Metal boots crunched back and forth in song as the legion of a thousand strong, stoned-faced men and women whose gaze was as cold as their steel-capped armor, marched west along Skyward Road, hoisting the white and gold banner of Gwyn. Leor thought it laughable that the followers of light could look less like the sun and more akin to a barren land of ice. Still, he wondered if this many knights left Logtown, how many remained?

All but a few hiked the paved dirt road on foot. Those who rode on horseback had faces harder than iron, if that were possible, and had a certain arrogance to them. Like they positioned themselves high above the rest to remind the other knights of their superiority. At the brigade’s center, six armored warhorses trotted and lugged a blinding brick of gold mounted on wheels. It didn’t take a long look or a genius to know who the monstrosity belonged to, but if the inordinate amount of gold wasn’t enough of a clue, the oh-so-humble prince had a throne mounted on the roof for himself while the princess sat inside the cabin, hidden from view.

Leor wiped his brow of sweat. The sun had finally come out from hiding when they left Logtown two days ago and with it, the blazing summer heat scorched the air dry, soaking up puddles from the dirt and plant life. He sat on a thin platform between the caravan and luggage cart, and watched the pastures of green and spots of white and yellow flowers pass in a blur. The Edgewoods faded further and further. In the distance, faint silhouettes of unnamed settlements blended with the blue and green horizon. The wind carried traces of mint from the flora to his nose, his chains rattled with the breeze.

“He may be a guest for my father, but to us, he is no more than a murderer,” Gwyndel had said to Alden as they bounded his wrists with iron.

The chains did not bother Leor so much. Rather, it was the very thought of faking submission to his enemies. Every disapproving face that glared at him, he wanted to shout blames for Ceri’s death as he choked the life out of those damn condemning eyes. But he bit his tongue and swallowed his words. Instead, Leor reminded himself: If I must suffer to bring her back, so be it. And yet, the death-piercing scowl would not leave his face, his jaw locked in a frozen clench, the voice in his head cried of deceit and betrayal. He fiddled with the ring, spinning it around the base of his finger, attempting to quiet his spite to little success. He found himself playing with Ceri’s ring often.

The window behind him slid open and Alden’s head peeked out. A cool breeze spilled onto his nape. “Are you certain you do not wish to join us inside?”

Afraid venom would lace his words, Leor did not offer a reply and kept his gaze distant.

“Lord Alden, with much due respect, I do not believe a purblight should be in the same realm as the princess, let alone a transport,” said the man named Arthur whom Alden introduced him to at his chaining. But Leor cared little for his name. He remembered his face. One of the vacant stares from the crowd. Another knight who stood by and watched her die.

Alden turned his head, forcing a smile. “Master Arthur, might I remind you his name is Leor and he is an honorary guest of Lord Gwyn. He should be treated as such.”

“Not a guest but a prisoner awaiting judgment,” Arthur retorted, offering a similar fake grin.

“Now, now, boys. There’s no need to make a fuss. Alden is right, Arthur. He is a guest. If not my father’s, then he shall be mine,” said Lilith with a calming voice, one hand laid solemnly on her crossed thighs and a glass of lightberry wine cradled in the other. “If Leor wishes to stay outside with the wolf, let him.”

Meek, Arthur bowed his head. “My apologies, m’lady.”

“Though, I’d love a chance to speak with you if you’ll have me.” She batted her lashes at Leor.

Her unguarded smile did not sit right with him. Lilith, the second born and only daughter of Gwyn, was an innate bearer of light, Alden had told him. She’s said to be at least a hundred years old, but Leor wondered about that. Her hair shined a vibrant gold without a shed of white or gray, her skin supple and wrinkless like a girl embracing womanhood. Alden warned him not to ever bring up her age. Last person to do so was skewered with spears of light and staked to the Town Hall in Lichtwerth. If the rumors were to be true. Nonetheless, Leor kept his lips sealed but left his ears open. If anyone knew about “rebirth”, it would be someone like her.

Arthur jumped to his feet, his brows scrunched together. The wagon jolted at his sudden burst. “Bastard, the princess asks to speak with you.”

