg and village he saw in the distance. But he also knew that this could not be the same earth he had been just moments ago. Or… days ago. Night had fallen sometime in between his arrival and him now standing here. Maybe even twice… he hadn’t really paid attention. Maybe if he had, he would have realised it sooner, if the stars were right.

Slowly he started walking towards the nearest village. Given he could see the old Lüneburg a bit further north, it had to be, coincidentally, the Gut Kaltenmoor.  Was it a coincidence though?

Hm.

Even from this distance he knew. The sky was free from any sort of air travel or pollution, the air was quiet without any radio chatter, the villages he saw seemed small and mediaeval - and in the distance, the tip of Treva’s great spire on the horizon was still exactly where he remembered it to be the previous time he had visited earth. He hadn’t been around for the technological boom after he had been frozen. Earth suddenly having the attention of the wizards due to that cursed prince wielding the Hammer sure had had its effect on its civilization.

It had become their little darling world, enamoured by the destiny bound prince — who in turn was now bound to that annoying hammer.

He hadn’t been surprised to learn that even after a thousand years there had still been an Aeven VonTreva, still carrying that hammer, still looking disturbingly similar to the one who had picked it up first. The Hammer would have its own way in making sure it kept what it got used to. It wasn’t alone at that.

His free hand reached almost subconsciously to the knife on his belt, and its cold magic embraced his fingers as he grasped it around it’s handle.

He had taken it with him as a precaution in case any wizard would have tried to stop him. Just that the one wizard that actually did, he hadn’t used it on.

Not that it mattered right now. Nor did he want to think about it yet. There were many things he’d need to think about - but right now he first and foremost had to figure out what had happened to him.

As he walked closer towards Kaltenmoor he started to see people, working the fields and walking along the road.

Zenozarax glanced behind him, frowning at the flock of sheep that was now following him ...sheepishly.

Shooo, he said, vaguely waving his hand.

Bahhh, they answered defiantly, not moving an inch away. It was his kind of luck to have apparently found the bravest sheep in the entire kingdom.

Fine.

Soon enough he was spotted. And he was faintly aware of what an unusual sight he offered. Still wearing his wizard robe but half torched from head to toe, dirty and unkempt, the broken staff in his hand and the sheep following him as their new chosen leader. Very flattering. As far as first impressions went, he was used to do better than this.

The farmhand that saw him approach held the pitchfork he had used to air the cut grass on the field before his body as if he were ready to stab him with it. Zenozarax couldn’t even blame him. He was sure if he would find a mirror he would be tempted to stab himself too, just to escape the undignified sight.

Hey.

The young man stared silently at him, wide eyed and very uneasy.

Greetings… sire, the farmhand finally said, caught between the obvious realisation that below all the dirt and burn, Zenozarax clothes spoke of a wealthy man, royalty maybe, or a cleric. But at the same time he looked very strange. And based on what Zenozarax saw all around him, nobody ever would have greeted him with a casual hey ever. It was a bit too early for that.

I got a question for you, Zenozarax said, glancing around, aware that more distant eyes now lay on him too. Are there any wizards living around here?

Wizards? Are you a wizard? The pitchfork twitched in the boy’s hands.

Calm down lad, let’s not jump to conclusions here, just answer the question.

Ney, sire. Just know the wizards from the stories they tell in church.

Okay, that’s a lot to unpack right there. But are there any actual, real wizards living around here?

I… eh, I don’t think so? I mean I hope not. I never met one. Only heard of them in—

Yes, yes, the church stories, I got that part. He frowned, pondering. There was a small chance that he had, somehow, ended up in a very close version of the same earth he just had left that never had been under wizard influence. Or the slightly slow individual before him just wasn’t very knowledgeable in worldly affairs because the wizard’s presence, once revealed to history, was usually well known. If not feared.

There was something unsettling about wizards to most humans. At least those that choose to reveal themselves to them.

Every human intrinsically knew that — a truth beyond words.

Wizards were a simple part of life. Beings that walked amongst them, looking like them, talking like them, at least in earshot, and if they wanted even convincingly acting like them.

And yet the people knew them to be anything but human.

They were accepted. Because they had to be.

Superstition and religion at times might have risen to stoke fires of animosity towards them, but as the records showed, these uprisings had been short-lived and died in their infancy. Always.

And behind closed doors whispers could be heard that those opposing the wizards would not live long enough to spread the word.

Earth didn’t know it, but they weren’t alone, nor their history unique.

Mezchinhar had been built and assigned to oversee this part of the multiverse, the human realm, even the wizard’s shape was determined by it. Kings and empires rose, wars were fought and rulers chose; But in the end, they all were under one true rule. All of these Universes: Mezchinhar’s empire. And their grasp was strong and coldly calculated. Always hidden in the shadows, and most should consider themselves lucky to never witness when its sword was drawn into the light.

The more curious it would be if these people weren’t aware of wizards living between them if they had already found their way into their culture and religion. Unless the term just accidentally was the same and referred to a completely different concept. Also possible.

The sheep seem to like ye, sire, the farmhand said, rudely tearing Zenozarax from his existential musing by some ridiculous sense of wanting to break the awkward silence most likely.

Aware. But let’s not make that into a character judgement here, okay?

What?

Forget it. Zenozarax already felt the horror of being known as the Great Sheep-Wizard Zenozarax. He left the still very much confused looking youth stand and continued towards Kaltenmoor. Relieved he realised that the sheep no longer followed him, and he had to thank that farmhand for it as he saw him shoo the sheep back on the field.

Deciding to make a little bit more of an effort he greeted the few people that had gathered on the mainroad watching him approach properly and time appropriate with a curtly Good day. but he didn’t stop to talk to them. Their eyes followed him.

Zenozarax mustered the building around and cross referenced them with his own memories. A few of the major structures he recognized, the shape and layout of the simple roads were familiar, most of the houses however were new to him and more modern than he remembered. When he then spotted the inn, a pang of nostalgia set in his stomach. It was still, or also, here. The name was different to the one he remembered, but the building was the same.

Ignoring the eyes following him, even ignoring the few people that were also following at a safe distance, where they thought he wouldn’t notice, he entered the inn.

Voices fell silent and more eyes followed him while he reached the counter in the large yet invitingly cosy tabroom.

Rough day? The innkeeper grunted.

You could say it like that.

You need a drink? Eat? Sleep?

I’ll pass on the food. Give me the sharpest drink you got and I’ll take a room for the night. Zenozarax sat down, fiddling on the jewellery on his arms and pulled one golden band from it. You take this as payment?

T’is gold?

Aye.

The keeper grunted again, a slim amused smirk on his face, his weariness soothed by the prospect of being overpaid like crazy for just some drink and a bed for the night.

A few moments later a generous filled up tumbler stood before him. What happened to ye? Marauders got you? the man asked with clear doubt in his words, since anyone robbing him surely would have taken the jewellery from him.

Something definitely got me. Zenozarax took a generous drink from the tumbler. It burned like hell — the man had kept that part of the bargain. Not that he would or even could get drunk, but there was still a strange comfort in it. It was the idea that counted. And at least his dry throat felt more easy to speak with.

I heard a young lad in the fields speak about wizards.

There was a long drawn out moment where the innkeeper mustered him before their eyes met again for a good while longer. Probably weighing the pros and cons of assuming him to be a wizard and how that may affect his bottom line. In the end he just answered with a drawn out, Aye.

What a talkative man. Do you know these tales and stories?

Well, just the ones we hear ’bout in church. The man shrugged.

Oh for crying out loud. Right. Zenozarax sighed in spirit. But you’ve never met one?

The man scoffed. Oh by North, no. Three notches in my axe for that. The reaction came so quick and genuine that Zenozarax could see the brief flash of realization in the man’s face that maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

Fair enough. He may never have heard that idiom, but he got the sentiment alright and he couldn’t disagree. Do you have a holy book? With those tales?

Don’t you know it?

I’m afraid I don’t. Is there a chance you could get me one? I’d be very interested to learn more about it.

The man nodded with no judgement in his face. If you plan to stay, I’ll send my daughter to tend to your needs. You need the book, you get the book.

Thank you, Master..?

Bennet.

Master Bennet. Zenozarax smiled his most winning smile and took another drink from his tumbler.

How old is this inn? he then asked, keeping a neutral conversational tone fitting to a stranger to the land.

A sense of pride appeared on the man’s face. Around 900 years. Been in my family’s hands ever since!

Impressive. You’ve taken good care of it then, he added, willing to grant some flattery in exchange for good will. But it also gave him a bit more of an idea when he was. And why things seemed different from what he knew.

He had been in this inn before. That had been already after his relocation to Artlenburg, but he had always liked Kaltenmoor (even the titular Knight of Kaltenmoor who had decided to build his estate right on top of his tower originally), and he wasn’t immune to nostalgia. He had even taken Ravalor here a few times. But the inn had still been very young then and looked very different. But when had that been? What year? Treva hadn’t yet existed at that point, that much he knew. Hmm…

He was about to take another sip from the strong drink in his hand when he froze. Every atom in his body jittering just a bit stronger as a realisation flashed through his thoughts.

Slowly he put down the drink. Trying to calm his thoughts, to not let hope soar too high.

But there was a chance, the smallest chance that maybe, through whatever cosmic twisted accident had thrown him into this world, he had been granted a second chance. If his estimation of the current year were correct, he should have still about 200 years give or take till the stellar alignment.

If the universe was right. By the blasted lords the chance of that was so astronomically slim it was downright impossible — but IF.

Are you alright there?

Yes. He heard himself almost croak, clearing his throat. But I think I’ll take that room now.

Sure thing. Follow me.

He followed the man up to the inn and was led to what probably was the biggest room the man had to offer. At least Bennet had the decency to acknowledge the overpayment this way.

I hope this suffices.

Absolutely. Zenozarax said rather absentmindedly while his thoughts already rushed to thousands of things to do. Thank you.

Master Bennet closed the door behind him and Zenozarax took a deep breath.

He had a lot to do.

First of all figuring out a lot of What, How and Whys.

3 Stars

The room was still fairly small all things considered. There was a bed that looked relatively decent, the window had stood wide open before he closed it immediately. The little desk and chair he shoved aside to make room.

His redecorating was probably already raising eyebrows in the rooms below but that didn’t matter.

He focused on the now clear middle of the room, raised his hands and a bright, colourful strip of light appeared that easily opened into a glistening portal. He had aimed at the location of his warrior, and true enough, through the portal on the other side he saw himself, in the command centre of the Twilight.

But there was where the normal and expected things abruptly ended.

Because everything on the other side seemed frozen in time. The Warrior’s deep frown shadowed his eyes, his hands raised as he —

Zenozarax blinked as he remembered. He was still near Mars, just about to draw the forces further back, feigning a retreat, as the opening of the portal was imminent. He remembered standing right there, he knew the exact words the Warrior was about to say.

He watched for a moment, intensely focusing on the Warrior. He did so for a long time, because at first he wasn’t even sure he really saw what he saw. But the longer he watched the clearer it got. He wasn’t frozen in time. He was moving! Only impossibly slowly.

Hm.

He kept the portal open with ease, channelling the magic sphere through one hand as he grabbed a simple wooden bowl from the table.

With just enough force he threw it into the portal and his expectations were fully met as the very moment the bowl slipped from this reality to the other it stopped dead in its tracks. Almost completely suspended in time.

He closed the portal and opened it up two more times at two completely different points at save port points, both in different universes. The first one didn’t give him much information as there were no people or moving objects, the second however showed him the same state of seemingly being frozen in time like the first. He withstood the urge to write his observations down somewhere simply by the fact that he had neither paper or any datatab to do so, and instead committed it only to memory for the time being.

It was more likely to assume that the time anomaly he witnessed was localised to his position than to assume the entire rest of the multiverse had suddenly slowed down. So wherever he was, time was on the frizz and moved rapidly more quickly than expected. That could be… extremely helpful actually.

Time could be a little funky all across the multiverse and sometimes it needed a bit of adjusting to it in relation to any other Part. However, a time dilation to this extreme he had only ever witnessed within the Chambers of Time within Mezchinhar. The disparity between the two flows of time (outside and inside the chambers) was a lot to handle for the outside Part, getting bombarded with days if not weeks worth of memories each second. It would be the same here; The Warrior wouldn’t enjoy this. But he’d have to get over that.

He closed the portal again and made a mental note to check on his Warrior again tomorrow. If he was right, based on his observation, he would bet to find the same picture just a fraction of a millimetre moved. Maybe enough for the Warrior to have glimpsed the bright spark of a portal that had occured within a fraction of a millisecond - and the bowl suddenly appearing in mid air. He would almost instantaneously know why it was there too, but he would be given no time to react to any of it.

Since they were still perfectly connected, his Warrior would receive his memories as well, and it would be horribly overwhelming he was sure of it. There was no way of reasonably communicating with him now. Nevertheless he assured the Warrior that he was alright, and that he maybe had a chance to get them back on track. The Warrior would receive this message compressed with days, weeks, maybe months or years worth of memories within the fraction of a second, and any answer he could get would reach him just in reverse, spread mercilessly across time.

Truly nobody could stop him here. In theory. If there weren’t still the unanswered wizard question.

Within the multiverse it was absolutely possible to find two earths that were almost identical in their development and history, down to the individual houses and people, even names and actions they took.

What was however impossible to find copies of, even in the infinity of possibilities, was them. Wizards. Because they, the wizards of the lords, were not part of the random chance and creation of chaos and order within the multiverse. There were artificial beings similar to them, sure, but they were no wizards and they didn’t possess their magic.

Compared to the infinity surrounding them, there were so few wizards, running into one by chance was downright impossible. They were not part of nature’s path. And so even if everything was exactly the same here, there shouldn’t be the wizards’ bases if they hadn’t come here at some point and built them. Out of time, and out of the natural progression of things.

But it was still possible that they were here. Because nothing of this felt natural. And because there was Treva’s unnaturally tall spire. That was a red flag if ever he had seen one. If there were no wizards here, it too wouldn’t exist.

So he had to be careful.

If there were wizards on this earth, maybe having arrived here just like he had, him just showing up where they might have their eyes on could end his plans before they had even begun.

Zenozarax felt a distinct restlessness taking hold over his body and mind. The urge to act, to do something. But for now, he knew he had to be patient. He had acted too rash before and it had cost him his best chance and a thousand years of his existence.

He sat down on the not very comfortable bed, but he only sat for a few seconds before he was back on his feet, opening the window again, before he took off his shod up cloak to put it over the chair. After a brief consideration he also peeled himself out of what was left of his robe. The plain black under tunic and pants below were just marginally less torn, but considerably less dirty. At least a small improvement. Then he sat down again.

And this time he forced himself to stay there. He needed to think.

There was still the light breeze of this beautiful summer day now dancing in the room, carrying the scent of cut grass and burned wood and coals. Of course a bit of the stink that came with the distant livestock and mediaeval standards. But it was an old and familiar scent he had never minded.

He heard the people outside. A shout, some chatter, kids playing. A horse wagon rolling down the main street, hoofs and wheels on the ground. A few birds sang.

He took another deep breath and felt himself getting calmer. And his heart grew heavier by nostalgia.

It kindled some of that all to familiar anger within him, but it was mellow now, not more than a small immortal flame, stubbornly refusing to be extinguished.

It felt strange now.

For centuries he had been burned alive by it as his body was frozen to the core. It had shaped his every action past that, when finally he had escaped that eternal torture.

But the destruction of the entire universe? A shudder ran down his spine as he remembered what had happened. His own memories felt like those of a different person. And that person had wanted to see the universe burn. A desire more desperate than anything he had ever felt.

Now with a clear mind he instinctively understood what had happened. And he felt ashamed by his own ignorance.

After hearing the mad gods talk to him, every fibre of his being had longed for destruction and fire, to leave nothing and no one left standing in that cursed wizard infested universe. Wizards who once hadn’t even cared about it. And he would have succeeded — if not for…

Ravalor.

There was no anger. In this moment, when he clinically saw the anger that had dictated his every move to have been madness infused by the desires of beings unimaginably more powerful than himself, there was nothing but calm acceptance. And relief.

By the lords, if it hadn’t been for Ravalor…

But Ravalor shouldn’t have been there. Not anymore.

Zenozarax understood that he had done this to the young wizard — and Ravalor having partaken now twice in his downfall… He couldn’t even blame him for it. Not really. Not anymore. Not with a clear head and a free mind that had been torn away from those ungodly influences by whatever force had brought him into this reality. Maybe those gods that had poisoned his mind were dead now. It was the only way he could explain the regained control over his own body. But how?

Zenozarax knew - whatever had gone wrong down there, whatever the reason was for him being here, it must have been Ravalor. Because he had been the only one that had known. Because Zenozarax had let him go. At that moment he hadn’t believed that Ravalor could still do something to stop him, because he had been so close. Moments if not seconds away from success. It had all been working perfectly. His hand had grasped around that staff, the crystal glowing like a thousand suns, his own magic vanishing against the power it drew from hell, and he had felt it enveloping him wholey — a moment of absolute power right at his grasp, fully under his control—

And then… he had been here. Faintly he thought remembering a blinding light. But that was all.

It knocked on the door.

Welcoming the distraction from his own thoughts he stood up. It was a young woman, arguably more a girl still, and most certainly the innkeeper’s daughter since they shared the same auburn hair and pale eyes, though he noticed she had a little bit of a lazy eye. She carried a jug, a washcloth and a thick and ornamented book. Good day, sire. Master Bennet asked me to bring you this in case you want to clean yourself. Also the Book.

Zenozarax smiled. How very thoughtful, thank you. He took all of it and placed it on the table, letting the door open and her standing there, indulging the sense of curiosity he saw in her face for a moment. She had questions that burned on her tongue, probably egged on by the people downstairs that had seen him earlier, but for now she was still too polite to ask.

What’s your name?

Lelina.

Pretty. Tell me Lelina, he turned back towards her, she was listening and looking with peaked attention. Is there a clothier here? Or a tanner? I’m afraid my sorry state of appearance won’t fix itself — so I’m in dire need of new clothing.

Her face lit up, Of course. Shall I purchase something for you?

That would be most lovely. His smile became even more radiant. I actually need quite a few things.

It’s still midday. I’m sure I can get whatever you need. Lelina prommissed eagerly.

Wonderful. First of all I need paper, as much as you can get. Then clothing, shirt and pants, two of each, don’t go cheap on those I want decent ones. Something that is loose and easily adjustable, since I’m not exactly on the small side. I’ll need new boots, please inquire about those and how quickly they can be made, high ones, like these. Tell the master in question I’ll seek them out by tomorrow so they can take measurements. Also some yards of cloth, wool will do fine, if they have it dyed I’d prefer a red, but I’m flexible. He paused, glancing back at Lelina. Can you remember all that?

I think so, she said nervously.

Don’t worry, besides the paper I won’t complain if you forget. I’ll compensate master Bennet for your time of course. Which brings me to the most important thing. He walked back over to the table as he started to remove the jewellery he still wore. The earrings, wristbands and rings on his fingers. For a moment his fingers touched the silver necklaces on his chest — but decided against it. He wouldn’t part with it, not like this and the crystals were safer this way. It wasn’t like he couldn’t literally get precious metals whenever he wanted, but for now he decided to play a part.

He scooped up all the jewellery and placed them in a small cloth. Go and have these exchanged for money. And do not let yourself be fooled. These are pure gold and the finest cut gemstones, and I know how much it is worth.

She nodded dutifully, Do not fret, our money changer is a good man.

Even good men feel tempted at times. Either way, use the money to buy the things I asked for.

Understood.’’ She took the little bundle with care. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that it was more valuables than she’d ever held in her life. I’ll hurry.

Don’t hurry if it makes you careless.

Of course not.

Very well, then you may hurry.

And with a lighthearted grin of dedication she indeed hurried away and Zenozarax closed the door again.

All of this felt perfectly absurd.

There was no way around it. Made worse by the lingering unclarity of how exactly he had made the switch from total galactic war to mediaeval peace.

Taking the hint he made use of the water and washcloth brough to him and at least cleaned his face and hands. Then he rinsed his hair as well. There was a small polished piece of metal hammered to the wall that was all the mirror he was provided. Its reflection was poor, but probably flattering as he brushed his wet hair back with his hands and tried to groom his beard into order.

Then he stepped up to the window again. The room was facing the back of the inn, and so he could merely hear the living village surrounding him. There was a small courtyard below, washed bed sheets dancing in the light breeze.

His hands rested on the windowsill. His wet hair was dripping onto his neck, the wind was cold against it.

Above, the clouds travelled slowly across the sky as his mind wandered. The wind rustled in the grass, while footsteps crunched on the gravel of the pathway.

And he thought about another time, when those footsteps would have been his own and Ravalor’s, maybe even on their way to this very inn.

The clouds were thick and brooding against the orange sky, drawn into black silhouettes by the setting sun.

It knocked.

Zenozarax blinked lazily, letting himself be dragged back into the present. He turned away from the window, his hair tickled in his neck. Now air dried, his natural curls were celebrating their newfound freedom. He realised, with mild concern, that a few hours must have passed.

It knocked again moments before he opened the door.

Sire. I hope I didn’t wake you, the young girl said worriedly, but both arms were full with bundles and stuff. How she even had managed to knock would remain a mystery.

You didn’t, come in. Put it on the table.

Lelina complied, giving a low grunt of relief as she put down all of it. I think I got everything you asked for. She nestled on her dress belt and handed him a small pouch. This is what’s left. The money changer only took some of the jewellery.

I expected as much, Zenozarax noted, glancing into the pouch. Despite his previous confidence, he had no idea what a reasonable exchange rate would be at this time so he just accepted what he got.

You will have to go to Master Tenner tomorrow for the boots. I have to warn you, he can be rather rude.

Noted.’’ He took two of the coins from the pouch and offered them to Lelina. For your efforts. And keep them, I will pay Bennet separately.

Lelina took the coins with wide eyes, seemingly dumbstruck for a moment - which told Zenozarax that he obviously had undervalued the coins.

But he also saw something else, and truth to be told he had mostly suspected it. A distinct even though very well hidden discomfort most would have missed, but not Zenozarax.

How much did you take? He prompted casually as he put the coin purse aside. Lelina looked up only briefly, a light blush in her face, the discomfort, and now shock too, was no longer mistakable for anything else, before she lowered her gaze again in shame.

I didn’t —

Don’t lie to me Lelina. I won’t punish you if you speak true now.

Her hands trembled by humiliation, fear and guilt as she searched her pocket and took out one more coin. I must have forgotten about this one, she mumbled.

Zenozarax just nodded as he said perfectly nonchalantly, Very well. Keep it. As said, even good men feel tempted at times. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Master Bennet about this.

In utter disbelief the young girl looked at him as she just had been rewarded for literally stealing from him.

She didn’t strike him as a criminal mastermind, so it was probably just a very stupid first time offence, caused by instinctual and not well calculated greed due to an unfamiliar amount of wealth in her possession. But it didn’t matter to him and, at this age, there was about a fifty-fifty chance that it would either bolster the criminal tendency because she had gotten away with it, or be a badly needed wake-up call filled with embarrassment that would make her never try something like this again. By the look in her face it probably would be the latter as there was a realisation in it that just by a hair and his disinterest she hadn’t lost a hand to a very stupid mistake.

Thank you, Sire. Thank you so much, I’m so sorry, she said quickly and filled with relief, adding a deep bow to the words and putting the coins very quickly in a pouch on her belt, making sure it was closed and secure twice. She however didn’t dare to meet his eyes anymore. Even when she spoke again her words were more timid than before,

I also should inform you that the people are talking. Another benefit of letting her get away with it surely was the fact that she owed him now. She may held no position of importance but she would hear things people would not utter in his presence.

And what do they say?

Just rumours and gossip, wondering about who you are and where you come from, sire.

Are they worried?

I think they are just curious.

Good. Zenozarax started to unwrap the bundles on the table, doing his best in not judge the chosen clothes too harshly for their sheer plainness.

Should they be?

Zenozarax glanced back at the girl. He knew himself to be a dreadful liar. So he chose to answer with something he suspected to be true instead. There is no one coming for me, if that’s what you mean.

She nodded visibly relieved but probably still doubtful. She and all of the rest of the town had seen his sorry state when he had arrived and drawn their conclusion over what had happened to him.

I need to rest now. Please see to it that I’m not disturbed till the morning.

Of course, sire.

*

After Lelina had left again, and before he would consider and get to terms with changing into his new (boring) clothes, he decided to go for a little spacewalk. It would take some longer observations to be really sure but a first glance would at least show him if he wasn’t completely off the tracks with his assumptions about this universe.

He took the remains of his broken staff and with a bright shower of light disassembled what little magic within was still functional. It left a hollowed out husk of splinters and metal and a small glowing orb the size of a small plum. A meagre yield but more than he had hoped for given the sorry state of the broken tool.

He sat down at the table and began working the small amount of magic into a new purpose. After a brief time, the glowing sphere of magic had completely transformed into a small, oval amulet. It looked unassuming enough since he lacked the spare resources and additional tools to make it look more magical, but it would serve its purpose.

Giving its smooth top a light touch with his finger the amulet lit up with a fine web of light and immediately Zenozarax felt the port beacon’s location.

It was a weak signal, obfuscated in the natural background radiation, and he’d need to be relatively close to lock onto it, but it would serve as a safe anchor for him to return to this room quickly without too much hassle or danger to himself.

Because even though the wizards ability to port themselves across space at will might be the best known ability of theirs, it was anything but easy.

Because everything was constantly in motion.

Besides Mezchinhar, there was no static place to port to. Even picking a random spot on earth: there was the rotation and wobble of the planet itself, hurling itself through space at 30 km per second in its orbit around the sun, the solar systems orbit in its galaxy and the path of the galaxy in the evermore expanding universe. Everything moved and it moved goddamn fast.

So each portal had to do so as well, only appearing like it connected two fixed points in time and space.

Some old wizards were so familiar with it that they could calculate the path of their destination by the variables alone, Zenozarax himself was quite good at it too — but outside of combat situations nobody ever did that anymore, because it was quite risky as much as it was exhausting.

Teleporting caused a whole additional layer of risk to it, especially if the destination was a cramped interior space like this, so knowing the exact location of where one wanted to reappear was even more crucial.

With the small port beacon in place for his return he stood up again, stepped back, breathed out deeply, and from one moment to the next, by a bright flash, he vanished from the room —

The remaining air in his lungs escaped him with a weezing hiss as space embraced him.

Below him earth’s slumbering side lay in darkness, the sun’s might only faintly caressing the horizon with the first halo of light that would usher in the morning. The natural radiation was like a small prickling sensation on his skin and not at all unpleasant.

Without having to think about it, the magic within him pushed against the dark matter all around him and it softly turned him around and he stopped again. Moving in zero gravity came as natural to wizards as walking and even though he hadn’t done it in quite a while, he came to a stable and tumble free halt relative to the planet. One more jump using the maximum range of the chaos teleport brought him roughly into the orbit of the moon from where his field of view was broad enough to see what he needed to see.

He allowed himself a last thought of hope followed by realistic jest, convincing himself that it really was very unlikely that he should be this lucky — then he looked deep into the sea of stars.

His sight expanded into colours and ranges the human eye could never see nor could the human brain even conceive of them. Light waves across the whole spectrum bloomed before him, drowning out the darkness between the stars as more and more of the black void was filled with ever more distant light. Flickering, dancing, chatting, tunes of light and time started to resonate within his mind and he felt himself lost within this fantastical show of the cosmos.

And only by a hair he still managed to focus his mind and see. To look closely, finding the star. And the next. And another. A chain of stars aligning almost perfectly into a line that seemed more artificial than nature could ever produce. But they weren’t quite in position yet.

It was the looming stellar alignment. A vast amount of stars falling into a straight line, perfectly aligned and spaced to create an abnormality within the chaos of space time, resonating, just for a brief moment, through the entire galaxy. A celestial flame of unlimited potential, burning invisibly unless one were to grasp its power. And earth, just in time, at the right place at the right time, in its perfect centre — the one place to take that power.

A sense of nausea bloomed in his stomach. It was excitement. As much as it was horrible dread.

He had indeed been given a second chance. It was just about to happen — about 200 years from now. He could make it right!

4 The Tower

Zenozarax walked slowly down the main road leading through Kaltenmoor. It was more of a casual stroll than any walk with purpose. Maybe walking in his new boots would be a purpose.

They were truly awful. Good quality, well made, well paid for — still awful. Because they lacked a certain… flair. But with that they unfortunately fit the rest of his appearance. The pants sat a bit tight around his legs (which was very flattering in some regards but at the same time rather restricting in movement) and the plain more beige than white shirt was loosely fitting. He had kept his hair open after quickly growing out his more unusual haircut.

With the Book of North wedged under his arm it probably made him look like some poor but overenthusiastic evangelist.

All this, wasn’t really ’him’ — but it was acceptable. For now. Only the silver necklace with its sparkling red crystals betrayed his humble appearance.

He knew he should probably hurry.

He already didn’t know how much time had passed since his arrival and even with the luxury of having some 200 years to go — he knew himself by now well enough to know that those 200 years could be gone quicker than he would notice if he wasn’t careful.

He had gotten rid of his sense of time in a delirious fever of being driven half mad by the separation from his Warrior. As he hadn’t been able to stand any longer knowing every dragging minute he wasn’t whole.

Losing time, while drastic, had helped. A little. In the way stabbing one’s eyes out to no longer have to see something uncomfortable would help. The desperate feeling of literally missing half of himself had been still the same, but he had been no longer bothered by how long it lasted. It just came and went and came back again. He, this part, the Wizard, hadn’t died since — and so to this day, even though the Warrior was back with him, he still had no sense of time.

On his way through Kaltenmoor he greeted a few people he had met at the inn before, others he had seen earlier too, only a few returned the greeting. They were still suspicious, but he didn’t mind that, he barely paid attention to begin with. There was a lot on his mind, because there would be so much he’d need to do.

Casually he took the next small path to his right, leading between two houses. A bunch of chickens pecked around their pen in the extended garden of the house to his right. One sat on top of a sleeping dog. He thought the dog’s name should be Belor. There had been a dog named Belor once in Kaltenmoor.

He curved around the house and stopped.

Huh.

There was… a very strange sensation indeed.

He had not taken this path by chance. After waking up  he had been carefully reading the Book of North, putting it to memory. He had used the time he spent reading to formulate a plan of all the things he needed to do too and it was tedious work requiring a lot of attention to detail. And he soon had found himself restless by the limitation this time and place put on him, unable to immediately turn his plans to action. To distract himself from it, and since the weather was so nice today, he had decided to find himself a scenic spot outside to finish the rest of the book while letting his mind be lulled into comfort by the sounds of life and nature.

There had been a particular spot he had in mind, even if it had been merely for curiosity and nostalgic reasons.

He had just reached that place and now he stood before a wall. Very well crafted of what looked like once pure white stone and about two metres tall. It was old. Much older than the town around it, and not well maintained.

He kept his thoughts forcefully empty as he slowly walked around it, not daring to think what he was about to think. The wall used to be a square, walling off a space of roughly ten by ten metres. Now only one and a half of its sides still stood. Where it had broken off there was still the crevice of a hinge where once an iron gate had been.

Almost dreamlike he touched the crumbled edge as he stepped into the imaginary square. Shrubbery and grass stood high here - almost as if people had not dared to touch this place for centuries.

In its centre, overgrown and covered in dirt and moss, vanishing in the vegetation if one didn’t look for it, was still the shape of a circle recognizable. First he tried to clear it with his foot, but soon he kneeled down, put the book down in the grass and started to push and tear away roots and grass with his bare hands.

When he stopped he just sat there, kneeling. His soiled and wet hands rested on his new pants as he stared at the circle before him. The once shining white metal had turned to a dusty purple by time and he was sure, would it have been any less magical alloy, it would have deteriorated completely by now - but before him the emblem of the Kaltenmoor tower still was as fine and perfect as the day it had been created.

By him.

He had made this.

He had built these walls before the Knight Kaltenmoor had ever set foot on these lands.

But that was impossible, right? He, Zenozarax, had never been on this earth.

An excited tingling finally ignited by a first glimmer of hope. He stood up, mindlessly wiping his hands on his pants before he rose them. He focused, aligning his place in space and time, the movement of the cosmos, and the location of the place he could not believe lay below his feet.

And he found it. The faint pulse of a private and well hidden port beacon recognizing him and granting him passage.

At once a bright strip of light snapped open before him, and he stared right into it for almost ten seconds.

Then he stepped forward.

And appeared in the entrance hall of his tower and a sea of light and gold embraced him. Welcoming him back.

By the lords, how did this make sense?

He realised that he was grinning from ear to ear first when he laughed. Bending over he barely held himself - he was sure there would have been tears in his eyes if only it were possible. Holding his dirty hands stemmed into his side he looked back up, feeling breathless and strangely weightless. He looked at the light, the splendour, draperies and paintings like he saw them for the first time, still barely believing he saw them at all in the first place.

Fuck, he muttered still with that grin on his face.

If he ever had any doubt that destiny and fate really wanted him to do something, this was proof enough to lose all that. Not only had he been granted a second chance, but now also the means to actually do it.

And he would do it properly this time. Because he could, because he had time, and because he knew what to do now.

The light feeling of excitement tingled through his body and yet he suddenly paused, the grin faded from his face without him noticing as his eyes lost himself in the entrance hall. Following the walls, the doors, up the main stairs that had always been more decorative than purposeful. But even then there was Ravalor meeting him halfway at night. There was Ravalor at his side crossing the hall. There was Ravalor helping him tearing down every wall in hunt of one faulty wire all the while the tower kept droning around them.

The memories bled into his perception and for a while he really was there with him. For a thousand years these memories had been the only place his mind could escape to. Detached from the freezing sensation—

A low rattling tore him out of his own mind. Scurrying along the floor was a small rat — but Zenozarax ignored it. With a deep breath he tried to clear his mind. He would need to be careful to not lose himself in his memories or he could lose way too much time. Even now days could have passed…

Another deep breath. Focus.

So far he only had proof of the physical tower being here - but if it was still functional would be more important to know.

Quickly he raised a magical control panel seemingly from thin air, the magical matter glowed before him as he opened up the tower’s status.

You’ve been alone for a while, huh? And you don’t even know what happened, he mumbled as he took the necklace around his neck and with a light magical pulse popped out the biggest of the red embedded crystals. A small indentation formed in the magical display and he placed the red crystal inside. The tower recognized its own heavy encryption immediately.

No, don’t override, just update. I need you to keep an awareness of the current time. He answered the question on screen. The silence of the tower turned into a soft hum as it received the backup that Zenozarax had made before wiping the memory of his original tower, back when…

The tower would need a little while to remember, so he left the crystal with the panel while he watched it slowly understanding. Hold onto it for a while and keep it updated. Till I found out what’s going on here. He said and found a light smile on his face as the tower no longer suffered the strange disconnect between its unnatural creation and his own arrival.

