Oswald believes himself a failure. If only he knew. I believe his efforts to be the final threads holding together our realm. His Order the flickering candle amidst the endless night.

--King Leofwine’s Journal, 16th of Rustleaf, 451

ARC 4 - RADIANT

CHAPTER 1 - THE JOURNEY BEYOND

There was naught to find but death beyond the Shield Cities. Every breath served only to fill the lungs with more acrid air. Every footfall sunk into a layer of putrid silt that denied the opportunity for any growth. It was as if the land itself had decided that life was valueless. The gray ground with all its aberrant hills and scars gave no hope to eyes that darted about, searching for refuge. A dense layer of fog stole the ability to see for any respectable distance and even though the difference between day and night was still distinguishable the body was never truly permitted to rest. Naught but death beyond the Shield Cities - death and a forgotten past.

Dulius flared a touch more Light within his soul and burned away the feeling of fingers around his throat. It had been three days of hard marching since they’d descended off the Ridge and left behind the majority of their party’s force. Three days of soothing antsy nerves by never truly releasing the Light. Every day he felt the limit of his soul edging ever closer to the present, yet he dared not allow himself to rest, for they were three days deep into the maw of the enemy.

When he’d stood upon the precipice of the Ridge and looked out over their future path something within told him to turn back - to abandon this fool's errand. A gut feeling, nothing more, and one that he’d forced himself to ignore. Sadly, it was becoming harder to ignore the growing regret he felt at the choice with each passing minute. It was no wonder the farlings never came beyond the Ridge. The Scarred Lands leading up to that point were demoralizing enough with the constant threat of wandering voidlings and the lack of anything that could sustain life. Were it not for the constantly resupplied caches the Sentinels used few would even survive the scouting trips.

Out here, in territory that lay untouched by man for centuries, survival became less of a challenge and more of an improbability. The terrain was not in their favor, the fog never lightened, and their every movement could be the difference between life and death. All their supplies had to be carried on their own backs, for beasts of burden wouldn’t enter the Scarred Lands at all, no matter how they were coerced. Without the Sentinel caches, energy conservation was critical. A wrong turn, a twisted ankle, the smallest of delays, all would lead to failure. Time, the Void, even the ground itself - there wasn’t a single thing beyond the Ridge that wasn’t trying to kill them.

Despite all this, Aerich Edelgard seemed unphased by the world around him. He left his helm on constantly, the black hair slick with sweat plastered to the back of his neck the only sign that he was exerting himself at all. He led the group as confidently as a Crusader led a routine patrol, which admittedly helped settle the nerves. In truth, Dulius was relieved that while he had been placed in charge of this expedition, someone else was doing the navigating. The Lord of Bastion hardly knew more about these lands than the rest of the Realm, but Dulius hoped that navigating the terrain leading up to the Ridge offered some translatable experience to what lay beyond.

Lucas, ever alert, trailed the Lord of Bastion in his shining armor with his head slowly swiveling about. Erkan trudged along behind the Justicar carrying a pack nearly the size of him and from his position at the back of the group Dulius could see little more than the bottom of the Inquisitor’s legs. An amusing image, though a faint glint off of Lucas’s sword reminded Dulius of the weight in his own hand.

They were close now. They had to be. The last of the rations had been for breakfast and their water skins were nearly empty. The lightening of their packs as they ate and drank through their supply was pleasant at first, but ultimately highlighted the gravity of their schedule. They were out of time. Failing to reach their goal today would mean returning empty-handed.

Or we press on and never return, Dulius reminded himself. He could give the order that would doom them, if he so chose. Highlord Brandt had insisted upon finding the key to humanity’s victory. Would he have them die just to search for it?

“There’s something out there,” Lucas muttered loud enough for the group to hear.

Aerich gave some sort of response, but the Lord of Bastion kept his head forward and Dulius didn’t hear what it was. The fog was thickening noticeably now, so much so that he could no longer see the folds in the ground that rose up like daggered hills all around them.

“How did anyone ever live out here,” he grumbled.

Erkan slowed his pace and stepped to the side, allowing Dulius to come next to him.

“Didn’t use to look like this,” the stout Inquisitor muttered. “Still, hard to believe these poor bastards once had a whole kingdom out here, eh?”

Dulius nodded, but kept his eyes on the fog. Lucas was right, there was something out there. A scratching noise that sounded both near and far, as if it were just on the other side of the gray haze as well as echoing from the top of hills he could no longer see.

“This is only a part of the price our ancestors paid, Oggie,” Erkan continued stiffly. “The rest of the Realm recovered, eventually. The war starts again and all the greens of Elysia will look like this one day.”

“Thank you, Erkan, for that grim reminder.” Dulius spat the words, not in anger, but because the notion actually made him feel a bit sick.

Erkan shrugged. “Just sayin’.”

