Wulf stood on the gently swaying deck of the ship and looked out across the sea at what once had been the island of Netherfane. A stiff breeze was blowing across the sea, causing waves to splash weakly against the dull grey walls of a mighty fortress, far grander than any fortress he had seen. And Wulf had seen plenty of ruins of ancient fortresses, all in various stages of falling into ruin.

The basic fortress walls stood taller than the highest mast on this ship, which was the mightiest and largest ship sailing in the Isles of Dunkeltal; The Majesty of Aggard . The towers circling the walls stood taller still, second only to the impressive gatehouse, which was taller once again and watched over the small harbour.

From a distance, the fortress-like harbour walls and gatehouse looked welcoming. As one got closer, the walls loomed over everything, showing off their impressive strength. Even the oversized tunnel entrance into the gatehouse was both overpowering with strength and power, and welcoming, inviting one to go further in. Wulf was glad that the captain of the Majesty had refused him permission to go over to the island.

What worried Wulf more than anything was the crossed keys, each of them the size of the ship’s mainmast, over the entrance into the gatehouse. He had seen that logo before, often on religious sites, and only once on a small fort made from the same dull grey seemless material that this fort was made from. Even though that fort had been abandoned, it was still in perfect condition, even after all the centuries. And try as he might, Wulf had not been able to find a way in, nor climb high enough to peer within the small slot windows.

If he had been unable to climb that small fort, he knew there was no way anybody would be able to climb up the sheer walls of the Netherfane Fort.

‘Master Wulf,’ the captain said. He was a fellow quiet soul who said little, but still got things done. Unlike Wulf, though, they were a giant of a man, almost the size of his mentor Hallvard. ‘We must depart here and report to the Knight Champion.’

Wulf had always believed that Alis was special, Klarric maybe not so much so. But still, he could not believe that the two of them had managed to do something like this. They must’ve been victims of the transformation.

Before the disappearance of Alis and Klarric, he had believed this isle to be safe. Long ago Wulf had explored the entirety of Netherfane. And he often brought promising pupils here to teach them about the basics of the Isles of Dunkeltal. Never once during all his time on the island had he guessed that such a transformation would be possible.

Maybe the transformation of this fort was linked to the increase in monsters and chaos happening within the Isles of Dunkeltal.

‘Master Wulf, we must depart for Aggard’s Well at once. We must report this to the Knight Champion.’

Wulf had always hated the town of Aggard’s Well and didn’t want to go back there.

The claustrophobic feeling he had when visiting Aggard’s Well, second only to Rynstowe in its size, had at one time been merely overwhelming. Now it was worse. Wulf could not even begin to understand the pressure and pain he felt when he visited. The town was full of refugees who were packed into any available space within the town. Even the sparse green parks and town squares were packed with tents and makeshift shelters, not to mention the Temple itself.

The one place he had previously felt some sense of peace.

Much as he wanted to, Wulf couldn’t hate all those people who fled to Aggard’s Well. Some had come from Rynstowe, but the majority had fled there from other various settlements within the isles which had been destroyed or abandoned.

Wulf nodded his agreement with a heavy heart.

The captain placed a large, and gentle, hand on his shoulder, then turned to the sailors, barking a series of short orders.

He looked at the twin crossed keys above the tunnel entrance of the gatehouse. There had been one thing that he had been hesitant to touch within Klarric’s backpack. That bundle of silky black cloth.

Just glancing at it sat in the bottom of the bag had made him feel uneasy.

The anchor was being lifted from the seafloor by a team of chanting sailors below the deck.

Back then, he half remembered something when confronted with the silky black cloth. There was a half-forgotten memory of something he had seen long ago in his childhood. Though he wasn’t as old as Hallvard, his blood still held the rich blessings of Anthal ancestors, meaning he was older than his old age made him look. It was something to do with one of the Watchers.

Not the First Watcher. Wulf knew about them from Hallvard. But it was another Watcher who had told him something. He thought about all six Watchers and what he knew about them.

The sails were lowered and the ship got underway with creaks and groans from the masts as they caught the wind.

Wind.

The Wind Whisperer.

The Fifth Watcher.

Wulf was a scared child. His parents had just been killed. It had been so long ago that even though he saw them being ripped apart, he no longer held any emotions for that thought. He had seen too many of his companions killed and some in worse ways than the way his parents had died.

Even his lover, the one he still treasured deep in his heart, had died while he had continued to live. After she died, he had closed his heart off to everyone, including his mentor Hallvard.

It was too painful to survive when all those around him continued to die.

Wulf called it the Curse of the Wind.

Back then, the Fifth Watcher had found him after the death of his parent. The Watcher had told him he would live to see the Coming of the Tempest.

A half remembered prophecy now fully remembered:

The agéd wolf will lay down their crown as the night of the tempest falls. The fallen crown would be claimed by one whose banner was as dark as the abyss.