I missed you, he admitted into the silence and the panel before him pulsed brighly. Probably the towers way to say me too.

Then he swirled around. The grin returned to his face. Alright! Let’s see what we got!

With increasingly feverish excitement he spent the next minutes or hours disappearing and reappearing in this and that room, from the very top down to the lower levels, the recreational areas, the workshops, storage area. Only once he almost teleported into the solid rock as he tried to reach a room that hadn’t been built yet which gave him a physical indicator of when this tower was.

First he went around only to make sure they were really there, then to take stock of what was there.

A lot was missing.

At first it had seemed random to him, making him doubt his own memories.

Slowly he walked down the storage facilities on level 18. Spanning the entire diameter of the tower, the several metre high storage room was half filled to the brim, and half completely empty. There were holes in the materials and resources — entire stacks of items that should be there, that the tower was adamant that were there, but which were in fact simply and completely gone. Not like they had been stolen, but like they never had been here to begin with.

But item after item, a pattern emerged. Everything that was still here, he had acquired either on earth itself or somewhere else in this universe.

Everything that was gone he had brought here from other universes.

Hm. He nodded to himself as if someone had presented a hypothesis to him. Quickly he brought up the storage node panels, its neatly listed content appearing around him. Still the system thought they were here.

Hmhm. Then he took a breath, ready to speak but halted. He was alone and the tower was as quiet as he remembered it. Well no — it was actually more quiet. More empty. Beyond the missing materials.

Without thinking much about it he waved his hand, poking the tower’s consciousness, and magic hushed over the floor, a glimmering wave and from it a shining familiar appeared before him. An embodiment of the tower itself — wearing an all too familiar face based now on its own memories Zenozarax had given it, looking at him expecting and patiently.

Zenozarax was taken aback for a moment, then the look of surprise in his face turned into a melancholic and soft smile as he approached the familiar. When he spoke, his words were gentle, like speaking to a child that had done something wrong without realising it. “No, not like that. But I understand why you’d choose him.”

The familiar, the tower, wearing Ravalor’s face looked at him, mildly concerned. It had looked back at all the new information and memories Zenozarax had given it and concluded that the most likely face he wanted to see was the one that would never return to them.

“I do wish he would be here, but I don’t need to be reminded of it,” he said as he raised his hand, only moments away of touching the faint tactile resistance of the magical hologram when its face changed and the new appearance was accentuated with a pointy wizards hat, as to drive home the point that this familiar definitely wasn’t inspired by Ravalor anymore, because Ravalor despised wearing wizard hats.

It was no longer Ravalor, but he still seemed similar. “You liked him a lot, didn’t you?” Zenozarax concluded, if anything actually slightly amused. The tower didn’t answer, there was only a light static in the air and Zenozarax had to assume that the speaker systems were broken. He stepped back, trying to remember where he had been.

Right. Okay, now here’s what happened, he finally said, now more comfortable speaking as he actually had someone to speak to. Even if it was just technically the tower itself. Something happened—

The familiar rose it’s brows in silent judgement as if to say Yeah obviously

Lords, you really picked up a lot from him, didn’t you? Zenozarax muttered looking at the tower’s holographic face. The tower was just basing his reaction on its updated memories out of a future that never happened here.

Okay, yes, obviously something happened. Something fucked with time or reality. Maybe both. Maybe that was me, he admitted, starting to walk down the hallway of shelves while the familiar followed him silently. There was an explosion. It must have torn the rift space apart. Maybe I made a mistake? Some error in my calculations? Causing the portal to tear apart?

Zenozarax glanced back, the familiar frowned slightly.

Yeah, I don’t believe that either. It should have worked. But it definitely exploded. But here comes the interesting part. This. This is earth. Not an alternative universe, but earth, our earth. Just earlier. But it’s also not earth. You are here even though I never have been, so I never could have built you and yet, paradoxically, here you are. Don’t look at me like that I swear it makes sense, listen—’’ He stopped, fully turning to the tower.

A rift space explosion rips everything apart, time and space, it can have impossible to imagine consequences. An infinity of possibilities in a smallest fraction of a second. Something… made all this out of that enormous amount of options. Collapsing them into this whole universe— his hands spread out as if he tried to grasp the magnitude around him.

Hypothesis; It’s a snapshot of our universe. Not a new or unique universe as we understand it, it’s not cradled between the hell dimensions because it was created inside another universe, instead it is a whole parallel copy of the third dimension as we experience it, most likely pushed deep somewhere along the other natural dimension. It occupies the same space, just a step to the side. Based on the state of your construction, about two to three thousand years ago, this copy sprung into existence out of nothing. The whole universe around it too. Based on the memory of the original universe itself. You think everything before that happened, but it didn’t, not here. It never existed. It’s just your memory, your data, every setting and information in the crystals that was copied from the original universe.

The Tower crossed his arms listening to him. A brow rose.

Yes. Zenozarax muttered. But why then? Based on the age of that universe, cosmologically speaking, 2000 years ago, even 3000, is too close to be just chance. There had to be something making that happen. Right? Some form of catalyst. He clapped his hands together. Lords, this is fascinating. I’m sure we’ll figure it out. No idea how we could test it though.

Then he abruptly halted with a slight oh on his face Oh, listen, consider this: What if this unnaturally created universe is still very much compressed into a very small space. Like an enormous amount of mass pulled from all across the rift space dimensions. The universe equivalent of a black hole — just less murderous… I hope, I mean I feel fine. Do you feel fine? Yeah — less murderous. — but that’s why time is so fucked up. The question is however, is this universe also expanding? If so, I’d put forward the possibility that time would slow down eventually relative to the original universe! We can test that through observations through the portals!

He stopped himself and took a deep breath. Okay. Alright. Enough of the theory crafting. I need to focus. All of that is not important right now. Because, do you know what all these things that are missing here have in common? He asked and the Tower glanced around and almost immediately a panel lit up to his side, having cross referenced the physical inventory with the storage node lists. Coming to the same conclusion.

Exactly. They are not native to this universe. Everything that doesn’t belong here originally, isn’t here. And you know what that means?

Now the Tower looked at him rather puzzled. It was a bit of a too open question for the tower to figure out what he was getting at or where his mind was.

No wizards! He said and an expression of understanding opened up on the tower’s face.

There is a good chance that I am the only one here, on this planet. Probably the entire universe. He turned to look around, not even really looking at the items around him. He chuckled lightly. And with that time dilation, I probably will be for the foreseeable future. They don’t even know this reality exists yet. But— He raised his finger, as if he hadn’t the familiar’s undivided attention already. We need to make sure, and also better see to it, that it stays that way in the end. That has to be part of the process.

On the still bright floating panel beside him a plain to-do list appeared with only the two entries so far being Find other wizards if they exist. and Limit access to the planet.

Yes. Thank you. Subitem: Build channelling device. Sub-subitem, make sure it doesn’t kill me. I really don’t have time for that. Also let’s check on my time hypothesis at first every year from now, every five if next years’ observation is inconclusive.

The tower nodded and the list expanded.

Speaking of, I need you to keep track of time for me. Alert me at midnight every day and make sure I notice. I already made some observations that seem to confirm that the surrounding universe is an exact copy — wait let me give you the visual scan I did. Zenozarax raised his hand and the tower immediately did the same and briefly the fingertips of his hand touched against the glowing shimmer of the hologram hand, acting as an access panel to the tower. Please calculate exactly how many days till the conjunction, using this star as the median point of the chaos resonance.

The Tower only slightly frowned, an expression of focus but by then the calculation had already been done and the information had appeared on the panel to their side next to the to-do list.

70.156 days. 192 years with some change. My - isn’t that generous. This should be doable. He was alone, critically lacking on manpower and resources — but that was temporary. He had the tower and almost two centuries to engineer himself into a position where he finally could finish what he had started. Take that next step to absolute freedom.

It’s just you and me now, baby. Let’s get to work then, shall we? He asked the Tower, and the familiar gave him a light smile. Let’s not waste second chances when we get them, eh! Off to the library!

At that the tower visibly flinched an intensely uncomfortable expression on the holographic face.

What?

*

This is bullshit!

His cursing was muffled from below the workstation’s centre table. Should have known better now shouldn’t I? A handful of cables flew across the room as he threw them away. I really have to redo this whole thing. And who is to blame for that? Mezchinhar!

He emerged from under the worktable and saw the familiar picking up the mess he created and sorting the cables on top of the broken panels.

This was the library, the information hub of the tower and one of the oldest nodes in the tower. It wasn’t per-se broken. It just turned out that a good chunk of the wiring and cables down here, he had, in his youthful naivety and impatience, gotten from Yoctotyr who obviously had gone behind his back and had gotten them from Mezchinhar. (Of course as it had been only about 11.000 years ago, calling himself young at that point was wildly inaccurate, but it was better to believe that he had changed since then than to admit that the impatience was just ingrained into who he was.) And that meant they weren’t here anymore. It was as bad in most of the rooms built that early, but he blessed the fact that the tower was even here to begin with. Credit went to himself for that, because in their grand plans for this planet Yoctotyr had early on agreed to try to become as self-sufficient as possible. (But obviously not being as strict about it as Zenozarax had tried to be)

However, he still had a lot of wiring to redo to get the tower back into full working order.

It took a while. The tower notified him at midnight that another day had passed and it took Zenozarax by surprise. However, not much later he finally wrangled the last set of cables back into their enclosure and with a not too gentle push against the panel the library lit up again. Panels came alive around him, crawling through the stored information, reaching out, searching, finding, reporting.

A map of the land came up, covering the Southland’s up to the northern isles, and one by one small marks appeared in the northern half. The net of information broke up the moment they reached another node, only confirming they were in as bad a shape as his tower, if not worse.

With a frown and crossed arms he stood before the floating display before him.

Are you sure?

The tower kept quiet, the display did not change the map it’s presented.

There they were. The Dark Tower, Wittenmoor, Obermoor and Marcardsmoor. On the original earth there had been a few others, even surface towers, that had been built after he had left earth as part of the great galactic expansion project that had been the Galactic Empire of Treva. But none of them were here. In this time only the towers he himself had built existed.

A fine line was drawn between the theoretically existing towers, forming a skewed trapezoid. The physical connection between them was broken, but the tower was aware and adamant that indeed, they were there. They existed.

It makes sense. You exist, so they do too… he pondered, frowning even deeper. Damit, I have to go look, don’t I? Can’t just have those around without knowing what — or who — is inside. If there is anyone inside. With a deep unhappy murmur he uncrossed his arms. “Let’s go out with a bang or not go at all, right?”

He could downright feel the disapproving glare those words evoked within the tower that was now very much aware that it’s counterpart on the original Earth had blown up alongside the planet.

“Sorry, bad choice of words,” he muttered.

5 The Dark Tower

Relying on the much more diffuse shift in energy of the chaos teleport, Zenozarax appeared on the top of the mountain Wormberg. Having calculated a little margin for error he dropped about a metre down, landing perfectly quiet on the patchy ground of rubble, grass and shrubbery.

Down below the slopes the natural forest was thick and rustling in the wind, but here near the top wasn’t much in the sense of cover that would shield him from plain sight, as in: there was none. However, from where he stood he was at least shielded from direct view of the Dark Tower’s entrance by the shifting elevation and from the tower’s detection range by mere distance.

A strong wind was beating through his hair and cloak. It wasn’t truly raining but it wasn’t exactly dry either. Carried by the wind were an annoying amount of drizzle that was too much as to be called mist and too little as to classify as rain. The very moment he stepped into this cold dampness he felt his mood turn sour. Rain had its way to do that to him for a while.

He didn’t focus on it though as he carefully advanced towards the entrance of the Dark Tower. Unlike the three large towers built afterwards, the Dark Tower had no structure above ground, nor a dimensional dome to protect it from outsiders. At least, if his theory was correct, it shouldn’t have one in this reality.

It hadn’t been there three thousand years ago but, from the gathered information about the original earth, he knew it had been retroactively installed after one too curious human had found their way inside. Hence, if his theory was correct, even though those events had played out, history had not repeated itself. Because there had been no overly orderly wizard here to act on the infraction.

Following the steps of the infamous Trevalon he approached the tower carefully, ready to teleport away at a moment’s notice.

Zenozarax didn’t know half as much about Treva’s history as he would want right about now — after all, he had left earth about 50 years before the city had even been founded. But he had read up on it once Earth’s importance in his plan had become clear and he had to deal with the wizard element present on it. Treva’s great spire had been an oddity. Something that shouldn’t have been here.

An oversight that probably had Yoctotyr fuming for years after. In his very unnervingly calm way of being pissed-off, of course.

The highest point of Wormberg was as barren and desolate — however, still not allowing his attention and senses to rest he kept his surroundings carefully under watch. Then he spotted the small pit of darkness leading into the mountain. It was a small tunnel entrance, while holding no artistic value it was undeniably artificial. In fact it had been the subject of one of the many fights between himself and Yoctotyr, who had vehemently refused to let him erect a monument around the entrance. While Zenozarax was not a particular fan of polished granite, finding it a bit tacky, it was right here! One could have done something with it.

But it had been in a time when Yoctotyr had still tried to keep their presence hidden from the human population, so all that had been installed had been a simple holographic mirage that let the entrance vanish from clear sight. Said hologram was gone now. Maybe it had broken down naturally, maybe it had been destroyed, but it was gone and with that the ugly entrance was hard to miss.

Slowly he descended down the slope. There were no stairs but the ground was perforated with a rough pattern which prevented him from slipping even on the wet granit. The tunnel curled around in a wide spiral and once the faint light of day vanished, he cast a little light that followed him.

Soon he stood in front of a door which had been broken open by force. The mechanics and magic lay open and dead, leaving only this unceremonious hole into darkness before him.

The Dark Tower wasn’t a fortress, it wasn’t much of anything really, just their first base of operation, caved into the stone which had kept them well hidden and dry for a long time. As he stepped over the remains of the door he realised that the Dark Tower was now neither hidden nor dry anymore as his boots splashed right into a low puddle of water having gathered below the doorway.

This tower was, in theory, specifically engineered to prevent flooding of the lower levels during an ice melt as it had been built during a time when the land up top had been covered by several hundred metres of ice. But the magic lay dormant and with the broken entrance nothing had stopped the water of rain and snow to accumulate within. He walked through ankle high water and if there was water here, the chances were good the tower below was completely flooded.

Zenozarax reached a small entrance hall with walls of carved and polished stone, displaying a decorative mix of organic and arcane patterns he still found quite pretty. In the cold light of his magical light the room looked abandoned and forgotten after having been left to time and nature to slowly rot away. The water now reached half up his calves and wading through it filled him with a weirdly uncomfortable feeling. But, like with the rain before he didn’t pay much attention to it anymore.

In the centre he raised his hand. Magic rushed through the ancient runes on his fingers and as a low vibration rumbled through the stone the centre of the hall started to lit up, spreading out from the centre —

With a bombastic shower of sparks and lightning, and electricity stinging through his feet in the water, the entire tower turned pitch black again.

Muttering a curse under his breath he gave credit to the Dark Tower to now really living up to its name. The light had always been on the frizz and now, given that its state had to be a thousand times worse than his own tower in Kaltenmoor, he doubted he would get anything magical to work down here. Fortunately, not everything within the Dark Tower was magical in nature.

If it were any other way, he might as well have turned around right now. The water was relatively cold and while he as a wizard would have had no problem diving below, even walking down into the water, anchored to the ground by his magic, with no need to breathe — the idea of being once more submerged in freezing cold liquid sent shivers down his spine. There was nothing here that was important enough to make that worth it.

The low shock he had received still tingled in his legs as he stepped to the side of the room and, reaching into a little ledge in the smooth stone, pulled a mechanical lever forwards. The wall opened up showing a very unmagical contraption that reached with pistons and pipes into the surrounding wall.

He took hold of a massive switch with both hands and forced it down. A hiss went through the pipes and an aching through the mechanics as superheated steam from far below the surface of the Earth started to rush up the tower. A gurgling echoed through the tower as if someone had just pulled the plug of an enormous bathtub. Distantly he heard pistons pumping, aching and hissing. But working.

Magic was great. Very helpful and convenient. But, he and Yoctotyr had always had a knack for the mechanical. Especially when it came to back-up-back-up redundancies. Especially-especially with a tower that always had been as petulant and prone to failures as this one.

And he would admit, seeing the water drain before his eyes felt pretty satisfying — afterall, he had built it and of course it still worked, even after lords knew how many millennia left unattended. Pretty good work if he said so himself.

He followed the water, slowly making his way down.

The Dark Tower wasn’t as tall as any of the others, not as impressive nor as feature rich. But it was a great representation of what would expect him in any of the other towers.

Centuries of neglect had taken its toll on the exposed structure. As he still waded through ankle deep water. Dark algae and strange small creatures lined the walls and surfaces. Living organisms that didn’t need the sun and had thrived in the relative warmth of the abandoned structure further below, where the natural geothermal energy would have created a fertile breeding ground for them. The Dark Tower should have been sterilized and sealed from any life finding its way inside, but once it had been opened, nature had found its way inside and taken what was hers.

The workshop levels were in disarray, and thoughtfully he passed the cabinets. His hand touched the once smooth metal, noticing the scratches and signs of purposeful violence.

Whoever had found the tower first, had been very eager to reveal its secrets. By force if necessary. He wondered how long Trevalon had been here. If it had been him, assuming this world really echoed the one he knew. Rummaging through old magic, cabinets and libraries of long forgotten might. Perfectly undisturbed because no wizard could have stopped him.

He wondered if Trevalon had been able to make sense of the knowledge he had found. If there had still been papers and books here, they were gone now. Either taken by man, nature or time. Trevalon wouldn’t have been able to read them — but maybe what he had seen here was enough. To open up the mind to new possibilities. New ideas. To build a tower in the heart of his new city that defied all sense of natural time and progress.

As he reached the storage levels he found the same status he had witnessed in his own tower — only worse. While Zenozarax more often than not had made it a point of pride to acquire the materials he needed locally, Yoctotyr had always been more flexible, not too proud to request materials from Mezchinhar in a pinch when he needed them, much to Zenozarax’ ire. Now the consequence was that the Dark Towers storage was almost empty.

Though he had to consider the possibility that whoever had raided the tower had taken more than just knowledge. There had been gold here, gems and jewels. Crystals and precious materials used for construction and with no high value to any wizard, but to humans in this age… Zenozarax smiled to himself. He had been so focused on the metaphysical sense of power and knowledge this tower represented, that he had almost forgotten how much power would be granted to someone acquiring this kind of wealth. From one moment to the next, Trevalon would have become the richest and most powerful person on earth by quite a margin.

Further down, the constructed chambers were in shambles. This time not by human influence, but simply time and interdimensional fuckery. From how it looked, and a quick test on some of the constructs confirmed as much, nothing here would still be working. Too much of their internal construction was simply missing or corroded by centuries underwater.

He would find the same, minus the water damage, in all the other towers.

It was all old, broken and useless to him. Maybe a few of the materials he could scavenge, but none of it was particularly rare to find. At least for a wizard.

He should be set to get started with everything he already had in his own tower, and once he had constructed some mines and production lines all his needs should be fulfilled without having to resort to pillaging the unreliable storages of the towers. Gaining access, searching through them for anything usable in the first place and then bringing the stuff back to his own tower seemed more hassle than it was worth when he sat on an untapped pile of ressources (earth and the solar system itself) he would have full control over. A few barrels of helium or even a ton of gallium would probably be no more than a single drop on a hot stone concerning the material requirements in raw ressources he’d need for what he was planning to do.

Zenozarax left the constructs and pitiful ressources behind and descended the last flight of stairs down into the first chamber. He had no good reason to do so besides indulging in a sense of nostalgia.

The water had almost completely drained, leaving a fine sludge of decomposed organic material and rust on the floor that reeked like a rotting bog.

He stood in the chamber for a while. It was left almost like the last time he had seen it, thousands of years ago. It struck him as very sentimental of Yoctotyr, but not surprising. The first chamber seemed more like a small and derelict museum to him than a place that would still have been in use. There were still the first workbenches Zenozarax had constructed, next to the designated storage area that had been their sleeping spots before the rooms around the chamber had been built. There was still this neolithic charm to the chamber. Rock left in its natural form poking out from perfectly polished walls and pillars, inlayed with magical light that now only looked like black tendrils infused into the rock.

He heard his own sigh.

There had been joy and value here once. He had liked being here and he allowed himself the moment to indulge his nostalgia. It had been only nine thousand years give or take, a brief amount compared to the length of his life, but in those nine thousand years he had come to love this planet and its people. He had come to hate it too after all that had happened. But in truth his hatred had never been for the planet and people themself, but the wizard claiming them as theirs.

Yet, a thousand years ago when he had marched on Treva, he had known of the casualties he would cause. And no matter how heavy his heart was, it had been a decision he had made, a sacrifice for the greater good that had to be made.  

The same that would need to be made now.

There was a purpose to it. A near sacred responsibility.

He had been on many worlds in his life and there he had gotten to know many different flavours of morality. But even within those not many would consider what he was about to do as morally just. But at least, if he succeeded, he would cripple Mezchinhar to the point where this absolute control over the multiverse was no longer possible. It would prevent these things from happening again in the first place. The war needed to stop. Otherwise the death toll and destruction would only grow further and further.

He forced open a door to the side of the chamber that led to his first personal space in the Dark Tower. Some water splashed around his feet as he entered. The room was relatively small and for his standards very humble with not much more than a simple dresser, a study, and an unimpressive bed. There used to be a chair here too, but he could spot no signs of its whereabouts.

There was nothing here but memories and so he turned around and let them rest. Ready to leave again he decided to not simply port out of here. Instead he would see to it that the tower was sealed again to prevent further flooding. It was a rather pointless decision but it felt more right.

As he crossed the chamber however he suddenly halted as he heard a small crunch beneath his feet. Glancing down into the inch high sludge around he saw a slight raise and dull shine where his boot had been. He reached down and pulled a small, round object from the mud.

He whipped it clean with the cuff of his robe and revealed an intricate designed pocket watch. It was one of Yoctotyr’s - and even with the still lingering dirt and signs of wear he could see it was beautiful.

Yoctotyr had always had a very charming fascination with human technology, indulging in the study of old mechanical devices like this as a kind of a hobby of sorts. It was a fascination that had first been kindled when they had been Scions together with Lord Wizard Moldiana, exploring the multiverse. And it was the reason why, in the end, Yoctotyr had become this earth’s custodian. He liked humans and their ingenuity even though it paled to the might of their magic. Zenozarax had liked that about him. It had allowed him to indulge in projects like the hydraulic pumps within this tower. They had found a common interest in mechanical design.

Zenozarax stashed the pocket watch where it would by name belong: into his pocket. Maybe he could restore it to working order. It would be as good a device to keep track of time as any.

Then, leaving the Dark Tower and all its memories, the broken magic, and the still hissing pumps behind, Zenozarax left for the final time, resealing the forgotten history behind heavy doors.

His more surface level visits to Obermoor, Marcardsmoor and Wittenmoor were a lot shorter. As most notable stood out the exposed tower in Marcardsmoor which had, as all towers, originally been built underground but after the massive detonation that had concluded the battle of Funnix, its entire structure had been laid bare with all the rock surrounding it being blasted away by that force of chaos.

But that was only another minor fact that pinpointed the exact time of creation of this universe to somewhen close after 2557 BD.

Besides that, the visits to the towers only confirmed what he already knew. They lay dormant and forgotten. Holding nothing of worth to him. And so he carried on, ignoring their presence and what they once represented.

Focusing purely on the here and now.

6 Kaltenmoor

Zenozarax appeared on the towers sigil, still plain physically shielded from any curious eyes by the ruins of the old walls.

Between fixing his own tower and appearance, and the visit to the other towers, he had somehow managed to pass the better part of two weeks since he had last set foot in Kaltenmoor. Or at least the tower was very adamant that it really had been that long already.

Even without a sense of time he was capable of roughly estimating some time frames by experience, but on this one he had to believe the tower. He worried that his, since Charon, newly developed tendency to lose himself in his memories was starting to become a problem. Getting lost in work was acceptable, wasting time daydreaming was not. At least not when there was a very concrete deadline looming in the distant future.

Consequently Yoctoty’s pocket watch was still in his belt pouch, and it was now working again. Given the masterful craftsmanship and high quality magically infused material used by Yoctotyr to create it, fixing it had been mostly a task of properly cleaning it and adjusting the time. Now the old piece ticked along smoothly and would maybe (hopefully) prevent him from accidentally spending the next 192 years stargazing. Even stashed in his pocket he could hear the soft ticking in the back of his mind, reminding him with every second of what he was here to do.

The sun stood low but it was still hot. The unmoving air tasted dry and earthy. To his feet, in the high and dry grass and dusty dirt his excavation of the sigil had upturned, he noticed the Book of North laying where in his excitement he had forgotten it once the tower had been revealed to him. The cover was dirty and its pages slightly rippled, and he realised it would have been soaked by dew or rain. He picked up the book and half heartedly brushed off some of the dry dirt. Afterall he still needed to finish it.

Then he stepped out of the little overgrown garden and got back to the main road. The moment the people noticed him they halted and stared.

Every step was accompanied by a little pleasant chim of the ornaments on his cloak. Gone were the rampaged and burned robe, and nothing but the neglected book reminded of the humble look he had acquired after.

In the hot evening sun the gold and gems sparkled dazzlingly, like a shimmer in the heat that had embraced his entire person. The cloak danced behind him even though there was no wind and it never rose higher than a few feet as if it was controlled by an invisible hand. The light yellow fabric of his robe was so finely weaved it barely showed any roughness and shimmered in the light.

Whispers followed him. For a moment after his arrival he had blended in. For a moment the people had accepted him as a strange but probably harmless newcomer. Now they realised that he was nothing like them. They had never seen garments so beautiful and so brazenly presented in their humble town. And for the first time the people of Kaltenmoor felt it.

The strangely unsettling feeling that whispered far in the back of their subconsciousness, that they looked upon something they didn’t understand. Even if none of them would be able to guess the true nature of these feelings.

An excited voice called out to someone, then, Sire!

He had reached the inn he had stayed in before and Lelina, maybe drawn outside by the suspicious murmur his presence caused, had spotted him. Now the young girl came running up to him.

Sire, are you alright? We were worried when you disappeared, she said, seemingly ignoring the obvious change in appearance.

I’m sorry to have worried you. I had to take care of some things, he said with an apologetic smile. His words puzzled the young girl, nevertheless she said,

We kept your room as it was. It was well paid for after all. She frowned seriously as if she had won a great battle over it, and indeed, Even though Master Bennet was about to at least clear the room already, but I convinced him to wait.

It probably was some still lingering guilt that made the young girl as passionate about this as she was, Zenozarax assumed free of judgement.

I won’t need the room anymore. I’ll collect the rest of my belongings and notify Bennet when I’m done. Zenozarax continued on into the inn.

Lelina nodded as she followed him. The puzzled and awestruck whisperer followed them with every step. Consequently Lelina finally asked,

Do you own land near here? Of course she had to assume, given his lack of a horse or any other form of transportation, that he had made his way to his estate and back again on foot. And that, given the lack of any provisions or even a travel pack, it had to be near.

Zenozarax smiled. I have a place close by, yes.

I see, the young girl said, but didn’t seem very satisfied with that answer. You haven’t given us your name yet, Sire. I must have heard of someone like you before. I would be most humbled to be serving a lord or royalty.

The name’s Zenozarax. Just Zenozarax. He said freely as he sat down at the counter and lay down the wrinkly Book of North before him. There were only a few people in at this time, it was even hotter inside than it was outside, so the few that were, just sat quietly. Eying him carefully. He sensed a tense mood but tentatively doubted it was due to his appearance. He too felt the strange feeling this heat conveyed. There was something foreboding about it. But whatever it was, it would be irrelevant to him, and so he ignored it.

The inn owner, Master Bennet, was nowhere to be seen and he assumed Lelina was to tend to the customers’ needs now — however, instead of tending to said nebulous needs, he noticed the young girl staring at him with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

That’s a wizard name, she finally said, almost neutrally, glancing at the book between them. The name of the dark lord.

It is, Zenozarax confirmed. A very egomaniacal title given the concept of the word in his own native language, but it had a certain flair to it. Do you have any cold ale on the tab?

Oh, yes, of course! My apologies. She hurried around the bar and filled up a tankard. While doing so she asked, Why were you given that name? Are your parents… She didn’t finish the sentence, implying that he should know what she was referring to.

Wizards are not held in high regard around here as I gathered, yes? He tapped the Book of North with his finger.

No, sire. She put the ale down before him. Are they were you come from?

Not really. He chuckled and took a long sip from the ale. It was as good as he remembered and the taste alone nearly threatened to make him fall head first into a wide open pit of nostalgia. He kept himself from it by refocusing on the near imaginary ticking of the clock in his pocket.

It’s cruel to name a child that then, Lelina said with a frown but quickly added, I mean no offence.

Non taken. He put down the tankard again. But from your question I assume there are indeed places that approve of wizards?

She wrinkled her nose. Allegedly. Up north.

Come now, even your book tells of wizards helping the Northman to defeat great evil, Zenozarax countered. He hadn’t been surprised about the distain in the descriptions of his own person, but the implied fondness of Ravalor (which even in the scripture sounded like drunk rambling) had been puzzling. Zenozarax had to assume those two to have a shared history, if not a friendship. That was good, he assumed. Troubling in that Ravalor as of late seemed to surround himself with people hellbent on killing him, but not unrelatable all things considered.

But he also tells us not to trust them! They are no beings of virtue, but of deception and lies!

Well. Yes. Zenozarax had to concede. No falsehood there.

Lelina was waved away and Zenozarax took another sip while he opened the book. After he quickly found the page he had stopped on the last time he finally continued to read.

He had been surprised about the undeniably critical view of wizards within the book, which kindled a strange and unexpected kind of kinship to this god that wanted him dead. It was the kind of blunt honesty one would get from a man after too many drinks, shrouded in what appeared to be centuries worth of retelling and embellishing of the source material.

He didn’t know much about the Northman besides the fact that he was a cyborg of wizard design that had stood against him in that dreadful battle on earth where he had faced the might of the Hammer Izarax for the first time.

But he was a creation of wizards, the book didn’t say so implicitly but Zenozarax knew enough to read between the lines to know that the god of this world was not a natural being of this time. He hence had concluded that, given the lack of any wizards around here so far, the Northman might had arrived in this world the same way he had. Just a lot earlier.

At first he had been puzzled as to why that cyborg of all people would be here as well — and then he had remembered that flash again. And with the knowledge of this book and its very trippy creation myth speaking of a grand explosion of this god’s heart before being reborn to form the universe, he finally understood what had gone wrong. He was equally impressed and concerned by the practicality of the solution Ravalor had chosen. And it had to be his doing surely.

It was unsettling. Not only because Ravalor had seemingly sent someone who may considered him a friend to his death just to stop him. But also, if the rift space had been destroyed … the destruction would have been absolute. Earth would be truly gone. He could barely believe he could have driven Ravalor to such an action. It barely made sense. But neither did the abnormal state of mind he had been in. He felt… an undeniable sense of shame. And worry. Since he couldn’t do anything about either though, he chose to ignore both.

The book was firm to establish that every account of the wizard named Ravalor was bound to a distant past. He wasn’t present as an actor in these tales, only as a friend or companion that was long gone, before in later tales vanishing all together as if forgotten about. There had been a brief but intense worry that Ravalor might have arrived on this earth as well. But from all he had read, he was stuck in the original universe just like everybody else. And so, whatever had happened to Ravalor, whatever was happening to Ravalor right now, would be of no importance till 192 years from now. Or at least he tried very hard to convince himself of that.

Zenozarax sighed and continued reading.

From the corner of his eye he kept the window in view. The sun was setting now, the world outside drenched in a deep crimson red and Lelina moved around the taproom setting up the lights for tonight. More and more people found their way into the inn.

While Zenozarax read a very colourful (and hopefully made up) tale of an Ogre and an Orgy that had some hidden morals hidden within it Zenozarax couldn’t discern, the voices around him grew louder and more numerous. Drink and food was served. Master Bennet showed up at some point and greeted Zenozarax to have a few words with him. He pointed out the sorry state of the book and Zenozarax excused it by telling him he had been caught in the rain. Bennet seemed to not really believe that. Against all odds based on his familiarity with the land it was possible that it hadn’t rained in his absence he supposed. Considering the dryness of the land and air it was actually quite possible and he cursed himself for such a weak lie. But Bennet had no reason to ask further into it.

A little later he too was offered food, but declined.

He stood out between the people around, of course he did, and he was aware of that. He was right here in the middle of them, but for now he was separated from the people of Kaltenmoor by an imaginary bubble around him. Sitting here without intruding on them like he was holding out a hand to a scared animal to establish his presence and let it get comfortable with the unfamiliar scent. He was an outsider, now more so than ever, and in his current dress the people of Kaltenmoor didn’t quite know what to make of him yet. Maybe, in a few drinks from now, this would change. Zenozarax would welcome it.

He enjoyed the chatter around him; Lazily reading and sipping on his ale, he felt a pleasant sense of calm.

While he was reading he was also listening. It was the most reliable way to gather information about the time he was in. As experience had taught all wizards well, it was generally a bad idea to go up to people and just ask too obvious questions like who is king? What is the state of the land, what is this land called? — at least it was a bad idea if one wanted to appear not absolutely crazy and make people avoid one.

But people talked, and wizards could hear very well. And so he listened to the conversations in the room. The mumbling of dozens of voices filtered through his mind and was untwisted into several singular conversations.

And so he knew the old land as well as the heathlands were currently ruled by Prince Tiofried, spoken about in a strange foreboding tone, and he wondered how close Treva was to see its King rise again against the crown in the south after the seat of power, established by conquest and slaughter by the overpowerful Trevalon, had apparently shifted back to Linden, city of the old throne, for historical reasons Zenozarax couldn’t recall reading about. Or if it ever would in this reality given the wizards absence. Yoctotyr had always taken great care in keeping their influence on the passage of time and history to a minimum, but even a minimum was more than nothing. It, as well as the presence of a new god, could have had wildly unpredictable influences in history — but so far nothing seemed too far off course.

Lelina replaced his ale on the counter mere moments after he had finished the first one.

Thank you. Zenozarax rummaging in his pouch and put a single golden coin on the counter. Enough payment to last him the rest of the evening. And the next couple after in all likelihood. He took a sip from his ale and put the mug back down. I’m hearing a lot of talk about Prince Tiofried. He prompted, getting her attention. Did something happen while I was gone?  

Oh plenty. Lelina said while drying some mugs. She told him about the local gossip as well as the news coming from the Southland’s. The king’s war across the seas. Getting off track she also mentioned briefly a rumour of their god appearing in the north.

The latter made him peak up, but unfortunately Lelina really knew nothing more than rumours of a man that looked like the Northman. Even further inquiries had her only shrug.

