Here I stood, my back to my murderers, and stared into the eternal darkness of the Abyss. Hefty winds played with my cloak and pulled on my hair, mocking, taunting, inviting me to do the next step. I was the last. The last defender of Ravenrock, last bastion of hope in the eastern mountain range, the Divide, of the Empire of the Sun. With Ravenrock fallen, the Divide would no longer be vanguard and shield for the fat pastures and rolling hills of the heartlands proper. It was not my fault. I was just a young man, and although I had wet my blade with demon blood, nobody had expected me to turn the tide. That job would have been my fathers, the Bulwark, the former Margrave of Ravenrock. But the Bulwark had died a sad death, crushed by stone and burned by flame, without even drawing his blade.

Nothing and nobody in Ravenrock had been able to withstand the crimson skies and dark mists which had devoured the defenders. Our Magus had burned from the inside out, the moment he threw his powers at the wave of destruction aimed at our walls. That is where the Empire of the Sun had made his fatal mistake. We had thought to fight barbarians and savages, but literal demons and dark gods had taken the field.

I was witness to the death of an age. I was witness to forces not even the White Tower could hope to stand up to. And I am the last Raven. The last link in a chain that held the eastern mountains against the Wyld for millennia and I have watched every child, every woman, and every man under my reign being pushed, thrown, and shoved into the Abyss - the bottomless pit that opens up beneath our walls. A bridge was the only way across the Abyss. A bridge that could be held with a handful of men against any number of foes, and the main reason why Ravenrock had been so hard to take by force. Unless one commanded eldritch powers and deadly magic no one had ever seen before, that is.

The vanguard on the bridge had been the first to fall into the Abyss. They had first thrown the corpses, tossing them over the edge to make way for their main force. Then, when the fighting had stopped, they had brought the prisoners of war. Then every living soul in the castle had been brought to the bridge in orderly lines. The fear had been so intense you could taste it in the wind. We had stood in line, and no one had the strength left to put up a fight. Not that it would have mattered. Then the first had been thrown over the edge and the screaming started.

I would be the last. I had been Margrave of Ravenrock for less than a day and I watched my people fall and fly. Every last one of them. My captors jokingly called my watch the Last Flight of the Ravens, which was a name for the people of Ravenrock, for there was no love left between our people. Years of constant bloodshed and war had destroyed every chance of mercy or empathy. They only found amusement in the doom of everyone I had ever known. I let my gaze wander one last time over the castle of my family, the mountains of my youth, and the face of Sarhain the Grim - the pale, thin creature of a man, who lounged on a palanquin to my right, having the best position to see the fall of his prisoners. He was the master of the horde of darkness, the one responsible for everything. I studied his face, his dead eyes, and his jet-black hair that was lazily tossed around by the breeze.

He was bored.

I would be waiting for him on the other side, that I swore.

I am the last Raven. And I will be damned if I give my tormentors the satisfaction of throwing me to my death. I took every bit of hate, anger, and defiance and claimed my freedom. My freedom to choose. My freedom to jump.

"Where am I? Who am I?" I blinked heavily through foggy eyes, but all I saw was nothing. Not black. I saw the absence of everything, but I could not find fear or uncertainty in my heart. Was this what death looked like?

"You are in Limbo, young man." Suddenly a man sat in front of me, calmly stuffing a pipe while sitting on a stone, which had not been there a moment ago. A long grey robe, weathered and worn, covered his body, and the hood he had put up threw deep shadows over the face. I could not put an age to the voice, which sounded young and strong and old and wise at the same time. "For who you are? Well, that is a question for smarter men than you or me. What you are, is simple though. You are a Twice-Born. A death not completed. A second birth gifted by divine intervention."

"So, you are a god?"

"I am who and what many people call the Wanderer. Not your people, mind you."

"You are no god of mine? I don’t understand."

"Oh well, I guess now is as good a time as ever. Your gods are dead, child. As dead as your people since their fates were intertwined. No, I just happen to come by. I witnessed your pride, your defiance in the face of insurmountable evil, from your perspective. So here we are. I am the Wanderer and I have no people or followers but the vagabonds and freest of spirits. And your spirit was as free as any I saw, the moment you jumped."

"Why do I not feel grief? Or anger?"

