I am humbled by how well these two cities have sustained themselves. Long years of constant battle, cut off from the world, yet the conviction you have for your fight is unwavering. You are an inspiration to not only me, but the rest of humanity! I ask you to fight on, for we are at the precipice of glory! Of redemption! Of Victory! Be the spear that leads the Realm into battle! Take back what once was yours!

—Excerpt from King Leofwine’s speech, 6th of Fullbloom, 462

ARC 4 - RADIANT

CHAPTER 13 - SHADOW SHEPHERD

For once, Dulius was not behind his desk. Dread had pinned them there while he waited for the Chief Inquisitor’s arrival, but now anxiety gave his legs energy. He paced across his office, back and forth. Muffled footfalls that fell on the rug at the room’s center were replaced by a few loudly striking wood, only to be replaced again by the rug as Dulius pivoted back the other way. Arnulf still took the same spot in front of the desk, though this was one of the few times he faced the opposite direction. The Chief Inquisitor’s lifeless eyes were steady ahead, not bothering to follow Dulius, for one so astute recognized the Highlord would simply cross back in front a few moments later.

“You’re sure?” Dulius asked again.

“Yes, Highlord,” came the dry reply. “The report is factual. The descriptions given mimic those of what we received from Bastion.”

Dulius cursed under his breath as he bit his thumbnail. As if the report early in the morning of two Crusaders and half a legion suddenly gone missing wasn’t bad enough, now there was this. In the scope of what might be to come, today would be looked back on as a drop in the bucket. In the present, though, one only need listen to the fire and brimstone preachers in the streets to learn how the city might soon see things.

“Notify Cenric immediately,” Dulius ordered without breaking his stride. “I want two Justicar leading Templar squads dispatched within the hour. Instruct them to send a bird from the nearest village with whatever they find and what they’ve done with it.”

“Of course, Highlord,” Arnulf said with a slight nod. “Will that be all?”

“Yes.”

Dulius could have screamed with how leisurely Arnulf exited the office. The hawkish man wasn’t one to run down the halls of the Order with panic plastered on his face. No, the Chief Inquisitor moved at the same pace and held the same expression no matter if he was bearing dire news or the menu for dinner. That unshakable demeanor meant Dulius never worried about any bias in what Arnulf reported. A blessing, all things considered, for a leader would take any advantage they could when making a difficult decision. It did make it hard for Dulius to remember his own humanity at times, though, with how detached the Chief Inquisitor could be.

After several more trips up and down his glumly lit office, Dulius finally heaved himself back down into his chair and ran a hand through his hair to keep it from his face. It was amazing how such tall windows could fail to let the sunlight into the far corners of the room. The spines of the books and various trophies acquired through generations of Highlords sat rather mundanely, their brilliance dampened by being placed on cramped shelves.

His desk was adequately visible, though, and Dulius tried to review the documents scattered about it. Requests for supply, what funding looked like for the next few seasons, an update on the location of various missions the Order had undertaken - all important but, try as he might, focus would not come to him. His mind churned harder and faster than a horse's hooves in a flat-out sprint and there was nothing of him to spare for his daily duties.

He tossed a piece of paper needing his signature to certify the names of those Templar that had gone missing back to his desk and hunched over in his chair, head in his hands.

“Heavens help us,” he muttered. “Already a portal in the Realm.”

Kline tried to pick himself up from the dirt, but his knees were anchored to the ground. How much could a man be expected to endure? Even with an impossible amount of strength he wouldn’t have managed this burden. None of the living nor any of the heroes of the past would fare much better. His body was not broken, but all that held him together had shattered. Everything had been taken from him.

He’d spent his whole life deep in a secluded grove; a pleasant place tucked in the foothills some distance outside Elysium. Far off the beaten path and situated so that only those who knew the route might ever find their way in. It was a life of sacrifice, but also one of pride and honor. The Heaven’s had asked of him and so had he served. When love had been permitted, he’d taken it with boundless gratitude. When his line had been blessed to continue, joy had filled him.

Yet now he was empty. Drained of all that had once made him.

He’d only gone to hunt. A few hours, at most. He’d returned empty-handed, for his catch was cast aside to let his sinewy legs run faster. By the time he rounded the final turn in the path, the grove swirled with smoke as his home and workshop burned. Where had the Heavens been? Where were they when the Justicar protecting this place was strung up on one of the very trees he’d sworn to defend? Where were they when his family—

Kline’s eyes went dry. He hadn’t the strength to pick himself up off his knees or wipe his own cheeks, but the hot air and billowing clouds of choking gray burned away his tears. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the tips of his hair were singed, not that he cared. He mumbled the names again. His wife. His boys. He’d once called out to them in love. Minutes ago he’d shouted out of desperation. Now he said them so that he might not forget.

Between the darker shades of smoke churning away from his house, something moved. Kline’s bleary eyes locked onto it, the unblinking focus only adding to the burning his salty tears had left in their wake. He held his breath without realizing it and craned hard to the side in the hope that it might somehow make the figure stand out more. Whoever it was, they were too large to be any member of his family. His wife had been dainty. His boys young. This person floated along, hardly becoming clearer as they made their way out from the piling ash.