Later, when the tabroom had filled up, the mood seemed tense. It was late already but it was still hot and dry, and the few people that had found their way here were drenched in sweat. The air tasted dry and heavy, and soon reeked of the working men, standing utterly still in the air as no wind promised relief for either temperature or smell anytime soon.

But it wasn’t the heat that bothered these people. He heard muffled cursing, hushed whispers of worried voices hoping for a propper rain soon. Men and women that worked the fields and tended the animals whose concern lay not in the now, but the months to come. They did not care about the king, nor the prince, or any war. They only prayed for rain. Consequently he realised that his claim to Bennet earlier, that the book had been caught in the rain, really had been very unbelievable.

When the evening grew even older, he took advantage of the increased alcohol levels of the patrons and mingled for a while, listening to more of what the world might have to say. His generosity quickly turned suspicion and mistrust into drunken fondness and loose tongues.

Zenozarax was aware that maybe he was spending a little too much time doing this — but despite having garnered the reputation of a disgruntled loner while he had still been with Mezchinhar, it couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, Zenozarax wholeheartedly despised being alone for too long.

These few hours he spent drinking and chatting with the common folk, now, just as in the past, were like recharging a badly depleted battery whenever he stayed for weeks on end confined to his work within the tower. Yes, maybe in the future he could and should cut these visits down, shorten them even, but he knew himself well enough to know that long term, this would only make his work suffer.

He enjoyed this. And he hadn’t been able to do it for too long without fearing his mere presence to endanger everyone around him. Without fearing the world around him being without warning swallowed by Leviathan’s Wrath.

And after all, keeping up to date with the world up top had to be part of his plan if he wanted to avoid unwanted complications… again. Enough justifications to excuse at least this one evening.

Rumagin in the small satchel on his belt he pulled out the small pocket watch and gave the time a glance. As he was about to put the delicate and magnificent looking watch away again he noticed Lelina’s glance who had returned from seeing some other customers.

I was thinking— Lelina took his empty mug and replaced it with a full one. Zenozarax had drunk along with many folk here, not least of all Master Bennet himself who seemed to be his own best customer tonight, and yet he and Lelina were the only still sober people in the pub right now. Maybe you shouldn’t use your name here.

Not able to keep himself from it, Zenozarax scoffed, almost outraged. Why is that?

You know how I told you about the war in the south?

That you did.

Prince Tiofried seems eager to take advantage of the King’s absence. I keep hearing, just in whispers, of many men leaving their homesteads to gather under his banner.

Callus timing, Zenozarax noted. It made sense with what he had heard so far. I assume he strives for independence?

Lelina shrugged. All I know is that Prince Tiofried is a man of strong faith. And you…. She fell silent.

Their eyes met for a moment, the unspoken words hung between them, as Zenozarax rose his brows, downright daring the girl to say them. As she didn’t, however, he said,

I appreciate the concern, but fear not for my safety child, I do not fear princes or kings. Well, all but one with one particular hammer, but that one was safely away from him stuck in another universe and time. So, he had no reason to worry about anything at this point.

That will get you killed, sire. Lelina retorted dryly, not impressed by his confidence.

Counting on it. Zenozarax looked back into the room as Lelina, reasonably puzzled and probably as weirded out by his remark, went back to her work.

Zenozarax took his ale again and glanced back at his watch. Maybe another half hour, then he really should get back to the tower. The ticking of the clock continued mercilessly.

He had already wasted enough time.

7 The Problem

With the library back online Zenozarax entered the observatory and, while linked into the tower directly, opened up an intensely detailed map of earth. For any human’s eyes this mess of information would make no sense. Every layer and every composition of earth’s mantle was displayed, every rock formation noted and every material labelled. Each of them in different hues that Zenozarax could easily filter out or add to his perception to his liking without having to manipulate the map itself.

For the purpose of resource gathering he had two options. Either he would scavenge the surrounding Starsystem or he could stay local and take what he needed from his doorstep. There were pros and cons to each option, however he had decided against extraterrestrial resource gathering on the basis that it would initially take more time and resources than staying within the gravity well despite yielding a higher output in the long run. But he didn’t care about the long run.

This map was old, its first basic version had been made about eleven thousand years ago, the most recent iteration was only six thousand years younger. After that, if anyone had bothered to update it Zenozarax didn’t know of it nor did he have access to it.

However, given the fact that the technological advancement of this civilization was just shy of making any real difference to the resources he was interested in, even his five thousand year old chart should prove sufficient enough once the near negligible tectonic shift and his own visual observation from orbit were calculated into it.

The beginning would prove the hardest. He’d have to manually gather enough resources to get a first primitive line of automation going within the tower that would produce enough base magical matter so that he could construct the more specialised facilities after that.

He kept listening to the ticking of the pocket watch he had put on the centre workconsol, always in direct sight. Every 84600 seconds the tower gave him a low notice within the back of his mind that another day had passed. By now every time this happened it sent a pang of tension through his body.

Nevertheless he carefully went over the possible sites, cross referencing them with the towers help and marking them down in order of importance.

There was a lot of work to be done and while he had only limited time, he knew better than to rush even one step of it. This needed to work, it needed to be perfect. It might be the last chance he’d get for a very long time.

The plan was fairly straightforward.

Back on the other earth, when the original stellar alignment had occurred, he didn’t have to rely on the ressources earth could provide him. He had brought everything he had needed from outside, being able to construct the structures to harness the power far away from earth. A massive ship had been constructed that had included the aggregators, the spine, the power plant and the channelling device.

Now he didn’t have that luxury. Now he had to build everything he needed right here from scratch.

But he was lucky, in a way, because Treva’s great spire existed already. One of the largest parts of this construction was already taken care of — just needing a little retrofitting.

He just needed to establish a reliable source of resources and fabrication; defences for the inevitable resistance and in case of an attack, no matter how unlikely; and a workforce to build the structures needed.

And so he got to work planning.

For days he didn’t leave the room. Panel after panel was raised, by day two they started to overlap and he needed to sort them over and over again as details changed or new considerations fell into place.

The familiar of the tower stayed with him the entire time even though there was nothing this physical manifestation could do the tower consciousness itself couldn’t do much more efficiently. But he told the tower to keep it so he could hurl his unfiltered thoughts and ideas at someone to sort them out.

He fell into a comfortable rhythm of work, kept on track by the monoton and unrelenting ticking of the pocket watch.

Information flooded the room, geological survey data seasonal changes, temporal shifts, estimated population data of civilian hotspots, and resource availability. Blueprints were constructed and updated by purpose and location, mines, forges, factories, transportation, demons, soldiers and war machines, and of course the channelling device, the aggregators, the power plant and the retrofitting of Treva’s spire. The most monumental task would be the array of billions of small chaos based constructs that would encase the sun in a fine net, aligning the chaos resonance to the receiver on earth.

A lot of it, given this new situation, he had to design from scratch. And it all added to the ever expanding list of required resources which then cross referenced with the estimated timeline and the point of completion for the individual sites, then adding to the ressource intake. It all was limited by his own power and the amount of forces he could reasonably control effectively at any given time.

And with every passing hour, with every point adding to the list, he felt a horrible realisation start to take hold. Yet he kept going, hoping that once he finalised the plan all would fall into place.

He could build a few soldiers — simply for their combat effectiveness should he come to need them, but he soon realised that building his workforce would soak up too much time and resources as to be a viable course of action.

Ideally would be goblins — but with the state of the universe he was pretty sure no matter where he’d look he wouldn’t find them here. They didn’t belong here either. Like so much that was missing in this universe.

A more heavy focus on automation, especially given the complexities of the operation, would run into a similar problem like the soldiers: taking much more of his limited time to set up than it could make up for later.

And that... was a problem.

Zenozarax halted, staring at the panel before him that estimated the time to completion. He had let the tower check the numbers thrice over, he himself had checked double as often if he had planned correctly and had allocated all ressources to where they would be needed. He had.

…

244 years.

His heart sank as he, for the first time in five days, stepped back to sit down. Starring at the panel. In the silence around him, the ticking of the clock beside him seemed to grow louder and louder.

244 years - that was when absolutely everything would go perfect with not a single set-back. And it was still 52 years too late.

He was the problem. The bottleneck in all of this.

Zenozarax drove his fingers through his hair, staring at the numbers. He was a powerful sorcerer, but he was just one wizard, one Part, and this was beyond him.

Here’s the problem, he muttered. The familiar of the tower walked over to him, pretending to follow his gaze and to look at the panels even though it already knew everything on them. To keep all of that running effectively, to have it all work at the same time, I need to control a workforce of tens of thousands. For all of this, maybe more. Even when we use a summoning chamber, holding control over that amount of demons is tricky. Not impossible with a summoning chamber, not for me, but not effective. They won’t be able to act intelligently. Not without my direct control. And not even I can’t control that many demons individually at once. So. We can only run all these nodes separately. Only mining, only production, only construction, two or three sites, with two thousand demons at maximum, probably much less — reducing the overall productivity and effectiveness of the entire system down to a fraction at any given moment.

With the nature of the problem, not even bringing the Warrior here would solve it. It would increase the sites that could be run at the same time to two — but that still wasn’t enough. He knew that and yet he ran those numbers anyways. It barely shaved off 15 years of the estimated timeline. Better, but still way too slow.

The plain constructions here on earth weren’t the problem. It was the sheer mass of sun satellites he needed to build. Because almost everything else needed to be finished before, to give him the resources and facilities to do it. But they were talking about billions of constructs. It was a pure numbers game. If he couldn’t finish the base constructions in time, if he didn’t have a steady flow of the resources needed, he wouldn’t be able to do it.

More soldiers would work, they can act independently of me. But building them would take my entire focus and again, more time than I have. I can’t build them quickly enough to make up for the time I’m losing. I just… need... He mumbled into his hand as the side of his index finger nervously tapped against his lower lip. Then he became very still. Still staring at the panels.

The demons are just too stupid. He said quietly. His eyes rested on the numbers displaying the estimated population of the planet. Something twisted in his guts.

Then he stayed quiet for a long time, his eyes never waving from the panels, his hand still resting against his lips. And he tried to see another path.

But there really was none. Not with the situation as it was.

He took a deep breath.

Zenozarax was a very capable sorcerer, yes, but his mastery of necromancy too would only be rivalled by the wizards of yore. And so he knew that this was possible. Not only possible but the easiest and most effective way to construct all of this, to keep the factories and mines running day and night.

Another deep breath.

The clock beside him kept ticking.

Once the stellar alignment was at hand, and the sun turned dark, this world would sink into chaos — figuratively and literally. What he was about to do would inevitably kill millions.

Not because he wanted to kill them, but simply because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Collateral. It was the same cold calculating approach Mezchinhar would take, the same approach he had fought against time and time again. But it really didn’t matter what he wanted.

It was a sacrifice that had to be made and he had accepted that already a thousand years ago. The sacrifice of one solar system and the planet, the home he had lost, to end this never ending war once and for all. And nothing of this would ever have to happen again. He would finally be free. … They all would be free.

Wizards. Billions. Trillions. Quadrillions. Whatever the number was by now, as it grew so did a constant fraction that got lost. Broke off. Because they didn’t fit in. Or they were forced to. Or striving for something Mezchinhar couldn’t give them. But once they had left they could never stop fighting Mezchinhar.

And even though he despised them — Zenozarax understood, maybe better than anyone else, why Mezchinhar couldn’t stop. Because he knew the destruction that slumbered just beneath his fingertips.

As long as this machine was running it would never stop. Because it couldn’t.

The more wizards there were, the more chaos wizards came to be. The more chaos wizards there were, the harder Mezchinhar pushed against this threat. The harder Mezchinhar pushed the more desperate the fight became. The more desperate, the more everything around them died. When the fighting took on celestial proportions, when galaxies burned and suns were torn apart, everything died. Decimating life and wizards alike.

Over one billion years ago, the war of six Iums had torn through the multiverse. A crusade that left nothing standing in its path. He had been brought into time after it had ended. Brought into a sense of false peace as they were told that there were no more chaos wizards. It had been a peace and quiet that had been built upon the weak ground of the graveyard of billions upon billions of dead wizards.

That peace had long collapsed.

And he could sense it. There was a clash coming. They called it the neverending war now, but it would pale against what could be. He had heard the whispers, seen the desperation.

When chaos would rise once more, when that unstoppable force would clash against near infinite numbers, they all would die.

There was only one way to stop it from happening.

He had to stop the machine.

It had to be done. He could not squander this second chance. This was what he needed to do, this was his purpose. Time had set him on this path and he was, by chance or design, the only one who could do it. It was his fate. His destiny. His chance to change everything.

These people would die, one way or another. Only now he would have to make sure thousands did so a lot earlier than was inevitable. And then thousands more when the first ones had deteriorated too much. And probably thousands again after that… they would die, so that an infinity of others may live without ever knowing the destruction caused by the lords’ creations.

The clock beside him kept ticking.

A sick feeling bloomed in his stomach. He closed the cover of the watch as he stood up.

Zenozarax left the observatory without another word.

The Tower’s familiar only watched after him with a calm look on its face, then dissolved into a glimmer of light.

The panels in the observatory turned dark.

And an oppressive silence settled inside the Tower.

8 A Village

He had to be careful.

Limited to the ressources this earth and universe provided him, the worst thing that could happen to him would be irreparable damage to his body, or more precisely, the fine weave of izthra within him that was the backbone of all his magical potential. Any other injury he could fix easily. Any scratch or even a broken limb would heal quickly with a bit of mana — but any damage to the weave carried a dangerous chance of becoming permanent and, consequently, limiting his power and with that the chance of success of this entire endeavour.

With sombre and slow movements Zenozarax removed the robe he was wearing, hanging it up to the others, before he turned back to the prepared set of new armour.

The chance of any human from this time seriously harming him was slim, but not at all impossible. A wizard’s body was powerful and resilient — but far from indestructible. He could ward off against magic, laser and bullets; dodge with inhuman reflexes and awareness; and survive the most hostile environments — but it only needed one slip up, a single moment of inattention, and any human with an axe could cause him serious trouble. He would like to believe he was too old for such mistakes. But he knew better than to rely on beliefs only.

The set of armour was designed accordingly. Head to toe coverage of dark, sleek, magically infused plating that was perfectly tuned to resonate with his own magic. A specialised, high collared, armoured base layer provided padding and extra protection, adjusted perfectly to the form of his body like a second skin.

Then he put on the sabatons, the greaves and cuisines. Over that the dark grey robe. The Warrior wouldn’t have chosen it, judging the entire set as too heavy, too restrictive. But Zenozarax didn’t plan for agile combat, no one on one struggle, no dodging — he didn’t have to. He would become indestructible. An unstoppable force out of time. A machine of war in and of itself. And the armour depicted him as such.

Over the robe, he added the cuirass, and quietly the towers familiar helped him close it down. Then the individual pieces of the arms, finishing up with the spiked pauldrons and gauntlets which ended in sharp claws that were able to amplify the power of his magic into deadly bursts of focused energy.

At last he picked up the dark crown that, when the moment came, would expand into a full helmet and mask.

For a moment he looked into the mirror before him. He looked dark, grim, menacing. He felt dreadful. But just like the Warrior had done countless times before, he took a deep breath and readied himself, locking away all and any distracting feelings and thoughts.

Then he closed down the mask.

His mind cleared as his focus narrowed.

And he became the nightmare of this world.

The evil their god had known.

Because it had to be done.

*

It was a beautiful night, the full moon stood bright and low on the horizon of this distant land. The galaxy sparkled above him in the darkness, the most beautiful artwork time had ever created, but he barely saw any of it.

As the Wizard approached the sleeping village before him, his steps were muffled by grass that swayed gently in the wind. It was not yet cold enough for snow but within the houses fireplaces were still kept burning.

Zenozarax raised his hand and quietly, a large lumpy block of dark magical matter appeared with a bright sparkling light and thumped onto the grass before him. He lowered the staff in his right hand, touching the block with the crystal tip, causing a bright pulse that made the entire block instantaneously dissolve into what looked like liquid light.

It rushed over the ground and disappeared within the grass around him.

For a few moments there was silence, only occasionally disrupted by the hoot of an owl and the rustling in the forest to the north. Further away was the whispering of a small river. He even heard a low snoring from somewhere in the village. A last moment of peace granted to them and him. A last moment to reconsider. But he let the hopeless thought die.

Then there was a groaning in the earth. A rumbling tremor that didn’t stop as the earth itself came alive. Now there were voices too, confused, sleepdrunk, alarmed.

His vision expanded with each demon rising from the ground and split into dozens of angels surrounding the village.

Control.

And Contain.

What followed was a culling of cold efficiency. Panic broke out the moment the first man lay eyes on the demons stomping into the village. But it was short and futile.

Those viable for his needs died the moment he spotted them by dark and agile tendrils of black magic that shot through their hearts and infused them immediately with the aggressive curse that spread through their entire body. They rose from the dead mere moments later.

Those he had no use for; the very young, the impaired, and the child bearing; were bound by the demons and held captive, screaming, crying and begging in terror as they saw their friends and family turn before their eyes, held by abominable creatures no nightmare could have ever prepared them for.

A few of the viable he left — to give them a chance to survive after he left. A necessity he convinced himself to be a mercy.

This was only the beginning. One day in the not too distant future he may return to this land and this night would repeat.

It was no longer a village. It was now a source of workers that would need time to repopulate before he took more. The wonder of life reduced down to mere numbers and prediction models.  

As he stood in the centre of the village, controlling the demons and astral zombies around him, he heard the crying and begging. A baby screaming their lungs out.

And he felt nothing.

He didn’t allow himself to do so.

Because this had to be done.

More screaming.

He shut it all out and at once absolute silence surrounded him. He still held his staff raised, tilted forward, controlling everything around him. Seeing everything. His fingers twitched.

He still saw it. But everything happened without sound.

A dog barking, then running away.

A man charging him, a sword raised, teeth clenched, a last desperate attempt, but understanding that he was facing their doom. His body convulsed abruptly as he slammed to the ground, slain by dark magic and consumed by it.

A woman, torn away from her child, he saw both screaming, yelling, crying, the kid, maybe 12, reached for her, carried away by one of the demons as one of the tendrils shot through the woman. His fingers twitched again. Her eyes wide in terror and disbelief, a fine mist of blood spat from her mouth and she collapsed to the ground.

But he felt nothing.

(Something ached in the back of his heart.)

It had to be done.

Only moments later both her and the man before her rose from the dead again. They had only a hint of vacancy in their eyes - but at this point they still looked alive were it not for the still lethal bleeding holes in their bodies. They would decay. Slowly, kept alive by merciless magic. But inevitably.

For a moment he himself, the Wizard, not any of the demons, met the boy’s eyes. The desperate fear — and even anger. A burning flame of vengeance ignited in a boy too young as to do anything about it. And more tragically, in a human who couldn’t defeat him. Nobody could. Not in this reality.

Zenozarax could not tell how long it took. It didn’t feel quick, or long, because he could no longer feel those sensations. But the moon stood still bright above them.

He kept careful watch over those that would survive, keeping them subdued safely by the strength of the demons. He’d leave them enough to survive. Because he needed them to survive. To top off the absurd gruesomeness of the moment he took one of the four pouches on his belt and threw it forth onto the ground. It was filled with enough gold to last them years with good handling. A payment for what he had taken? A future investment? It was wrong either way. But it didn’t matter.

Then he raised his left hand and opened up a portal back into the caverns near his tower. The undead slowly crossed through the magical passage — forever vanishing from the land of the living.

He felt the strain clawing on his mind as he kept the portal open alongside keeping the control over the demons and zombies, but his hand kept steady till every one of them had passed through.

With a last look through the village he raised his staff, the young boy still struggled against the merciless grip of the demon holding him. He was shouting but Zenozarax still couldn’t hear it.

He slammed the staff onto the ground, a bright flash exploded from the crystal and every demon it reached instantaneously collapsed into the dirt and rot it had created from. The magical matter seeped into the ground, to lay dormant till the day he may return.

Fallen to the ground, the young boy struggled to his feet, eyes set on Zenozarax and then running towards him, insanity brought upon him by grief and furious anger. For a second Zenozarax looked at him, watching him in his pointless attempt of avenging his dead family.

And he felt …regret.

Failing in his conviction but stricken by the strangling realisation that it didn’t matter. He couldn’t let it matter. What he felt didn’t matter.

Because all this - had to be done. To free himself… and each and every wizard once and for all from the cruel and merciless will of Mezchinhar. To free those that had left from the eternal fear and those that still served the heartless machine from eternal slavery.

He had to finish what he had started.

I’m sorry.

And then before the boy, silently screaming and running towards him, had reached him, Zenozarax disappeared into a spark of light and darkness. Returning to Kaltenmoor to gather his strength again. Refocus his mind.

He was far from done.

10 Starvation

The chaos teleport left a light sizzling spark of energy in the ice cold air that hit Zenozarax straight in the face the moment his body rematerialized fully above the towers sigil. Snow was falling and while it seemed to be daytime the sky was nothing but grey gloom.

His intricate layered robe and cloak were more fit for a late autumn day and the freezing air bit into every inch of his skin. It smelled cold and carried a stark scent of burned wood and smoke, coming from the stone chimneys of the wooden houses.

The cold made him tense. More tense than he already was. It had never done that before. All his life he had quite enjoyed winter, the cold breeze from the sea, the clearness of the air. Now it felt like the cold was creeping through his body, trying to grasp him again. Drag him back into that torturous existence that had been his life for a thousand years, when all he longed for was a bit of warmth and comfort. Maybe he didn’t deserve either — and the world seemed eager to remind him of it. He almost grunted in disapproval to himself, as if to stop these unpleasant thoughts of self pity.  

Zenozarax left his personal portpoint, trying to distract his uncomfortable thoughts by wondering if he ought to restorate the little square garden. At least to have it properly walled off again with a functioning gate added again. He would have the time for it now.

He felt horrible and his heart heavy, the last months had festered an all too familiar melancholy in him and so he really needed a distraction. He now hoped to find that in the inn. At least one evening away from the work. And the bloody deeds it entailed.

He heard a cough from one of the houses he passed. The streets were empty. Nobody was outside who didn’t necessarily need to be.

Light was burning welcomingly in the window of the inn, prommissing warmth and comfort. Zenozarax had never expected to be so tempted by both after only a few minutes in the cold.

Making sure to not leave the door open too long he entered the inn. It was warm, that promise held up — but to his dismay he immediately sensed the lack of comfort.

There were many people here, old and young alike. More people meant more warmth for less fuel. The peasants weren’t cold, but they were hungry.

Zenozarax had lived long enough to know. He could see it in their ashen faces and the tired drop of their heads, the sunken eyes and cheeks. He could hear it in the way they talked quietly to each other as if raising their voice would draw too much energy.

Some people greeted him with that hushed voice, some eyed him more suspicious than ever. Maybe even enviously. He looked too healthy, too well fed. They saw that their misery wasn’t his.

Slowly he walked up to the counter. Lelina, who looked much older than Zenozarax remembered, sat on a stool to its side. She greeted him, lacking her usual enthusiasm but still managing a weak smile.

Long time, sire.

It would seem so. Zenozarax sat down too, and as Lelina was about to raise up he added, No need. I’m not here for that.

Good. Frankly, there’s not much I can offer you anyways.

What happened?

Lelina shrugged before her shoulders dropped again, her voice was weak as she spoke Last year was bad. We managed but it left the people hungry. But then the summer was too dry. Then there were the storms. And now this cursed winter after the fire in the east. And the King’s war. The men that fell for him.

King Frederick?

King Tiofried. King Frederick is dead. Fallen in battle in the south before he could have faced his son’s treachery. Lelina said very quietly, but she couldn’t hide the dangerous contempt. It left nothing in her face of the young girl he had first met what now seemed like years ago.

Zenozarax nodded. It was an old tune he knew too well. A tune that was easy to forget when the sky was blue and the sun warm and the people healthy.

We burned the dead. The ground is frozen, Lelina said, no longer looking at him but watching the fire in the hearth.

Have many died yet?

Mostly the old. Some of the children too. Lelina kept watching the fire, a painful expression in her hazy grey eyes in which the flames of the fire sparked signs of tears caused by helplessness. Then she looked at Zenozarax, and said,

My father caught a cold two months ago.

Zenozarax met her eyes unwaveringly. He now first really noticed the absence of Master Bennet.

He is dead?

Fever took him.

Hm.

Zenozarax heard those information and he acknowledged them. And he felt sorry for them.

Even without his unnatural tampering of this world, this was how life was and it was happening here, in the next village, the next over, across the land, across the planet. There was always misery and tragedy, and death came quickly to a population still so early in their development. It was normal.

If his plan succeeded, he would be here for 192 years in total. Everyone he talked to know would be dead by then. It didn’t change anything if it happened sooner or later. Many even would fall by his own hand. If anything, his empathy was wasted here, even worse, it was an dishonest sharade knowing what he himself was already doing. Knowing how many just like them he had already killed. Knowing that part of their suffering now was his fault.

A raspy and hoarse voice mumbled some words behind him, Zenozarax only caught half of them over the crackling of the fire, but it was enough to make him rise up. Without haste, keeping his face empty of any expression he walked over to the old woman that had spoken. She was wrapped in a thick blanket that couldn’t hide the frail state of her body. The gaunt face told of the unfortunate fact that she would always be the last to eat whatever leftovers the younger and more healthy would leave for her.

You have something to say to me? Zenozarax stood before her, looking down at her. She may have been old and weak, but there was hatred in her eyes. It made her brave.

You should never have come here, wizard, she repeated, looking up at him in turn. A ominous murmur went through the room as the word wizard fell.

Why is that?

The Northman warned us about your kind. Evil followed you. You bring misery and misfortune, she said quietly. The people around her were now silent, no one even dared a whisper.

Is that what you think? Zenozarax raised his voice, addressing the entire room. That my presence here is the cause for your suffering?

Nobody answered, nobody dared to. All stared at him. The burst of anger he felt was filled by his own guilt. There was already enough he could be blamed for, he would not take on the whole of this misery too. He didn’t want them to look at him like this. Not here. Not in Kaltenmoor.

Is your god so petty that he would punish you for harbouring a man he knows you can’t defeat? Does he expect you to die for it? Why? I don’t hunger — so what is this for? He had opened his arms, slowly circling around the hearth, sure to meet each and every pair of eyes staring at him.

I hear your plight — but all I see is a king that failed to consider the well being of his people. King Tiofried took your men, took your food, at a time where you would have needed both. You are now paying for the ignorance of a man who just wanted to be king by all means necessary. Anger now rose in his words too. He does not care about you, and your god does not care about me. You suffer due to a man’s ignorance, this is not your god. Because I read his words and his stories. He’s not a vengeful god. He is a warrior who will always fight for his people. He will fight for the glory of a good battle. But he will not punish the innocent for the mistakes of their kings.

It was a gamble, he knew that. He only knew the Book of North, which was probably a very well tailored account of embellished heroic deeds leaving out the bad and the ugly, and so this kind of argument could backfire dramatically — but as the rooms stayed silent, he saw something different in their eyes. His words rang true.

You speak with a silver tongue, wizard, the old woman said sharply, as she rather believed in godly punishment than the reality of man.

No. I speak the truth. And in your heart you know that. Do not blame me for what others did to you. I never took anything from you that wasn’t offered to me. And what I took, I paid for, fairly, even more than that.

A few mumbles confirmed that, between them Lelina and Master Tenner, both who remembered his generosity well enough. He was playing to his own strength and he was very aware of it. What he said was true — even though it was only true here. The blood of thousands was already on his hands, and his heart was stricken by guilt — but the people here didn’t know that. He didn’t dare to lie, so he did not say the things that would force him to do so - and when he could speak true, there was a passion in his words that was captivating. For a brief moment, enchanted by the conviction in his voice, the people of Kaltenmoor saw a leader in him, maybe a revolutionary who would rise up against the throne and fight for them.

Then can you help us? a young boy spoke up before anyone could have stopped him.

No he can’t! the old woman spit with venom in her voice. She knew she was losing the weariness of the people around her and it made her scared. Because she still believed him to be the bane of their existence. But her clouded eyes were the only ones left that still saw him for what he truly was.

I can, Zenozarax said firmly. This too, would be pointless, he knew that. It wouldn’t even help his own guilty consciousness because there was nothing he could do that would come close to make up for what he was doing. It wasn’t about that. Or so he told himself.

Then please do, Lelina said pleadingly. From all present she seemed the most willing to give him a chance to prove himself.

I will. I’ll return tomorrow and I will bring food.

Mumbling and whispers of disbelief filled the small inn. Glances of hope followed him as he left.

9 The Chasm of Rodenborg

The earth trembled beneath his feet. A constant rumble, too light as to reach the surface but loud enough to echo through the caverns.

Standing above all, Zenozarax held the glowing staff in his right hand, seeing through hundreds of eyes, his own glowing brightly. Seeing a construct growing, built by dead but nimble hands. The demons were mindlessly carrying materials. Others were picking at the rock, making way. Automated tasks that didn’t require much oversight. The undead in the meanwhile assembled the structure and built the conduits as well as support structure to strengthen the freshly excavated tunnel.

This mine, and maybe one more, would be the only ones in this land. The flat plains were not exactly rich in many of the geological resources he needed — but he’d have an extraordinary need for even the most basic building materials like sand and stone. These mines, this deep, would do just fine for that.

The construct groaned as Zenozarax’ grasp took its mind and it was filled with purpose. It rose up and beneath it the undead shuffled out of its path.

Massive claws of iridium alloy and diamond, still stainless, sparkled in the cold magical light that flooded the caverns. The construct hissed and roared and then, like an unstoppable force, it tore into the cavern wall. It dug and dug in deep, magical tendrils soon swarmed the colossus, stabilising the path it ate through the rock. Deeper and deeper.

The tremblings in the earth increased. They had become quite constant over the last week’s, lasting sometimes several days.

The land here was tense and weakened, always had been — perforated by thousands of these ancient tunnels running for miles all underneath the land and hundreds of metres deep. He wasn’t surprised that his extensive repurposing of these structures was felt like this. Already back when Yoctotyr and he hand built the towers into the land it had caused tremors and even collapse on occasion. Now that he was using chaos magic to severely tear deeply through the natural rock, the chaos infused construct itself bending nature and physics around it, the risk was higher than ever. But it was a manageable risk as long as he kept the structure well supported.

He took his attention from the construct, set on a path to work autonomously until its goal was reached, and the glow of his eyes vanished.

Only using the staff, he reassigned the idling astral zombies to their task to build the needed control node in this mine as well as the portals and transport ways.

Everything was still going very slowly. He had the workforce he needed, but the construction of the initial mines and factories would still take a lot of time. At least until a stable line of automation had been achieved.

But it would work. He had enough time now.

He would be able to harness the power of the stellar alignment undisturbed from the circle. In the meanwhile, in the original universe and almost suspended in time, the battle at Mars was still occurring. His Warrior was still there. With the magnitude of the event that had transpired, it was almost certain that the Leviathan would appear there soon enough. With a little bit of luck, right around the time he was done here.

For a brief moment his mind lingered on the knife and the reason he was even here. Remembering how the elder gods had taken over his own mind when King Yaryax had shown him their hell portal. Now in hindsight he could see so clearly what had happened, how his own mind had been taken over by madness out of time and space — but in that moment he hadn’t even realised it had happened.

It was the same way the knife would take over a wizard’s mind. Reducing them to a mere pawn at another’s mercy.

Zenozarax shuddered before he knew it. He had used it against chaos wizards for millions of years without losing any sleep over it. In theory getting stabbed by the knife was just a delayed way of killing them, in theory they were dead the very moment. Taken over by someone else to be gathered up and discontinued, and with no way of stopping it…

With a deliberately deep exhale he dispersed the thought. He’d have to use it only a few more times, and if he were to succeed, he might never need to use it again. The knife wasn’t too happy about making retirement plans like that but for now it still seemed content in following his plan. Even looking forward to what was to come.

Things would get quite chaotic once he would return,  because unlike him none of the others had time to prepare. But with this power at hand, and maybe even more importantly the knife back in his possession, and the Twilight and Leviathan in place — he could actually do it almost alone.

Take over the Leviathan to enter hell; reach Mezchinhar; then the first circle, with this power he would be unstoppable, he could reach Mezchinhar’s heart, separating it from the body, from the machine …  and stop it. All of it.

It would force them out of the shadows and into the light, letting the last known bastion of the lords vanish into hell like all the others had. They all would become true beings of time. And once they could no longer hide away from it, they too would realise that this fight could only be their death too.

And more importantly, even if they were too blinded still, they would bring their secrets into the multiverse. So in due time, izthra, that cursed element unnatural to the multiverse, would become accessible to all them. Allowing him to stop fighting even if they refused.

Mezchinhar would fall and this part of him would die. There was no way around it. With the power of the stellar alignment within him, it would tear him apart. But his Warrior would rebuild him.

And then he could be free. At last.

For a while, as he pondered his plan, he watched the work being done. His eyes lingered with the undead.

Infused with the dark power, the undead bodies kept in motion by the magic sparking within their brains, moved with a very distinct abruptness. Every motion was just enough to fulfil whatever purposes needed to be done, never more. No idling, no wavering, no involuntary twitching. Organic bodies, reduced to cold, dead machines.

The magic had burned through the fluids within, mummifying the undead husks just enough to prolong their viability, replacing the last remains of needed fluids to keep them in motion with a thick black solution naturally composed by the magic within.

He beheld them with a sense of forceful clinical detachment. Even appreciating the efficiency with which they functioned, and almost able to forget where they came from.

These undead were handled by a simple spirit he had enchanted to manage this set of tasks. With the neural pathways allowing for basic intelligence left within them they could work perfectly autonomously from himself and his influence, even in case of major disruptions.

But he was careful with them. Like this, they would still last him a few more years before he’d need to get new ones. So the more careful he was, making sure they didn’t get harmed or damaged, the longer he’d be able to ignore the fact that he’d need to do it again and again. Till all the work was done.

The world around him rumbled again, and this time he almost lost his balance. With a frown he looked away from the undead, looking around as if to spot the cause for this tremor.

Each of these locations was directly linked to the Tower, so with a shift twirl of his hand the towers familiar appeared before him, using the emitter node that dangled on his belt. Please run a deep scan of the area via the established nodes. Looking for seismic activity.

The tower did as it was told, a small number ticked up slowly as the task was executed with the tower connecting to the individual nodes and rerouting the tasks for the scans before re-establishing their normal tasks.

Then he abruptly lost the connection to the mining chaos construct and the rumbling got so strong that he barely managed to keep standing, having to hold himself on his staff.

What is it?!

The familiar helplessly shrugged till finally a holographic display appeared before him, showcasing the surrounding area in a radius of 200 kilometres. The seismic activity was pinpointed almost directly to his location, the local scans of the earth’s crust were — Zenozarax halted, staring at the panel while stones crashed from the ceiling and the world around him quaked. What… How?—“ he didn’t understand it but as the earth shook again, and the sound of rushing collapse started to drown out everything else, he knew that he needed to get out of here right now.