“That’s quite alright, Arthur,” Lilith said, eyeing him down. She turned to face Leor, who had yet to look behind him. “Then perhaps you will lend me your ear when the time is more suitable. For now, I offer you my deepest condolences.” She sighed as her gaze wandered over their superfluous host. “My brother is quite the showman, isn’t he? Parading the Order in such. . . dull taste. So eager to display the power of our house for the others to witness.” Lilith chuckled softly behind her fair, jeweled hand. “It’s quite sad really.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Lady Lilith, it would seem you harbor contempt towards your own blood,” Alden said lightheartedly.

“Oh my, dear Alden, you have me all wrong,” she said, still smiling. “I care deeply for my brother. I simply wish he would stop seeking attention from others. It’s a trait unbecoming of a lord.” The fair lady shifted in her seat and swapped her crossed legs. Her sapphire eyes were as cool and calm as idle water. “Tell me, Arthur. Do the other houses boast such a large host as they ride for Lichtwerth?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, my lady. As we expected, the Yonchins and Arindians left Logtown in groups of some twenty. The scouts are trailing behind them as we speak.” He lowered his gaze. “Though, there has yet to be movement from House Ouranós or House Hydrian. We might very well be Tridon’s only representative.”

“Twenty,” she scoffed. Her voice thick with disparagement. “For what purpose do we need a thousand-man host? Knowing my brother, he must see it as a sign of strength, but it does little of the sort. It does the quite opposite, a display of desperation, a sign of weakness.”

There was a brief pause in her thought. Watchful eyes jabbed at the back of Leor’s skull like tiny needles. It breathed down his neck until the heavy curiosity pulled his head around. There, he found Lilith's bewitching eyes, two deep blue oceans and just as mysterious as its depths.

“A true lord needs not prove himself to those beneath him.”

Iron hooves munched the gravel, the cartwheels rumbled over the loose earth. As they traversed the jagged inclining road, the green fields lost their luster and turned into a sea of dirt as though life had been sucked out of the land. Felled rocks had cratered and blemished the lifeless soil. Then, the sun disappeared and Arthur’s voice boomed a command from atop the cart: “SHIELDS UP!”

With a unified warcry, the proud knights on horseback surrounding the convoy raised their white and gold plaid shields overhead, and the chiseled rays of light bulleted a yellow beam into the sky, connecting to form a translucent dome barrier. Confused, Leor glanced up at the sky. What is there to shield from? His mouth gaped open as his eyes found a mountainous island resting amongst the clouds, casting a great darkness over the land. He had seen it from afar but he thought it was merely a bird, but the idea of a castle in the sky bewildered him. The barrier of light flashed and rippled as it deflected raining debris.

“We’re almost there, m’lady,” Arthur said, returning from his post. His eyes glanced upward, thinking. “I wonder how the other houses will pass through the wastelands.”

“We need not concern ourselves over them,” Lilith said as she took a sip of wine, then patted her lips with a fine cloth of silk. “If they are unable to traverse it, then perhaps, they are unfit to see the Holy Kingdom.”

“I’m certain they will overcome the unforgiving terrain,” Alden said calmly. “The houses outside of Tridon are not as incapable as you think.”

When the eclipse was over and sunlight rained, banners flapped high with the wind outside the city walls, untouched and shining; the Zephyrous Blades of Crescent Isles, the Flaming Blossom of Yonchin, and the Golem of New Arindel. Familiar green meadows painted the plateau, the flowers alive and plentiful. Hoed fields of crops and grazing animals roamed the grasslands. All untainted as if there weren’t a field of death below.

Higher up the hill, the road leading to the city gate was cemented with cobblestone and lined with a freshly placed velvet carpet. The city guards had taken notice of their approaching caravan and sounded a chorus of trumpets. The veil of light arched open, granting them passage. The guards and escorts lined the carpet on both sides with polearms at rest, creating a walkway and standing still like statues.

And of course, Leor watched Gwyndel ahorse and trot down his runway, oozing with pride. Nose pointed to the sky and chest puffed. All without the slightest hint of a smile. The fair lady followed soon after, with only a dash of arrogance and royalty compared to her brother. Even through their visors, Leor could sense their lustful admiration as the knights marched behind her as she passed. He wasn’t sure if Lilith knew, but for certain, she took her time walking.

Leor observed his new surroundings, marking vantage points, alleys, and blocked passages. Just as his mentor taught him. Entering unfamiliar territory, especially one under a lord’s direct ruling, was foreign to him. All he knew since his arrival in Tridon were Logtown, Thalesia, the Edgewoods, and the lands between.