The figure halted next to the Evertree closest to the burning cottage and Kline was taken by silent horror. It was as if a shadow had peeled itself from the ground and assumed the place of its caster - a silhouette, and nothing more. It stood, perfectly still, while black tendrils grew out from where its form came to meet the ground. They wrapped themselves around the Evertree's trunk and, in the blink of an eye, the beautiful white wood turned gray and brittle, sapped of all life. A piece of the Realm that had stood since the time of the Archangels, gone.

The tendrils retreated and the shadow resumed its floating journey, though it didn’t have to go far. The grove was the only place in the entire Realm that held more than a single Evertree and the next was only two dozen or so paces away. It came to a halt once more, turning slightly to face the towering white branches.

“Stop,” Kline called weakly from his knees. “Stop!”

The shadow jerked, though it was hard to tell if it was facing him or not. It stayed perfectly still for a moment and Kline began to wonder if it might not see him somehow. Its sudden lurch forward, however, dashed that hope. It was only once the shadow got much closer that Kline noticed the faint push against the bottom of the cloak that indicated some sort of foot hidden beneath. The looming mass of dread came to stand in front of him and, despite the fact that he stared straight up into it, the face under the hood was little more than another silhouette.

Kline swallowed. The growl of some monstrosity would have been more appropriate for the sound that came from beneath the cowl, but it wasn’t. It was the voice of man, smooth and cultured and not yet graced with the ragged edge brought on by age.

“You care about trees more than your family?” the shadow asked. “A few dead plants is all it takes to rouse you from your grief?”

Kline hung his head in absolute defeat. When he’d first glimpsed movement amidst the smoke he’d been so foolish as to believe just for a moment that someone had survived. This thing that stood before him had been so fortunate, but that was only because—

“Y-you…you killed them!” Kline stammered.

“Can you prove that?”

Kline opened his mouth to speak again, but his mouth was so dry he wasn’t sure he could form another complete sentence.

“I didn’t think so,” the shadow answered for him. “Still, you’re not wrong.”

Tears formed in the corners of Kline’s eyes. One built up enough courage to take the plunge down his cheek, but it was gone before it could reach his chin.

“Why?” he asked through a sob.

Two hands covered in black gloves and with matching arms emerged from beneath the long cloak and held up the face of justice.

“I used to believe I might wear one of your masks someday," the shadow said. "How foolish I was.”

The Everwood mask snapped and was cast to the ground like trash. Kline twitched at the sharp crack, but weakly reached out and picked up the pieces of his work. An entire life dedicated to a single purpose, a task carried through generations, now lay just as broken as his bloodline.

“As for why,” the shadow continued, brushing its hands together before they disappeared beneath the cloak once more, “it’s because this place and the work done here perpetuate a lie.”

“Whatever evil you are—” Kline began, but was cut off by a sharp laugh.

“Evil? Is that what you would call me?”

As if to demonstrate its power, dozens of tendrils black as night slithered out from where the bottom of the shadow’s cloak touched the ground. They went in every direction, searching for the trunks of the Evertrees and wrapping around them like poisonous vines.

“I am here to herald a better future for the Realm. Like sheep, its people have come to rely on the Light without question. I am not evil, but a new shepherd, leading them to a different pasture. I am here to save humanity.”

“The angels will save us, not you,” Kline mumbled faintly.

“My poor man,” the shadow said, bending down and placing a gloved hand beneath Kline’s chin as if to lift him from sorrow. “You already sound like you don’t believe that. If only you could see what I’ve been shown you would realize your faith is misguided. The angels are not what people make them out to be.”

Kline turned his head away from the shadow’s grasp and let the weight of it carry his sight back to the broken mask cradled in his hands. This one had not yet been complete. All took time and delicate handiwork to make, but were hardly more than normal wood until finished.

The shadow stood straight and its form went back to its unbroken silhouette of black, the seams of the cloak barely visible despite the daylight.

“Unfortunately, not all can be saved,” the shadow said with a sigh. “The charge you and your forefathers bear must come to an end. And the knowledge must die with you.”

Out of the dozens of tendrils reaching out to spread death, one was spared. It reared up, a poised specter held into an otherwise sun-filled sky. While the others were blurred as if their shape wasn’t quite complete, this one had a gleam on one side, almost like there was an edge to it.

Kline felt the warmth the tendril left as it cut through him. There was no pain, but he could no longer look up from the dirt that his cheek now rested on.

Is it over? he wondered. Had the ground always been so cold?

He waited, his final moments drawn out like a lifetime. He prayed for the Heavens to take him so that his Light might be joined with that of his family. Oh, how he wanted to hear the laughter of his sons as they played in the grass; how he missed the tender smile of his wife. She had sacrificed so much for him and loved him so beautifully. There was nothing he wasn’t willing to give to see them again.

The colors of his burning home blurred together like a splendid sunset as the final sleep took the energy from his eyes.

At the end, the Light did not come for him. There were no golden paths to walk or radiant skies to bathe him in warmth. There was only dark.