Instead he appeared on the main floor, everything was shaking, stones were crashing down from the ceiling, not few of them only diverted from crushing him by his ward. It was already strained and jittery by the fact that the same hand held the staff and now drew in all the undead as quickly as possible — his other hand raised as well a large portal snapped open.

He felt it — saw it — one point of view after another vanishing from his grasp, while those close by rushed towards the portal. The demons dissolved and the magical matter that had held them together tried to shield the undead and to stabilise the structure.

But this wasn’t just an earthquake.

His mind cried out under the strain of holding up his ward, the portal, controlling the zombies and reforming the magic of the demons. The system itself, still linked to the tower and still linked to him nearly screamed at him warning after warning.

Then through the eyes of those still too far away he saw them being swallowed by darkness, rushing forward seemingly impossibly quick — coming closer and closer, then the cloud of ash, stone and sud reached the chamber, he saw it, rushing towards him—

And with a spark of light and darkness he disappeared from the cave.

He appeared back on the surface, dropping down onto the plains of Kivinan. Suddenly out of the intense situation his heart first now started to pick up the pace.

The earthquake was tearing through the earth as he turned to look south.

No…

Against the early darkness of night the earth was alive with fire and smoke. Violently the land had split open, tearing a chasm of fire from Rodenborg towards Treva.

It shouldn’t be possible. But it was happening.

In its apocalyptic glow, he saw pillars of black smoke erupt from the land all before him, like fingers of a dark god reaching into the sky, emerging from the entrances to the ancient tunnels that now filled up with soot and ash, shooting into the air hundred metres high. The black tendrils burned in the shine of the fire. Abruptly the advance of the chasm stopped before reaching the Hülseberg across the Elba.

Then, after a few moments of unnatural quiet, the chasm of Rodenborg exploded.

Spewing tons of fire and stone into the air, followed by massive amounts of gas and ash. The superheated mixture of destruction bellowed out the torn land, decended onto the land in a smooth and near graceful cloud of death.

Through it he saw the thick and slow molasses of molten rock, gleaming through the darkness that fell upon them as the smoke spilled the atmosphere.

He saw the pyroclastic flow rush over the land, following the natural shape of the land down to the rivers and lakes, still quick enough to crawl over hills and rocks indiscriminately torching everything that stayed in its path. His mind, sharpened by the sign of emergency, took in what he saw and passively calculated the flow of the cloud of superheated gas and rock based on the land around and the speed of which it came closer. It wouldn’t reach Treva. But it would reach Kivinan!

In a spark of dark light he reappeared on top of the Hülseberg, looking at the destruction to the west.

The sky darkened further, the stars vanished, and ash started to fall.

Everything around Rodenborg was dead or about to be.

The coarse ash scratched in his own lungs and he realised he had been staring at the horrific spectacle long enough for the ash clouds to tower far over him — but unlike the humans caught in the destruction, he would be fine. A lot of people wouldn’t be in the weeks, maybe even years to come.

Based on the information he had it seemed undeniable that he had caused this mess. He had just lost about 300 undead in that mine, 300 people who died for nought. 300 people that now needed to be replaced. Then all the people in the villages surrounding Rodenborg who were most certainly already dead. Then those that had just died, swallowed by the pyroclastic flow. Now soon those that would die with the sharp ash in their lungs. The earthquake had been moderate, but he could exclude the possibility of a light tsunami either, adding thousands of dead along the coast. Later one, probably a famine brought on by a too early winter. First then the land would be allowed to heal again.

Unmoving he watched the smoke cover the sky.

For a moment he tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter. But even failing that he knew the damage was done. Even if he were to use all the magic he had access to, he couldn’t make this undone.

He could only find out why it happened and see to it that it didn’t happen again.

With the chasm of Rodenborg burning in the distance he summoned the tower’s consciousness through the staff and into the emitter on his belt and momentarily a set of panels appeared before him, showing him the last scans the tower had made before the eruption. His scanning nodes weren’t as far spread as he liked them to be but even with this limited dataset he could now with a clear mind see what he couldn’t understand earlier.

His finger traced over the line of tension in the earth that had now crashed. A line of tension that shouldn’t be there. And he could only assume that it was due to this earth unnatural creation or his own chaos magic tearing through reality.  He’d like to believe it was the former but he couldn’t fully dismiss the latter. Afterall, even in the 1000 years he had been actively using chaos magic, he had never used it to manipulate a planet’s natural resources to this degree.

He felt the urge to go to Kaltenmoor, just to see if they were alright. But he knew, right now, he shouldn’t be seen anywhere. Not least of all because he was actually to blame and nobody would believe anything to the contrary should he even begin talking about it.

So the only thing he could do was to let the Chasm Rodenborg settle, and then diverge from his current plan of construction to calm the unnatural chasm. Install some simple pressure relief systems and monitoring sensors …

He halted. The panels vanished from before him. In the distance the molten glowing rock still shone bright as it pressed out of the earth. There was a certain pointlessness to it. There was no real need to do any of that. As long as he kept his own constructions away from Rodenborg he himself and the work should be fine.

But he couldn’t stand the thought. Not with all he was already doing. Not with all that still would need to be done. He would do something about it, even though it would be pointless in the end, because it wasn’t pointless now. He had almost 200 years in total on this earth and with the price they would pay for his freedom the least he could do was to make sure he wasn’t causing unnecessary suffering till then.

With another spark of light he disappeared.

11 Arrest

Some time had passed since the eruption of Rodenborg Chasm. There was still a distinct taste of sulphur in the air when the wind came from the west, but the skies had cleared and the fields once covered in ash were more fertile than they had ever been. Near Rodenborg the destruction was still visible, where between burned trees only slowly new seedlings sprouted and the burned villages were left in dark ruins over which the Chasm’s constant glow still shone in the night. The chasm had calmed, but it was still active and nobody dared to move in too close.

Zenozarax had made sure to keep a careful eye on the petulant geological oddity which had a few more outburst in the last few years but evenly installed pressure regulators and tactically placed induction hotspots that kept the lava flow smooth and liquid had prevented further catastrophic eruptions. Despite the tragedy surrounding it, he had to admit that he had enjoyed fixing this particular problem since he had never worked with active magma before. And once he had made sure to prevent any further harm coming from it he had felt pretty good about it.

Here in Kaltenmoor the people had almost forgotten about the eruption itself. Besides the long winter they had barely cared about it in the first place. Hidden past the horizon, it was far enough away as to cause much concern.  

Now that the temperatures had turned mild again and the winters more manageable, with King Tiofried mercifully leaving his peasants in peace, life had returned back to normal.

There was still a shadow lingering within the small village. An emptiness left in houses and hearts that would first vanish a few generations from now. It would have been easy to stoke that grief and anger, to exploit the misfortune and suffering to eventually take over Treva in a bloody revolution. But he hadn’t. He didn’t want to, even though he had sensed how easy it would have been for him.

When the people of Kaltenmoor looked at him now, there was only gratitude.

They had not forgotten what he had done for them in their hours of need. Even though suspicious voices had blamed Rodenborg’s eruption on him, fueled by troubling tales of an evil wizard that reached them from across the sea, the overall judgement of his character was more concerned with what the people saw then what was rumoured. And what they had seen had been a wizard that had only tried to help wherever he went.

Since then, the work had continued without major interruptions. The mines were stable, the first forges were running and thousands of workers hollowed out the caverns that would become the construction sides of constructs and factories alike.

It was now all working so smoothly that he felt it easy to not think about it too much. Not about what he had done to make it happen. Not what he still would need to do. For now it was just a thing that was working along somewhere else.

The last few years, lacking any unpleasant and unforeseen complications, had smoothened his own mood considerably. At times, when he chose to forget the nature of his work, he allowed himself to fall back into the very familiar normalcy that he had once taken  for granted. Every couple days or weeks he would go up to Kaltenmoor and spend some time there. He had become a quite welcomed guest to most and his arrival was always celebrated accordingly. Just the way it was supposed to be.

When he spent the nights in the pup it was always long and joyful, with lots of drinks and lots of talk. When he spent an afternoon on the market square people came to him for help and advice. He was careful to not overextend his magical presence, keeping his aid appropriate to the time they lived in. But that was enough. More often than not, outside of sickness, most problems could be solved with a bit of money or a quick trip to an adjacent town or city.

He was sure if he kept doing this he would inevitably cause at least a mild case of inflation, which was not uncommon for a wizard to facilitate and was usually very closely monitored by the custodian in charge. But since Yoctotyr wasn’t here there was nobody to stop him from making Kaltenmoor the inexplicably wealthiest village in the entire kingdom either.

He had been drawing attention. His reputation now spread as far as Brema, and the old merchant halls of Linden. More and more often trade caravans from all over the kingdoms would arrive in this humble village — if his presence had ever been a secret those days were long past.

And as he’d soon find out, even the King in Treva knew of him.

Given his age and his frequent mingling with the population of the multiverse as well as having dealt with the two-faced sneakiness of Mezchinhar for most of his life — he had developed a very sensitive sense for things not being quite right.

As he stepped onto the main road of Kaltenmoor that day, the way people looked at him had changed. Suspiciously so. It wasn’t even subtle. And he felt his senses sharpen.

He still greeted the people he recognized, and they did greet him back though a little too hesitant with hushed and worried glances past him. He saw a young boy rush towards him, Joseph, the son of the oldest Baker’s daughter Claudia.

Lord Zenozarax! You mustn’t be here! The king’s guards are searching for you! The young boy said freightfully, after having grasped the sleeve of his robe as if to keep him from walking any further.

Oh? Zenozarax smiled. That explained the tense mood. Of course if that was the case, nobody would want to be seen as too friendly with him. King Tiofried’s war had ended before it had truly begun and ever since there had been peace. But at night, in the dim light of candles and oil lamps, there were whispers growing ever louder of the king’s fear governing the land more than his mind. He had known it would reach Kaltenmoor eventually, and if anything he was surprised it had taken this long.

Joseph!

The boy’s mother called him sharply, wearily staring at Zenozarax, though there was a guilt in her eyes, asking silently for his forgiveness. She was still thankful for what he had done for them, acknowledged the lives he had saved, but she too knew better as to stand against the crown.

Go on. You shouldn’t talk to me then. Zenozarax hurried the boy along who looked heartbroken.

Nevertheless, Joseph did as he was told and unbothered Zenozarax continued on his path. He had wanted to visit the inn again but instead he now went to the town’s market square. If he had drawn the ire of the crown, he would rather not drag anyone else into it. Lelina had grown into a hardened woman and was quick to voice her opinion, and so she might start an argument.

As he reached the little market square he spotted whom he was looking for. There were more horses than men in armour and so he suspected the missing men to be searching the village. They had brought a carriage too. The crude vehicle graced with a cell made of flat metal strips told him well enough what they planned to do once they found him.

Good morning, fine sirs, he greeted them across the square before they had even spotted him. As it seemed, the guards had not expected their suspect to simply walk up to them, let alone greet them so brazenly. Some of them even looked startled.

You are the Wizard Zenozarax? One of the men asked, Zenozarax noted the rest to be ready to draw their weapons. They were tense and in the face of the youngest of them he even saw a sense of fright.

That is my name and title, yes. I heard you are looking for me? What does our great King Tiofried concern himself with the likes of me? He asked, not stopping in his steps which made the guards even more tense.

You’re accused of being a wizard and for using forbidden magic, causing considerable harm to the kingdom, The man said. Zenozarax stopped, about four metres away from them.

Forbidden magic? Do you have allowed magic?

The man ignored the question and sharply said to the others, Chain him!

The other guards only hesitated for a second but then followed their command. To their surprise, Zenozarax neither moved or put up any form of struggle. They grabbed him, less than gentle and he just let them. He even moved his hands so they may have an easier time putting him in irons.

If I am accused, will there be a trial?

A trial? What for? You just admitted to it, the head guard sneered.

Zenozarax clicked his tongue and shrugged. Fair enough.

People had gathered along the square. He was touched that he even saw some very distraught faces.

Zenozarax! The tense shout drew many curious eyes and he saw Lelina run towards the square. She lacked the fear of the others, if anything she looked angry. What’s the meaning of this? She demanded to know as she was kept at a distance by one of the guards. There is no need for any of this! He has done nothing wrong!

Please step back, the guard said sharply but as to explicitly do the opposite of his command Lelina managed to push past him and had reached Zenozarax before he had even acknowledged the unsuspected boldness.

Lelina grasped his arm like she too wanted to stop him from leaving. What are they saying? Her eyes met his. The worry in them was genuine, so was the fear.  

Don’t concern yourself with it. It’s alright. I’ll be fine, he promised as Lelina was less than gently pulled away by the guards.

The head guard scoffed at that but didn’t bother to explain that, most likely, all that awaited him in Treva was his death. The look in Lelina’s eyes made clear that she knew that too. This was the last time they would see each other. Tears welled up in Lelina’s eyes.

It’s alright, he said again.

The people of Kaltenmoor watched him in silence as the one that had become known as the Wizard of Kaltenmoor in history once more, was chained and caged in the carriage. The guards gathered their men again, nobody spoke to the prisoner and the prisoner in turn stayed quiet, patiently waiting for things to unfold.

The weather was nice, so the way to Treva would not be too bad. A little uncomfortable, sure, the nice vista interrupted by ugly iron bars — but in the end, everything was happening as he had expected it to happen.

While he had hoped to outlive King Tiofried and his raving holy rhetoric before making himself known in Treva, he had of course made plans for exactly this turn of events too.  

Thoughtfully he watched Kaltenmoor shrinking in the distance. And despite the knowledge that he could always return there it felt like a goodbye.

12 Execution

Zenozarax leaned against the sturdy iron bars of his cell. He was far below ground and yet the air was fresh and lacked the distinct smell of sickness and rot. It was all quite clean too. As far as dungeons went, these were quite comfortable.

The citadel’s dungeons were also quite impressive in scale and architecture, considering they had been built by humans at a time where none of this should have been possible, or at least realistically achievable. He didn’t doubt the ingenuity of humans but it was hard to believe that Trevalon had accidentally managed to build a skyscraper in a time where they still poked their eyes out with iron swords. Maybe he was just that arrogant, but the fact was that these dungeons, as everything else within the imposing building, had a certain wizardry flair.

When Zenozarax had first found out about the approaching stellar alignment over a millennia ago, his plans had him stumble over the oddity that was Treva’s great citadel and spire. And consequently he had tried to figure out if it would be a problem in his plan since the structure clearly was wizard in nature and at the same time obviously not built by any actual wizards.

It had taken some digging to find out why that was, in which Quadirymir’s I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy had really paid off, because it truly was an embarrassing secret Yoctotyr surely would have rather kept in the shadows. (It wasn’t that Zenozarax thought of it as embarrassing, but he knew Yoctotyr who prided himself on being very aware of everything happening on his earth would have hated it.)

The Dark Tower, as the first tower built on earth by Yoctotyr and Zenozarax himself, had been abandoned once Yoctotyr had started to stay in Obermoor more so than in the Dark Tower and Zenozarax had built his own tower. Perceived to be shrouded enough by the harsh environments and unnatural, everlasting fog, it had no dimensional shielding. As he had confirmed himself it hadn’t on this earth either.

That had been fine for a very long time, because till the day Zenozarax had left earth for the first time, nothing had ever really happened there and it had stood abandoned and forgotten.

But Yoctotyr had clearly underestimated the curious and bold nature of humans. What exactly happened Zenozarax didn’t know, but the facts he had were enough to assume a clear picture.

A man named Trevalon, a smart man by all accounts, had found the Dark Tower and gorged himself on its secrets. How long he had stayed at that forgotten tower nobody knew but whence he returned to his home land he had grown immensely powerful with knowledge and wealth.

Even then the wizards hadn’t noticed. Not when Trevalon rose an army. Not when Trevalon declared himself king. Not when his conquest ravaged over the land. First when the construction of Treva’s citadel was underway, there appeared to be something off about it. Once the spire reached previously unknown heights it became undeniable.

An envoy was sent to investigate and found the sudden technological advancement, while still rudimentary and limited by the lack of energy generation, to be indeed wizard in nature. Zenozarax could vividly imagine the tense emergency meeting of the conflagration discussing what to do about it. Yoctotyr’s style of custodianship had always been defined more by gentle persuasion than getting rid of undesirable elements outright so in the end it seemed he had chosen to let Trevalon continue. The damage was already done.

Trevalon had been allowed to build his citadel and Treva had become the most impressive city of its time.

Zenozarax let his arms rest on one of the iron bars, lazily glancing into the hall, mustering his guards, observing the floor and ceiling. There was nothing really interesting about any of it, but it all felt quite familiar anyways.

Can I have an audience with the King?

No answer or even a reaction from either of the two men tasked to watch him. I mean, if I already don’t get a trial, I should at least have an opportunity to explain myself. Even just symbolically, don’t you think?

Still nothing. He hadn’t thought it would work, but no harm in trying. Spectacle it was then.

Will they hang me? He asked calmly and one of the guards just slightly moved, clearly he had heard him but he didn’t answer.

Come one, you’re killing me here, it’s the least you can tell me, he added with a sense of amusement in his words. There are so many barbaric ways, don’t make this a surprise! Drowning? Burning? Pincushioned by arrow fire? Leaning with his elbows on the crossbar of the iron bars he counted the methods on his right hand and he was far from finished before the young guard exasperatedly looked at him, seemingly furious that their prisoner didn’t take the threat of death seriously.

Your head will be taken, wizard. Now be quiet!

Oh. That’s great. No, yeah — great. Zenozarax whistled through his teeth giving the guard two encouraging thumbs up. Everything was more dignified than burning. Well, it’s a good death, right? Quick. Clean. For the most part. Will it be happening on the sapphire square?

Yes.

Good, good. Makes sense. I’m sure King Tiofried will want to make a show out of it. It’s not often you have the chance to kill a real wizard, am I right? King Tiofried’s paranoia towards anything magical was well known and Zenozarax wasn’t the first to fall victim to it. But this would be the first time King Tiofried had actually managed to catch himself a real wizard.

The guard was about to answer but the second, older and obviously more seasoned guard gave him a not so gentle punch against the arm and hissed, Stop talking to him!

With that Zenozarax knew he had exhausted this well of conversation and so he returned to ponder his situation in quiet again.

The waiting wasn’t too bad. The passage of time was indicated by the frequently switching guards watching him. There had been four switches so he was here for maybe two days, he assumed. Maybe less if they had very short shifts.  

He was in no hurry so whether it was a day or a week didn’t really matter. In fact, of course, nothing would stop him from simply disappearing from this cell without anyone being able to do anything about it — but the premature freedom would come at the cost of making himself a fugitive in this land forevermore and he considered that as highly undesirable at this point in time.

With a push against the iron bars he straightened up and left his two now perfectly silent guards. Letting out a theatrical sigh he sat down on the rock hard slap that was his bed and lay down.

“Wake me when it’s time,” he said lazily and closed his eyes. Moments later he was fast asleep.

*

A magnificent sight was offered to him as he was dragged out of the shadow of the citadel and stepped into the hazy sunlight. They stood still high above the sapphire square and from here one could see the gathered masses. Their mumbling and chatter was distant but filled the air nonetheless.

Zenozarax’ hands were cuffed behind his back, the strong grip of a guard held him by one arm, four others around him escorted him down the stairs to the sapphire square.

Overseeing the square was a raised stage, to its side he saw Treva’s royalty, and in its centre the executioner was waiting for him. Once the crowd spotted him descending down the stairs they became louder, but every word was drowned by a hundred more, each thirsting for his life because that was what was expected of them.

When they were close enough to see individual faces in the crowd Zenozarax could see excitement as much as fear. Courage by numbers paired with terror of the unknown. But the boldness grew as they saw him; A man just like them. With his rugged pants and loose shirt, the hair unkempt by his days in the dungeon, he looked not too different to any worker of the city. Zargothax considered it a tactical mistake of the king, to humble him in his last moments. It would have been better and more effective to let him wear his robe, to differentiate him from the peasants. To drive home the point that he wasn’t like them. Then again, in Tiofried’s place, putting the idea of executing someone that looked rather regal could be a dangerous image to stick in the people’s minds. One may rather pretend that no royalty could ever be suspected of being a wizard.

None of that was his concern.

For a moment he looked up to his side, where Treva’s great spire loomed over them. A magnificent piece of work even though constructed by a man that had no idea what might they had stumbled upon. It was a lot; an icon of power, of wealth, of confidence and superiority. But Zenozarax saw nothing of that. The only thing he saw in it was a massive and oversized antenna that had but one purpose.

He and the guards reached the sapphire square and the air was buzzing with the energy of the crowd. It was exhilarating. Zenozarax felt a light smile on his lips as he ascended up the stairs to the executioner’s block. In that moment he felt a strange appreciation for these people. Their loud shouts and the excitement of mixed feelings felt so honest and genuine — there was something refreshing about it. He had always liked humans more than wizards. Well not always, but for the longest time.

He wasn’t as blue eyed as to ignore the fact that some humans could be as false and deceptive as any proper wizard — paranoid too with respect to the king — but generally he found them more genuine, more… relatable almost.

The executioner, a large burly man as was suitable for his station, met his eyes for a mere moment before Zenozarax was roughly pushed to his knees in front of the wooden block.

Then King Tiofried spoke and the crowd fell silent.

Hear, evil wizard Zenozarax! By my decree, you are condemned to meet your demise by the sword of Treva, for you are naught but a scourge upon this blessed land, employing your dark arts to corrupt the minds of the fair folk living in Kaltenmoor and its surrounding realms. Your very existence has ushered nothing but calamity and sorrow upon this land.

For this there can be no other punishment but death.

For the first time he met the infamous King’s glare. Eyes wide but with tiredness in them. But more than that, a hint of madness. He had seen that look often enough. The face of a man who was so afraid it kept him awake at night. He couldn’t sleep, so he couldn’t think. The betrayer feared betrayal everywhere he went.

Yeah sure, that was all just me— Zenozarax mumbled so quietly nobody could hear it. He had made his assumption about the King’s mental state, but now that he had seen him it seemed even worse than that. He could only hope the man would survive this day and not die by fright.

“If you have any last words you may speak them now.” The King nodded gracefully and sat back down. He also looked older than Zenozarax had expected. A lot more haunted too. He held himself well but he knew, based on millions of years of experience, that this man was far from stable.

Zenozarax, still with his head held high even in his kneeling position, just mildly shook his head as he said. “Not yet.”

Maybe his words caused some confusion, maybe they were just accepted as odd, but they were ignored either way as he was pushed down once more, his head held onto the block.

With gentle pressure he moved his hands apart, the sturdy handcuffs chirmed as he did so, but they held firmly. Then he pulled them back together, relaxing the tension of the chains again.

The Executioner raised the sword, from the corner of his eyes he saw it spark in the sunlight. The crowd was dead silent.

The sword came down, whistling through the air till it stopped with an abrupt smacking sound as the sword severed Zenozarax’ head from his body, a grinding scratch in the sword’s core as it cut something that was neither flesh nor bone.

The edge splintered, but it did cut. And Zenozarax’ head fell from the block into the prepared basket.

And the crowd erupted ecstatically, overwhelmed by a sense of relief as the tension of fear was broken. They were loud and drowning out everything and everyone.

And in the thundering noise, nobody noticed absolut moment of terror of the executioner.

As the man looked down upon his work, seemingly puzzled by the lack of blood, the broken sword merely soiled by some black smears and it’s edge chipped — looked at the head in the basket — and the head of the wizard he had just killed, looked back at him and blinked, just staring. The man stumbled back, as in that same moment the iron cuffs holding Zenozarax’ hands ripped open with inhuman force and the headless body stood up.

At first most of the crowd didn’t even notice, but then a ripple went through them, starting in the front lines burning through them like wildfire as the relief and righteous joy was taken over by absolute horror. Some screamed, some moved back, the mass in motion guided by fear, a few fainted as they witnessed the headless man stand before them on that stage.

The body reached down and picked up its head, placing it onto his body again. A bright ring of light embraced the cut edge as magic fused the severed parts back together. All that was left was a glistening dark collar of black blood where moments ago the mark of death had been.

The moment the light faded, Zenozarax spoke, his voice was loud and strong, carrying only a light coarse scratching but still rising easily above the panic of the people and the shouting of the guards.

“You can’t kill me!” His hands raised halfway to his side, the magical runes lit up, a volley of arrows where explosively vaporised against the ward glistening around him and the guards rushing towards him with their swords raised stumbled backwards, pushed by a force they couldn’t see and they froze, taken by the same terror that had taken the crowd. “Nobody here can defeat me. Not with swords nor arrows. And I don’t want to fight you.” He looked towards the king. Do not force my hand.

There was terrified fear in the King’s eyes, but a small wave of his hand made the guard stand down. The noises on the square died down and everyone hung on his words, a thousand anxious hearts beating in fear.

“It is true, I am a wizard. But I mean you no harm. I’ll offer my services to you, the people, and the crown, if you will have me. If not, you may let me go and live in peace.” He looked away from the crowd back to the king. “If your majesty finds it acceptable, I will pledge myself to the crown.”

Advisors whispered to the king, while the regent’s eyes lay unwaveringly on Zenozarax. He saw the horrified fear, the mistrust, but he also saw an unexpected calculating sharpness behind those eyes. Be it by the words of his advisors or the bloodthirst of his own mind, King Tiofried understood that they stood on the edge of a bloodbath. A barely contained panic vibrated in the air, just one wrong word away from tearing the world as they knew it apart.

“What can you offer the crown?” the King asked, pretending still that he was the one holding the power.

Protection. Power. And Magic the likes you have never seen before.” Zenozarax smiled. “This citadel was built upon the knowledge of the wizards. But this knowledge was lost in time! Imagine what wonders you could achieve regaining this power once more.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You will not, my King, we both know that. But you will have my power.” Zenozarax opened his arms, “And if your god finds me in lie of my intentions then he may strike me down right here and now!” he shouted to the crowd and into the heavens, and a gasp went through them as all of them feared, or maybe hoped, for the wrath of their god to thunder upon the earth.

Zenozarax kept his arms held open, inviting godly judgement — but the seconds passed, and when the unsettled murmur started in the crowd he knew it wasn’t coming. Gods were plentiful in the multiverse, sometimes they were real, in a way, sometimes just made believe. But most of them simply didn’t care. Still, even though he was a very firm sceptic, he felt a sense of relief. Part of him had prepared for battle. It would have complicated things.

He lowered his arms, turning back to the king. A few more seconds of silence hung between them, heavy with destiny and fate. Then the King said,

“Very well. Then you may kneel.”

A smile twitched in the corners of his mouth that his beard hid well enough. He hated doing it, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Solemnly he got down on one knee and lowered his head.

“I, Zenozarax, Wizard of Kaltenmoor, do swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to His Majesty King Tiofried, his heirs and successors, according to law.” He stopped, almost groaning to himself in spirit before he reluctantly added, “So help me god.”

It sent an unpleasant shudder down his spine, he had had gotten enough godly attention for several lifetimes already as far as he was concerned, but fine. It was fine.

Because everything went according to plan.

13 165 Years

II - Treva

The trevanian archives described the Court Wizard, who had held this title for close to 165 years now, as an extravagant but not at all unpleasant person. A few generations of scholars bemoaned the fact that he had not brought unbelievable magic to the kingdom, but most were satisfied enough with the believable.

History told that King Tiofried had sought out the wizard and brought him to court where the wizard swore loyalty to him. It did not mention the failed execution. The witch hunt (or well wizard hunt) before that, spawned by King Tiofried’s fear and paranoia, was not mentioned either, nor was the reason for it. And in times like these, history was easily rewritten by the few that actually wrote it.

History did not tell about the truth of the first decades either in which Treva’s now proclaimed court wizard was ordered to what technically could be called imprisonment, diplomatically may be classified as house arrest and was officially labelled a request to the wizard to keep close to Treva in these tumultuous times.

What history left out of ignorance was of course the fact that it was pretty much impossible for any human of this time to imprison a wizard. They didn’t know that Zenozarax had come and gone as he pleased without anyone even noticing.

King Tiofried became known as a friend to the wizard, which in truth was just a lie as well. Nevertheless, it was the history that was written, despite the fact that Tiofried had tried about three times to poison the wizard (this of course wasn’t mentioned either and Zenozarax had never drawn attention to it).

The freshly reassembled Kingdom of Treva went through many growing pains in these first decades and when King Tiofried eventually passed away by old age, his son took the crown. And from then on the relationship of Treva to its court wizard became less strained.

Lacking his father’s paranoia, King Trevalon IV allowed their Court Wizard a lot more freedom and soon Zenozarax was allowed to claim a few rooms in the spire where he promised to conduct research that could be tremendously helpful for Treva’s safety and prosperity.

He upheld his prommis, at least to an extent. Zenozarax never revealed the true power of the wizard to them, but he brought Treva a few technical luxuries.

A few generations later, by the time King Dargo held the crown, Treva sat on a truly magical device that brought light and heat into the citadel without fire! Of course neither royalty nor peasantry had been aware that the theoretical power output of the nuclear reactor below their feet was able to power a lot more than a few lamps.

A few wars were fought over the decades, but none of them posed much of a threat to the Kingdom of Treva as Zenozarax very carefully introduced some ideas of advanced warfare (soon becoming the main military advisor in times of war) as well as small improvements of magic to the kingdom. Only ever enough to keep the kings complacent. Naturally he never allowed them to figure out how it worked, keeping himself the only source of these magical devices.

By the time of King Trevalon VI, Treva was unconquerable. Able to inquire knowledge that was hundreds, if not thousands of years before their time, no other power on the planet could even dream to oppose the Kingdom of Treva. So it was no surprise that its borders expanded rapidly under some more war hungry kings till soon it enveloped most of the northern lands and the old kingdoms vanished in its grasp.

The Court Wizard had become trusted. A few times in the decades since his mysterious arrival, claims of treachery and betrayal had boiled up within the citadel’s walls. Even once, due to the Court Wizard’s frivolous and brazen nature and close familiarity with the royal family, the most heinest accusation of having fathered a bastard son with the one Queen Fenya, queen consort to King Tuncan I, had caused considerable strain on the relationship of the court wizard to the king.

The situation was eventually resolved with a trial of the most ridiculous nature in which Zenozarax was made to prove his claim that he, as wizard, was in fact incapable of fathering any children. It wasn’t the first time an accusation like this had been directed at him, and Zenozarax didn’t harbour resentment for it. Aside from the absurdity of the trial it had been a time of courtly approved hedonism that turned out quite enjoyable to all involved parties (there had been no shortage of volunteers either). Once his innocence and infertility had been proven to a reasonable degree it only strengthened the bond to the royal family.

Having garnered the trust of the crown over decades, the Court Wizard was soon tasked to teach the young sons and daughters of the kings. It was a task Zenozarax at first opposed, as it took valuable time away from his other tasks, but in the end, trying to keep the peace and being well ahead of his schedule, he agreed.

By the time of King Tuncan II it had become an established norm and, besides direct advisor to the king, one of the main tasks of the Court Wizard.

That was what history knew.

Unbeknownst to history however, in the meanwhile, while still attending his courtly duties, Treva’s Court Wizard had been quite busy.

Within only a few years he had used the few ressources the universe had granted him to make more and expanded his hidden wealth exponentially.

There were now sixteen mines, eating through the earth’s crust, unbeknownst to the population above. A few tremors and minor earthquakes became normal in places they would be rather unlikely but of course — nobody knew that. And after over a hundred years it became normal.

The sixteen mines fed raw materials to 23 production sides. Refining and forging the precious metals and gases, and assembling the material for the construction sides.

Four peaks of power, still underneath the land in artificial and unbelievably large caverns, the mighty pyramids had risen from nothing, now locked in the darkness, waiting for their time.

Kilometres upon kilometres, billions of chaos constructs on individual teleport pads. The small satellites that were ready to launch at his signal to engulf the sun and focus the chaos resonance of the stellar alignment.

All of that lay dormant now. The constructs in slumber, the forges cold, the demons disassembled and the last undead had rotten away years ago. But there were also soldiers, warmachines, eagles and unicorns, weapons of mass destruction unknown to the people on this earth. Safety precautions and preparations. There would be resistance, no matter how futile.

All of it would wake up again in the last great push which would see a force rise the likes this world had not seen before, the last phase which would assemble the pyramids and the spire into their final form.

But all of that lay still in the future. It would turn the world into a hell not worth living in, plunged into darkness and war. There was no reason to hasten the inevitable. So he had granted himself and the people on this planet just a few more years of peace. It had been a couple of unfamiliarly comfortable years, just seeing to his duties as court wizard.

Zenozarax rose the tip of his pen from the pristine white paper. Pondering over the words before laying down the pen for good. Instead he picked up the small pocket watch lying beside him. It was already way past midnight. He was to accompany the young Prince Dunfler to Holstenstadt early in the morning, so he best made sure to be ready in time or he wouldn’t hear the end of it. In his opinion, patience would be a virtue the prince ought to be taught eventually, but if he had learned one thing about this particular family line then it was that the critical lack of patience seemed to be a dominant gene.

A cold wind rustled through his room. This far up Treva’s great spire it could get quite cold especially during the winter. He stood up to close the large window but found himself halting, staring into the night. Even past the mild light pollution he himself had caused within Treva himself he saw the night sky lit up above him. He listened to the universe whisper to him with a shower of ancient lights — it felt like destiny calling to him. The voice of an universe that pretended to be billions of years old even though it had only sprung into existence two to three thousand years ago.

The night sky was so familiar to him. Memories of eleven thousand years bound to this very planet. The same planet his actions had destroyed.

By now, almost 170 years since his arrival, he finally was able to slowly piece together the slow string of the Warriors memories which confirmed the destruction of earth in the original universe. The appearance of the vortex afterwards also confirmed his suspicion of the origin of this place he had found himself in. The amount of memories he had from the Warrior barely spanned half a minute, not enough to have him yet react to what the Wizard was doing in any effective way while his first priority would be to get the Twilight out of the battle immediately.

There was guilt. And for a moment he allowed himself to indulge in it.

His manic actions had caused the destruction of an entire planet. He was aware that what he had been about to do would have destroyed a whole lot more than just one planet, probably would have brought the entire intergalactic Empire of Treva to its knees. Instead only earth had been destroyed and with it, the tower, the rift space, and the portal — so there was a fine silver lining here, which only made it marginally better. Even worse, he had probably killed Ravalor again. The one wizard in existence he didn’t want to harm — and yet he had fucked that up again.

But maybe what had happened would finally be enough for Ravalor to move on. And if not — who knew … once he had finished what he started here, once they both could be truly free from Mezchinhar’s rule, maybe then there was a future for both of them. If Ravalor would ever be able to forgive him, even though the chances of that seemed to worsen with every action he took.