Absurdly high walls, which Leor could only assume were constructed to defend against the fabled giants, fortified Lichtwerth or Lower Lichtwerth as Alden mentioned. Three levels, each large enough to be its own city, were separated by its own circlet of stone, each taller than the last, spiraling to a pyramid. A sentry tower guarded every ordinal point, ballistic cannons armored the walls like pine needles. The stones used to erect the ramparts and structures were oddly pristine for a burg centuries old. As if they had been constructed in recent history. Each building was built tall and pointed like a forked crown and without the thought of alleyways in mind. Leor wondered if one house fell, would the rest follow?

Even in a new city, Leor could not escape the baleful eyes. It would appear to him the events in Logtown had already infected the ears of the Litharians. Mothers and children dressed in plain tunics, watched the host parade by; the children pointed curiously with their stubby fingers at the purblight while their mothers tried their best to quell their youthful energy. . . and the disgust on their faces. Men in much finer, gold-laced ivory robes, and golden necklets eyed them from the balcony of their spiked manors. Fumes of different colors smoked from open windows and doors, contaminating the air with the mixed scent of spices, herbs, and something exotic Leor knew nothing of. Strange enough, most of the men exuded solemn curiosity as they studied him, crossed armed and stroking their gray-streaked whiskers. He was glad he left Yoru with the transport. Surely, these frail-looking men would cause an uproar over the wolfling.

“Lichtwerth, the kingdom of scholars,” Alden said, noticing Leor’s oscillating glances. “Ceri did the same on our first visit.” He laughed but there was a hint of unease in it.

Leor saw Ceri’s ghost prancing through the streets, tugging his arm forward, smiling, excited and all. A pained smile broke through his lips, for it was all he could muster as a response.

It must have taken a few hours to scale the slopes. Half the knights retreated into the city and the remaining party arrived at the heart of Lichtwerth — if it were there to greet them. Where the Citadel of Light, the Grand Archives, and research halls would have been was nothing but a vast concave of trimmed grass and an enormous sanctuary at the center base. There they found the other houses grouped separately from one another in the shade of two sentinel sculptures of giants, exchanging unfriendly glances as the royal siblings paced their horses towards them with the battalion lagging. The Litharians must be quite fond of Ludwig, Leor thought. What other reason is there for the statue of the Hero to be equally cherished beside their own lord?

He found Yui and her people shading themselves in Ludwig’s shadow. His mentor had told him stories of the Yonchins: how they are dedicated people who pour their souls into their crafts and care a great deal about the beauties of life. Leor could not confirm the former, but he saw the truth in the latter. The Yonchins were a fair skin lot. Armored at the limbs and torso with extravagant cloth underneath and different flowers painted on their chestplate. Similar to his own dressings, but compared to theirs, his was more akin to rags. Leor felt their menacing stares, their bloodlust gripping the hilts of their katanas. It reminded Leor how naked he was. Yui, on the other hand, paid him no mind, treating him the same as always as she came over and greeted Alden. Inazuma and Ikazuchi strapped to her side, a bitter reminder of their conversation in the tower.

His eyes glazed over to the Arindians. Bronzed, chiseled, and well-built like the lands they hail from. Unafraid and confident, they donned sleeveless breastplates and lobstered skirts to flaunt their battle scars and thick muscles; the Golem of New Arindal branded amongst the scars. Even the women put most Tridon men to shame. Their faces must have lifted and flung the weariness of battle elsewhere since there were no signs of fatigue besides the bladed scars and the tattered war hammers, broadswords, and parma shields they carried.

If the Arindians were bred warriors, the Cresente were their opposite. Slender yet lean, long flowing hair like a river of milk. They too were bold in their attire: a single-piece tunic that displayed their snow-like abdomens with loose, flowing sleeves and little to no armor. They carried blades thin as needles; intricate bows and quivers strapped to their back. An essence of elegance and grace surrounded them like the Yonchins, but something about them was more . . . majestic and tranquil. Leor couldn’t sense an ounce of disdain towards him or the other houses. It made him question the purpose of their arrival.

“It’s about time!” shouted one of the Arindians who towered over the rest of his kind. Shirtless and armorless. . . and one of the few without scars. “You dare have us waiting in this damn heat while you strut on your pathetic pony like the little lords you are? Is this how you treat guests?”

