A lightning struck.

It was a frigid night, where the clouds and the falling snow were blocking the moon, depriving the already eerie forest of light. A weary sound of a man reciting an old song was accompanying the rustling tree branches.

There stood a fire that shone like a beacon and besides it, a man was sitting. Hoping to live to see another, much warmer day. He was cold. The only thing that stood between him and the freezing winds was a dark cloak and a thin shirt beneath it.

He reached out to his bag, pulling out the heart. It bore no flesh. It was made of a dark stone that shone like glass under the firelight.

“I told him.” He held the cold heart in his hand as he wrote some runes on it with his own blood. “I told him, but he had to resist.” He giggled with a sprinkle of insanity in his shaking voice.

He looked at the stone as if looking at an old friend and threw it into the fire. He did so not because he wanted to burn or destroy the stone. It was to give it the life it deserved.

Another lightning whipped the sky. Though it was much better now, the Rukh was still unstable, both for him and the realm. It was shattered like glass and soon would bring another storm.

Cold as one can be, he watched the fire he set alight, feeling its warmth, and picked the bird he caught. It was white, tied, and squirming to get out of the man’s grasp.

He snapped its neck in with a quick movement and plucked its feathers one by one. While he did so, occasionally, as the snowflakes covered the animal with tiny flakes of ice, he tilted it, so that he could see messy and now wet feathers again.

He plucked the bird so long as he could feel his fingers and when he no longer could, he emptied its guts and pierced it from head to bottom with a thick twig, then he placed the bird on the fire. He tried to move his fingers, but he hardly could. So, he leaned on to fire as the heavy snowfall calmed down and stretched his hands to the warmth, rubbing them together.

As he stretched, he felt the scar on his chest aching and stopped singing. “Bastard” He groaned and checked the dirty shirt beneath his old, black and dusty cloak. He was bleeding. He shouldn’t have been dying this fast. This wasn’t on the plan but he was still glad. Thinking about the risk he took; it all could have been much worse. So long as he kept breathing, there was a way.

In pain, he cast a spell to ease his pain as that was the only spell he could work for a while. It was not only his body that was broken but also his soul. He tried to smile but failed. Having half of his face ripped off was not exactly helping him to do that. Still, it was amusing to see that how he needed to break everything first, even himself to put everything into order.

And then, another lighting struck.

As the pain slowly left its place to a sensation of cold air gushing to his face, he realized he was not alone. He sensed three souls. Though his eyes could not catch them yet, he felt them and their power. That was the least he could do. They were hidden both by the trees and a spell to erase their aura, but it was not something that could fool the man.

As he silently waited, a subtle but unique feeling filled the forest. A spell was laid to the whole perimeter and from its intricate nature, he could roughly guess who the caster was.

Three Archmages he thought. I must have pissed him off bad.

Tired of waiting, “Come out.” he yelled at the forest as another lightning landed on a tree.

“Never continue hiding when your prey has found you out.”

The answer coming from the forest was a rough wind, of unnatural nature; another spell. It put off the fire and blazed the ember left in the pit, sending a cloud of cinders upon the man. As the gale continued to blow, it slowly swept away the veil of snow and revealed the bodies hidden beneath.

And another lightning struck.

Black armor was torn and limbs were ripped apart. A few dozen of legionaries lied around the man, frozen. Just a step before their prey. The field was not of a battle, but a slaughter.

Soon the gale stopped, and the sitting man started to talk. “They thought I didn’t notice them and kept hiding. I hope you are not as ignorant as they were to refuse a talk.”

“We are not.” A voice answered as its owner got out of the shadows amongst the trees. He was a bald, muscular man with the old blue clothes of a monk. Brows furrowed, he looked directly at the sitting man’s face. “You are under arrest.” He continued with a stern voice. “By the order of the Emperor, heir of Vaella himself. He wants to talk to you. Surrender or face the consequences.”

The man looked at the stone he placed in the fire pit before he answered the man in blue robes. “All right.” He surrendered without a pause, seeing the stone faintly glow. “I surrender.” He continued. “If your Lord wants to see me so much that he is willing to send not one but three Archmages, who am I to refuse?”

“The measure is only proportional to the threat.” Another Archmage replied. He was a man of short stature and brown skin. He had a long curly beard, braided and ornamented with various beads and shining stones.

“Perhaps.” He paused a second, rolling his eyes. “But in the end, it all depends on your definition of a threat. Tell me, is a man with a hole in his chest and half a face a threat?”

“If he still talks then yes.” Brown man answered as he caressed the steel of his great axe. “Those who are slain must stay dead.”