Ravalor was a painfully pragmatic wizard and chances were good he’d understand very well the logic behind what Zenozarax was doing if he would try to explain it to him. But behind that stoic pragmatism, he was also a very kind wizard who had already by the time they had parted ways developed a very strong sense of morality. A morality, Zenozarax suspected, neither himself nor Mezchinhar could live up to.

He shouldn’t think about this. It was but a fever dream. A hope his heart and soul, both still and forever firmly bound to his most trusted friend, desperately wanted to become true. But reality and facts told him very clearly that it probably never would. Even if he succeeded.

Because he had caused too much harm to too many people and wizards. His heart grew heavy by a thousandfold as he thought once more about Demitalek. His friend. The first victim of his madness. Or maybe that had been Atladin. Or in a twisted way, Ravalor, long before they had ever met. But where he felt regret and empathy for both Atladin and Ravalor, the wound that Demitalek’s death had torn into his heart was even more painful. Atladin had made a mistake following Quadirymir and doing his bidding, and for that he had died. Ravalor had chosen to part ways with him, and he was still alive. There was still hope. But Demitalek had chosen nothing. His death had been nothing but a cruel mistake.

But in his manic desperation to find a solution, not able to rely on Mezchinhar for fear of his own life, he had been driven to use magic he hadn’t understood. If it weren’t for this blasted eternal war between Order and Chaos, he could have fixed it without harming anyone. …

If it weren’t for this war, it would have never happened in the first place.

And that was why he had to end it.

Finally he closed the window and the curtains before turning on the ornamented sconces lining the wall with a wave of his hand.

A few more years.

His hand closed around the grip of the Knife on his belt. It’s cold magic embraced his fingers. There was a chance. He just had to see it through and do it right this time. Be careful. Take no compromise.

This had to be done.

14 Reela

Crown prince Dunfler, first son of Tiofried the third, was one of the more rebellious princes Zenozarax had the privilege to watch. Though his rebellious streak was more entitled than it was revolutionary. Nevertheless, Zenozarax found himself at the prince’s side more often than not by the King’s request, with the directive to keep him out of trouble. Zenozarax’ execution of said directive usually was to just let Dunfler get into whatever trouble he sought and take care of it when it came to it. Afterall, Prince Dunfler wasn’t a child anymore, far from it — and the shift in his priorities as of late only proved it. This was the thirteenth trip to Holstenstadt in twelve months, justified each time by more and more creative reasons. And it surely wasn’t for any architectural appreciation of the city.

Zenozarax. Prince Dunfler beamed at him and waved him over. He stood beside a young woman, who was so delicate and dainty Zenozarax feared a too strong wind would simply blow her off the balcony.

Reela, this is Court Wizard Zenozarax. He introduced him, and Zenozarax did give her the courtesy to show the proper respect. She looked ashen, as if just recovered from a bad cold, and yet her smile was genuine and near enchanting.

It’s an honour, I heard a lot about you, my lord, she said courtly.

Zenozarax, this is Lady Reela.

No too important title or allegiance added, rich clothing but nothing too fancy. Probably a daughter to one of Holstenstadt’s more successful trade guilds. He assumed Dunfler didn’t really care about it in the first place and may have simply forgotten to add the fancy titles. The pleasure is all mine, Lady Reela.

We met a year ago when we visited for that trade guild assembly, Prince Dunfler explained as he gave her shoulder a slight touch. It could pass as a friendly gesture, and Dunfler’s introduction would want to make one believe they hadn’t seen each other since their first meeting, but Zenozarax knew it wasn’t so. It was in the way they stood to each other, in her smile, his gestures and his confident grin.

I was starting to wonder when we would be introduced, Zenozarax said in a decidedly casual conversational tone.

You told him already? Reela asked, mildly surprised with a look to Dunfler, confirming Zenozarax’ suspicion.

I decidedly did not. Dunfler interjected, to equal parts exasperated and amused. But you just did. You have to be more careful around this one, my love.

Reela met Zenozarax’ eyes, for a moment in surprise as his smile widened just a bit. But she didn’t blush. Instead there was just this small tip of the head, a slim smile. It was a dangerous look, Zenozarax realised, not by malice or evil, but understanding. She looked at him like in just this instant, she fully understood who he was. It was mildly unsettling. He cleared his throat.

So, when is the wedding? He asked bluntly and Prince Dunfler shushed him with a chuckle. Dunfler fortunately always had enjoyed his blunt nature, humouring him with an almost childlike delight.

Don’t say that too loudly. Father will be furious.

Oh certainly. Zenozarax agreed with a thoughtful nod. As I understood it you’re all but promised to one Lady Carr.

Dunfler waved that objection away, still not looking worried at all. Reela on the other hand just watched him, patiently. She had very pretty eyes, Zenozarax had to admit. A deep steel blue that was not so bright to be striking but rich enough to stand out.  

If my father wants the Carrs to join us in marriage my brother can have her. I have made my decision. Dunfler declared with the usual sense of stubborn arrogance. What prince Dunfler wanted he got. King Tiofried III had never shown the necessary strictness to rein in the temperament of the prince and by now it surely was too late to start.

Of course your Highness.

*

King Tiofried III died unexpectedly after one of his visits to Amunthon where an accident had occured at the harbour. Apparently the King had been shown a new ship that was being built and something, a crane, or scaffolding, or part of a building had collapsed (maybe all of it, the reports Zenozarax had heard had been very unclear, shifting the blame at any opportunity), crushing the King’s legs. An injury he had initially survived, however, by the time he was finally rescued, the severely crushed muscles in his legs had built up so much toxin that it had proven fatal. Had Zenozarax accompanied the King on this visit to Amunthon he probably could have survived, but since the Court Wizard had been tasked to keep an eye on Prince Dunfler, the news of the accident had first reached him like everyone else in Treva hours after the King’s passing.

The coronation of King Dunfler had been a bombastic event, displaying an almost ridiculous squandering of wealth. But it was how the new King had wanted it so that’s how it was done. Some had called it rather distasteful (amongst those even Dunfler’s mother who had voiced this concern to Zenozarax in private), as if to imply it a celebration of the old King’s death but Zenozarax knew that hadn’t been Dunfler’s intention.

Zenozarax, who had in his successful career as court wizard made it a point of principle to not give advice unless asked for it, had not cautioned against it. Not only would he be on princable the last person to judge anyone for being a little extravagant, but also because in the grand scheme of things it really didn’t matter much anymore. Dunfler in his youthful nativity didn’t care how full the kingdom’s coffers were, the only thing that seemed to matter to him was to impress his young wife and shower her in all the luxury he could imagine.

As it was, no expense had been too expensive and Zenozarax had quite enjoyed the celebrations. There had been something very charming about the way the coronation of the King had quickly turned to a celebration of the Queen Consort Reela as the young King himself seemed more enamoured with the queen at his side than the crown on his own head.

In a turn of fortune the Queen’s health had been stable for all the five days of celebration, a sign the great Patriarch of the citadel’s chapel had attributed to divine blessing. Zenozarax had wholeheartedly agreed with the notion.

Not because he had suddenly seen the light of the one true God anytime during the last 170 years, he was still as firm a sceptic as any wizard would be (bare the fanatical Lordseekers in Mezchinhar), but posing as a firm believer in the power of North and the embodiment of this power in the divine Northman had its advantages. It made a lot of things easier when he could spice up his reasons with a healthy amount of supporting scripture according to the faith — and there was nobody on this earth who knew it better than he did by the nature of him being a wizard who could recite every tale, legend and gospel word by word.

There was one aspect of the Northman’s influence on this culture he actually quite enjoyed, and that was the amount of celebrations and religious holidays. There was rarely a month that hadn’t at least one or two excuses for a feast, festival, tournament, or royal hunt.

Not even two weeks after the coronation it was Skürr’s day which celebrated the great hunt of the Northman of the celestial boar Snög, that had consumed Skürr, the daughter of spring (also daughter to the Northman himself), causing an eternal winter which first ended when the Northman slayed the beast and Skürr returned spring to the land. As with many religious tales, his research suggested a much more mundane and more tragic base for this legend where a grieving father avenged his dead daughter.

Nevertheless, in honour of that, and to welcome spring back, as every year, a royal hunt was being held. Spending only more money. There would come a day where this would catch up with the kingdom and Zenozarax casually ran through a few scenarios and solutions in his head. The polite chatter around him provided an excellent base layer of noise for productive thinking — and it wasn’t like he had much else to do right now.

The hunt itself had never tempted him — the inevitable make-believe nature of an event such as the royal hunt, which had to see the King a victorious hunter at the end of the day and everyone was sure to make it so, held little in the way of real thrill and excitement. It was a show, not more. And in the end it really was more about the feast that would follow. He enjoyed those.

But for now, while the King and lords and whoever else had rank and a need to be noticed were out and about on the hunt, finding a mighty boar to slay that had been scouted already days ago, Zenozarax had stayed back at the camp with everyone else: the ladies and children, the staff and cooks that already prepared the feast, and half of the guard. And of course the queen and the queen mother.

Court Wizard. Queen Reela’s quiet and very polite voice got his attention and he rose.

My queen?

Would you walk with me? It’s very warm in here.

Of course. He offered the young woman his arm and she took it gratefully as they left the crowded tent where most of the nobel ladies had gathered for tea and pastries. Three guards followed them at a respectful distance.

The spring sun was really shining with its full intensity today — a fortunate fact for the hunt.

Let’s seek the shade of the forest. It will be cooler there, Zenozarax suggested and slowly they made their way out of the camp along a trodden path along a small creek. The water and shade indeed made the air quite refreshing.

Very faintly there was a slight hint of sulphur in the air. The Chasm of Rodenborg was a little more active than usual again, and they were a lot closer to it now on their great hunt, but Zenozarax had assured everyone there would be no further eruption.

Why don’t you join the hunt? Reela asked after a while.

He shrugged lightly. Would you?

Oh I couldn’t, she said softly.

Zenozarax smiled lopsidedly to himself. It was the exclusive luxury of royalty of this time to be squeamish about killing animals.

I do admit, the excitement about the hunt wears thin after a while, he said thoughtfully, finally answering her question.

I wouldn’t have thought you to have been a hunter once. Queen Reela noted after a moment of silence. But there was no disbelief in her voice.

I was. For a long time. There was prestige in it. And purpose. I was good at it too.

He felt a light squeeze of her hand on his arm, a reassuring and kind gesture, as if to absolve him from his evil deeds, It is necessary. I won’t deny that.

Zenozarax wondered if she would say the same would she know he had hunted and murdered his own kind for millions of years.

I sometimes wonder what thoughts bother you so much that it turns your eyes so dark, she said quietly.

To be fair, my eyes are usually black. Zenozarax diverted with a forced sense of levity.

She only smiled, letting the question dissipate unanswered in the quiet rustling of the forest and creak.

*

Zenozarax looked up as it knocked hectically at the door to his quarters.

Having chosen a perfectly impractical place to reach this far up the spire deterred most visitors and yet they seem to happen more and more often. Maybe correlating with the increased amount of time he actually spent in Treva now, which was almost all of it.

With all his projects and plan idling, he hadn’t much to do besides seeing to his courtly duties so he welcomed the distraction. And so he stood up at once, brushing the dust of carbon and steel off his robe and opened the door to a very heavily breathing handmaiden who seemed to have rushed up the spire in haste.

My lord, you have to help. The queen, she is not well. She gasped between breaths and by the level of exhaustion she displayed Zenozarax feared she would need medical attention next.

He nodded, grabbing a small bag near the side of the door which held a small assortment of medical equipment and potions.

The usual?

Yes, but it seems worse today, my lord. The young handmaiden hurried alongside him down the stairs. King Dunfler fears — she didn’t finish the sentence, she was close to tears. Zenozarax had not yet met this girl and she seemed very young. Seeing the queen like that had rattled her quite badly.

They reached the royal chambers after the long descent and the guards let him in before either could have said a word.

King Dunfler rose halfway as he spotted him, worry and relief on his face, but he didn’t stand up for he’d have had to let go of his wife’s hand to do so.

Zenozarax. Please, you have to help her!

How long?

The better part of an hour, we rode back as quickly as we could—

Reela. Zenozarax came around the bed, sitting down on its rim as finally Dunfler stood up to make room for him. It’s going to be alright.

The young queen was gasping for air, her skin was ashen, covered in sweat, and eyes teary and red. She could barely breathe, her hands were cramped.

What happened? Zenozarax pushed away the thick blanket and did not hesitate to immediately open up the undergown the queen was wearing. Nobody stopped him.

I don’t know, we were having breakfast with the Carrs in the gardens after which we rode out, when suddenly she collapsed, Dunfler said tensely with the fury of a man who needed to act, but was unable to.

You took her out riding? Zenozarax pressed his hand against the heaving chest. He felt the weak heartbeat stumble unhealthily, unable to find its proper pace and rhythm. Then talking to Reela, whose tears filled eyes hazily looking for him, he said, This will hurt a bit, my queen.

The magic in his hand lit up and Reela screamed.

Zenozarax! Dunfler grabbed him by his shoulder, tearing him backwards. What are you doing!?

Zenozarax met the King’s furious eyes without any emotion of his own. Helping. He nodded downwards, back to Queen Reela, who was still breathing heavily, but finally it seemed like she was actually able to breathe again. At once Dunfler let go of him, sitting back down beside his wife, taking her hand again.

She has a weak heart, Zenozarax said plainly. She shouldn’t exude herself too much.

A weak heart? Dunfler looked up to him, a dumbfounded sense of disbelief drew his brows up. That can’t be true. She has the kindest and most loving heart of anyone I’ve ever met.

Zenozarax barely kept himself from sighing. There was little to no sense of arguing that he was medically speaking referring to what seemed to be a simple yet not inconsiderable heart valve defect and not any metaphysical idea of empathy. Of course. Still. Heed my words. For her sake.

It had looked worse than it was, really, in fact he was sure Reela would have easily survived this episode without his intervention too. But, in less favourable circumstances, this small defect could cost her her life. And he was glad to see that despite his romantic notion before, King Dunfler seemed to take his warning seriously. At least for now.

Dunfler….

Queen Reelas voice was so weak and quiet it could have passed for a whisper in the wind. And yet it reduced Dunflers world and attention to only his beloved wife at once.

Yes my love?

May I speak with the Court Wizard? Alone?

Are you sure? You need to rest now.

Please.

And with that Dunfler nodded, there was nothing but gratitude in his eyes as he met Zenozarax’ again when he walked past him. With a wave of his hand he also shooed the worried handmaidens out of the room. Maybe this would further the gossip amongst the people once more, but Dunfler himself had never wavered in his trust in Zenozarax and Reela respectively.

When the door closed behind the King, Zenozarax sat back down on the rim of the bed. Weakly Queen Reela raised her hand and took his.

Thank you.

Just fulfilling my duty, my queen, Zenozarax said. He took his hand out of hers and raised them to her chest, slowly closing up the undergown again, covering her exposed chest and the clear mark his hand had left on it. What happened?

We were riding with our cousins. I had wanted to stay here but Dunfler insisted… she said quietly, almost ashamed to admit it. She looked so small in the copious cushions and blankets, with the light brown hair still a mess and her deep blue eyes looking brighter than usual, tragically accentuated by the reddened white, still slightly bloodshot. Looking at him like she asked for forgiveness. Because she had ignored his warning. But Zenozarax knew it wasn’t her fault.

So he didn’t answer. There was nothing to answer.

Will you stay a while? Please?

If that is what you wish, my queen.

I do.

What bothers you?

She looked down at her own hands.

I worry for Dunfler. She looked up again. I’m sick. But it’s like he doesn’t want to see it. Like he thinks if he wills it enough it doesn’t exist. He will pretend this never happened too. It’s nice. He never makes me feel as weak as I am. But …

Zenozarax understood. There was no denying that Dunfler loved Reela dearly, as much as she loved him in turn, and he wanted her at his side, always. And didn’t want to see how sickly she was. So he ignored it. Unintentionally causing more harm than good.

I’ll speak to him.

She nodded softly. But be gentle. He means no harm.

I know. But he can also be a stubborn fool.

Reela laughed in surprise. It was a clear and very pretty sound, and Zenozarax could not blame Dunfler for losing his heart to this woman as badly as he had. He himself wouldn’t fall in love, not here, not with this woman, not with any human. But he could appreciate her delightfulness nonetheless.

Maybe one should tell him that. She smiled in jest.

Oh, be assured I already did. More than once.

You did? Oh— She chuckled again in utter disbelief. What did he say?

I think he assumes I’m joking, Zenozarax said with a serious and playfully disgruntled frown.

That does sound like him. She nodded somberly.

North bless his soul.

Indeed. She smiled and Zenozarax answered it in kind. Or at least he tried.

He knew he had already become too comfortable with these people, especially now that he spent this much time here. He would talk to Dunfler not out of obligation, but because a part of him was genuinely invested in some way he wouldn’t dare to call friendship but maybe came the sense of guilt that now grew with every day that passed.

Because both of them, and most everyone he now knew, would witness his inevitable betrayal about 20 years from now.

15 The Prince

Conventional means of travel and transportation had their charms. Sometimes it really was about the journey, not the destination. It was something many wizards rarely got to appreciate, more so, it was something to be learned. Because of course under all normal circumstances, there was no journey to be had. No matter the distance, a simple portal would take them from A to B within a second.

It was first when one spent more time with humans that the concept of travelling became even a fully formed concept.

It could be quite peaceful, as mentioned, even charming. Just observing nature around and pondering life and the creations of time while whatever means of transportation carried one towards the destination slowly and without haste.

Right now however, it was dreadful.

Zenozarax muttered a curse under his breath as his boots splashed into the mud. The rain had taken them by surprise and as to make the most of it it was pouring now. The road was soaked, their advance had been slowed to a crawl and now completely halted as the carriage behind them wasn’t moving an inch anymore. Its wheels were stuck in the mud.

The rain dripped from his face and beard and once more he felt a deep uncomfortable feeling somewhere in the back of his mind. He had developed a strange dislike of rain though he couldn’t quite tell when that had happened. All he knew was that it made him tense. And he didn’t like that.

The door to the carriage opened as he was already half past it.

What is wrong? Queen Reela met his eyes as he turned around, worry clearly in both her face and voice.

Please, your majesty, stay inside. The wagon is stuck. He said loudly against the rushing of the rain and the wind in the trees. The aching of old wood and breaking-off branches added to the deafening cacophony of the storm. A lightning strike snapped above them, the thunder like a volley of cannon fire followed just a moment later, and he saw the queen flinch. The young woman looked ashen and worried, with one hand on the doorframe and the other cradling her belly.

Can you help?

About to, he shouted back as he had already reached the back of the wagon. Close the door! The queen did as she was told and the soldiers that had followed his lead gathered with him. Find some dead wood and shrubbery to give the wheels more grip. Then we’ll push!

The soldiers dispersed while Ser Tenion steered his horse over to them. Court Wizard, this is not your station.

Ah don’t get your tinsels in a tangle, Zenozarax waved the knight away, frowning into the rain. The quicker they got out of here and back into a nice and warm and especially dry castle the better.

Sure, he could theoretically port all these people just to Linden and that would solve the problem. He could also have ported them all directly from Treva, avoiding this problem all together. But doing so would also reveal him to be a lot more powerful than he was comfortable with.

He’d cultivated an air of mystery and awe around his person, but the true extent of his magic he wasn’t willing to reveal just due to a minor inconvenience. Especially not the ability to port. Because he knew if he did so, he would never have even one peaceful day in his life again.

Ser Tenion got down from his horse, leaving only the little boy – maybe 10 years old – on the horse who had sat before him. It was his son and as most children of the guard he was already stuck halfway on the path of becoming a knight himself. Looking at him with that same haughty arrogance as his father. Said father however wasn’t done with Zenozarax yet,

No, Court Wizard. This is my responsibility. You may see to the queen’s well being. After all, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Every single word leaving Ser Tenion’s mouth made it clear that he wasn’t very happy about Zenozarax taking command away from him. To be honest, Zenozarax hadn’t even thought about it. It had been just the natural thing to do.

My apologies, Ser Tenion. He gave a low, but very respectful bow. May I stay and help anyways? The more men push, the more likely we are to get out of here quickly.

Ser Tenion nodded, accepting the apology if not slightly begrudgingly. But in the end he didn’t want to spend any more time in this pouring rain either.

They waited for the soldiers to prepare the road, before assembling behind the wagon.

His boots as well as the lower part of his robe and cloak were by now horribly dirty and drenched in mud but he paid no attention to it. While he put great value into his own appearance, the individual pieces of his outfit held none to him. All of it was if not washable at least replaceable.

Should have gone earlier, eh, a soldier beside him muttered, his hair was sticking to his forehead and his attempt to clear the rain from his face as he spoke was pointless.

Every path not taken will seem more favourable than the one chosen. Zenozarax answered, paraphrasing some idiom he vaguely remembered while he took firm hold on the carriage alongside the soldiers. He’d probably be able to push the thing out of the mud all by himself — but they didn’t need to know that either.

I guess that’s true. The soldier chuckled as Ser Tenion gave the order to push. They dug their feet into the mud and under aching the heavy wagon of wood and metal moved forward. More than one soldier slipped and fell, but the wheels rolled forward, emerging reluctantly with a squelching sound out of the muddy puddle it got stuck in—

A crack went through the carriage, almost able to be mistaken for another snap of thunder, if it hadn’t been for the front of the wagon suddenly crashing to the ground. The horses in front bucked in distress and Zenozarax heard the surprised cry from inside.

Curse it, he hissed, stepping back.

The axle broke, it must have been damaged when it got stuck, Ser Tenion announced loudly. Zenozarax agreed with that assessment.

The knight was taking immediate control over the situation, knowing the queen was in no condition to travel on horseback he told the soldiers to settle down and secure the area. Two of them were sent with haste to the nearest villages to find someone to fix their problem. Or even a adequate replacement for the carriage itself.

Zenozarax had returned to his own horse, its leash still held diligently by a squire.

Can’t you fix it with magic, sire? The young man asked. Zenozarax had contemplated that option. As all wizards wearing their base layer he always carried some spare magic matter with him for emergencies, enough for a demon or two, and with a bit of reshaping, it would be solid enough to fix the broken axle. But then again — as Tenion had so eagerly reminded him, he shouldn’t be overstepping his station, so he just said,

Listen sunny, I’m a wizard, not a carpenter.

There was a fine line between being helpful and making oneself too useful he didn’t want to cross. They were still almost three days away from Linden and halfway to the next stage station — so a small delay of even a few hours wouldn’t really change anything anyways.

Lord Zenozarax! The distressed young voice came from the wagon and he spotted queen Reela’s handmaiden, Erika, at the door. Quickly he walked over.

What?

I think it’s time.

Oh for f— he swallowed the time inappropriate curse and quickly got into the wagon. Queen Reela looked ashen and stressed.

What’s happening?

The water broke, The handmaiden said tensely.

Any contractions yet?

Reela nodded uncomfortably.

That’s alright. You’re going to be fine, your majesty, you both are. You have to stay calm now.

She nodded again as Zenozarax peeled himself out of the soiled and muddied clothes, stashing them aside. Then he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and let a bright and intense pulse shoot through his hand. The water evaporated immediately from them — and more importantly, the brief intense heat sterilised his hands after handling horse, mud and wood. Erika, tell Ser Tenion what’s going on and that he may hurry his men when he can. And nobody is to come inside, give the queen some privacy!

The young handmaiden nodded and quickly left the wagon, leaving only the queen and her court wizard inside. She held her large belly as she flinched. A light but almost bitter chuckle followed.

You told me it was a bad idea.

I did, Zenozarax confirmed as he helped make her more comfortable. He had told her, and he would have told the king too, that the already too weak young woman should under no circumstances be travelling. But the king’s request to join them had overruled all his warnings. The king got what the king wanted. Reela wanted to be with Dunfler for the birth and she wanted to be there for her husband, especially after his mother’s passing just a few months prior which Dunfler had not taken well, always having hoped at least one of his parents to be able to see his first born child.  Zenozarax understood that, but it was still a mistake. But instead of rubbing that in he said, But it’s going to be alright. I’ve delivered babies in situations much worse than these.

She smiled slightly and took his hand, seeking comfort and reassurance. What was the worst one?

Are you sure you want to hear that now? Zenozarax raised his brows with a lopsided smirk. She frowned slightly then shook her head.

Actually, no, you’re right. Not really.

This will still take a while. You’re in early labour. The most important thing now is to calm yourself and give your body time to prepare itself, Zenozarax said after a quick examination.

She nodded and after a brief moment of silence she asked, Maybe you can tell me about something else? While we wait.

Alright. With the discomfort in the back of his mind and the tension in the air he didn’t feel much like telling any stories, but he could understand why she asked for it now. What would you like to hear? Thoughtfully he sat down beside her feeling her eyes on him. Her hand  took his again and she didn’t seem intended to let go again anytime soon. Though her grasp was weak and only barely managed to hide the tremor in her fingers.

I would like to hear about your childhood. Dunfler tells me you never spoke about it to him, the young queen said quietly as she leaned against him. She wasn’t directly looking at him, her head turned down. Maybe she was looking at their hands or maybe she had closed her eyes, trying to fight off the exhaustion already lingering in her voice and heavy breathing.

My childhood? Zenozarax only politely scoffed. There is nothing there to speak about. He said and then fell silent for a moment, focusing on Reela’s hand on his too. Then he reconsidered. But maybe I can tell you about a young wizard.

Who is he? She asked softly.

Someone that lived in the past.

And so, while they waited, he told her a tale. A long one.

About a young wizard that fell in love with worlds so new and foreign to him, he described it in words that put awe and wonder into the young queen’s face as he took her onto this journey through the stars.

He told her about a rising war and how the young wizard fought for so long but lost everything in the end, he described it with so much passion that it brought tears into her eyes.

He told her about a force much greater than the wizard that wasn’t young anymore, fighting him every step of the way, but the wizard did not give up. He fought even when all was taken from him, even when he had lost what mattered to him most. And she wept for that once young wizard.

Hours had passed and even then his tale was cut short.

Reela’s hand tightened around his - and he saw the glistening sweat on her upper lip.

You’ll hear the end of it another time. He smiled lightly as she let out a heavy gasp.

It hurts.

Yes. And it will hurt a lot more. But it will be over before you know it, Zenozarax promised.

Outside he heard people talking and shouting through the still ongoing rain. At least the thunder had calmed.

*

The baby came not even an hour later. To Zenozarax’ relief, the birth itself went without any problems and once the cord was cut and bound, the baby found its voice and wailed, loudly complaining about this new situation.

It was a small thing with a light fluff of light copper red hair that stood in all directions once Zenozarax had diligently whipped the young boy clean. He had his fathers hair and his mothers eyes. Wrapping him in parts of his own cloak he handed him to Reela who held the baby with a gentle but tired smile.

But something wasn’t right. The young mother looked exhausted, that much was to be expected, but it was more than that. Her eyes seemed dazed and distant.

Reela? How are you feeling?

Tired. She mumbled, her shaking hand brushing over the still soiled fluff of light hair of the little boy. She was breathing too flatly. My heart feels strange…

And in that moment he knew.

It had always been a danger looming above the young woman — her heart and body was weak and the pregnancy had taken a toll on her. He had put his better judgement aside and aided her with whatever remedies he could come up with, but even then she had suffered through nine months of hell. It never had taken her spirit. But it would take her life now.

He felt for her pulse, lay his hand on her chest. The stumbling thing was weak and barely beating at all.

He sat back but she took his hand again.

And he knew she knew.

There were things he could do. Many things. Teleport her out of here, into the tower, try to save her, somehow, he hadn’t the facilities to treat a human, he had made it a firm point of principle to not get entangled in that mess, not here, not this time, but maybe there was something, anything he could do. That he should do.

But it was just one more human dying. Like the thousands before her he had met over his time on this planet now. Or the thousands upon thousands he had met during his existence. … Or even the thousands upon thousands he had killed himself… but then again—

What became of the young wizard? She asked weakly as tears welled up in her eyes and her gasp became weak in his hand — the other merely lay on the still crying infant on her chest. Unable to even hold him proper.

Zenozarax swallowed hard

He’s still fighting.

And even still, a weak smile appeared on her lips as tears rolled down her cheeks. Looking at him like she had always known. Like she knew him.

I suspected that…

Reela— I’m sorry—

She shook her head ever so slightly. By the lords she was so pale now, gasping for air.

Take care of him. Please. Keep him safe. Tears clouded her eyes as with her last strength the grip on his hand increased.

Zenozarax nodded quietly, squeezing her hand gently in return.

You haven’t given him a name yet, he said, keeping her awake just a little longer — but he saw her slipping away.

Aeven, she whispered as death embraced her. His name is Aeven.

And then there was only the crying child, cradled against the chest of his dead mother, and the queen’s court wizard, petrified by the weight of destiny crushing down on him.

The infant cried his lungs out as Zenozarax just stared down at it.

The burst of anger that shot through his mind was dizzying. But it wasn’t anger directed at the young child. He was angry at himself.

How could he have let this happen? Why had he allowed himself to care this much again? How could he have allowed himself to be blind sighted by the birth of this child?

But then, it was just a name, it meant nothing! With all the twists and turns this earth had taken it would be even unlikely to be the same person. But … he knew better than that.  Because as he now remembered that man, Aeven VonTreva, he saw Reela’s kind blue eyes hair, he saw Dunfler’s red hair and his strong features in that very face. His passion and her mercy.

His heart ached.

Quietly he took the queen’s light travel cloak and picked the crying baby up. While he wrapped the young boy cozily in the soft fabric the crying died down, and by the time he was safe and warm he looked at him out of big blue eyes.

And for a while he just held the young boy against his own chest. The silence was only interrupted by the low cooing of the baby.

16 Teaching

Thank you for joining me tonight.

Of course, your majesty. Zenozarax picked up the silverware after the servants placed the plate on the table.

King Dunfler sat as it was custom at the head of the long table, Zenozarax had taken a seat to his right, not too close but close enough to talk privately. Even in company there was an emptiness in this room conjured by the distant gaze of a man living in his memories. The king looked ashen and much older than he was. Since Reela had died he had become less and less with every year as the energetic young spirit had withered away in grief.

Dunfler had not yet married again and so most nights the King sat alone at this table, rarely seeking company in the first place. Zenozarax usually did not speak of these matters with the king unless asked his opinion, and King Dunfler had come to appreciate him for it. While everyone else was urging him to remarry and strengthen his line, Zenozarax had no interest in these matters neither personal or objectively. There was genuine concern he felt for Dunfler, but that couldn’t change the fact that by now Zenozarax felt these invitations to dinner to be more of a burden than a welcome excursion. King Dunfler’s presence was no longer very enjoyable.

Old lady Carr confided in me with concerns. Zenozarax opened up, choosing a casual conversational tone as they began to eat. He had one simple rule when it came to matters concerning the Kings of Treva he served. If he talked about them with anyone else, about any matters concerning the kingdom, he would tell the king about it. Absolute transparency. It had served him well so far and nobody, no matter how hard they may try to sow discontent between the court wizard and the king, could question his loyalty.

Of what kind? King Dunfler indulged him.

She felt like you appeared quite absent in the last court hearings. Distracted maybe. She asked if you’re in good health.

I’m fine.

I told her as much.

Good.

Zenozarax nodded curtly. It was a lie they both knew it, and Dunfler acknowledged it as such,

But, she is right, Dunfler finally said quietly. It was a tone of voice Zenozarax had only ever heard him use around Reela and himself. A tone not afraid to show vulnerability. A sign of trust still. I feel… drawn away.

Does the court bore you? Zenozarax rose a brow. He knew the reason was another, but he also knew to be tactful. Or maybe he just wanted to avoid the topic altogether.

Dunfler smiled sadly. In a way, I think yes. I catch myself listening to what they say around that table and yet not listening at all. As if it doesn’t matter in the first place.

Zenozarax just met his eyes quietly.

Oh don’t you look at me like that. I know that is horrible. A King should care. I know that. And I try.

I know you do. But you’re also still grieving. We all know that. And as long as you still heed the words of those you trust, you may grieve as long as you need. He said gently, well aware that Dunfler’s way of dealing with it seemed to worsen instead of improving. It had been years and it seemed the hole Reela’s death had caused in his life was growing with every one of them.

Zenozarax didn’t know what to do about it. He’d considered himself fairly social with a good grasp on human interactions and emotions, but during most of his life he usually always had a chance to excuse himself more or less tactfully out of the influence of people that didn’t serve the happy joy and chatter he sought when spending time with humans. The now very much mandatory presence at court as Treva’s court wizard, as well as the familiar trust the royal family had granted him during the last decades, had taken that willful ignorance away from him.

Nevertheless, even a few years here and there dealing with a couple people’s moods hadn’t made him a psychiatrist and his knowledge of what drugs would be appropriate to use in these situations was rudimentary at best. He understood the feeling perfectly well, objectively he recognized the signs of a worsening depression — but he felt inadequate to deal with another man’s grief when he didn’t dare to confront his own yet. And so he rather avoided it altogether.

I’m thankful for that. And can’t express my gratitude to you personally enough. I feel like you still can see clearly where my gaze has turned hazy, Dunfler said.

I’m your court wizard. It’s my duty. To the kingdom, and to you, Zenozarax noted politely before slightly diverting the topic, But unfortunately there are some that feel I’m currently overstepping that bound.

Are there now? Dunfler’s eyes darkened with a frown, Ah, let them, he declared almost stubbornly so. They don’t know you like I do. If given the chance I’m sure you’d rule the kingdom better than I ever did.

Zenozarax smiled weakly, because in a way he already was. Afterall, the whispers were true. Dunfler had become very distracted and most of his decision boiled down to whatever Zenozarax advised him to do. Don’t let them hear that.

Dunfler shook his head almost disappointed, not at Zenozarax, but whoever would doubt his trusted court wizard.

For a moment they ate quietly. Then Dunfler took the word again.

Aeven is five now.

Oh? How time flies. Zenozarax noted ever politely yet conclusively before taking a small bite of the piece of served meat, perfectly eager to drop the matter immediately. He’d like to finish this dinner and call it an evening.

I do feel that — but then every hour feels like an eternity, King Dunfler muttered, more to himself as to Zenozarax before he added, He’ll need teaching soon. He should have already, but I’ve been informed that you have not yet seen to it?

Zenozarax slowed down mid bite, then put the silverware down, wiping his mouth deliberately and slowly. Biding time.

That is true. And I apologise. Your majesty, I would request you to choose another tutor for your son.

Why? Dunfler frowned as he now too all but forgot about the food on his plate.

Yes. Why? That was a question he’d need a long time to answer if he were to answer it truthfully.

I — am very occupied in my studies as of late and—

Zenozarax. You have been my tutor, my father’s tutor, my family’s tutor for generations. I will remind you that this is not a request, it is, as you said, your duty, as court wizard. He needs to be teached.

Ah, there it was, that near stubbornly uncompromising nature still very much alive in the fading king. Zenozarax sighed in spirit. Yes, it was expected of him, Dunfler was right about that and he really had not much choice in that matter.