"This is Limbo, the realm between yours and mine. And I am not bound by mortal chains in the realm of the gods and wanted to speak to you, and not your rage or grief."

"Why?"

"I am no one’s Lord. I value freedom above all else, so I will not curse you with a life not wanted. Instead, I offer you to be my Twice-Born. If you accept my quest and my guidance that is, for I would be your patron deity and you a champion born of my very being, for the power and the being are one when it comes to gods and godlings. A choice well-deserving of thought."

"You offer me a second life? A life to take up arms, rally my country, and free the Empire of the Sun from its chains and shackles? A chance to throw the Wyld back to the edges of the world? I say yes, yes, yes! You didn't need to ask."

"I offer no such thing, young man. For time has passed and your empire is nothing more but a tower and the stubbornness of old people who cannot be bothered to change their ways. No child, I am the Wanderer. I do not defend causes as hopeless as this. My quest would have you unchain as many people as you can and leave these shores. And I am not cruel in this, for defending the empire is a truly hopeless undertaking. Demons and dark gods march the earth while your gods were slain and their power devoured. I am no match against these forces, for I am but a vagabond. Neither are you or your people, for you are broken and defeated. But what is chained can be unleashed, what is wounded can heal. But not here where darkness reigns."

I spit bitter bile in the nothingness beyond my feet and balled my fists. I still did not feel much anger in me, but I knew that I should feel angry. "That’s it? Like that my people and my legacy are gone? And you watched? And you did nothing?"

The Wanderer shifted in his robes and even in this small movement I felt tremendous power. "You misunderstand your position, Raven. And I had no hand in the destruction of your homeland. Neither you nor I had the strength to stop the Wyld. So it is futile to rage against the wind for blowing. What is done cannot be undone. And the rules in the game of gods are what they are. I have no power where other gods failed to protect their subjects. You had a bigger chance than I, and you are an insolent child with a wooden sword standing against a horde of darkness the world has never seen before. A force not even the Empire of the Sun could survive."

I took a deep breath. This room had no air. I needed none. But it helped me calm my eerily subdued feelings with cold chains of logic. "Forgive me, Wanderer. Just a second ago I could feel the wind rushing past me, as I plummeted to my death. I saw every person I have ever known and loved die." I fixed him with my stare. "Every part of me longs for blood and revenge, even if I can’t feel a thing right now. It’s all I am. It’s all that is left, I am sure of it."

The hooded man shook his head. "And yet I declare you Twice-Born of the Wanderer, and more than a mortal could be. And I demand you to rise above your animalistic instincts. To be more than you were. To be free first, to free what is left second. What do you say?"

The rage buried in me fought a battle it could not win, for I was the last Raven, son of the Bulwark, and I knew the call of duty when it reached my ear. And there may have been no breathing souls alive who witnessed my vows to gods which are no more, but they were true to me and would forever be a part of my very being. So, I took the knee before the Wanderer, in the same manner I took the knee before ... no, dead gods shall not be named.

"I am yours, Wanderer. For the chains that can be broken. For the freedom of what’s left of my people. I will be your Twice-Born. But I know of no words I can speak and no rituals ..."

The Wanderer raised a hand to interrupt me. "There is no such thing. I need no praise, and ritual is anathema to me. I am worshipped with worn boots and newly discovered horizons. I am the wind under your feathers and the excitement of a new dawn in unknown lands. I am the broth after a hard day of walking and the campfire in the wilderness. I am the chain broken and the freedom of choice. I yearn for no conflict - unless ways are blocked or people bound. In that case, I am the call of the night, the help on the road. The light in dark places. All I need you to do is to lose the shackles of your past. For the past is the prison of the future."

"How can I lose what I am? How can I make something out of me I am not?"

"I could take the rage. I could take the memories. But I will not. You cannot change what you are. But you very much can change what you will become. I just need you to affirm your reality. Speak freely and let me read your heart."

Once again I drew a breath I did not need. And I just began speaking. Of things important to me at least if to no one else. "I am the last Raven, son of a broken Bulwark. My people are dead. My gods perished alongside them. The land of my birth, of which I am sworn to with blood and oath, fell under my watch, however brief it may have been. The empire breathes its last breath as we speak. No oath bounds me to the dead. I will find my vengeance in the act of freeing what is left in chains."