Preventing that future was the very reason the Order had been founded centuries ago and Dulius hadn’t gone a day since being informed of this mission without wondering after the horrors that once brought humanity to its knees. He would have preferred his old worldview, but for some foolish reason Highlord Brandt had made Dulius aware of a new belief. Something that none since Oswald, first of the Order, had believed - that the Void War was not over.

The remnants of darkness that still probed at the Shield Cities were an indication of that fact, Brandt had declared. Not even the Church agreed, yet somehow the old bastard had found a sliver of proof, little more than a scrap of paper cast aside in one of the countless tomes the Church had stored away. There was nothing to say it wasn’t part of a story rather than an account of history, yet here Dulius was, part of a four-man party liable to die in an attempt to determine the truth.

His feet came to a slow halt and toes flexed in his boots to better stabilize against the treacherous ground. Aerich had stopped, a single hand raised in a fist near his head. Lucas brought his sword up with both hands wrapped around the hilt, the blade giving off its own faint glow as the Light came to it.

The fighting stance Dulius took was instinctual - and comforting. Handling administrative affairs at a desk was tedious and guiding others with words alone too delicate a dance of the mind for him to enjoy it. Both were requirements of a leader within the Order and both were aggravations he could do without. Stirring hearts through valor in combat, that was where he excelled. If they were to die out here it wouldn’t be without a fight.

A single voidling, no larger than the average mutt but shaped more like an insect, leapt out of the fog at head-height. Lucas dipped forward and cut it in half as if its chitinous hide were little more than cloth. Its upper half let out a pained screech a moment before it crashed into the ground with a wet clap.

For a brief moment, all lay still.

Dulius grimaced. Not at the sound of the creature dying, but what came half a breath after. A chorus of chittering filled the air from all around them. The noise hadn’t only sounded like it was close and far, it had been all along. A sea of a thousand legs skittering across dirt and rock drowned out all else. Aerich flexed inward and in a blink a shockwave of Light blew outward. Dulius squinted as it washed over him like a powerful gust of wind. A large blast, but not designed to harm. Instead, it did what Dulius assumed the Lord of Bastion intended, and cleared away a large swath of the fog from around them. What it revealed, however, was little more than their end.

“Run!” Aerich shouted.

Dulius’s every pore agreed with the notion, though he rocked one way and had to force himself to change direction. The word fit with the action the Lord of Bastion took, just not in the way Dulius had imagined. Aerich had indeed started running, but not back the way they’d come. He went forward. Into the swarm.

The Sword of Mourning lit up the area around Lucas as though he carried a lantern filled with white-hot flame and the Justicar took off after Aerich. Erkan was a few steps behind, joining the group in the mad scramble for their lives. Dulius cursed himself for even considering that they would retreat now. He was supposed to lead them, to bring a chance at salvation back to Elysium, not turn tail from danger. Fortunately, catching up was easy.

Voidlings besieged them from every side as they moved, slowing their frantic pace. Daggers of Light flashed in and out of Erkan’s fists, claws and teeth coming dangerously close to the Inquisitor each time he allowed one of the creatures near. Aerich speared those that stood in their path while Lucas covered his other sides, hacking through the creatures in a form much sloppier than Dulius was accustomed to seeing from the man. He could hardly blame him, for he too was having trouble keeping his footing while swinging his sword between bursts of sprinting.

The path began to narrow like death closing its jaws around them. Voidlings crawled their way along the bits of rock that jutted out from the shallow canyon’s walls and leapt at them from above. The four struggled on, barely staying on their feet as they hurdled over Void corpses, dodging or parrying the reckless attacks that rained down on them.

The landscape that funneled them into a single-file line broke away and Dulius caught a glimpse of Aerich disappearing into another wall of fog ahead. The narrowed path had afforded them some cover to their sides, even if it had opened an avenue of attack from above. Out there, in what was likely a wide-open plain, they stood little chance of surviving. The voidlings had stopped coming from the front, though, which meant they must have broken through the edge of the swarm. The vile creatures would certainly catch up, but creating space had become an option.

Dulius planted himself at the end of the narrow valley. The first half a dozen voidlings went down easily now that he was no longer focused on running. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the light of Lucas’s sword fade into the fog, then the top of Erkan’s pack become enveloped by the gray air as well.

Good.

He stabbed through a voidling that tried to leap off the wall and over his head before flinging it back into the mass of the monsters that blocked his vision of the canyon’s floor. His lance of Light tore through dozens and thinned the herd for a moment, but the empty space it created was filled with a sea of shiny black chitin in quick order.

Dulius no longer tasted the stale air as the Light coursed through him. This terrain, this singular point in all of the Scarred Lands, was perfect. He wasn’t nearly as quick or graceful as Lucas, but if the Sword of Mourning was taken out of the equation he arguably had much more raw power. His natural size and strength alone made him nearly impossible to move or bully in combat.