I feel it would be better for him to have another, more appropriate tutor, given the situation. I could inquire in the city for—

No. Dunfler cut him off once more and Zenozarax felt a pang of irritation but swallowed it to let Dunfler make his point. At this rate he’d do it just out of spite to teach at least Aeven to actually let people finish talking. He deserves the best education I can offer him. I want you to teach him.

Zenozarax clenched his teeth. It seemed like he really wasn’t getting out of this unless he packed his bags right now and left. Maybe that would actually be the right thing to do.

What situation are you referring to? Dunfler picked up after a short pause. By his tone of voice the matter was settled and he would merely indulge further suggestions out of politeness.

Zenozarax did not answer immediately, instead he picked up the fine glass of wine, I just thought, since he doesn’t have a mother, a woman teaching him would be good for him.

Hm. Dunfler grunted unhappily. Zenozarax usually knew better as to bring up the fact that Reela was dead, and the fact that he was reaching for arguments made his delivery not exactly convincing.

Dunfler looked at him for a well considered moment, almost like he was actually considering his point, but then said, I think you’ll do fine. You do have a certain… feminine aura.

Zenozarax almost choked on his wine.

Dunfler, what are you saying? I’m not going to be a stand-in for his mother! He met the King’s eyes with a frown, but then he saw the rare jest in the usually so tired and sad eyes even before Dunfler chuckled. A sound he hadn’t heard in five years. A brief flicker of his light. But as it faded the darkness became only more noticeable.

Of course not. But that look on your face was rather enjoyable, King Dunfler admitted with a last shadow of a smile. Like the smile itself reminded him even more of his pain and his voice turned sombre.

I miss her a lot.

I know, Zenozarax said, but he wouldn’t even have to have said anything.

And he looks so much like her. I do love him, more than anything. But when he laughs, a pain tears through my heart I can barely stand. No father should feel like that looking at his child…

I’m sorry.

For what? My own stubbornness?

Maybe. Or maybe because I couldn’t save her.

I know you’d have if you could.

Their eyes met for a moment and Zenozarax knew, whatever his words said, he blamed him too. So he only nodded, trying to ignore the guilt in his heart and focusing back on the food on his plate.

After that, they finished their dinner mostly in silence.

*

The citadel’s library was uncomfortably quiet.

General convention would assume that quiet was a quality most desirable for any library. That seemed a cultural convention that held true more often than not, and even though Zenozarax himself always preferred a source of background noise in his own work, be it a quiet engine hum or a sizzling of automated magic, the absence of sound wasn’t what made the current situation as tense as he felt it to be.

The library, part of the lower levels of the great spire, was fairly impressive in scale after having been able to naturally grow undisturbed by war and conquest for over a century. Despite its size and the pompous high ceilings of three levels of shelves and scrolls, it was pleasantly warm inside and overall well lit. Last time he checked there had been a snowstorm raging outside, and in any not magically infused structure a room like this would quickly become very inhospitable when facing temperatures like these.

But the worry about heating and lighting any part of the citadel had gone extinct over a hundred years back. Now nobody even questioned the artificial heat and light anymore. It had become its own magical wonder that drew curious eyes from all around the kingdom — a secret, so simple in nature to Zenozarax, and yet not to be revealed to anyone but himself.

The last thing he needed was a surprise industrial revolution taking place and complicating things. He had seen the first signs of it already, progress he couldn’t prevent and certainly even had inadvertently influenced but at this rate it shouldn’t become a problem.

Zenozarax caught himself trying to muse himself out of the current situation again and reluctantly returned his attention back to the subject at hand.

He stood, arms crossed, next to one of the large tables lining the centre columns of the library, a halo of light above them basking them in a warm and golden glow that was most pleasing to the eyes.

Here and there some clerks and clergymen passed through, tending to the books in some form or another but Zenozarax took no more than a passing note of them.

At the table, hunched over their respective studies, sat the still very young Aeven (He was an autumn child and it was winter now so he had presumably just turned five this year) and the not so young Pelagius (who was about 11 or 12 years older than Aeven was, which would make him about 17 and with that almost no boy anymore.)

Pelagius was the son of Ser Tenion, the former head knight of the royal King’s Guard, selected from the very best Amunthon had ever trained. Maybe if he had paid attention he would have realised it sooner, but by now he could no longer not see the resemblance to the face of the knight that had stood with Aeven at Zenozarax’ unfortunate defeat a thousand years ago.

The boy didn’t like him, and Zenozarax perfectly understood why. Especially after his father’s death. Zenozarax had never been formally blamed for it, of course not, after all he was merely an advisor to the crown, but it had been his advice that had sent Ser Tenion along with a complement of knights to staunch a disturbance of peace (barbarian raiding parties from the north that were harder to get rid of than dandelions). In an unfortunate and utterly preventable turn of events Ser Tenion had not survived this action.

Zenozarax couldn’t say he was very heartbroken about it; Ser Tenion had never liked nor trusted him and so he had always felt like a deliberate roadblock with a consciousness. Maybe if he had advised for more troops or a different approach which would have been more suitable to the information they had, Ser Tenion could have returned home. But Ser Tenion had known the risk as much as Zenozarax had, he hadn’t been an inexperienced fighter or naive tactician— yet it seemed his confidence and maybe his pride had seen him to his death in the end, more so than any careless advice from Zenozarax’ side.

The young Pelagius however didn’t see it that way and Zenozarax couldn’t blame him for it. Fortunately, the boy had a very strong sense of duty which his father probably had beaten into him (figuratively most likely, Ser Tenion had been a nuisance but he had never struck him as a needlessly violent man of uncontrolled temper). And so his dislike merely expressed itself as biting politeness every time Pelagius talked to him. And that wasn’t often.

Unfortunately, Pelagius was now tasked to keep an eye on Aeven, in time to become his sworn guard, and Aeven was to be taught by Zenozarax. And so the three of them were forced into a room together whether they liked it or not.

Aeven on the other hand was… well he was five. There wasn’t much he could say beyond that. He seemed surprisingly quiet, shy almost, not quite fitting the memories of the driven man he had once met under less than favourable circumstances. Aeven sat before the blank pages, the small hand grasped tightly around the training quill. He was shaking slightly.

You have to relax your hand, Zenozarax said stiffly and Aeven winced. He promptly seemed to try to do as he was told but the trembling tension would not leave the small hand.

Pelagius, sitting across from them and reading, glanced up. Watching them quietly and warily. Zenozarax ignored him, keeping his eyes on the squiggly lines Aeven put to paper. There were no words there, he was just supposed to get used to the forms and motions. Based on the underwhelming results this far it would take quite some time.

No, no— he said, reaching down, —take it like this he took the quill from Aeven’s hand and drew a set of flowing forms. O’s and L’s in his wide handwriting. Then he pressed the quill back in Aeven’s hand and replaced it on the page Smoothly. No pressure. Just swinging motions.

Aeven tried and it was like he hadn’t even listened. Zenozarax sighed disapprovingly.

I’m sorry, Aeven mumbled, his voice was trembling.

Try it again, take a new page. Really look at those letters I wrote.

Aeven put the page aside and took a new one. As he pulled his arm back he knocked over the ink jar and the black liquid immediately spread all over the table and the blank pages.

Oh for crying out loud! Be careful!’ Zenozarax snapped as he tried to save at least some of the blank pages from the spill and soon realised that it was pointless. Great. Fantastic. Go get some new ones from Master Cecil, he ordered disgruntledly. It wasn’t like he had no time for this — and yet it felt like wasting it. Right now he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Aeven didn’t move.

Get up, He snapped — but then froze.

Aeven’s head was dropped, the fluff of red hair covering his eyes, but his whole body was trembling badly.

What are you doing? Pelagius suddenly snapped, seemingly quite irritated and Zenozarax, almost bewildered, met the boy’s eyes. Are you enjoying this? Can’t you see that he’s terrified of you because all you do is scold him.

The first sob broke through the trembling, gasping so badly that it was clear that Aeven had tried with all the small might of a five year old to hold back his tears — and still had failed.

I’m sorry, Aeven whimpered again, hiccuping between two sobs that now that they had broken through seemed unstoppable. I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to— his voice stumbled badly as he choked on his own sob.

Pelagius had jumped up, now coming around the table, while Zenozarax stared down at the sobbing boy next to him.

Yes. What was he doing?

Arguably, yes, he had a very bad and personal history with a man named Aeven VonTreva. But this child, despite having his name, his eyes, his hair, and come time his face, was not that man. This child had done nothing to him. This child, who had lost his mother before ever coming to know her, with a father that couldn’t stand looking at him, could not understand the unjustified anger directed at him — and still tried his best to do right by him.

He was being unfair to the point of being cruel.

He was being an asshole to an innocent child.

There was a healthy sense of shame that thought spawned. Hell, he of all people, as a wizard aware of the magnitude of possibilities of the multiverse, should know better than this. He was letting his own emotions blind him again to the reality around him.

Of course, in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter. Almost none of the interactions he had on this planet did. But that didn’t mean he should go out of his way to make this boy’s life a living hell just because he couldn’t keep his subjective feelings in check.

Pelagius tried to calm the sobbing boy but he wasn’t very good at it. He had a strong moral sense but not so much in the sense of emotional intelligence — yet. It was that age.

I’m sorry, you highness, Zenozarax said.

Aeven, his eyes, puffy and red, looked up at him, still hiccuping in his sobs. Still afraid.

Zenozarax crouched down beside him, laying his hand on the boy’s back. He was shaking so badly it made his own heart ache.

I didn’t mean to be so harsh with you. You did nothing wrong, He said calmly, gently stroking over Aeven’s back with gentle pressure, just enough to be reassuring. Slowly the helpless trembling died down as Aeven stared at him, the big blue eyes that really just looked like his mother’s were reddened and glossy, and still careful, scared and weary of another reprimand.

I spilled the ink, Aeven said breathlessly and another tear dropped from his nose.

Zenozarax scoffed, You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?

No! Aeven tensed up.

An accident then! And what did it cost us? A bit of paper? Look around you, I think we have enough of that.

While the suggestion was rhetorical in nature, Aeven still did glance into the library, processing the words and pondering the thousands of books and papers with the solemn seriousness that only a five year old could muster, and then smiled weakly. Yes.

We shouldn’t be wasteful, but I also should pull that stick out of my ass and not be a dick about it.

Court Wizard! Pelagius hissed, not approving of the choice of words. But Aeven chuckled while Zenozarax pulled a fine handkerchief from his belt pouch and cleaned up the tears and snot from Aeven’s face. The prince, considerably more calm now, let him do it without struggle, watching him with big and hopeful eyes.

With a heavy sigh Zenozarax stashed the handkerchief away. His hand stroked over the fluffy hair, signalling to Aeven that all was fine, that he was allowed to be a child, and encouraging Aeven to cheer up.

Then he stood up, pulled a chair close and sat down besides Aeven. While sorting through the mess on the table, his fingers soon soiled with ink, he said, Pelagius, can you bring us some new ink and paper?

Pelagius had stood up as well, eying him still suspicious and careful and not trusting the sudden change in approach. Yet, as duty and allegiance commanded, and the fact that his station as a knight still in training was way below the court wizard’s, he briskly nodded. Of course, court wizard.

What if I can’t get it right? Aeven asked carefully.

You will, Zenozarax promised. If not today, maybe tomorrow. Or the day after. Just keep trying.

Pelagius returned with the ink and papers and handed it to Zenozarax who gave Aeven a fresh sheet as well as himself. Then he picked up the training quill. His still dirty hands left marks on the fresh paper much to Aeven’s amusement but he ignored it.

With a steady hand he wrote a plain but well swung A on the paper.

You know that letter?

A! Aeven announced positively ecstatic that he could answer with confidence.

Indeed. Zenozarax nodded and Aeven did so as well in full dedication. Then he added the E, V, E and N. He pointed at the letters, calling them out one by one. Then making Aeven do the same.

And what does that spell out?

Aeven stared at the words, his lips moving quietly then he looked up. Aeven!

Zenozarax smiled at the genuine excitement. Correct. Do you want to learn how to write your own name, your Highness?

Yes!

17 The shield

So what are we building? Aeven asked, his skinny legs dangled restlessly from the table like he was a second away from jumping off. He had grown a lot in the last few years — figures, children had a tendency to do that, just as weeds and mould did — just soon to enter the troubling years of puberty. Already Zenozarax got the distinct and concerning sense that the young prince was starting to shun the company of his usual caretakers, and instead preferring more so than ever that of his court wizard. Dunfler had been like that too, weaselling around him as if with enough dedication and curiosity he too would become a wizard. Zenozarax had never dampened the excitement for Dunfler and he didn’t plan to do it for Aeven either. Like his father he would eventually realise that his purpose was another.

Aeven was watching him with barely contained curiosity as Zenozarax merely glanced back at him.

A shield, Zenozarax said, hurrying across the room, a glowing crystal in hand.

That doesn’t look like a shield, Aeven stared with a sceptical glance at the machine before him. The hulking colossus was sheer magic to him. And to everyone else in the castle too.

He had put off building the chaos barrier channelling device, or CBD, as they had come to call it on the Twilight and Dawnbreak respectively, for a long time and that time was now running out. Why he had done so was simple: He was genuinely scared of the thing. With the amount of chaos magic that it needed to push through his own body and mind, this device had a high chance of simply killing him. But the longer he stayed here, the more he realised that the time flux was noticeably slowing down more and more relative to the original universe. Soon, there would have past enough time for any particularly quick witted wizard to take a leap of faith through the vortex too. And he absolutely needed to prevent that from happening. Even at the risk of killing himself, because the risk of the alternative was far greater.

Zenozarax let the magic from his hands pulse through the crystal in his hand before he placed it straight in the air where it stayed put in place, hovering in a row with four other purplish crystals of the same type, softly glowing. Why, it’s a magical shield of course, Zenozarax said, indulging him. It won’t be physical, not as you would expect it to be. But it will just serve the same function. Protect the inside, from the outside.

The citadel?

Certainly more than that.

The city?

At least. Move. Zenozarax walked over to Aeven and shooed him off the table, and Aeven complied quickly, jumping off. But by no means letting off on watching him. With an elegant twist of his fingers a little sphere appeared on top of the table and at once some dull,  rough crystals fell onto the table.

What are those?

Diamonds, Zenozarax answered as he took a good handful of the naturally rounded crystals. They were not cut nor polished and by the look on his face Aeven found it hard to believe that those were indeed diamonds.

Where do they come from?

Oh, far, far away. He quickly lied in a weird sing-sang tone of voice that had Aeven rise his brows in doubt. But he didn’t need to let anyone know of his personal storages that were filled with so much theoretical wealth it would make Treva’s royal exchequer faint outright. There are actually planets out there where it rains diamonds. Zenozarax added as he went back over to the machine with the rough diamonds at hand.

Really? That’s awesome, Aeven said wide eyed, once again taken by the casual words of wonders the wizard spoke. Did you get these from there? You must be very rich then!

As long as these things hold value to you, Zenozarax said unimpressed, leaning deep into the machine again. A bright flash turned his body into a silhouette for a second. I have no use for monetary gains. Wizards are not bound by scarcity.

Aeven kept quiet for a moment, noticeably flustered by the fact that he didn’t quite yet understand half of what Zenozarax had said. But as usual he pretended it wasn’t so just so he might learn more by just listening more intensely.

That must be nice. You can just… poof, make money appear— He paused. Can you do gold too? And silver?

It doesn’t just appear. It comes from somewhere. But for the sake of simplicity, yes, Sure. Zenozarax grunted as he seemed to almost be swallowed by the machine but against all odds emerged victorious from it again. For the sake of your city and land I’d refrain from blabbing about that though. Unlimited riches tend to attract unlimited vultures.

Hmhm, Aeven nodded solemnly. He already understood enough of war and conquest to know that. But you’d protect us. That’s why you’re here. Why you’re building a shield, yes?

Zenozarax glanced at the young prince, a grim frown on his face Aeven wouldn’t be able to understand. He looked away before he answered. Yeah. Then he pressed his hand against the flat surface at its side which promptly lit up, and the machine gave a rumble, then a diabolical screeching sound and Zenozarax pulled his hand off again.

That doesn’t sound right, Aeven stated in a perfectly observational tone, having climbed back onto the table with his fingers now mindlessly playing with the pile of diamonds.

You’re wise beyond your years, your highness, Zenozarax said dryly.

What’s the problem?

It’s this goddamn time. Zenozarax came over to him, I’m still lacking the proper infrastructure for something like this, the facilities — everything has to be created from scratch and this one is highly specialised. No standard parts. Things are bound to not fit quite right on the first try. He sat down at the table, stroking his beard with a pondering frown on his face.

Can you fix it?

Of course I can fix it.

Zenozarax halted. Staring into the young, curious eyes of the boy who would grow into the echo of the man who once had defeated him. It had been a thousand years — a thousand years of anger, agony and silence frozen in ice, a thousand years that felt like nothing and an eternity at the same time — but of course he still vividly remembered that blasted hammer coming down on him, the brief flash of desperate clarity as he thought he would die. And then he hadn’t. The same hit that had knocked him out could have vaporised him on the spot, and yet, here he was. Spared by the prince’s mercy. And he had grown to despise him for it.

This Aeven wasn’t that one, already his path had changed, and his destiny would never be fulfilled in this world where the Hammer Izarax didn’t exist to be taken up by him, where no wizard would come to his aid.

But he was still born that same man. Aeven VonTreva. And unlike any other possible iteration of Aeven VonTreva across the multiverse, due to the nature of this twisted and unnatural dimension replicating the original earth, this one, in a twisted kind of way, was him.

And slowly he did start to see who that really was.

Can I help?

Aeven’s question tore him from his thoughts and he blinked, the young prince came back into focus, the world around emerging again from the memories he had lost himself in for a moment.

There was no jest or sarcasm in his voice when he said, I’ll ask for you, should I require your assistance.

Good. Aeven nodded with a grin. By the way, can I touch them?

Zenozarax followed Aeven’s pointing finger to the hovering purple crystals at the backside of the wall that stored most of the enchantments that would initialise the shield when the time came.

Absolutely not.

Why not?

Because you’d explode into billions of atoms.

Liar! What’s an atom?

That — let’s postpone that to another day.

It knocked briskly on the doorframe and both Aeven and Zenozarax looked up to see Pelagius having invited himself into the room. The young man of 22 seemed as usual rather unhappy having found Aeven with Zenozarax again.

Your highness, your presence is requested in your quarters. The tailor is here, Pelagius said stiffly, doing his best in ignoring Zenozarax’ presence all together.

“Absolutely not,” Aeven said with a surprising firmness in his young voice, and Zenozarax immediately realised that while Pelagius may was ignoring him, he couldn’t escape his influence as Aeven very convincingly mirrored Zenozarax’ own credence and words. My clothes are still fine. That however was very much not him.

Zenozarax saw the slight discomfort in Pelagius now having to debate the young prince but it was a good opportunity to get some peace and quiet, so Zenozarax said,

Your Highness, you should never let your tailor wait.

Aeven looked back at him with a sense of amusement. Why?

Because first of all, they are here to make you look great. Use that, show some creativity, give them something fun to work at. And secondly — the chances of them leaving a needle in your pants that will poke you in your ass raises dramatically if you piss them off.

Pelagius gave a very disapproving click of the tongue and a sharp breath, but had apparently given up in policing the court wizard’s language and inappropriate choice of words.

Aeven nodded with ridiculous seriousness in his face, That makes sense., Their eyes met for a moment and Zenozarax gravely nodded along as if they shared a very heavy secret — then Aeven broke the serious pretence and laughed as he jumped off the table again.

Very well! I want blue pants! He declared to Pelagius who really had no influence or say in that.

You have to tell them that. Pelagius pointed to the door. Hurry along, I’ll be there momentarily.

Zenozarax peaked up and rose while Aeven already ran out the door with an unrestrained energy that could rival the nuclear reactor below their feet. That Pelagius stayed was odd and so obviously there was something the young man wanted to talk to him about.

What is it? He asked bluntly and in a way Pelagius seemed to appreciate that. They wouldn’t waste either of their time with needless pleasantries.

The king wishes to see you, Pelagius said, with a frown, not even trying to hide his disapproval of the fact. But then his expression turned more worried. He doesn’t seem well.

Zenozarax nodded. He’s not. And he was about to leave before Pelagius stopped him.

Why can’t you help him? With your magic?

Zenozarax didn’t like the undertone in the young knight’s voice. An accusation that wasn’t new and had grown in popularity over the last years. But he would have thought Pelagius to be smarter than to fall for it. For a moment he considered what to tell this young knight who was now Aeven’s sworn guard and also who was of all those at court probably the most opposed to him. Breaking the king’s confidence was a risk, but it may sway Pelagius’ opinion of him and reduce the risk of turning these last few years more hostile than they needed to be.

Our beloved king suffers a sickness of the mind, not body. There is nothing I can do for him, Zenozarax said firmly, not backing off from the knight who for all intents and purposes stood way too close to him.

Are you saying he’s mad?

That is absolutely not what I’m saying, Zenozarax said sharply and refrained from voicing the colourful adjectives he wanted to throw at this ignorant peasant of a knight. It is sadness that is eating him alive. Grief still.

It’s been ten years. It seemed so simple, an equation that didn’t add up to the knight, ignorant that the depression that had taken this king’s mind did not care about years.

And for ten years that grief has festered in his heart. You’re no stranger to grief. But you don’t understand that he can’t let go of this sadness. I can’t help him and he doesn’t want to see any doctor anymore who might, because the potions and powders they give him to ease his suffering he doesn’t take. Because when he does, when the only thing he has left of her, this grief, vanishes it leaves nothing but emptiness.

He still has his son! Aeven needs him.

He killed her.

Pelagius stared at him downright bewildered. That’s not true. He can’t believe that.

Some part of him does. He blames him, me, himself, god and the world even. And he hates himself for it, Zenozarax said quietly. I know why you look at me like this, I heard the rumours too, but I’m not poisoning him, I’m not ignoring his pain. But there is simply nothing I can do because he doesn’t want me to. He’s a broken man who has nothing left but his pain. The only thing we can do now, is to not let anyone else know of it. Least of all Aeven.

For the first time there was a glimmer of good faith in Pelagius’ eyes. Still scepticism, maybe even paranoia, but once more Zenozarax had spoken with such genuine dedication that even this man who was staunchly opposed to him couldn’t help but be swayed by his words. At least for now.

18 Unicorn

King Dunfler, first of his name, was dead.

The King’s death came as a tragic surprise to the kingdom and the people who had come to love the king who had brought so much prosperity to the land. The mourning was genuine and even a month later flags all across the kingdom still flew on half mast.

The King’s death came as an unbelievable surprise to the court, all of whom had been vaguely aware of the King’s declining health to this or that extent, but they had not expected him to die.

The King’s death came utterly unsurprising to the court wizard who a week before his death had sat with the King, who still had called him a friend.

In the company of the holy Patriarch of the church and the law master of Treva, a will had been formulated.

Naming Zenozarax the steward of Treva until Aeven’s rightful coronation, granting him all the powers of the King bare his title. In addition, Zenozarax was also named the prince’s guardian. A mild concern was raised by the Patriarch, noting that Dunfler’s brother who hadn’t been in Treva for over a decade, was still a legitimate successor and if overstepped this bluntly it may cause political tensions, but Dunfler wouldn’t hear of it. Where the old Carrs and even their sons and daughters frequented Treva on occasion, the relationship between the brothers had never quite recovered ever since Dunfler had married Reela, an act which had more or less banished his brother to marry into the Carr’s house. He wasn’t living badly, quite the contrary, but ever since he had not set foot in Treva again. Even when Reela had died, only the old lady Carr had shown up for the funeral. Zenozarax knew the king had never truly forgiven that.

And so the will had been written just like King Dunfler wanted it. Of course.

Zenozarax had understood what was going to happen and so he had let Dunfler make that choice. Apparently he had been the only one of the three men present who had seen it.

The will was sealed by the Patriarch with Sigel of North and the law master saw to it that it was kept safe within the vaults of the citadel, noting the event down in history and optimistic they wouldn’t have to deal with it anytime soon.

After both the representatives of law and religion had left, he had talked to Dunfler alone, already knowing it was a risk he took. Dunflers told him what he intended to do, and Zenozarax did not try to dissuade him. But he cautioned him for one week, so he may leave. Understanding the reason for the request, Dunfler had agreed.

Zenozarax had left Treva afterwards. Riding on a bright white steed he made his departure as visible as possible and made sure to engage the guard at the gate in conversation before he left.

Seven days later, the seal had been broken again and a rider sent out to Kaltenmoor to urge the Court Wizard to return to Treva immediately.

Half a day later the Court Wizard sat on the King’s chair with the assembled court for the first time, taking care of all the things that would need to be done after the King’s sudden passing.

Of the court nobody questioned his new position as the kingdom’s steward. Even those that would prescribe ulterior motives to his conduct couldn’t not deny the eye witness account of both the Patriarch and Law Master who confirmed the will had been written by the King himself while clear of thought and under no duress.

That evening, once all business was taken care of at least for the time being, Zenozarax had finally found the time to see to his new charge. It wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to, but it was a conversation that needed to happen.

He found Aeven in his quarters alone with no sign of the maids anywhere close. The young boy, still a few weeks away from turning 14, looked at him quietly when Zenozarax entered the room, not even greeting him.

There was a strange sense of maturity in his eyes. A sombre acceptance Zenozarax had not expected to be there, but was grateful for nevertheless.

What have you been told? Zenozarax asked as he approached the young prince.

Not much. His sickness took him. He died peacefully in his sleep.

Zenozarax sat down across Aeven, mustering his face for a while before he said, You don’t believe that.

Aeven shook his head.

Father wasn’t sick. He was just sad.

Zenozarax smiled weakly, but not with happiness. Sadness can be a sickness, too. Then he added, Your father took his own life.

Silence.

Why didn’t you stop him?

Because I couldn’t help him. And he was suffering.

Why? There was a wet gleam in the young boy’s eyes. King Dunfler had always been a very absent father to Aeven, but in the end he had still been his father. And Aeven, lords bless his soul, had never shown resentment. Always accepting the distance. Explaining it away with how busy the King would be doing all the things a King would need to do. He had still idolised him, despite everything. He wondered how much Aeven had felt how his sight alone had pained his father.

He never forgave himself for your mother’s death. Zenozarax saw in Aeven’s eyes that he wanted to know as much as he dreaded it. But Zenozarax had always been as truthful with his kings and soon to be ones as his plan allowed. He wouldn’t stop that now.

Have you ever been told what happened when you were born?

Aeven shook his head.

Your mother was a kind and lovely woman, but she was weak and often sick. Her heart was faulty and so she couldn’t exhaust herself without endangering herself. When she became pregnant with you, we all knew there would be a risk. I don’t think Dunfler really wanted to believe it, even when he saw the proof of what I told him. He was a different man back then, not only younger but more impulsive and stubborn too. If your father wanted something, he would get it. He would make it so.

Aeven listened to him quietly. A heartbroken frown had settled on the young face.

Four weeks before your birth your father was required to travel to Linden to attend a meeting of the lords of heath. A peace treaty, after a decade of rebellion in the south. An opportunity I strongly advised him to take.

A peace treaty that had never existed on the original earth. An advice that had never been given to the first King Dunfler.

He planned to return in due time and told me to stay with your mother and see to her well being. But as the meeting dragged on and tempers rose, it soon became clear that you would be born before his return.

Maybe on the other earth Dunfler had been in Treva when Aeven had been born.

He couldn’t accept that. He already loved you so much, he wanted to be there, to be the first to hold you in his arms and to be with Reela at that moment. And so your father demanded that his wife should be brought to him instead. I advised against it, because your mother was in no condition to travel but… it was my word against the order of the King. And so we went.

Maybe Reela had never been made to travel in that condition. It was possible that his presence alone had taken both his parents from Aeven.

On the fourth day, we were caught in a storm and the cart broke down. You were born there in that carriage in the forest. But already strained by the journey and weakened by a taxing pregnancy, your mother didn’t survive. We arrived in Linden three days later. And that was the day your father’s heart broke.

Quiet tears gleamed in Aeven’s eyes and dripped down his chin. Zenozarax didn’t tell him that Dunfler had not held his newborn son then. It had been only the dead body of his wife he held. He did not tell him that it had been the first and last time he had seen that man cry, taken by grief too strong to be held by either shame or decorum. How Dunfler had wept in desperation till he was barely able to breath and cried out to the god that had forsaken him.

Zenozarax did not tell Aeven that he had been the only one that day to hold him.

Thank you. For telling me, Aeven muttered, trying to wipe his eyes dry and failing as more tears filled his eyes.

Of course, your highness, Zenozarax said quietly. Will you be alright tonight?

Of course. The words were half swallowed by an audible tightness having taken hold of Aeven’s throat and heart. Nevertheless Aeven stood up, keeping his back straight, ready to politely see him out while another tear dropped from his chin, betraying the courtly posture.

Zenozarax stood up as well, but didn’t move to leave. Will you be alright? he asked again, more firmly, he met Aeven’s bloodshot eyes, he looked so horribly scared and lost. And before Zenozarax could have said anything else, Aeven had closed the distance between them and had fallen against his chest. At once, the taught barrier of polite restraint was broken down and Aeven sobbed breathlessly. He buried his head against Zenozarax’ chest, maybe even ashamed of his own tears.

And Zenozarax let the boy cry. He lay a hand on his back, feeling the helpless and shuddering breath, soon feeling a wetness against his chest through the thin fabric.

What am I to do now? Aeven’s muffled voice was barely audible. Zenozarax understood that the young boy was suddenly terrified of the responsibilities that were looming for him on the horizon.

You keep on going. There is nothing you need to do. I am Treva’s steward now, and your guardian. As such I’ll see to my duties and rule the kingdom in your stead till you are old enough.

Slowly Aeven calmed down, seemingly reassured by his words.

Zenozarax considered the year, the time he still had.

Nine years till the stellar alignment. That was all that was left. And he had to move on to the next phase of the plan soon.

Yet, patting the boys back softly, he said, You won’t have to figure it out all on your own. I’ll be here.

Thank you. And Aeven probably only believed him because he needed to.

I’m just fulfilling my purpose.

Aeven had mostly calmed down against his chest, but kept holding on for a while longer. Zenozarax wondered if Dunfler had ever held his son like this. And doubted it. All of this felt miserable.

Would you like a distraction, your Highness? Or would you prefer solitude to think and process what happened?

Aeven let go of him, whipping away his tears with a dedication that seemed to imply that he wanted to be done with crying. Yet his words were still shaky.

A distraction?

Well, it’s your birthday soon, isn’t it? I may have something for you you may enjoy spending some time with. Grief is natural, and you will have to come to terms with it, but you shouldn’t let yourself be consumed by it. Don’t let it govern your life. Not like Dunfler had allowed it. Not like he himself had…

He had most likely taken both of the boy’s parents from him. For their sake, he needed to…

Aeven nodded thoughtfully. What is it?

Zenozarax pulled out his pocket watch and gave the time a glance, it was almost half past eight, that meant they had still about two hours of the late summer evening light left.

Your timepiece? Aeven asked, puzzled.

No! Zenozarax scoffed, stuffing the watch back into his pocket That one you definitely can’t have. Come, get your travel cloak and follow me!

They left the room and briefly the guard demanded to know where they were going this late. Zenozarax told him they were going for a ride. And given that he now was the de facto authority in Treva, with the heir to the throne fully on his side, there was no argument against it.

He led Aeven to the stable and told him to wait there for a moment. He left his view and once unseen he ported back to the tower. Got what he wanted and ported back.

With the magnificent machine of polished and smooth metal he had seemingly conjured up from thin air trotting behind him he reappeared around the corner before Aeven whose eyes widened in stunned awe as for the first time he saw an actual unicorn.

It was taller than any horse he would have ever seen, its eyes a burning light that ran down its neck and body as well. The silvery hair seemed to bounce near weightlessly with every elegant move the massive creature made.

It held its head high with an haughty and proud air of arrogance, the pointy horn safely out of reach.

… a unicorn? Aeven, seemingly lost for words, stammered as the mighty beast of metal and magic stopped right before him and he had to look up quite dramatically. Zenozarax, in the meanwhile, had halfway circled the prince, watching both him and the unicorn and their reaction to each other.

You seemed quite enamoured about them the last time we spoke about them, Zenozarax noted.

Yes I mean— oh by North.

The unicorn charred its front hoof lazily, making Aeven take a careful and instinctual step back.

Don’t be afraid. She won’t harm you.

Still wide eyed, Aeven barely managed to take his eyes from the unicorn to look at Zenozarax.

She? What’s her name?

Mercury. Zenozarax waved his hand towards the idling unicorn. Go on, you can touch her.

Mercury… Aeven muttered as he did go closer to her and with trembling hands touched her neck. And as Zenozarax had hoped, for a moment the misery of the day was all but forgotten in awe.

What is this? Caught in absolute wonder, Aeven’s voice seemed near dreamlike. It almost feels like metal. But softer. And warm. It’s not an animal? Aeven looked back to him.

Not a creature of flesh and blood that is true. Zenozarax stepped up to them both, the unicorn nuzzling the side of her face against his outreached hand. But alive nonetheless. She feels and she thinks. So you better treat her right.

I will! Aeven promised solemnly.

Do you want to go for a ride?

Can I?

Of course!

Court Wizard! The sharp voice made all three of them, Mercury included (who sense the hostility immediately and was ready to vaporise the intruders if only she were to be allowed to), look back to the stables entrance where a handful of guards had just entered, at their head, knight guard Pelagius. Zenozarax had physically held back a groan. That man really was starting to get on his nerves.

What is the meaning of this? What do you intend?

While the rest of the guard seemed reasonably taken aback by the presence of an actual unicorn, if Pelagius felt the same he didn’t show it. His face was firm and strict and utterly focused on his duty, unicorn or not. And by the tone of his voice seemingly convinced Zenozarax’ next move was to kill the prince as well.

It’s alright, Ser Pelagius, Aeven said before Zenozarax could have answered, which caused a gleeful sense of satisfaction. Pelagius would not argue with the prince. Zenozarax just wanted to take my mind off things. An early birthday present. Aeven smiled gently, and while it was still not as radiant as it used to be there was levity in it. We just wanted to go for a ride.

At this hour? Sharp eyes of suspicion fell on Zenozarax.

We still have some light left. Zenozarax shrugged like this could possibly be the only cause for concern the knight could reasonably have.

Looking back at Aeven, it was almost like one could see the conflicting thoughts that undoubtedly had to coarse through the knights head in that moment.

We will accompany you. The prince should not leave the citadel unguarded.

He’s not unguarded, I’m with him.

Pelagius’ eyes met him with a look that clearly said Especially because of that. even though he obviously did not say it.

Fine. Just keep your distance.

