Joy stood on the hill that overlooked what remained of the broken city. It was a desolate corpse now, not even a single man left alive inside its walls. The new sun shed its light on the horizon, clouds painted vibrant shades of purple and red. Its light shone over armies on the march, bannermen showing the arms of various houses that had come to lay claim to the throne. With the king dead and the Capital shattered, now was the time for any man with ambition to strive for the title. The first wave had come already, bearing the arms of a hound on black. They would be joined soon enough, and this blood-soaked city would be bathed in crimson once more.

Those foolish men came on foot, their armor polished and their blades sharpened. Their commanders rode on horses, plumes plush on their helmets. Their banners flew high and proud, declaring all around them to kneel or flee. Joy scoffed at them all, sneered at their ignorance. They came too late to face the true foe, bearing arms that would do no better than words could against shadows. They were useless, scavengers and crows come to feast on the carrion and claim the rewards without sacrifice. Aye, they were vultures, but these men were also the entire damned country. These were the people that they had fought so hard to save. These were the people that Sister had died for.

They did not even know her name, did not even know her face. Should she have approached these lords and noblemen, they would have thrown her to the streets. And yet she had died for their sake. Blood filled his mouth, although he could not taste it. He could not feel where his teeth had torn his tongue out of irritation and frustration. He only noticed when he spat it out, seeing the glob of red staining the ground.

Joy stood lost in thought as he watched, thinking about the Skal’ai and the monsters that had been so real a mere dream ago. Even now, his heart sped whenever he saw a shadow flicker. Yet they had vanished without even a trace, surely as a dream. Surely, Sin was defeated; he had heard the shattering of the last blackstone, had even paid the price to his mind. Surely, the darkness was safe once more. Surely, the battle was over.

Yet instinct made that surety pause.

With the bloodshed come to end, now was the time to grieve for the fallen. For Sister. A pillar of black stone grew out of the ground, smooth and gleaming in the light of the new day. Obsidian, it was called, forged from the fires beneath the earth. Joy had pulled it up out of the ground, his mahji forging the tombstone. It was featureless and glass-like, not unlike the blackstones that he had known all too well. Sister would be buried beside the enemy she had died fighting, such that her sacrifice would not be forgotten.

Lily had died, but she did not lay forgotten. A bed of frost lilies bloomed beside besides the grave, white flowers glistening with clear poison, the mingling dew still clinging to their white petals. They too had been his doing; spells had pulled the seeds from afar to this hill. A light wind stirred, blowing some loose petals clear into the air and they fluttered in the breeze. They rested on a bed of sand and dirt that he had pulled out with magic, a different composition from the earth around the hill. Ordinary soil could not accomplish what he wished to achieve.

Joy did not have any words to say. Words were unnecessary, superfluous. He merely stood over the grave, a spirit in a shell of his senseless body. He watched with his Mind’s Eye, slowly kneeling before sinking his claws into the dirt. Strands of mahji coiled out, worming through the earth. Breathing out, he willed them to burn. Fire licked away at the sand, burning it and searing the ground until it was molten. Smoke and soot billowed into the air, sparks flashing as the flame licked over the tomb like water. It smothered the sand and the stone and the flowers with orange light, with a sudden blazing surge of heat. Then, as abruptly as it had come, the flame left.

Pristine glass was the tomb now, clear and magic-enchanted. It covered the hilltop, an ethereal cap that stood stark against the desolation around it. Joy struck his claws against the grave, but there was not even a scratch, merely purple sparks. Even the flowers were glass now, their stems and petals translucent as they swayed in the wind. Glass lilies, he thought, kneeling over with mournful silence.

He closed his eyes, feeling the earth beneath his feet, feeling. He felt the earth beneath him, steady despite everything. He felt the wind against his skin, felt the heat of the new sun. He willed the earth to rise, felt the dirt grow loose. The wind stirred, sending the glass lilies seeds aflight. They settled over the churning earth, blooming swiftly before his eyes. Soon, they were a carpet, a field of sprouting glass flowers.

Joy got up slowly, rising now to a stand. The ground crunched as a demon strode beside him, the bladedemon that had been the first to kneel. “Where, King?” he growled, his voice like rattling bones. Behind him, the silent horde waited for an answer, their number sprawled out over the lands. Bestial, man-like, they encompassed a myriad of forms. Some were covered in plates of bone, stark white in the sunlight. Others had leathery hide, thick like a krull’s and studded with callouses. Others still bore fur coats, smooth and silky. Their forms were all quiet, not daring to speak as they waited. They had grieved with their king, had remained silent as he fashioned the tomb. But not the time for the dead was over; now the journey of the living wound on.

Joy turned, his mourning over. When he was younger, he had dreamed of seeing the world as his, of his territory stretching out from sea to sea. That dream had changed. He had a people to lead now, a people to settle. A people to see prosper, until they covered the earth much as the flowers did here. There was only one place he knew where they could settle without contestation. He drew in a deep breath, rumbling loud enough for all of his people to hear.

“We go to the Outlands. We go home.”

End of Book 1