As dozens of beasts bore down on him he became an insurmountable mountain in their path. The length of his blade kept claws and teeth away as he hacked through two, sometimes three, of the voidlings with massive swings. Light surged forth from his hand time and again, leaving dozens of scorch marks on the rock walls, carving through black flesh, and leaving howls of pain in its wake.

Dulius gave himself to the fight. His mind went blank. Every movement was driven by instinct born from decades of training. Death lingered in the pauses between strokes of his sword and burst forth at his will. The mass of mangled beasts around him began to grow and obscure his vision. Another voidling leapt from behind the pile, an attack he saw only a moment late. He lifted his blade to catch its outstretched limbs but toppled under the attack.

A claw raked his side as he kicked the creature off and sent a white lance through its head. Another landed on top of him before he could get off the ground and there was a sharp tug at his left boot. He growled in pain and anger while the bracers on his arms deflected knife-like legs away from his head. He forced one arm further up to push back the voidling’s gnashing jaws. A lance formed from his hand to kill the beast that sat atop him, but he failed to move its weight off his chest before half a dozen more joined the tussle.

With a roar, Dulius blasted them into dust with a shockwave and scrambled to his knees. He grabbed his sword that lay nearby and braced himself for another attack without ever making it to his feet. The air around him became bright rather than subdued gray. And very warm.

A massive pillar of golden-white crashed down into the narrow canyon like a felled tree, leaving little more than sparse limbs and blackened rock in its wake. Dulius spun to see Lucas with the Sword of Mourning shining in his hands, its steel hidden by the immense glow engulfing the blade.

“For one supposed to lead us, you’re trying awful hard to avoid it,” Lucas said, a small grin peeking through labored breaths.

“We agreed not to return for the dead or dying!”

“You’re neither,” Lucas noted. “Come on, there’s safety ahead.”

Dulius picked himself up out of the dirt, frowning deeply at the teeth marks on the hard leather of his boot. The air was thickening again and from what he could still see of the far end of the pass, more Void were pouring in. Between himself and Lucas they might be able to hold out for a substantial period of time, but if there was truly refuge further along…

Lucas was faster, even with Dulius’s longer stride. Light gave their legs strength and they tore across the ground, desperately trying to stay ahead of the dustcloud drawn up by thousands of legs behind them. Dulius’s eyes watered at the power he used to try to see through the thick mist, but it was of no use. It couldn’t be much farther, not if Lucas had reached it and made it all the way back to make a mockery of his last stand.

The fog broke in a single instant. One moment Dulius was running faster than he ever had and the next he was several strides into open air. He stumbled and skidded to a stop while looking back over his shoulder. A wall of churning vapor fully blocked his sight out of whatever clearing they’d entered. He spun back around and saw Aerich and Erkan ahead, the two walking slowly but in no particular direction.

“Always the hero, aren’t you?” Lucas said between pants.

Dulius swallowed in an effort to wet his throat. “We weren’t going to make it.”

Lucas chuckled some and gave a few pats on the back of Dulius’s pauldron, then gave a slight nod towards Dulius’s ribs. The wound wasn’t gushing, the thick hauberk had taken the brunt of the attack, but blood lingered where the garment was torn. Dulius clenched his teeth together as he brought his hand to his side and purged any of the Void’s blight that would ultimately kill or corrupt him. Beyond the fog there were sounds of scuttling legs and shrieks, but none of the creatures came through. When he was reasonably sure that good fortune would continue, Dulius sheathed his sword and turned to follow Lucas toward the others.

“Where are we?” he asked once they’d caught up.

There was silence for a moment, uncertainty rank within the air. Reaching their goal came with a certain finality that none were willing to declare. Aerich spoke first, settling for a more broad answer.

“We’re here.”

The Lord of Bastion knelt to the ground and brushed away a thick layer of silt with a gloved hand. Erkan frowned in curiosity while Lucas was taken aback enough to let out an uncharacteristic gasp. It seemed impossible, but a rub from Dulius’s boot yielded a similar result. He looked out across the landscape before them. It was very much the same as the rest of the Scarred Lands, gray-ish brown dirt covered every surface and the way the ground folded and crumbled didn’t seem natural, but at least here the air was clear. Dulius had always found it difficult to get a good sense of the size of a city like Elysium, what with all the buildings breaking up the sight-lines, but this space, this pocket beyond the Shield Cities, looked to rival humanity’s mightiest settlement.

He scraped away a bit more dirt with his boot and found the edge of the glowing white line. It pulsed steadily, much like measured breathing, as he traced its edge. A hand-width away another line began and the portion that Aerich had cleared revealed a point where the two might join.

Erkan’s low whistle was a tune after Dulius’s own thoughts.

“This whole things a seal, you reckon?” the Inquisitor said as he gazed across the open ground. “No one but the Divine could’ve done that.”

“Agreed.” Aerich rose and brushed the dirt from his gloves. “And I’m willing to bet we’ll find what we’re after at its center.”