19 The Gift

In the year past King Dunfler’s death things changed as much as they stayed the same. The court wizard had over decades garnered a very favourable reputation with the people of the sprawling Kingdom of Treva so his stewardship was mostly accepted without any resistance. Of course the persistent rumours of regicide and usurpation kept alive and well in dingy taverns late at night fueled by too much alcohol which loosened the tongue and weakened the common senses. But there was no revolt against his rulership.

The way the kingdom was ruled barely changed as it soon became clear to the court how much in the later years Zenozarax had already influenced the King’s decisions. Yet his unorthodox flavour of competence in these matters still surprised them.

The court’s table was on fire. Well figuratively. Distantly Zenozarax listened to the shouting as Lady Vendertracht fought with claws and teeth (again figuratively, for now) against Treva’s Harbour master. Acting knight captain Pelagius, while very polite and restrained, had fair counters to both sides where necessary. The head Patriarch of Treva was also present, why the man thought his input was required however Zenozarax couldn’t tell. The church really had nothing to do with this but he figured the man just wanted to pretend he was always needed too. The other men and women of the court present were even less important right now.

Given the frankly minute issue at hand, he had allowed the expected notification from the tower in Kaltenmoor to occupy a part of his attention.

Lazily he skimmed over the information on his datatab. It was an automated status report of the tower which had run another check-in with all the other facilities, confirming their current status now that he was slowly restarting the facilities to an idle state. The incoming information was kept in clinically bland Vaeh, its abstract representation scrolled past quicker than any human eye could even comprehend as he let it flow through the touch of his thumb on the smooth screen.

Lord Zenozarax! That very familiar sharp voice.

He looked up to see Pelagius frowning at him. A very familiar sight too. Hum?

Maybe, if you’re preoccupied, we would do better to postpone this discussion.

Ah, no. He sat up propper. Based on all I heard, here’s what’s going to happen. Lady Vendertracht, your guild will pay the raised fees for each of your ships as it is set.

That is—“ Lady Vendertracht was about to object but he raised his finger, shushing her.

In turn the harbourmaster will facilitate a priority execution of the requested construction of the four ships you applied for weeks ago.

The dry docks are — and he shushed the Harbour Master as well.

I am aware you don’t have space for new orders. But I have heard that Fernan Call, who is currently building two ships in Master Redicks docks, has promised both of you funds he no longer possesses. And he can not pay for the ships he is building. You will be eager to find a buyer for the two ships already constructed. Lady Vendertracht will be that buyer at a reasonable price, honouring the existing contract. This will grant you more traffic through the harbour, raising your income, and Lady Vendertracht can increase the trade with the Southland much sooner than scheduled, balancing the increased cost with a surplus.

Both Lady Vendertracht and the harbour master looked at him in silence, then at each other, then back to Zenozarax.

Deal?

It does sound… agreeable. But we will have to inspect the ships, Lady Vendertracht said with pursed lips. The harbour master nodded grimly.

Fine. If this is true about Call.

Indeed, Ser Pelagius said, and Zenozarax was still unclear why the now acting head of the royal guard was considered an authority on any decision made on this table but he let him speak. How do you know about Call’s financial status? I don’t remember any report of the sort.

I heard him say it in drunken stupor, Zenozarax said nonchalantly. He’s basically broke. Bad gambling habit.

You what? When? Where? Pelagius seemed somewhat alarmed.

Couple days ago, at ehh- what was it, The Dime? Fergor’s place, we were all over the city that night-

We?

Aeven was with me.

Harbour master, Lady Vendertracht, you may leave now, Pelagius said sharply, Zenozarax raised a brow in amusement, but at the two representative’s questioning look he gave an agreeing wave of his hand, dismissing them. Both, sensing that there was trouble afoot, hurried up to see to their new agreement and left the court chambers, leaving only the close circle to the crown.

The moment the doors fell shut Pelagius spoke again,

Lord Zenozarax, this is unacceptable behaviour. You can not take the prince out into the city without notifying the guard. In fact, neither of you should go without our protection. Furthermore, neither of the two of you should frequent establishments like that.

It’s fine, Pelagius —

It is not fine! Pelagius snapped, his hands slammed on the table. Not only are you endangering the safety of the prince, you also fill his head with all sorts of shenanigans.

The lad is almost 16. Shenanigans are the only thing on his mind no matter what I do. Let him live a little.

Ser Pelagius shook his head in utter disbelief. You really don’t see why this is inappropriate?

No, no. I can see why you think it is. But I don’t agree with it. Zenozarax said very much unimpressed by the young man’s outrage. And afterall, isn’t it God’s will for young warriors to conquer the taverns of the world? He raised his brows almost expectedly towards the grand Patriarch who, for the duration of their fight so far, had seemed glad to not be in the middle of it. Being so blatantly roped into it by Zenozarax caused the man clear discomfort.

Well, why yes my lord, that is most certainly true. The Northmam did utter that sentiment surely. But I have to say that maybe, well there might be some leeway in the literacy of that text when it comes to the young prince. He is not a warrior afterall, just a ’lad’ as you put it.

He liked that man. Despite the clear discomfort he still, in his weasley way, managed to actually stand his ground.

That is true. Zenozarax nodded.

So you agree to cease these nightly activities? Pelagius asked with still clear suspicion.

Absolutely not. If the prince asked for company I may grant him that company, wherever he goes.

Pelagius shook his head, leaning back.

Lord Zenozarax — your loyalty to the prince is not in doubt here.

Hear, hear. Zenozarax mustered Pelagius, trying to spot any hint of a falsehood because this didn’t seem to align. But his poker face was absolutely perfect. Pelagius continued,

But you are the prince’s guardian. You have a responsibility to him, to his education and his upbringing. He’s still a child. You can not grant him his every whim. You will spoil him and the kingdom will suffer for it.

He understood that. If Pelagius would be right about his perception of things, what he said would be absolutely true. And he respected Pelagius for being so adamant too, for not caving in despite the adversary and staying true to what he thought was right. But Pelagius didn’t know that it didn’t matter.

Feigning a sympathetic tone of diplomacy he said, You are of course right. I understand your point. Afterall, you are a fine example of what a rigid and firm upbringing can do for a boy who lost his father too early. Pelagius’ eyes narrowed. Bringing up his own father put them on very thin ice. But you are infantilising the prince to a degree I can not agree with. He doesn’t need coddling and he doesn’t need me to tell him of his responsibilities either. He is very much aware of them. He has at best three more years left before his life will change forever. I will not have him locked up in the libraries until then. If he wants to go mingle with the people, I’ll let him. If he wants to drink till he can’t walk anymore, I will let him. If he’d want to fuck a wench in the brothel, I will let him—

Lord Zenozarax—!

Zenozarax rose his voice, not letting Pelagius interrupt him, As long as I know of it and he still trusted me enough for me to be the first person he asked to make sure that he is safe while doing so, I’ll let him do whatever the fuck he wants!

Stunned silence took the room, Pelagius’ eyes spoke of fire and fury, but he too stayed silent. Because Zenozarax’ tone had left no room for a further debate on this.

We’ll discuss the other matters tomorrow. You’re dismissed.

The Patriarch was the first to reach the door, seemingly in a great hurry to exit the situation, Pelagius, next to Zenozarax, was the last to be still sitting as a guard stepped in, taking the sign of people leaving that today’s court meeting was finished.

Lord Zenozarax, the prince has requested your presence in his quarters, the guard said.

For a brief moment Zenozarax met Pelagius’ eyes again, seeing the frustrated anger burn in his eyes, then he stood up.

Very well.

*

He was being let in by the guard seemingly unprompted, it appeared Aeven had instructed the man to just let him in the moment he arrived.

Inside the prince’s study he was however alone with no sign of Aeven.

Your Highness? He called into the adjacent room.

I’m here! Came from the small personal library to his right. Not an unlikely place to find the boy in his free time as of late whenever he wasn’t down at the stables. Despite his energetic nature, Zenozarax had soon realised that the prince’s desire to learn about every corner of the known world and the people within them overshadowed his desire for shenanigans, as Pelagius had put it, by quite a margin.

He entered and found Aeven at the sitting area, a book at his side he probably just had put away.

Is everything alright? Aeven asked promptly, not so much out of worry but plain curiosity.

Why do you ask? Zenozarax sat down across from Aeven.

I heard there was shouting at the court meeting.

And how would you have heard about that already? Are you now having spies in the castle?

Aeven grinned. Maybe. And then at Zenozarax’ inquisitive and unwavering stare he sheepishly admitted, I asked some of the maids to keep an ear out.

I didn’t know you were that interested in the courtly affairs?

Aeven shrugged. It kind of is important to me too, is it not? To know these things?

If you want to know, you just have to ask and I’ll tell you. And if that’s not enough, you can have a place at that table.

I really should, shouldn’t I?

Eventually you’d have to. Contrary to whatever Pelagius thought he was doing, Zenozarax had actually no intention of raising Aeven to be anything he wasn’t supposed to be. Or anything Reela or Dunfler wouldn’t have wanted him to be. Aeven was a good kid, and he was growing into becoming a man who would, just like Pelagius, stand up to him by principle and by moral code were he ever to find out what Zenozarax was actually doing. Just how it was supposed to be. He’d not drag this boy down with him. Because by now he had accepted that Aeven VonTreva —  the one that had defeated him once — wasn’t his real enemy. He was a man who fought to protect those he loved and to uphold what he knew was right. In his position, Zenozarax would have done the same. Because no matter how noble his goal may be, there was no moral justification for what he was doing to achieve it, not in this world, not in any other. That was his curse alone to bear.

Aeven looked down, thoughtful and not too happy.

I don’t think I’m ready for that. I feel like I still know nothing about ruling a kingdom.

More than most, actually, Zenozarax mused. And being there would teach you more.

Hm. Aeven pondered that for a moment. Then he said, And you’ll help me, right? Like you helped all the Kings before?

Advising the King of Treva is my duty as court wizard, Zenozarax repeated near automatically. A safe and true answer he didn’t need to think about.

Aeven smiled, relaxing a little and falling back against the backrest of the sofa.

You were fighting with Ser Pelagius again, weren’t you?

Ser Pelagius was present. But I wouldn’t call it a fight. More like a civil disagreement.

I think you should be nicer to him. He’s a good man, Aeven said with near naive conviction after he had grabbed the book at his side and just fiddled around with the cover, giving his hands something to do.

I’m always nice, Zenozarax replied dryly.

Aeven chuckled. No you’re not. You’re…

Yes?

Complicatedy, Aeven concluded with a solemn nod.

Oh why thank you, your highness. Zenozarax scoffed, the smile didn’t vanish from Aeven’s face, as usually amused by Zenozarax.

As a matter of fact, Pelagius did not approve of our last trip to the city, Zenozarax admitted.

That isn’t surprising. Was that why you fought?

I barely raised my voice. The shouting was all before that. Traders.

Right. How did he find out?

I told him.

Okay. That is surprising. Aeven tapped his fingers on the book cover. And what are we thinking about his disapproval?

We will ignore it.

So you just told him to make him angry?

...

I take that as a yes.

For a boy only shy of 16, Aeven had become surprisingly perceptive. Like he possessed an unnervingly empathic intuition. Reela had been the same in her quiet and careful way.

You disapprove, he concluded and Aeven stayed quiet for a moment.

I do like Pelagius. He takes his position very seriously. And I think he thinks you do not.

The position of steward, or the position of the guard?

Both, maybe. Aeven smiled apologetically. I don’t know, really. I just want you two to get along.

If he stops being such a polished door knob all the time I’d gladly oblige.

Aeven chuckled. He’s actually very kind and rather humorous, but I don’t think you’ve ever seen that side of him. Finally Aeven put the book aside again, letting it and its defenceless cover rest in peace for at least a little while. I actually wanted to ask you if we may go to the harbour tonight.

The theatre? That’s today?

It is. Aeven nodded. They had heard about it the last time.

Zenozarax took the small watch from his pouch and gave the time a glance.

It’s still only noon, we have to wait till evening. I can pick you up once it’s dark.

Aeven looked wide eyed at him, then briefly glanced at the windows past the doorway. You are mistaken, the sun is already setting.

He was about to put the watch away again before he halted, even following Aeven’s glance to the windows and indeed, the sun was setting. He must have noticed it before too and yet he had blindly trusted his usually so reliable timekeeper. He took another look at the clock in his hand that had betrayed him now. The fine handles of the clock were frozen firmly at noon.

Aeven, leaning dramatically forward to catch a glance, looked at it too. Is it broken?

It would appear so, Zenozarax mumbled more to himself than to Aeven. It shouldn’t be too surprising. The watch was old, in fact as old as the existence of the very planet. The mastery of Yoctoty’s fine work had been the only reason it still had worked in the first place, and now, after almost two centuries of heavy use in every sort of environment, it had finally stopped working.

Can you fix it?

Of course …

But it felt like a bad omen. A reminder that this time was soon to be over. Ravalor would have called him superstitious for that. But Ravalor wasn’t here. It was just him. And Aeven. And the fact that bad omen or not, he would need to stop doing this way too soon.

He closed the watch and put it away, then he stood up, not looking at Aeven.

On second thought I have to ask you to excuse myself for today. I don’t think I will be pleasant company.

I understand, Aeven said and Zenozarax wondered what the boy thought he understood.

Thank you. I’ll leave alone then.

Wait! He heard the rustling as Aeven jumped up. I had something for you. I mean I have—

As he had turned back to Aeven, the boy held a small box of painted dark red wood and a golden enclosing.

A gift?

Aeven nodded surprisingly tense, still unwaveringly holding out the box for Zenozarax to take. You never told anyone your birthday but I figured, obviously, it has to be somewhen. Also I just wanted to get you something. Because I’m glad you’re here. I’m thankful for what you’re doing. And that you’re helping me. The intensely heartfelt monologue was underlined with a healthy sense of awkwardness but at least as much genuine gratitude. And each word felt like a punch to the gut. Though, I don’t think it will make up for your timepiece… Aeven’s voice trailed off as he got no answer, nor a reaction.

The box kept hovering in Aeven hands between them while Zenozarax stared at Aeven.

Will you take it? Aeven asked anxiously as the petrified reaction he got definitely wasn’t what he had hoped for.

Barely Zenozarax managed to snap out of it and to finally take the small box. What is it? He heard himself asked distantly.

It’s nothing really it’s— I didn’t know what you could want and— Arguably it’s quite silly, Aeven said, every word filled with uncertainty as his confidence had been completely shattered.

Zenozarax opened the latch but suddenly there was Aeven hand on it.

Maybe just look at it another time. Or just put it away, it’s really not important, the boy said hastily, a dark flush in his face, eager to salvage the situation and pretend it never happened in the first place.

Zenozarax took Aeven’s hand and pulled it away, then opened the box.

On the fine velvet inside lay a small golden figurine of a horse. A small folded note to its side.

It’s pretty. He smiled weakly, looking up. It wasn’t the gift that filled the sadness in his heart but it was a physical manifestation of the cause.

Relief washed all over Aeven at that moment, but he still looked worried. Zenozarax knew his face betrayed him. You think so?

I do. Thank you, your Highness. In a way he really meant it.

Aeven’s face brightened up with a radiant smile. Thank North. He laughed. Alright, now you can leave. Oh, no wait, when is your birthday?

Zenozarax closed the box again and turned around as he said, Somewhen in about 70 thousand years.

What?

Don’t think about it. Good night, your Highness.

20 The knife

It knocked on his door.

Zenozarax raised up halfway from his hunched position over his study with an utterly perplexed look on his face after glancing at the clock at his work panel. He would have assumed starting to hallucinate sounds now if the sound wouldn’t have repeated just moments later.

That was unusual.

He stood up, fastening the belt of his morning robe and brushing his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t exactly ready to see any visitors — because usually he didn’t have any, at least not anymore when he was usually available downstairs during the day. This far up the spire people didn’t just randomly drop by. The only exception to that in recent years was Aeven, but this wasn’t the time he’d usually suspect Aeven to seek him out.

He opened the door.

Huh.

Pelagius, he greeted the young man flatly, dropping any title out of spite and carelessness alike. At least he saw the same disdain in Pelagius’ face he felt in this moment and which must have been clearly in his voice.

Lord Zenozarax. May I have a word with you?

Well, since you already bothered to come all the way up here, please, be my guest. Zenozarax stepped aside, waving Pelagius inside.

The knight followed the invitation, but Zenozarax took notice of the tension within the young man. His careful eyes darted around the room before resettling on Zenozarax himself. Whatever it was he wanted to say, he did a terrible job at it because he stayed quiet for the time being. Zenozarax wondered if he tried to make him nervous. He felt there was something dangerous looming above them.

But he chose to not give the knight that much power over the situation. Casually he strolled back to his desk, waving into the room.

You’ll have to excuse the mess, I rarely expect visitors up here. I heard congratulations are in order? Zenozarax said carefree.

Pelagius raised his brows, finally deciding to speak again, What for?

Head of the royal guard, yes? Now officially. Ser Pelagius had been the acting head of the royal Knight Guard for almost two years already. Once his father had died, one Ser Uriel had taken the mantle, however as the man had grown old so had his mental faculties. Suffering a severe case of dementia, Ser Uriel had been gracefully allowed to keep his title till his death, only that Ser Pelagius, next to being Aeven’s sworn guard, had taken over his duties already almost four years ago. Always groomed and destined for this position he had always been Uriel’s second and now, even though still very young for the position, he was officially head of the royal guard of Treva. He wondered if his youth was cause for any bad blood in the ranks, but then again, for reasons that eluded him Pelagius seemed very well liked amongst the men.

I don’t see the passing of Ser Uriel as a cause for much celebration, Pelagius said stiffly and staggeringly uncharitable.

Implying I do? You let your dislike of my person colour your judgement, Pelagius.

If so, I apologise, my lord, Pelagius answered plain and stiffly and undoubtedly not even halfway honestly.

Zenozarax had always thought of the young knight as exhausting in his morally rigorous way. And he knew, now as the most powerful knight at court, this man would cause him all kinds of annoyances.

Zenozarax sat down, loosely crossing his legs as he looked back, utterly relaxed. Pelagius kept standing where he had stopped, hands behind his back. He wore the light armour standardised within the castle walls (the Amunthonian variant of course, because they were a bunch of knights with a superiority complex, refusing the trevanian colours and somehow getting away with it, because tradition), but of course he also carried his sword.

Pelagius was a problem, and he would only become more of a problem as time went on, he could clearly see that. A problem he should take care of in some form sooner rather than later if he planned on keeping these last years as peaceful as possible.

What is it you do here, court wizard? Pelagius asked, pretending to gaze around the room but Zenozarax noticed he never turned so far as to leave him out of his sight. Zenozarax very well noticed how he had reverted back to his now unofficial title of court wizard. It didn’t seem like an accident. It felt like Pelagius had taken that page out of Zenozarax’ own book and tried to put him back into his place as well.

You’re no stranger in the citadel, you know what I do, so why ask?

That is true, I know what you’re supposed to be doing. But what is it you think you are doing here? And what for?

Well, usually, if there is a king, I’m to assist the crown in all matters requiring a certain magical touch. Though more often my assistance is given in a more generalised advisory manner.

I did notice that. Pelagius nodded. King Dunfler trusted you.

As did his father and his father’s father. Your point?

Pelagius ignored his question and changed the topic like he hadn’t even heard it. You were gone the last two days. A stated fact, not a question. But nobody saw you leave or come back. Where did you go?

Oh. So now he was spying after him? Zenozarax realised that Pelagius wasn’t about to become a problem — he already was.

Wherever I want to go, Zenozarax said firmly, unable to hide the hint of irritation in his voice and just by a hair managing to not throw in a good handful of curses. Is there anything you want to tell me or are you just going to state random facts about my presence?

Prince Aeven, Pelagius finally said.

What about him?

This is a critical time of his life, he needs to be made ready to take the throne. But, since you seem more occupied with spending your nights in the commons, going so far as to disappear for days from your courtly duties and the duties to the prince, I think it would be best for the both of you if you hand over the responsibility of his further guidance.

To you? Zenozarax scoffed.

To the church. And the guard respectively. Leading him back onto a path of both faith and strength.

He strayed from it, did he?

Pelagius ignored him. He’s at a complicated age, and I think your influence does him more harm than good.

What, are you his father now? The lad is almost a grown man.

His Highness is still only 15, Pelagius corrected sharply. I don’t see why this is such a point of contention to you. After all you say you have his best interest in mind. Or is there a reason you desire the prince’s trust as badly as you seem to do? He said slowly, carefully, his watchful gaze fixed on Zenozarax, a distinct tension in his body.

Careful with your words there, Pelagius. I don’t think I like what you’re implying. The sense of amusement had vanished from Zenozarax’ face, and Pelagius saw it. This was Pelagius’ chance to step back. But for the first time since he knew him, Pelagius made a mistake. This time he didn’t take that step back.

And what would that be?

There it was. That moment of absolute silence. The tipping point. This man wouldn’t let it go, he wouldn’t stop. Hellbend on some arsenine idea that Zenozarax was about to kill the young Prince, or at least corrupt him to do his bidding, maybe even something worse than that — seemingly stuck on the idea that this was Zenozarax’ final rise to power. Oh, how wrong he was. But there really was no way of explaining that to him. Because the truth was so much worse.

Pelagius’ hand was close to the handle of his sword. Surely just for show and intimidation, Zenozarax wouldn’t assume the man to be so stupid as to try to murder him right here and now over an argument like this. But it was a factor to consider.

He was a man with a grudge, but he was honourable. That was the only reason he was here now. And Zenozarax had failed to convince him of his innocence. Lords only knew how many heads in the court he had already poisoned with this delusion. Lords only knew how many more after this.

He’d not have this knight ruin these few remaining years for him.

He could just make him disappear and be done with it.

For a moment Zenozarax felt the burning temptation of just blowing him up with a blast of magic. He didn’t, raining in his impulsive nature just by a hair. Someone probably knew the knight was up here right now, so if he simply went missing without a trace, that would be another problem. He needed to be found and able to be identified elsewhere. Kill him with as little harm to his body as possible, reanimate him, walk him out of the castle, let him be seen. Problem solved.

His eyes darted to the knife on the desk — Pelagius saw that too — and in that moment, when the knight’s worst assumption about him came true, the tension that had been built for 15 years broke apart into action.

It was over in three moves.

Pelagius sword would have hit him, taking advantage of the opening his reaching for the knife had caused, taking his hand or arm, but instead and unexpectedly to Pelagius, who had never fought a wizard before, the sword clashed against an unyielding ward cast by Zenozarax’ free hand. The force of the swing bounced back, stopping his momentum dead in its tracks, Pelagius lost his balance, and in that moment Zenozarax had turned around, the knife in his hand, and rammed it into the knight’s chest.

*

It had slumbered almost lazily, if not bored. Till the strong grip suddenly startled the knife awake.

It immediately knew why it was drawn and what needed to happen, and it was eager, near excited, to fulfil its purpose — but then there was a moment of confusion.

Plunged into soft flesh, the pulse within itself died in the strange matter. It wasn’t working. It was alive, but it wasn’t a wizard like the knife knew them, it couldn’t take control of it like this. But it needed to, that was its purpose! To make them whole again.

In the billions of years of its existence, it had never run into this problem before. Or if it had, it didn’t remember since the darkness. But it was curious, and the task was not impossible. Within the fraction of a second it found a solution. Of course it did, because it had to fulfil its purpose.

Instantly it started to glow in a radiant show of ice cold light, the intense light pierced through the insertion wound and in its reach a million microscopic tears were torn into the dimensions. Mercilessly and efficiently it tore the strange body apart, so similar, so different, as through these tears, from a place beyond space and time, magic as ancient as the multiverse itself flooded the organic mass.

The knife was torn out of the body, but by that time it was already hard at work to do what it was supposed to do. Self replicating magic ate like wildfire through the body, replacing everything it touched till there was nothing of that weird matter left. Merely a thing that looked like it, made out of pure magic, a perfect copy of what it had been.

And with that done, it finally took control over the at first unresponsive body. It was pleased with its efficient and quick work. The inflicted wound knitted itself back together. A low pulse was sent through the body. Then another.

And then it was awake again and under full control of its wizard.

Strangely enough it sensed an utter sense of confusion. On both sides.

*

Zenozarax stared at the knife in his hand. Then back to Pelagius. Then back at the knife.

Pelagius coughed, gasped as somewhere inside him his lungs were not quite as well working as they should. It was painful, but it was overshadowed by utter confusion.

Zenozarax knew that. He fucking felt that.

Still staring at the knife as if to imply a very heartfelt what the fuck did you do?

But he understood what it had done — not how, but the result was undeniable.

Pelagius was a human, at least, he used to be. Now he was linked directly to Zenozarax via the knife as any wizard would have been. It shouldn’t be impossible, and yet, here they were.

Pelagius got up, an angry snarl on his face — he might not know what exactly had happened, but he remembered Zenozarax having stabbed him well enough, and he was just about to tackle him, bring him down in any form when Zenozarax raised his free hand almost thoughtfully.

Hold on.

And Pelagius stopped immediately.

This is weird, Zenozarax muttered. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Now there was real and scared confusion dawning on Pelagius’ face. What…

As with any wizard that would suffer the effect of the knife, who Pelagius had been before was perfectly intact. He was still there, every thought and memory. Just that technically, he now was also a part of Zenozarax. Like any other Part perfectly capable of acting independently, but due to the effect of the knife also firmly under Zenozarax’ control. If he would choose to enact it.

But unlike any wizard, Pelagius was aware. He realised that something was wrong with him.

Right now he merely kept Pelagius from trying to somehow kill him while he tried to make sense of what just happened.

Let me see… with a firm step he closed the distance between them, and while Pelagius still managed to flinch, he didn’t move back as Zenozarax took his hand. The magic in his own hand lit up and tried to connect to whatever Pelagius was now. Lords…

What did you do to me? Pelagius asked, his voice trembled with barely contained terror as he was now trapped in his own body.

I’m not exactly sure of that myself, Zenozarax muttered as he kept staring at the construct of magic and curse presented to himself in his mind. I stabbed you. And now you’re… you’re not a wizard. But you are not exactly like a demon either. You’re something that the knife could take control over. So you and I are now connected, he explained factually, more so for his own process of sorting his thoughts than to explain it to Pelagius.

What are you talking about?

Zenozarax let go of Pelagius’ hand and started to slowly pace through the room, speaking his thoughts out loud. You see, wizards are composed out of several parts. With chaos magic you can take over a wizard and all their Parts, but it destroys that wizard. It is also an enormous strain on the wizard that took control. Because it’s not a natural part. With the knife it is possible to take over a wizard, keep them intact, and control them without overwhelming the controller’s own mind. The knife acts as a sort of proxy. He looked at Pelagius who by this point looked nothing but terrified and near panic. He could feel it, but tried to ignore it.

Now. You are obviously no wizard. But this might be a case of if you have a hammer everything looks like a nail. Just that in this case the knife actually first made you into a nail… so to speak.

I don’t understand what you’re saying! Nervous tension.

Alright, okay look. It doesn’t matter— This was surely better than the alternative.

Why can’t I move?! Barely contained panic.

Let’s face the result. You are not dead, and that’s a good thing. More so, you can help me now. Naturally you will be of more use to me alive than dead. This was good. He had wanted to kill Pelagius but now he didn’t have to. That was good. Right? A win win for both.

Let me go! The shout took Zenozarax off guard.

Zenozarax saw a twitch in Pelagius hand, like an involuntary muscle spasm, and in the same moment he felt the curse of the knife dig its claws more deeply into the knight’s mind. Obviously it wasn’t as used to controlling humans than it was controlling wizards and it was still calibrating its grasp over Pelagius. He felt it slipping ever so slightly, and felt the knight panic beneath its will. He saw it in Pelagius’ eyes — and suddenly he wasn’t looking at Pelagius anymore. In that moment, all he could see were his memories as he had stared into the dark eyes of Demitalek.

The sudden association of memories he had tried very hard to forget came so quick and strongly that it felt like someone had rammed that knife directly into his own heart. His own experience of this horrible magic and the strangling guilt over the fate of his friend suddenly drowned him with the uncaring intensity of an unstoppable tidal wave. His own resolve shattered and when suddenly the fear and horror within Pelagius flooded his own mind he had to imagine that this was what Demitalek had felt in the end.

For a moment he couldn’t breathe by the aching in his heart.

Hey! Hey. He grabbed the young knight at both arms, clearing his own throat, Calm down. Okay? It’s going to be okay. What was he even saying? What was he doing?  

Suddenly he saw Pelagius, like a two dimensional drawing expanded into a three dimensional shape, he saw and remembered a whole life of a man with an exceptional sense of duty who truly lived the ideals of the Knights of Amunthon.

A man whose whole life was the guard, and the men at his side who respected him despite his still young age. Because he was a fair man, who was kind and caring to those in need and strict and skilled in battle and training.

A man whose father even at a young age had told him to be weary of their court wizard, and how grief had solidified that suspicion. Blaming him not only for his father’s death, not only the King’s, but also that of Queen Reela. And soon, if his fear came true, the prince as well.

A man who genuinely worried about Aeven, and a friendship between him and the prince Zenozarax hadn’t even been fully aware of. And for a moment he was horrified by the fact that just by chance he hadn’t killed a man that Aeven treated more like a brother than just a guard.

Listen carefully, Pelagius. His previously almost carefree intrigue had completely vanished from his tone, taken over by a feverish desperation, to assure this man that everything would be alright. This isn’t ideal. I know. But it’s not long now. And if all goes as planned, I shall grant you your freedom, I promise you that. But until then, I can’t have you disrupting what I’m doing. I’m sorry but this is how it has to be now.

Pelagius met his eyes — he was still there, the man he used to be, but also now the part that was bound to Zenozarax’ will. And the former could never act over the latter. And maybe, slowly, he started to understand that, as his own body refused to do what he wanted to do. But he was a strong willed man, with a clear mind, that now understood that he couldn’t — and his panic calmed down. And instead of cursing him, even only I spirit, where the panic had been before, hatred blossomed. So Pelagius asked,

Not long until what?

And Zenozarax sensed the still flourishing desire within Pelagius to find out, so that he might find a way to stop him in whatever plan he had, kill him if he had too. Still yet unaware how futile it was. His own heart was beating hard and nervously.

The end of a cosmic plight you’re lucky you’ve never had to face so far. Finally Zenozarax let go of Pelagius. For a moment he was surprised to find the knife laying on the floor. He hadn’t even noticed he had dropped it. There was a slight tremble in his fingers when he picked it up, the ice cold magic sent a sickening shudder down his spine. Then he resheathed the knife into its scabbard. Only the glow of the fine crystals embedded into it now shining brightly gave an indication that it was very much active, and would stay like that until he chose otherwise.

He met Pelagius’ eyes again. He still barely wanted to look. But it was better this way. Unplanned, yes, but more safe for all of them.

Now, see to your duties. You’ll know when I require your assistance.

Without another word Pelagius left his quarters, and made his way down the long stairways of the spire. Zenozarax reserved an watchful part of his attention to follow the knight in his mind. At least for the time being.

But the knight didn’t step out of line. He was under control. Though Zenozarax sensed the distress and the fight against him.

And that night, as he still sat at his desk tinkering and his thoughts wandered back again and again to Demitalek, far below Pelagius tossed and turned in his sleep.

It was the first time in his life that Zenozarax experienced a sense of nightmares.

21 Destiny

The winter gardens of Treva’s great citadel were warm and comfortable. Outside it was getting colder again, another winter soon to arrive, turning the air crisp and the winds more biting.

It had been 187 Years since his escape from Charon and yet the cold still had a way to creep into his bones, rapping at memories and impressions he rather would want to forget. His own quarters at the top of the spire were perfectly livable thanks to the closeness of the summoning chamber, but there was a warmth and comfort down here he failed to find up there. Maybe because everything there reminded him of what still  needed to be done. And so, on this cold and cloudless autumn night, Zenozarax once more found himself in the glass gardens of the citadel.

Despite the massive glass planes surrounding the garden it was always pleasantly warm here, thanks to him and the electrical heating he had installed a century ago. Of course this move had been not so much for the comfort of the court, nor even for his own, but rather he had taken the opportunity to prepare the spire for its future purpose. Of the miles and miles of pipes and cables he had installed during the time, hardly three percent actually served the purpose of heating and lighting the citadel. And even that was just basic groundwork for what was to come. But the people here wouldn’t know about any of that. It was all just magic to them.

— also, lady Northwick requested an audience. Her letter states utmost urgency in this matter though she dramatically did not bother to tell why.

Zenozarax blinked lazily, tearing his eyes from the stars above him. He had only passively listened to what Ser Pelagius had said and most of it didn’t really matter anyways. Nothing now did anymore, really. It was six years now to the stellar alignment — he’d need to move onto the last phase of his plan soon.

Just have her arrive whenever she feels like it, Zenozarax said dismissively. It’s not like I have much to do right now.

As you wish, my lord, Pelagius answered flatly. A young handmaiden brought a tablet with wine and a plate of pastries. They were his favourite, made with tangy apples and folded dough and were sweet as sin, and by now as much a staple of Treva as he himself was. Some of the smaller influences of his prolonged presence at court.

For a moment he considered Pelagius. The now ever young knight looked tired, his gaze fixed away from him as if he tried to ignore his presence all together. He was forced to be here, forced to obey and serve him. Not much of his day to day had changed since he was turned into whatever he was now — and yet Pelagius’ life had been turned inside out, and he couldn’t even tell anyone about it.

Take some if you want. He offered, pointing at the pastries, and it felt like a joke in bad taste. But it was a genuine offer, granting Pelagius the ability to choose as he would want.

Thank you. But I never liked those. And so Pelagius declined, paraphrasing his true thoughts in a very courtly way. He had expected as much, somehow the knight struck him as more of a black liquorice kind of guy, probably the spicy and salty kind. Zenozarax knew that with the same certainty with which he sensed the deep seeded, guttural hate for his person in the strange connection they shared.

He didn’t need to ask how he felt, he knew. And so in moments like these, where there wasn’t anything to say beyond the personal, both stayed silent.

A light crunching sound on the pebbles of the walkway announced a late visitor to the winter gardens. Zenozarax listened while looking up into the starry night.

You can go now, Pelagius.

Three pairs of boots, two of them lightly armoured, the third light and of soft leather.

Aeven. He heard Pelagius say politely and the steps stopped for a moment. A few words from Aeven, noting the tired look on Pelagius’ face, a gentle assurance that it just was the lateness of the hour from Pelagius. Aeven didn’t quite believe him, of course he didn’t, but there was nothing more he could get out of the knight. He had become a very quiet man in the last year.

He heard the two wishing each other a good night.

Then the soft crunching of leather boots came closer, the armoured steps of the guards stayed quiet.

Shouldn’t you be in bed, your Highness? Zenozarax asked instead of a greeting as he felt the passing touch on his shoulder.

Shouldn’t you stop treating me like a child?

Zenozarax smirked lopsidedly as Aeven sat down next to him on the bench. The two guards that had followed him had stayed a good distance away allowing them some privacy.