The sitting man recited an old ode, studying his foes with a wide smile but there was no light or joy in his eyes. “…and then they cursed him as they rose from the ground where they had once fallen, only to be slain again by the Twice Crowned.” He looked around acting like he was looking for someone. “I see no crowns. Who’ll make sure that I stay dead?”

“On the door of death and still dares to insult the holy verses. Who do you think we are, to blaspheme the Lord in front of us?” The last Archmage who stood silent for a while spoke for the first time. She was a tall blonde woman with a proud stature and held her palm upwards, quickly gathering the snow around her hand and compressing them to icy blades.

Another lightning struck.

“You are…” He waited, studying them. “…tired. And I am not the one who killed them. Life had already left the bodies of those toy soldiers before they even met me. I only disassembled them in an act of self-defense.”

Blonde Archmage gave him a cold look, almost as cold as the ice blades that were hovering over her hand. She hesitated to attack as she knew all the words, he spoke were true. The spell she had cast before they all revealed themselves was a detection spell and it worked not only for perceiving her vicinity, but also the honesty of the people around her. Her spell combined with the sense of justness; she chose not to kill him. That would be her downfall.

“Oh!” He gave them a crafted gasp of surprise. “So, the mighty Archmages of Revera doesn’t know the story of the Black Legion. It’s a pity that you haven’t heard about the toys of his majesty, but I can always tell you, you know. Sit and take a breath while I talk.” He looked straight at Temruz’s eyes with the sincerest smile his face could muster. “You will need it.” He invited them to his cold firepit, stirring the hot ember with a twig.

“If you are willing to talk, what we demand to hear is not a tale. Who you work for and why you destroyed the Temple of Demina. Why have you massacred its people.” Temruz asked as all three stood up in a silent agreement, refusing the lone man’s invitation.

“Not only willing but also delighted to do so considering the company I have but I’m afraid I can’t satisfy your demands. I serve no master and I had no purpose of destroying the temple. It was collateral damage.”

“Were the scouts you killed, or the Lithrum you disassembled also collateral damage?”

“Scouts maybe, but the Legionnaires were a worthy adversary. Though it would have worked better for them had your Emperor sent the whole Legion instead of a dozen poor souls. I almost felt sorry for them.”

“Save your dry excuses! You sound more proud than sorry.” The brown Archmage shouted in anger.

Azyr’s doing my job for me. The lone man thought. He was expecting to, or more precisely depending on the brown Archmage to get furious but he had previously thought that he would need provocation. He guessed he now only had to push him a little.

“How could I be proud after failing miserably” He defended himself. “After all, I couldn’t escape. Your friends were very quick to catch up. And…” Just as the man reached out to his cloak, with a quick movement blonde Archmage sent her frozen knives at him and cut him off. Ice Blades stopped just a breath away from his skin, forming a circle around his neck, floating and restraining him like a chain around his neck

“…quite persistent I was going to say, your highness. I never thought the fair lady of Lisphar would attack a harmless man such as I! Did my words offend you? Or perhaps, you really thought I was foolish enough to reach for a weapon in front of not one but three Archmages?”

“You are a fool,” Kisna replied. “And a criminal, even a heretic. Caution is not a preference here, it’s a necessity.”

“Oh, that’s quite the statement huh? Heretic? Depends on where you stand. And a criminal, well… might have bend a few rules just a little bit. But a fool? That’s where you are mistaken.”

“You have destroyed the temple in Demina. No sane man would attack a temple in the empire.”

“I am not sure my lady but being sane and intelligent should not be considered the same. I’ve seen many sane men with no grain of thought in them, and many madmen who make us all look like fools.”

“Seeing the way, you smile, you must be thinking you are one of those madmen. You should have never stepped into the empire.” Azyr joined the conversation as Temruz watched and studied the sitting man.

“Well technically, there are no imperial legislative or administrative bodies in Demina and no imperial subject lives there unless you count rats of course. I hate to tell your emperor and his whole court of unimportant people that they are wrong but calling something far away which you clearly are not in charge of seems quite hypocritical.”

“We’re not getting anywhere like this.” Azyr hissed at his fellow Archmages. “Why did you destroy the temple?”

“Oh, no no no.” The man giggled. “I caught what you just did there. That’s a trick question, right? I had nothing to do with its destruction. I arrived there shortly after.”

“Our reports say the otherwise.” Kisna argued, knowing that both contradicted and the man sincerely believed what he had said.

“Whose reports?” Viran laughed. “Of the people who haven’t set foot on the island or the ones who escaped my alleged massacre? I think you should check how viable your sources were.”