“Watch your mouth, Arindian,” Arthur said calmly as he stepped forward. His hand over his weapon. “You are in the presence of Prince Gwyndel and Princess Lilith, you barbarian.”

The Arindian man laughed, matching Arthur’s step and pounding his chest. The clap of skin was like mountains moving. “Make me, little man. I, Agnar, accept any challenger.” The men and women behind hollered and hooted, stomping their feet and fisting their thighs.

“As expected of cave dwellers. Dancing about like monkeys. Thinking only with your fists and nothing more,” Arthur grinned. “I wonder what your lord is like, leading a pack of feral animals.”

Agnar drew his war hammer from its sheath. “Watch your tongue, boy in man’s clothes. Lord Khalon is the greatest warrior to live. Only the strong can speak of the Mountain Carver.”

“Greatest warrior to live?” scoffed someone from Yochin’s side. A woman, whose flower crest differed from Yui’s, spoke up with her hands on her hips and cold eyes unimpressed. “Surely, you meant to say, Empress Azura? She was the first to be chosen to fight alongside Lord Ludwig after all.”

“HA! You Yonchins are nothing without the metals we give you for your precious toothpicks.”

“Metals are simple rocks until we bend them with the will of our fire. You should be bowing and thanking us for forging your precious metals into something useful.”

“Enough.” Lilith’s composed voice enveloped the open area. Silence fell in an instant. Everyone turned to face the princess on her steed who still wore her gentle smile. Though anyone with a sense could feel death behind those lips. “My father has gathered us all for something of the utmost importance. Let’s not ruin this reunion over ancient history. Please, let us head inside.”

The Cresente were the first to move, silent as they had been since Leor saw them, then the Yonchin’s followed soon after. The Arindians sulked and joined them, but before they left, Agnar bowed his head just a bit and smiled. “For the strong princess, I listen.”

The sanctuary was an open-roof chamber. Descending steps and benches encompassed the court below, chiseled out of the sanctum’s greystone. Past the untended stone figures of Licht Order knights guarding the hall and down the steps, the seven lords bordered a long table of limestone. The six lesser lords stood facing one another with swords clashing their opposition and fist over heart. They stood before Ludwig who sat square at the end on a throne of silver and gold where the only bit of sunlight kissed. Leor studied the monoliths as the houses seated away from one another. He noticed moss growing between the cracks in the lords’ likeness, their bust eroding with the pains of time. All except for Ludwig’s which was polished anew.

The clacking of heels echoed from the darkness. Leor’s first thought was Yui, but out came a woman he had never seen before. It was evidently clear her reputation exceeded him. Others let out an audible gasp when she stepped into Ludwig's bathing light as if they witnessed something that should not exist. A golden-winged headdress bound her locks which flowed down her back like a copper waterfall. She dressed in dark robes that hugged her torso and fluttered past the thighs, and wore an ashen cloth over her eyes. She had a divine presence Leor could not fathom. A beauty beyond humanity. Otherworldly in all aspects. He knew nothing about this woman, but he too felt the need to gasp.

“Many thanks for thy haste, noble lords. Such is needed in times of hardship.” The woman’s serene voice almost seemed to dispel the tension between the houses. Though blinded by cloth, her sights glossed over the room. Leor felt her gaze but wasn’t sure if she truly could see through the blindfold. “I suppose my presence here comes as a surprise to thee. It has been quite a while after all. As thou hast done for me, I shall return the swiftness in kind. I present thee, the Sovereign of Light, the ruler of Lichtweth, the High Lord Gwyn.”

A column of light flashed through the opening in the roof like running water and an aged man draped in fur and armor, stepped out. His white and gold cape kicked with the gust of wind. A thicket of graying hair grew from his chin. His towering figure resembled that of a lion on its hind legs. He had a hardened face, befitting for the lord of the stone-faced knights. The Order shot from their seats and planted a knee while the others moved not an inch.

“Thank you for your kind words, Celestyn.” Gwyn’s voice sounded as if he hadn’t spoken in years, raspy and drained. “The lot of you, you have my humblest thanks.” He took a gander at the room and sighed. “We are short two houses. Damn you, Naiomi. First the healing waters and now this? No matter, we shall cross that bridge soon enough. I shall waste no more of your time. My summons is no more than a call to arms. Svyernia nears its end.”