"I see truth in your words even as I see the anger in your heart. But I will open the road for you, to walk towards the future is yours to do. I can desire a future for you, but it is not my place to make it happen, for your choices are your own. But I can help you along. With a light in darkness and a voice of calm and reason, when in silence only your anger can be heard."

And I awoke to a smell which immediately made me regret my decision to live again. The smell of thousands of shattered and broken bodies of friends and kin.

Born anew to a song played by a god who didn’t believe in vengeance. Not only that my people would never get revenge, and I the one to deny them, I didn’t have anything else to strive for but survival because of survival's sake. I was without choice, useless and alone, my only company a thousand screaming souls. My body was unharmed, made anew by divine powers. My mind was not yet there, still halfway between the limbo – realm of the gods – and the reality of the darkest pits of the world. But the pull was there, getting stronger. With every heartbeat my body was forced to do. It was not me who was lying on top of this hill of corpses. I had died. It was not my body I had returned to. My body was broken, split apart and empty. Even if I was the only one ever to know. Even if only I knew that of every other person I ever had known or ever had known of, I would be the one who cheated death, the one to climb down from a hill of corpses and start again.

The Wanderer was with me when I faced the cradle of my second life. He spoke to the restless souls of the dead with my mouth and parts of me disliked the intrusion. But I understood the necessity and I was thankful for the purpose, even If I couldn’t express my emotions. Who wouldn’t cry for vengeance and rage faced with so much death? Who wouldn’t break down and stumble before the remains of kin and folk? And yet it was not normal what I felt. I was different. Changed. My grief was the real deal, my heart was where it should be, but I was detached. My mind was wandering to the future, my thoughts refused to dwell on the past, to linger on things that happened before my twice-birth. There seemed to be a desire in me to move on, a pull on my soul to make a few miles before I could let myself rest. That was the essence of the Wanderer in me, already changing me in subtle ways. Or freeing me. I swore that not even divine intervention would make me forget the fall of my people, I would not let the gods play their tricks on me.

The steadily increasing awareness of the blood and the stench was soothing to me, grounding even, while my mouth calmed the angry souls of Ravenrock, speaking with the honeyed voice of the Wanderer. They were laid to rest, so to speak, returning to whatever afterlife awaited them, because their own gods and mine were dead. They had died with us. I guess the Wanderer took the souls or sent them off elsewhere, but he did not let them linger. Because the Wyld was close and always hungry. And even darker predators roamed the edges of Aeon. That was the gift of the Wanderer, part of his purpose. To pick up those that are lost. Kind and merciful…and profitable I’d wager. Gods deal in souls as peddlers do in worn clothing.

The gentle souls were gone already, the peaceful and scared. What remained was a storm of souls too violent, too angry, and too far gone to go to the mellow fields. These would be the witnesses of my journey. They were bound to me now. I would not let them haunt the Abyss, the mountain of corpses, or Ravenrock. My father and I had failed them in life. I would not make that mistake again.

"You deserved more than this.“ My voice cracked and sounded hollow in the absolute darkness of the Abyss. The Wanderer was silent. This was between them and me. "You all deserved better. You were sworn to me. You were sworn to the Raven. And the Last Flight of the Raven was your reward. We were powerless. But I am not without agency now. I will find you peace and purpose. I will right my wrongs. I beg you to put your trust in me once more. Follow me again. Bear witness to my journey and punish me where I steer you wrong.“

I hesitated a bit because of course the Wanderer was with me still and I was indebted to him as well. "My way is no longer the way of the Margrave of Ravenrock. There are no more borders left to defend. It is new paths we will venture and a new future I will seek. I won’t deny it. And I won’t deny you. There will be no subterfuge between us.“

I understood well that the souls raging before me were not the people I had lost. Not really. These were one-dimensional prints of emotions and experiences of the dead. What is dead is gone, as long as it is not Twice-Born. But I felt sparks of recognition in the diffuse and nebulous mass of souls. A familiar face here, a strong bond there. Here was a flutter of loyalty and love. Souls weren’t cognisant to agree or to disagree with any kind of will. That's what I had been taught at least. But it felt right to speak with them of my plans. And it seemed that it felt right for a lot of them to follow me. Mostly. Some were lost to the rage. They would stay behind, nothing but a vessel for the desire to kill and torture. I had tried as best as I could, and I had nothing else to give but my sincerity. The souls, and the storm they created, died down slowly and absolute darkness and silence surrounded me once more, only disturbed by the almost inaudible wailing of the lost souls left behind, already roaming the dark paths of the Abyss to seek life and take it.