“It’s enough with your bullshit.” Azyr pulled out a shackle under his cloak, afraid of what the man might reveal, and threw it onto the man. “We’ve come a long way for a pesky heretic like you. Wear these and we’ll bring you to the emperor. If you obey his orders, he might grant you a peaceful death.”

“Yes.” He giggled. “You’ve come from a long way, but not to catch a heretic but a half-dead man. Also, if I wore those you wouldn’t be able to grant me a peaceful death. I would die in pain the moment I touch the black steel and you would lose the precious captive your lord desires deeply. My spells are the only thing that keeps me breathing.”

“Do it!” Azyr shouted, his arms crossed over his chest. “Your captivity is the will of his majesty. You being alive is only optional.”

“Being alive is never optional my lord. Staying alive is. Dead can’t choose to be alive but alive can choose to be dead. I wonder why you are in such a rush? It’s almost like you are trying to off me before I tell your friends here anything useful.”

“I said it’s enough!” Azyr shouted but it was no use, the man continued to talk.

“You don’t want me to talk about whom I saw in Demina?”

“You saw no one! He is trying to fool you!”

“I thought there were priests there! I mean I must have seen them before the massacre you told, right?

“You little squeaking rat. If you don’t stop spouting nons…”

“What is he talking about.” Kisna cut him off. She respected Azyr as a fellow Archmage, but it felt like he was hiding something. “What are you hiding?”

“I am not hiding anything!” He roared in panic but seeing the doubt in Kisna’s eyes, he pulled his great silver axe from his back and charged towards the sitting man. Kisna tried to stop him with the blades, but she was not inexperienced enough to think that they would stop it. She stretched her arm, palm looking down, and raised her hand like unveiling a gift and the snow covering the ground rose like a shield as it hardened into ice to meet the axe. The axe pierced through both the blades and the shield, turning them into a fog of ice.

Another lightning struck.

Temruz waved his staff, and a gale swept the cloud. Azyr’s axe missed the man’s head by a hair width and landed on his shoulder, severing the arm and landing on the ground.

And then, another. And another. Skies let out their wrath on the mortals beneath, and in every breath, another lightning started to strike. I need just a bit more the man thought. It’s almost ready.

Seeing him failing to deliver the blow to the head, Azyr pulled the axe from the ground and swung it once more, but this time Temruz was the one to stop him.

He hit the air with his staff and wild winds beating the sky obeyed his will, repeating his motion. They blew Azyr a few meters away from the man. As he touched the ground, the snow gathered around him, forming a giant snowball around the man. It rolled around and grew larger and larger. Shortly after Kisna squeezed her fist and the ball got compressed into half of its original size, turning into a ball of ice. She squeezed the ball tighter and tighter, but a few earthen spikes shot out from the ground and broke it apart. Azyr got out unscathed, yet he was out of breath. He gripped his axe tightly and tried to take a step to charge once more but this time towards another Archmage. As he took his first step, the bolts of lightning stopped and the sky calmed. Azyr was the first to collapse. Kisna followed her soon after and they lied on the ground unconscious.

Right after Temruz turned back and saw the man, he too fell on his knees but he was still conscious.

“I should praise you for still not collapsing.” The man said, holding a bright, fist-sized stone in his hand. His arm that was ripped off was once again attached to his shoulder, and the broken part of his face resembled a proper visage. A veil of illusion covered his face. Though it was still not stable yet, it resembled a pale man with dark hair.

“Who are you?” Temruz asked using the last ounce of strength left in his body.

“Who am I?” He asked himself as he laughed. “Oh, mighty Temruz; dead bear no names. But you can call me Viran. And I am here to take what’s rightfully mine.” He squeezed his arms and pulled all the Archmages floating towards himself. As they got closer, Temruz felt a grip around his heart and let out a scream. As Viran squeezed his fists even tighter, the grip on his heart got stronger and a burning sense covered every inch of his body. His body squirmed in agony as Viran feasted upon their souls. Without killing them, however, he let them go. In an instant, all three of them collapsed on the ground.

“Welcome my brothers and sisters!” Viran shouted at the forest as the hundreds of shadows surrounded him. He was furious and every sound of his words shook the earth. “It’s beeen a looong time. There hadn’t been anyone to dance with for a while!” He smiled with his new face, cold and wrathful. The language he spoke was unintelligible to Temruz, but he felt his words and their meaning in his heart. Old Tongue he thought as his mind slowly faded away and a streak of red lightning struck Viran, blinding Temruz’s closing eyes.