I think I’m the only one who consistently fails to do that, my prince, he noted with but a short glance to the young prince. It was true, Aeven was hardly a child anymore. He was 17 now and he had grown a lot. By now he really could see the face of the man he had fought once.

Aeven glanced back, before he said, “I’m concerned about him.”

Zenozarax knew that. Aeven, who had first been glad Zenozarax and Pelagius seemed to get along better now, had already more than once come to him, voicing his worry about Pelagius’ changed nature. But naturally Zenozarax’ deflections and vague answers never helped much.

“He’ll be fine,” Zenozarax said flatly. He wasn’t sure if he genuinely believed it or just tried to convince himself that it was the truth. He didn’t like to see the prince so worried but he also didn’t want to force Pelagius to just act like nothing ever happened. It was a horrible feeling — for the both of them.

“Maybe he’s working too much. I mean now that you’ve taken him into your service directly,” Aeven suggested carefully. “He still has the guard to lead too.”

Zenozarax stayed quiet as he struggled to find a decent answer. Eventually he just said, “You worry too much.”

Aeven didn’t like that one bit, that much was clear in the way his brows furrowed for a moment. And really, what was he thinking telling a man whose life purpose seemed to be to make sure others were okay that he worried too much.

“I’m sorry, your highness. I’ll look into it,” Zenozarax said diplomatically. Just empty words, but they seemed enough to settle the matter for tonight. But it wouldn’t be the last time, he was sure.

“In fact, he’s not the only one I’m increasingly concerned about,” Aeven said and then asked, Are you feeling alright? There was this gentle tone in his voice Zenozarax had gotten to know so well. The tone of someone who genuinely cared.

Zenozarax smiled lopsidedly. Why are you asking that, my prince?

You seem more quiet as of late too… and less colourful. It worries me.

Don’t be, he said. He didn’t want to see the young man worried. Not about him of all people. I’ve just been thinking a lot as of late.

About what?

Zenozarax contemplated the answer for a moment while he watched the glimmering stars. Home, mostly.

Aeven noticeably peaked up, and as Zenozarax looked back at him he saw the gleaming curiosity in his eyes. So far the wizard was still mostly a mystery to all of Treva — Aeven included. And he had never even uttered the word home before anyone so far.

But he was feeling nostalgic for a time that had not yet passed. It turned him thoughtful and sombre. Even melancholic.

You never told me where you’re from, Aeven prompted, very carefully.

Zenozarax looked back to the stars.

There. Past all those stars, where time and space doesn’t exist, lies hell. The between. But it also means home to us wizards. That’s where I come from.

It sounded ridiculous, at least in the context of this young world. But Aeven merely listened, looked up, and tried to understand, to imagine. He couldn’t, The between didn’t fit into human imagination. It barely made sense to the wizards. Because they all were creatures of time, unable to conceptualise a space that was none, without time. Even the words of any language he knew failed to describe it. Because what was a space that didn’t exist? A space that had no space?

He felt his thoughts wander, and he would have lost himself in them hadn’t Aeven spoken again.

Why did you leave?

Zenozarax took a deep breath. Remembering the story he had told Queen Reela on the day of Aeven’s birth. Of the young wizard that was still fighting. But that wizard wasn’t young anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time. And neither was that fight.

In brief moments, sometimes when he sat here, embraced by the warmth around him, the stars above, the peace and quiet surrounding him, he imagined staying. To stop. He was safe here.

And he was enjoying his time here.

More than he had planned. More than he should. But he couldn’t stop now. He had come too far to let it all go to waste. He couldn’t have done what he had done for nothing. All that death…

Zenozarax?

He blinked and tore his eyes from the deviously whispering stars trying to pull him away.

Hm? Oh— mildly he shook his head. I always dreamt of leaving, he said instead of really answering the question.

Aeven nodded softly and asked, Do you regret it?

Oh that boy was too good. Even at this young age he was already effortlessly picking up even the slightest empathetic clues from between his words. There was almost something dangerous about it. Because he could never really lie to him.

I do. Zenozarax admitted. Not the place…

But the people?

Not even. Just one. The most important one. He didn’t answer.

Aeven looked behind himself briefly, making sure the guards were still well out of earshot before he said.

I think I’d regret it too.

You have been thinking of leaving? Zenozarax asked, not even very much surprised about it. There had been a restlessness in the boy, ever since his father had died.

Instead of answering directly, Aeven said, We’ll be meeting with Lord Kylewatar in a fortnight. And we both know what that meeting is for.

Zenozarax nodded. It had been Lord Kylewatar’s request, guided under a banner of strength and trade, this was about marriage and his daughter was the most valuable piece on the board.

Aeven continued, It suddenly comes all so quickly. I hadn’t even thought about it — but of course I’m old enough now. This has to happen. Marriage. The coronation. I always knew that but, Aeven shook his head slightly. I still don’t feel like I’m ready for that. Hopeful, looking for council and help, Aeven glanced at Zenozarax. And Zenozarax saw that he didn’t like what he saw in Zenozarax’ expression.

One year. That was all that was left. It was the longest he could reasonably postpone the start of the next and last phase of his plan. No matter what happened, in a little over a year from now, nothing of this would matter anymore.

Maybe you’re not. Zenozarax finally said, But I think few Kings are. But you’d be a good King.

How can you tell?

Zenozarax looked back at the stars. His eyes wandered over the faint line of sparkling lights that were now so close to their fateful constellation.

You’re scared of it. That means you understand the weight of responsibility that awaits you. You don’t think you’re ready for it, you even imagine to flee that responsibility, but you won’t, because you also understand that it is your destiny. Your purpose. It’s an enormous amount of power, and you don’t want it. But you’ll take it and you’ll try to do right by your people. Because you have to be the one doing so.

For a long while there was silence between them. It was a sombre, yet familiar and comfortable silence, shared by two people who were bound by destiny.

When Aeven broke the silence he did so with an almost sheepish tone, What if she’s horrible? Can I say no?

The painfully genuine concern broke the sombre mood and despite the heaviness in his heart Zenozarax chuckled. Oh absolutely. Allegiances be damned, if she’s a cunt I will call it off myself.

Aeven, caught in-between amusement and flinching at the staggering inappropriateness of calling his theoretical soon to be wife a theoretical cunt, laughed in surprise.

That’s good to know. Aeven chuckled.

But don’t worry about it. I think you’ll like her.

So much was different in this reality and so much was the same. He’d thought his own influence on this world to be much more dramatic, but time seemed to have its way to force destiny.

Have you met her already?

Maybe it was superstition, maybe it was fate. Maybe he overestimated his own importance.

I did once. Passingly.

But this time, he wouldn’t be stopped. Not by man, not by wizards, not by time. Everything would change. For all of them.

What is she like?

Zenozarax smiled somberly. I think it’s been too long as that I could really be a judge of that. You’ll have to find that out on your own.

22 Disruption

Pelagius barely flinched as the magic pierced the skin of his right hand and anchored itself into his bones. A testament to the localised anaesthetic Zenozarax had used. To do this, Zenozarax had brought the knight into his tower because he didn’t have the proper equipment in the spire. At least not yet.

Lords, you’re so weird, Zenozarax muttered as he manipulated the magical matter to fuse into the tips of Pelagius’ fingers. In theory this should work even better than normally, because your body is no longer organic. But — he frowned, letting his fingers glide over the stressed skin around the insert. Do you see that?

Pelagius stayed stoically silent, just following Zenozarax fingers with his eyes.

This reddening here shouldn’t occur. It’s like the magic of your body is fighting this one. He let go of Pelagius’ hand and grabbed the knife again. Doing so made Pelagius flinch ever so slightly. Zenozarax ignored that and connected to the knife. With very clear words he tried to make clear to it that this was a new addition to the body he wanted to be there. Frustratingly, it didn’t quite seem to grasp what he wanted from it. He put the knife aside.

Why do I need this? Pelagius asked calmly, but with a tense frown as Zenozarax carefully pulled on the inset, the magic detached and with a very unpleasant sound was pulled out of his hand again.

You need this to control magic. There will be chaos, there probably will be war. You’ll be the Grandmaster of my army. You’ll keep … well order. And take care of things, Zenozarax said absentmindedly and then suddenly halted, staring at Pelagius’ hand. Whoa.

Pelagius glanced back down again as well.

Where the magical inserts had left gaping holes in his flesh a light shimmer had appeared around the edges of the wound. It looked almost surreal as before their eyes the wound knitted itself back together with an efficiency that was unmatched even by wizards and their healing abilities.

Fascinating. That could explain it. Zenozarax said with a nod. Hypothesis; The knife made you into what you are now. Based one-to-one on the human body you had. That is its only reference point. And it tries to maintain it. I think you can count yourself lucky you haven’t gotten into this with a broken toe. It would probably always return to that state.

Oh yes, lucky me, Pelagius muttered.

Zenozarax chose to ignore the biting sarcasm as he took the magical insert again, letting a charge of magic flow to it, rewriting some of the information written into the crystal before replacing it on Pelagius’ hand. Let’s try this.

The inset dug itself into Pelagius’ hand again, another flinch, this time more noticeable, the anaesthetic was already wearing off. Zenozarax took the knife again, let the magic flow through it and gently pressed the tip of it against the control crystal. The edge was so unnaturally sharp it’s tip actually pierced the dense material and so Zenozarax was careful to just nudge it into it.

In his mind he led the knife into what he wanted it to do. It still wasn’t quite as cooperative as he wanted it to be, this wasn’t its purpose, but begrudgingly it tried to accept the piece of magic infused into the body it had created as part of it. It didn’t quite fit, the magic was very different, it was like trying to hotwire an analogue phone into a galaxy spanning port communications network. But the knife was advanced enough to make it work with what felt like the magical equivalent of duct tape and good will.

Alright, okay. That actually should work now. Here, take this. He put a plain purple crystal on the table.

Pelagius took it, not that he had any choice not to.

Try to connect to it.

Pelagius was about to say something, but before he could the crystal and magical insert of his hand gave a light glow. It really was that intuitive — the magic was directly responding to Pelagius’ thoughts and impulses. He didn’t have to consciously think about doing it, his body and mind just did.

It was the same for wizards — and they too had to learn to control it to not instinctually connect to everything they touched. It was part of why touching other wizards was such a delicate subject. One slip of the mind and lords knew what could happen.

And, what’s it saying? Can you read it? Zenozarax asked curiously, leaning forward a bit as he watched Pelagius.

Well done? Pelagius frowned confused, staring at the glowing crystal in his hand that now ’spoke’ to him via the magical connection of his right hand.

Indeed! Fantastic, well done indeed, Pelagius! Zenozarax beamed genuinely delighted as for a moment he forgot why he was doing all this and the excitement of solving a magic-mechanical problem took over.  

Overenthusiastically Zenozarax stood up and took a sword from the workcounter. I made this for you. I want you to train with it, get used to it. But don’t do it in public. It’s a powerful device. He put it on the table and Pelagius put the crystal aside, immediately picking up the sword in its sheath.

And when I say powerful, I mean very powerful, in theory—

Zenozarax did not finish the sentence because before he could, Pelagius had taken hold of the swords handle and in that very moment, just a fraction of a second after the magic insert touched the connective surface of the swords handle, the entire room blew up in an explosion of light.

The world was reduced to nothing but flickering white and it took a few distorted moments for Zenozarax to regain an awareness of his surroundings. Laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, his clothes scorched. An alarm blared inside the tower. Fire suppression had filled the room with a fine mist that mixed with the smoke and scratched in his lungs.

With a groan he rose up. Instinctually he first checked his hands then paid attention to the rest of his body, relieved that the damage seemed exclusively superficial.

The room around him was in shambles. The blast had torn apart the counter and chairs, broken the fixed panels at the walls and disrupted the emitters for the holograms. Emergency lights had turned on but even those were mostly broken, basking the room in a flicker of orange light.

Fucking hell… he muttered as he stood up, ignoring his aching body. He felt the chilling sensation of just having dodged death. And he didn’t even quite understand what had happened.

Pelagius was dead.

God dammit. Zenozarax sighed heavily as he stood before the mangled body of the knight on the floor. The explosion had all but vapourised most of the Knights right side. His arm was completely gone, while his torso and face were halfway burned through, a few remaining patches of hair were still smouldering.

Around him ash, dust and smoke only slowly settled.

He had to assume, due to the magic of their lords that had created whatever Pelagius was now in the first place, he had had a much greater magical potential than Zenozarax could have ever suspected. And when he had touched that sword, a stray sense of instinct may have been enough to cause this explosion unwillingly (because Pelagius couldn’t kill him willingly). Zenozarax had accidentally created an artificial being of unknown magical potential — and now he was dead.

And that just as he had come to rely on the knight and started to have him as part of his final plan. Now knowing that this was a thing the knife could do, there was the option of just doing it again with another person. But Pelagius had already been an uncomfortable addition into his awareness, and he would tentatively say that dealing with this again wasn’t worth the theoretical benefit. He didn’t want to do it again. Even though, from this display, Pelagius could have been useful…

Another heavy sigh. No sense in weeping over spilled milk — this had happened, it was bad, it was actually really bad because he hadn’t intended to kill the man (not anymore), but he really had no time to get hung up about it. As far as setbacks went, it could have been worse. At least he himself hadn’t died.

He turned around, ready to at least try to roughly fix the mess in here before he returned to more pressing matters — not least of all having to come up with a reason for Pelagius’ disappearance after all and quickly. He felt a sense of dread of having to explain to Aeven that Pelagius was gone. A heavy sense of regret filled him; This wasn’t what he wanted for Aeven, not now. Being confronted now with the death of a friend was— suddenly Zenozarax felt a strange tingling in the back of his awareness.

With a frown he listened to it, then he turned around. Pelagius still lay dead on the ground. Then he glanced at the knife that now lay a few metres away on the ground. It was still glowing softly.

With a weird feeling Zenozarax picked up one of the stools and sat down, watching Pelagius. It was a strange hunch but… 

He kept sitting there for a while, how long he could not say. And what he witnessed there with his own eyes was utterly fascinating as much as it was absolutely insane.

Very slowly he saw Pelagius’ body knit itself back together. Starting from the exposed internal injuries to the utmost extremities, like an organism slowly growing, the wounds closed, and centimetre by centimetre the lost arm regrew. The puddle of blood around him, as well as the severed chunks of flesh and body parts on the floor, seemed to thin out and dissolve before eventually they completely disappeared and the weird magical matter returned to Pelagius’ body.

It took long enough for Zenozarax to completely and fully understand what was happening, no matter how fantastically magical.

Yes, the knife had made that one snapshot, that one reference point of Pelagius — and it really was hellbend in maintaining it. Pelagius’ body, flesh, blood and bones, was composed of pure and ancient magic. It had been taken apart, yes, but it wasn’t broken. Slowly it reassembled itself back into the form it was meant to be in. Fascinated, he noticed that the only parts that were not reassembled was the hair and, at closer inspection, not most of his fingernails either. The curse seemed to have a very strict idea about what it considered living parts of its body.

And then suddenly, with a hard gasp, Pelagius was alive again. Staring at him as his breathing quickened, like the shock came in with a delay.

What happened? Pelagius flinched as he moved his arms, clearly still feeling the aftermath of his death.

You died, Zenozarax said with amazement in his voice. And now you’re alive again.

Resurrected from physical death.

This, not even the wizards could do. Not like this. He hadn’t utilised Pelagius’ new magical state of being so far, he hadn’t even been aware of the real extent of it, but now he realised that on this planet, he was the most powerful magical allay he had. Besides being the only one.

Pelagius’ presence in his own mind was a strain  because he felt the incompatibility to the human mind within him, just faint enough to not become a problem, but he was powerful enough to actually make a difference. There was potential here. He was…

He could use him.

*

I need your help with this. Zenozarax said as Pelagius entered the room. In its centre the massive channelling device stood dormant and quiet.

With your shield? Pelagius eyed the contraption suspiciously. He looked very different now. After the explosion that had killed him, half his hair had been burned away and had not instantly regrown, and so in what still felt like an act of rebellious self determination he had shaved it all off. With the always tense look on his face it made him look much older.

Yes. Zenozarax rested his hands on his hips as he looked at the damn thing. Thing is, I actually never turned it on so far.

Why not? Pelagius stopped next to him, also beholding the strange device.

“I need to cast a spell, weave the chaos to then channel it into the device. And given the size of this thing… well it might kill me.”

“That would be horrible.”

Zenozarax glanced at him, eyebrows raised almost amused. “You would like that, eh?”

“I would never say that out loud.”

Fair. To be honest I’d rather not do this at all. It will be unpleasant for both of us. Probably even dangerous. But it is necessary. Once I do what I came here to do, it will send ripples through the fabric of time and space that Mezchinhar could detect if they are aware of this space by now. It is unlikely, outside of here only about two minutes or so have passed. But— I’d be very unhappy if my reluctance and overcaution now would mean they show up later and I could have prevented it. He explained away freely with Pelagius only listening with that eternally calm, almost dead, expression on his face.

However, he did listen. Once you do what?

I’ll tell you what you need to know once you need to know. For now, this is the only thing that concerns you too. Zenozarax said but Pelagius wasn’t satisfied with that.

Will this hurt anyone? the knight asked tensely and Zenozarax felt the stinging reluctance to follow, piercing into his own consciousness.

No. Zenozarax shook his head slightly. It shouldn’t affect anyone currently present on this planet. There are different versions of this spell, but given the size of it this one will only disrupt the connection of any wizard trying to reach this place and possible flow of any information going in or out. A physical barrier would be even better but— he waved his hand vaguely as he fell silent. He didn’t dare to push it that far. And he also didn’t know how a physical chaos barrier would affect the harnessing of the stellar alignment. This was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

Pelagius nodded, believing him, because he knew Zenozarax was telling the truth. One of the many entangled down- and upsides to their strange new connection.

Then Zenozarax pointed to the device. Come here, I already prepared everything for you. I need you to stand here and put your right hand on this control node. Pelagius, trapped in a strange mix of submitting to his request and at the same time also having no way of not doing it, stepped forward, taking off the gloves he wore. They hid the magical insert of his right hand and the still painfully exposed nail beds of his left hand where the nails had not yet fully grown back. Then he laid his right hand on the crystalline orb.

I’ll take full control over you momentarily, Zenozarax warned and Pelagius only met his eyes with the same tired resignation of knowing his objection would be pointless. It shouldn’t take too long. But it will hurt like hell. Be prepared.

Nevertheless, Pelagius nodded curtly.

Zenozarax took the knife in his right hand and with his left took hold of the second smooth control crystal only half a metre to Pelagius’ left. The Orb reacted immediately to his touch and so did the one Pelagius was touching.

What will happen? Pelagius asked tensely.

After I take control of you, I’ll use you to initiate the summoning of the chaos construct which will form a disruptive barrier around this earth. I will lead the chaos and control it, you act as a sort of buffer between me and it. Your body’s control over it will be limited because you’re not a wizard, but it should just be enough.

Pelagius stayed quiet. All of that didn’t mean much to him.

Prepare yourself.

The knife started to glow brightly as Zenozarax took full and complete control over Pelagius mind, he felt the agonising discomfort through their connection and ignored it, it would pale against what was to come.

The magical insert in Pelagius’ hand lit up as Zenozarax initialised the device, a dark and deep rumbling shook the spire and slowly a deep hum started in the depth of the colossus of magic and steel, vibrating through the floor.

And then Zenozarax forced the chaos. The spire vibrated with power as for the first time it did what Zenozarax had rebuilt it to do and it drew in the chaos from all around it. Now it channelled first through Pelagius, then Zenozarax and into the device. The strain and blinding pain shot through his arm and he screamed — no, not him, it was Pelagius who cried out in pain, but unable to take his hand away as Zenozarax kept his hand right where it was. The pain almost drove the undead knight to his knees. But Zenozarax forced him to keep standing.

The magical markings on his own arms were burning like someone had filled them with boiling acid. But he knew this pain well enough. Through the pain he took all that chaos and he willed it into a being, a manifestation of the essence of the universe itself forced into unnatural form. It fought him every step of the way, absolut Chaos trying to break free, to return to a state of total entropy. His own eyes flickered, the sound around him was deafening. Red blood dripped from his nose and chin. The boundary between himself and Pelagius became nonexistent and they were joined in agony.

Then, like an electrical shock blasting his hand away from the orb he stumbled back.

Pelagius collapsed beside him. Blood still on his lips, chin, and chest.

Zenozarax felt like vomiting, but it was a purely artificial feeling he also knew too well. His hands were shaking badly and then his legs gave in. The signs of absolute exhaustion.

Even with Pelagius it had almost killed him again.

But it had worked!

In a frankly pathetic crawl he went over to the dead body of Pelagius, sitting down beside him. He took his hand and briefly tried to connect to him — but the damage the chaos had inflicted upon his body was extensive. Arteries had boiled and burst underneath the skin, and blood still dripped from any possible place.

Reaching over he grabbed the knife from the floor again and after holding it for a moment he knew that despite the unnatural damage caused by chaos, Pelagius was still an entity the knife considered alive.

You’re gonna be alright. We both are. Zenozarax let go of Pelagius’ hand and patted the dead man’s shoulder. Now, nothing can go wrong anymore.

He closed his eyes, leaning back against the humming channelling device. But you got the right idea there.

The doors were locked shut, but he suspected someone would come up here and try to find out what had happened. Or just to see if he was alright. The whole world would have been startled by a shift in reality nobody would be able to explain.

But he was too tired to worry about anything right at that moment. Even fighting against it he felt himself doze off.  

Soon everything would be done. And over…

23 Waltz

A murmur went through the crowd when the court wizard entered the ballroom. He wore himself with pride and an ethereal calmness as he passed through the crowd that parted for him.

Draped in jewels and the finest fabrics, the fine cloak blew like wind around him, crowned with dazzling diadem that would make the crown pale in comparison. Outraged whispers cut through the people; the nerves to outdress even the good bride on this special day, to wear such a crown on this day, to choose such grim and dark colours on this joyous occasion.

But Zenozarax heard none of it nor would he care. Not on the last day of the wizard he had become here.

He moved through the dancing people, the waltz playing was joyful and bright. Everyone looked their finest, their laughter and smiles were enchanting. They were wonderful, and he loved them. Every second of it he took in because he knew of its looming end. For a moment allowing himself to be reminded of a different time.

In the centre of the celebration he spotted the freshly wedded prince, sitting with princessFolina. He held her hand in his, talking to her with a smile in his face that was full of love and adoration. They were a beautiful couple.

Then Aeven saw him approaching and stood up with a wide smile on his face. Relife even.

Zenozarax! The freshly wedded man hasted towards him, taking him by his arms in his overly enthusiastic and almost childish way. A married man and only 18 years old, but with that genuine grin on his face he really was still just that boy he had watched grow up. I feared you wouldn’t come!

You shouldn’t have, I wouldn’t have missed this day for anything, your highness.

No, but you very conveniently missed the speeches and arrived to song and dance. Aeven smiled. Thank you for coming. You look wonderful.

Oh don’t flatter me now in front of your bride or she might get jealous.

Folina, my beloved, you look the most wonderful of course. Aeven glanced back with a laugh, and Zenozarax saw the perfectly polite smile on the young girl’s face. She had never taken too much of a liking to him during the last year, but of course they had never been anything but perfectly courtly towards each other.

Aeven looked back at him and halted in surprise, suddenly he seemed almost in outraged disbelief and Zenozarax felt a sudden tension — but then Aeven said, his tone indeed in utter disbelief,

You cut your hair?!

Zenozarax smiled weakly. Indeed. It was about time.

Oh. Aeven seemed genuinely dismayed about it. Then nodding, accepting a fact he couldn’t change anyways he added in consolidation, Well. You still look fantastic.

I know.

Aeven laughed. One day I wish to have your confidence. Aeven finally let go of him and stepped back.

Zenozarax glanced back at the people behind him, the dance and chatter. There was a hollowness to it. But he knew it was only him. Standing at the edge of the abyss. Feeling it’s dark and merciless pull, the cold tendrils tugging on him, dragging him forward…

Sharply he turned back to Aeven, raising his hand and holding it up to Aeven.

Your Highness, would you grant me this dance?

Aeven blinked, in his face a mere puzzled yet open confusion. A light smile. A dance?

Yes. Indulge me. He kept his hand held out to the young prince.

You know this is very unconventional, Aeven stated the obvious. Zenozarax’ hand did not waver.

I’m a very unconventional man.

Aeven chuckled and took his hand. That you are.

You may lead.

Gladly.

Minstrels! The music stopped. Please, the blue moon waltz.

Aeven chuckled lightly, his eyes focused on Zenozarax. And you do know how to cause a scene.

The people had parted, a murmur in their lines, as the music started anew. A slow heavy tune filled the room and Aeven hand grasped around his, the other on his back.

It’s a special day. I’d like to remember it accordingly. Zenozarax said quietly, and followed Aeven’s lead when the young prince took the first step. At first hesitating, ready to compensate for an inexperienced dance partner, but as he found Zenozarax effortlessly following his lead, his moves became more certain, soon taken by the rhythmic swelling of the waltz. I didn’t know you dance.

There are many things about me you don’t know, your highness. He felt everyone’s eyes on them, but never took his own from Aeven.

Even after all these years I can believe it, Aeven said. Confidently they turned to the music, seemingly gliding over the smooth floor.

I’ll have to leave. Still tonight, Zenozarax said, keeping his voice low and holding Aeven close by his waist.

Leave? The smile in Aeven’s face faltered a bit, You mean for one more of your journeys, surely?

Yes. But I don’t think we’ll see each other again. He felt Aeven’s rhythm stock and without losing a beat he suddenly was the one to lead, he would not end this dance prematurely. Not when the deep heavy notes resonated so well with the regret in his heart.

Where will you go? Aeven’s words were heartbroken.

I need to do something important. Something that can’t be postponed any longer. I should be long gone — but as I said, I wouldn’t have missed your big day. Already he had pushed back his plans almost half a year. Only a bit over four and a half years left until the stellar alignment.

Will you go home? To the stars?

Not yet. Zenozarax smiled somberly. But eventually I will. The music swoll, reaching its big finale. But do not concern your thoughts with that, not today. Today you should be happy. Enjoy this evening. And when you hold your beautiful bride in your arms tonight and kiss her goodnight, remember the moments of kindness life has granted you.

A faint blush turned the young Prince’s ears red, but there was an unsettling worry in his eyes as they swirled over the dancefloor, and he felt his hand tight in his. Zenozarax— but he fell silent again for a moment, he saw him struggle for the words. When he spoke again his voice was barely audible over the music so nobody else would hear him. I don’t believe you would leave if you didn’t have to…

I do have to, Zenozarax confirmed.

But I don’t know if I can do this without you, Aeven admitted. And Zenozarax knew he was breaking the one promise he had given the young prince over and over again. The one promise he always had known he would break.

Don’t worry, your highness. You’ll be a good king even in the hardest of times. I do believe that.

And when the last notes of the song faded, Zenozarax felt his own throat tighten, and felt the sudden and horrible desire to urge the young prince to go. To take his now wife and just leave as well, but where to, he would not know. Just to have Aeven never realise how wrong he had been about his trusted court wizard.

And he hated it from the bottom of his heart. Hated that he had allowed himself to get this comfortable with the man that once was destined to defeat him. Who maybe still was. And he knew he couldn’t allow that to happen, no matter how slim the chance that the universe found some cosmic twisted way of making history repeat itself, because he hadn’t taken the chance to prevent it when he had it.

What’s wrong?

Zenozarax blinked, realising they stood still in the middle of the dancefloor, the musicians were playing another song, and he still held the prince’s hand. And he dared not to imagine how plain the emotions in his face had betrayed him.

He would not lie, because he was terrible at it and Aeven always had seen straight through him when he did. And so he buried the thoughts, the desire to save the young prince from his betrayal, and instead he told the truth. I enjoyed my time here. It pains me to leave.

A light smile found its way back on the prince’s face, it was still weary, but nevertheless genuine. You’ll always be welcome here.

Zenozarax knew there was nothing he could really say to that and so he only compelled himself to smile.

And before he could have done anything to prevent it the young prince gave him a hearty hug. For a moment he froze. For a moment he was swallowed whole by the horrible knowledge that Aeven trusted him, genuinely liked him, considered him a good friend even. But then he just gave the young prince a gentle pat on the back, reciprocating the embrace for a moment before taking him on his shoulders and pushing him off.

You’re a good man, Aeven.

Aeven grinned, betraying the light glimmer of tears in his eyes. This must be truly goodbye. You never called me just Aeven.

Then he stepped back. And he felt the cold cut between them like a guillotine. This was the end.

He tried to smile but as he turned he saw the worry and grief in Aeven’s face as he understood that they wouldn’t see each other again. Zenozarax would make sure of that.

Zenozarax passed through the crowd and didn’t see any of them.

Pelagius stood at the doors. He had watched them silently. Anguish in his own thoughts.

Zenozarax fingers brushed against Pelagius’

Take them first, before the chaos breaks out. Don’t kill him. Take them both into the ice.

Do it quickly. And clean. Don’t let him take the memories of this betrayal into his dreams.

Once he was done here, the beautiful king and queen of Treva would inherit a mutilated ruin of the earth they knew. But there would be hope for them. With Pelagius at his side, he believed Aeven could be the king to guid this land out of his man-made nightmare.

Pelagius met his eyes. There was a man trapped behind the dull gaze that was taken by terror knowing what he was about to do only hours from now. But he couldn’t stop it.

And yet, there was a faint glimmer of tears in his eyes.

He felt that pain too, unable to tell if it was his own or Pelagius’.

I’m sorry. It has to be done. It’s almost over.

24 Epilogue: Descent into hell

The dead world was ablaze with magical fire roaring against the divine apocalyptic thunderstorm their fight had summoned.

The prince’s helmet flung aside and deep blue eyes stared at him, exhausted, tense, and afraid.

And for a moment it stopped Zenozarax right in his tracks.

He stared back at Aeven. It wasn’t the Aeven he knew. He knew that! This man sought only his death. It was the only purpose he followed, it was why he was here. But in a way, this Aeven was the Aeven he knew. More so than any other natural iteration of Aeven VonTreva. The man he had raised and betrayed, reincarnated again and again over a thousand years. But the Aeven he knew had never looked this tired, this hurt, this afraid, torn apart by grief and the desire for vengeance — because then Zenozarax hadn’t yet taken everything from him.

He shouldn’t hesitate!

He needed to —

While Aeven fought for his life and Zenozarax’ death, Zenozarax suddenly found himself on the defensive, bidding time. But he had none. He had no time left! He needed to stop this man. The stellar alignment was so close. If he didn’t act now, everything he had done here would have been for nought!

He teleported out of the way of an axe swing which he answered with an earth shattering chaos blast sweeping both Aeven and the Northman from their feet, but still not enough to kill as it clashed against the Hammer’s might. He needed to finish this. His strength was dwindling rapidly.

The Northman was just a distraction, he couldn’t kill Zenozarax on his own. But Aeven. He just needed Aeven to be out of the picture. To stop. He didn’t even have to kill him, just like Pelagius, if only he got one lucky strike.

In their desperate battle, there were two mighty artefacts of the lord’s clashing — and neither had an advantage over the other. Without the Knife, he would have long died to the Hammer, but with it, their power was equalised. But that meant that everything came down to luck and fighting skill.

He felt it within the Knife too, it didn’t want to fight the Hammer, Zenozarax sensed the recognition of the Hammer as its equal, a being just like it — but it also understood that they had no other option. But somewhere beneath the stress and madness of the situation he wondered if Aeven could feel it too. If the Hammer was as reluctant to do what Angue needed it to do.

A shrill alert in the back of his mind got his attention; Something was wrong in the spire. He had drawn the fight away from Treva deliberately, he couldn’t have them destroy what he had built. Fear took hold of his heart and every rushing thought as the world around him slowed to a crawl.

Through the connection he still held to the summoning chamber, through the eyes of the demons, he saw him.

Ravalor.

It was Ravalor. He was here. He had killed Pelagius! He was in the spire! Suddenly it all made sense and at the same time nothing did anymore. Ravalor had to have brought Aeven here, somehow finding this place, bypassing his barrier. How was this possible? Why was he here? He didn’t understand why this was happening, or even how.

It didn’t matter — he needed to stop Ravalor first and foremost. Then he’d take care of Aeven. If Aeven were to reach the spire it would all be over. The Hammer would be able to destroy everything. But if he didn’t stop Ravalor now he’d do so just on his own. And if he disabled the spire, if the power would fail, he’d kill Aeven still frozen in the spire—  

For a horrible moment he felt a creeping panic, as the weight of all that happened right at this moment came crashing down onto him. Fighting Aeven, fighting Ravalor, the stellar alignment, Aeven in the ice; nothing of it made sense, nothing of it he wanted to believe — in that moment he felt like a cornered animal, roaring, clawing and biting in nothing but confused desperation. But it was just a moment before that panic turned to anger and it swallowed him whole. He needed to act and do what needed to be done to prevent a catastrophe, right now.

Flashes of light! And time rapidly caught up with him — A massive laser beam almost took him in his distraction, murderous anger flared up within him as he bared his teeth, that poor excuse of a god just needed to go. A crackling blast exploded towards the Northman but was taken by the Hammer’s neutralisation field as Aeven was suddenly back between them. Their eyes met, burning hatred met his own anger and it almost took him by surprise. But it didn’t matter. He just needed him to stop.

The Hammer’s ward shattered! Briefly weakened by absorbing the deadly blast before and now yielding to the lords’ magic, the knife came down. Piercing through the young man’s armour! He saw the shock and terror in the blue eyes. The eyes he knew so well. There was no triumph in that moment. Now he would have to fight Ravalor as well. His heart was in pain.

His whole body was.

And it didn’t stop.

Then, horror dawned on him as reality caught up and he understood the excruciating pain radiating through his body. As he saw his shoulder dissipate into a back liquid dust of dead magic and every atom of his body was taking itself apart. He stared at Aeven. On the ground. Hand above the bleeding wound on his chest. Staring at him.

It was over. All of it.

His body dissolved from the very point the blasted Hammer had hit him. He was taken apart on the atomic level. He had never felt pain like this. His mind blanked.

He kept staring at Aeven. In his last moment he felt pain, betrayal, anger, the urge to scream and shout. Everything was taken from him. All the pain in his heart, all the grief of every action he had taken: It was all for nothing. As any cause, and any justification for it, was brutally torn away from him he was reduced to nothing but a monster that had killed and slaughtered.

If only he could, and if he would have been given the time, he might have cried, but there was only a last inhuman shout of desperate, all-consuming anger and pain buckling in his body. Taken apart by the magic of their lords. It hurt. Everything hurt so badly.

Somewhere in the flickering connection to the spire he still sensed more than he saw the charges that would kill the spire for good. And everything… and everyone inside it. Extinguishing the last weak flame of redemption in this eternal darkness.

“Aeven…”

He met the young prince’s eyes for a last time — and  then the void took him and the pain in his heart.