"Is it done?“ I whispered.

"We did all we could.“ The presence of the Wanderer grew faint now as well. Already moving on, already off to new horizons.

"Thank you, Wanderer.“

"We shall meet again. As soon as unhindered wind and rain find you under a clear sky of stars. Be strong, child of the Ravenrock, Last Raven. One step after the other and even the darkest journey comes to an end. For before you lies a crucible, few men can survive and stay whole. But I trust you to find a way.“

And he was gone.

I still felt that dampened echo of real feelings. Like a puppet on a string, I went through some of the belongings of my people, after I set fire to a bunch of cloth to even have a little bit of light down here. The heat rose instantly, and oily smoke billowed upwards. The Abyss was the biggest refuse pile and graveyard I knew of. I had to leave as fast as possible. The demons had not discriminated when they had thrown us down. Children, women, and men laid on top of each other in an entangled mess, together forever. I took what I could grab before the smoke, the stench, and the soul-crushing gut feeling, that slowly came back to me, made me flee until I could not smell them anymore.

I had a lantern with cracked glass and a few drops of oil in a leather skin, twice as much water, two daggers, the sword of a nobleman, burned with simple acid markings, and a solid sheath. I had my very own cloak still hanging around my shoulders, wool in a dark blue dye with small pockets containing various bits and bobs, like fire starter, string, a couple of candles, and some coin. At last, I took a spacious backpack from a traveler, who had been at the wrong time in the wrong place, including his bedroll and a spare shirt.

It was not much, considering what treasures, in the eye of a beggar, must still be buried there under the flesh and rot, but it had to be enough for me. Enough for a new beginning, I dared to hope. Enough to leave my past behind. The suppression of my feelings ended suddenly, and they came back like a tidal wave. I staggered against the cold stone wall, grasping the skin above my weeping, burning heart. It was too much, way too much. The hurt…I cried for hours and hammered my fist against the wall until the skin of my knuckles split open. I was just overwhelmed by feelings that had been forcefully held back. Madness took me. Sweet, screaming, and raging madness.

It is not as if I’ve forgotten about these times, rather I do not feel like they were truly part of reality. More like a bad dream, memories fading in time. I positively went feral for a couple of days, ranging into weeks. Instead of reflecting on my loss and finding a way to deal with it, I embraced it. I let my emotions take over and went into survival mode. I didn’t want to look back. I died, was reborn and one of the greater gods had played with my mind. It was simply too much to not shut down. All of it was just bottled up. Not gone but growing, waiting. And when my mind opened up again, I just snapped.

Grief-stricken and mad with helpless anger, I roamed the deepest holes and caves under the Abyss. And I am not quite clear on what transpired there in the darkest of days. But the images flashing through my mind, if I tried to remember, are beyond disgusting and quickly fled my consciousness. There were worse things down there than giant centipedes, spiders, and toxic slags, things that preyed on these aberrations and monstrosities. And I was one of them. I feasted on them, pulled them apart, squirming and screeching, with my bare teeth. I survived. It had been just a couple of days in the rotten tunnels of the deep. But it had been days of blood, claws, sword, acid, terror, and rage. The pain of being born again.

A clear blue light, cold, cool and glittering, was all it took to bring me back. How this light came to be, I could not say, for it is the first clear memory I recalled after the rebirth. I must have fallen into a state of rest, nearly asleep. And I had slipped away, not to the realm of dreams but the realm of my mind.

“Welcome to your Demesne, Raven. If that is what you wish to be called.”

There was just this light and me. There wasn’t even darkness. All that was, was the absence of everything. The voice was calm and tiny, barely a whisper, but I flinched nonetheless.

“What? … Where?” I yelled hoarsely.