The room erupted in whispers, but not a single soul dared to speak.

“The haze draws ever closer. Withering the constructs we lords have placed to halt the approaching threat. Time is no longer on our side. A second calamity shall befall us soon. I beseech the lot of you to take my words to heart.”

“So you beg us for our help?” Agnar said, looking down at the sovereign.

From the corner of his eyes, Leor saw Gwyndel reach for his blade, but Lilith halted his draw. She whispered something to him and he released his grip, throwing a silent tantrum like a child.

“Tell me, boy, has Khalon locked himself inside his castle, refusing to set foot beyond his refuge?”

The Arindians stiffened with silence.

“The same goes for the rest of your lords. Hiding behind the safety of their kingdom while our King beckons us. . .” Gwyn trailed off for a moment before looking towards Celestyn. “Lord Ludwig has called upon us. A contest, if you will. Complete the trials of the seven lords and the champion shall be gifted any wish they desire.”

Another uproar of murmurs filled the chamber, but only one word filled Leor’s head. Ceri.

A Cresente, who had been silent the entire council, stood with hands clapped together. “Lord Gwyn, if I may, would the prize entail joining the ranks of Soulbearer?”

Gwyn nodded and for the first time today, the houses shared a cheer.

“Enough!” Gwyn’s command caused a shockwave that blew over the crowd. It was clear the lord’s blood runs in Lilith’s vein. “You lot lack discipline. To be crowned champion, one must claim the bulk of the trials. Each trial shall be determined by the lords and the first one shall be mine. In a week’s time, traverse the lands lost to the haze and head to Solaris. Scour the kingdom and return to me an artifact befitting a gift to the King. The finest present shall claim my trial.” He looked at the various houses. “Take some of your men and carry the King’s message to your lords. Tell them to conjure their own arduous trial. . . But be warned, Lord Ludwig has known them for many lifetimes and he does not take kindly to dishonorable acts.”

And so, the houses left the sanctum in a hurry with smiles of determination and greed. All except for the Order.

“Father,” Gwyndel said, descending the steps and kneeling. “I’ve brought the one who wields Storm’s Decree. I thought you’d like to speak with him.”

The sovereign looked unimpressed. His face frozen in a frown, even to his own blood. “On with it, then. Show me, boy.”

All eyes were on him. Leor found Alden’s, confused. What was he to do? People had come to him, spewing tales of the ring and its inherent power. But Leor had no recollection of using it. Everything was a blur once he saw his blade pierce Ceri. He only recalled a blistering heat raging within him, a sensation he could not reproduce.

The silent stares and waiting exasperated the sovereign. He turned to Lilith. “My dear daughter, is there any truth to your foolish brother’s words?”

Lilith bowed. “Yes, father. I saw it with my own eyes. Me and the entirety of Logtown.”

“Hmm. . . what use is he if he cannot show me the extent of the ring’s power? I have no time to waste on a purblight. Take the ring from him and find another suitor.”

Lero flinched and reached where his swords would’ve been. No one was taking the ring from him, not even a high lord. Not while he drew breath.

Alden walked between them. His hand raised to keep Leor from fulfilling his death wish. “Lord Gwyn, I don’t wish to impede your judgment, but the ring belongs to House Ouranós. As Pontiff, I cannot let you take the ring without my say.”

“Watch your words, Lord Alden!” barked Gwyndel. “You are but a mere priest! How dare you talk back to a High Lord.”

A whip of light lashed across Gwyndel’s cheek. The clap sent deafening ripples throughout the sanctum. His cheek now ripe as a cherry.

“Gwyndel, how many times have I told you? Your rage is unbefitting of a lord.” Leor glanced at Lilith who was already waiting for him with a sly smile. “Leave my sights now before I strike you again. . . And, rub some healing waters on the wound. I can’t have my son have such a pitiful stain. I shall speak with you later.”

After a few eternal seconds, Celestyn broke the silence. “Lord Gwyn, if I may pose thee a suggestion. Have the purblighted one traverse the fog and prove his worth. Under watchful eyes, of course. If what the princess says to be true, one such as him cannot easily be replaced.”

“Father, the Queen speaks nothing but the truth. After all, you’ve taught me: There is no sacrifice too great if it is for Lord Ludwig.”