“I understand that you are in a state of…desperation. The transition to your Demesne can be quite disorienting. Allow me to show you something you can focus on, that should help you.” The voice was formal and reserved, showing no agitation or emotion. The difference to my last waking hours was so extreme, I could not quite wrap my head around anything. Then, in the blink of an eye, the nothingness was replaced with a boulder of rugged grey stone on which I stood. The rock seemed to float in a sea of mist. Above us, a few lights and a couple of clouds formed a night sky, pleasant and cool.

The voice went on as if nothing had changed. “We have our trouble with mortal senses, wisps that is, but I was told, that giving mortals something to perceive makes them easier to accept … esoteric planes of existence. I took this image from your imagination.”

“This is too much. Everything is just too much! I can’t handle it…” I stuttered, searching for words that would not come out right. I sat down hard on the stone, pain shooting through my back that felt …right. An honest feeling and a true one.

“Focus, Raven! Focus on me and my voice! Just talk to me. We will figure out this old reality thing later.” The light bobbed up and down in front of me, its inflection beginning to sound urgent and somehow female to me.

“Raven…” I murmured. “No. Don’t call me that. Ravenrock is no more and certainly doesn’t need an heir. The Raven fell on his last flight.”

“Right! Keep talking! What should I call you then?”

“I was born as Hannibal.”

“As good a name as any, I guess. Names are important indeed. But not right now, don’t you think?”

I nodded absently. Unbelievably, the energetic voice calmed me quite a bit and talking did help. “It was just so …I…I couldn’t do anything. I don’t know what to do.” I babbled and felt the knot in my heart tighten again, but I had no more tears to give. There was a void in me, sullen emptiness surrounded by lingering dread.

“We will work through that, Hannibal. You are way stronger than you think. Lesser men would have fallen already, crumbled under the burden. A little normalcy is just the thing you need. How about trees, Hannibal? Do you like trees?”

I took the bait. I just did what she told me. Talking distracted me, silly trees made my mind wander to something else than the darkness that had consumed me. “We had an ancient wind-oak tree just above our fortifications on the hill. I could climb almost up to my window on its branches. It was huge. We used to hang hundreds of lanterns, little paper ones, in the branches on the eve of midsummer. The tree seemed to be magical in those nights and seemed eternal and strong. So strong. As if its roots were the thing holding the mountains together.”

I stopped. In front of me, the stone cracked audibly, and a small silvery sapling unfolded itself in unnatural speed. It was a tree, so speed was relative I suppose, but I could see it growing with my own eyes. I still wasn’t quite there. “Yes…a tree quite like that, just…” I finally stopped talking, just watching the miracle. The sapling shot up to a young tree, almost as tall as me as he stopped growing, just as the first faint green leaves started to appear on the few small and flexible branches. I felt sadness again, but it was not the tears of rage and madness I had spilled so much of, but the sadness of remembering a fond memory gone by.

“There, there…” the wisp whispered. “I can help you grow that tree. It will become huge and magical and strong. But it will take time, like all things worth pursuing.”

“Thank you.” I was whispering too, still in awe.

“I know you better than you think. Why, you ask? Because I am made of your stuff so to speak. I see that there is the strength in you to endure. And endurance is all you need. Time will do the rest. The joy, the hope, and faith in yourself was not destroyed by your fall. It will come back. One day at a time. The pain will never be gone, but the way of the Wanderer will let you see the light of day again. Someday...”

Silence stretched on. Long and longer. I let my feelings out. I would not let them be bottled up again. The very least the people of Ravenrock deserved, was to be remembered properly. They deserved to be grieved and mourned, their death acknowledged as well as their lives. So I did what I could - remember them.

“A lantern for every life.” The wisp spoke softly and before me little sheets of paper, candles, matchsticks, and yarn appeared out of nowhere. And I began to fold the little lanterns, lighting them and hanging them into the branches of the tree. I was thorough and took my time, trying my best to remember every face and name I could. And with every lantern I placed, every little light I added, the leaves became thicker and the whole little wind-oak tree grew in mass and height until a beautiful young tree, vibrant of life and light, towered above me like a canopy full of stars. I leaned my back against its smooth and silvery bark, sliding to the ground.

“I will rest a bit…” I mumbled before peace surrounded me for the first time in forever.

[Level up! Margrave of Ravenrock Lvl 4!

New Gift gained: A Flock of Souls.]