The shades ride through the forest, readying themselves for the shift to sun-fall.

Stabby had been laying in the sphere room, slowing his rapid heart rate from the encounter with the centaur. The room put him in a state of peace, but he wasn't sure if he enjoyed it. The calmer he is, the more his mind wanders.

He thinks about what would have happened if he attacked the centaur. It could have jump-started the war, placing his family into a battle they were unprepared for. His siblings could be hurt, maybe even killed... Grisha could be killed. If his family survived, they might conclude he's a detriment to them. A weakling. A flawed child they don't need.

They might leave him.

He shakes his head, attempting to redirect his mind from a horrid outcome that never happened.

He climbs up the Kohdok and next to his brother.

Grisha stares peacefully ahead. He holds the three slumbering fiends in one arm, and the strap that connects to Stomper's horns in the other. Grisha stays quiet, his half-closed eyelids struggling to keep open.

Stabby breaks the silence with an attempt at conversation, "those officers arrived so soon after our fight with the hybrids. When do you normally rest during missions?"

The topic seems to be a sore spot for Grisha, as the light in his eyes dies out at its mention. "You don't. You just have to keep going," Grisha groans.

"Oh," Stabby responds.

The silence returns. Stabby searches for another topic of conversation, his gaze landing on Stomper. "What happened in the stables?" He asks, his pupils dilating in intrigue.

Grisha glances at his brother, then reluctantly recounts the events, his voice deep from exhaustion, "entering the stables, I found it was larger than I originally thought. Despite the structure's size, most of the stalls were empty, little signs of life remained. As I walked through, I heard snoring coming from the end of the hall. Getting closer, I realized the sound came from two different creatures, one familiar and one not. I was about to look further into it when I heard the flame-kin open the door. I jumped to the ceiling, pulling myself up the railings."

One of Grisha's eyes shut, the other barely staying open. "The flame-kin examined the area, inspecting every inch. I figured that the familiar snoring was Stomper, and the sight of it would be suspicious, so I had to divert the flame-kin out of the stable. I climbed through the railing towards the snores. Since the creature belongs to an ogre I had a strong feeling of what it was. Few creatures pair well with the orcs. Turns out I was right. It was a Kerata gata, an intimidating creature with two horns sprouting from the front of its skull and a magnificent mane that reaches its chest. They're rare nowadays, so even though I expected it, it was still surprising. But knowing what it was, gave me a plan."

The tale saps Grisha of the little energy he has left, but he finishes for his brother, "its well-known Kerata-gatas have awful tempers when awoken, in that way I relate to them, but I didn't know how much the flame-kin knew about the animal. I decided it was too risky to hope he'd wake it up, so I had to wake it up myself. As he closed in, I created stones, dropping them one by one on the gata's head. It didn't wake up, so I made the stones bigger, but that didn't work either."

Grisha leans forward for a second, but catches himself and sits straight. "Increasing the size a final time, I dropped the last stone, bumping the gata's skull. This time it worked. It groaned and rose. The flame-kin moved closer, unsuspecting of my trap. Right as he moved into the gata's view, the beast flew into a rage, barreling towards him with fire in its eyes. He tried to dodge out of the way, but the gata twisted its head, nailing him in the ribs. The impact of the animal sent him flying, shattering the door into pieces. The kerata-gata turned towards the flame-kin with a warning glare. Taking the time from the distraction, I jumped onto Stompers back, woke it up, and forced it to move out of the stable. Making it out just before the gata returned to its bed."

Despite the slurring of words, Stabby listens in glee to the tale.

This journey has allowed him to learn about multiple new and interesting creatures. While the orc-spiders weren't... the friendliest, they were at least cool to look at, and now Stabby and Grisha know to never go into that forest again. In the end, it was a learning experience.

Long-claw's eyes pop open. She pulls her tiny frame free from Grisha's grasp, a task not too difficult due to his half-asleep state. Long-claw looks to Stabby and points in the orc camp's direction.

"Time for you to go back now?" Stabby asks, trying to copy the kind voice of his mother.

She nods her head in response, shaking her brothers awake, then dragging them out of Grisha's toned arms.

Stabby pats Long-claw on the head. "Be safe, little ones. We'll come by on the way back to say hi." He hugs the small red fiends a last time.

Grisha adds, "Well... we might have to come back later, but I'll make sure we visit sometime."

The imps jump onto Grisha. Long-claw, and Horns latches on to his neck while Red-eyes embraces his face.

"Alright, time for you to hurry along now," Grisha says, his voice muffled as he pulls them off.

Stomper slows to a stop. Grisha and Stabby hop to the ground, setting down the imps and waving them farewell. Horns returns the farewell as he grabs his siblings and flaps his wings. As their brother rises a few feet into the air, Long-claw and Red-eyes wave rapidly, flying off into the distance.

Stabby turns back to Grisha, who is trapped in a continual cycle of falling forward and straightening up. He's barely staying conscious.

Stabby would prefer for him to stay awake so he has someone to talk to, but... if Grisha doesn't sleep soon, he's going to fall off. Stabby places his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hey Slicer... I think you should get some rest."

Grisha mumbles in response, "Are you sure? You won't get bored or anything?"

"I'll be fine if you can hand me my bag up here," Stabby says, happy from the worry of his brother. "I can read books, do some clone practice, or something like that."

"Alright, if that's what you want." Grisha's voice was indifferent, but he grabs Stabby's bag in such an eager manner that his genuine feelings were clear. The moment the bag touches Stomper's surface, Grisha falls onto his back, and into a wakeless slumber.

Stabby side-eyes his perceived sleeping brother, confident of his lack of awareness, but waiting to be sure. Grisha's sleep confirmed, Stabby grabs the bag, digging through to the bottom. His sharp teeth gleam from his wide grin as his arm exits the bag.

"Tales of the horrifying deeds of Kyoki, the god of madness," Stabby whispers in glee, his hands shakily grasping the book. This is one advantage of Grisha falling asleep.

He'd been waiting to read this book ever since he saw it in the library. He enjoys learning tales, reading it might get some helpful info on Kyoki, and the cover looks really cool. A shadowy singular form stands in the middle of a dark road, as masks of creatures, both known and unknown, float around him.

He probably shouldn't just stare at the cover the entire time though, that's for if the book ends up being terrible.

He skims through the book to get a feel, revealing beautiful illustrations of Kyoki's eventful life. Now even more excited, Stabby flips back to the beginning, the writing becoming images in his mind.

Prologue

The mad shaman. A title that has brought dread to every being since the first shaman's appearance. An ancient race who contorted and disrupted the very realities of our world.

It is said their dark magic has contributed to the start and end of every great war of our world's history. Thankfully, despite their overwhelming ability, the shamans are still human. Blades of the average person can pierce their skin, as long as they can reach them. Though their threat was real, that fact comforted our inferior races. It showed that they were a challenge still passable... or so we thought.

The previous leader would pass the title of mad shaman down to the strongest of their apprentices when they die. Every time we killed one, another, stronger than the last, took over the reign of terror. Though they didn't directly cause harm, their manipulation of nations left scars deep in our societies. Kingdoms have tried to stop them before, but no one force could accomplish the task.

All species, realizing our last and only option, joined forces to eradicate the current shaman, along with every one of her apprentices.

The battle was brutal. The robe-clad apprentices alone killed dozens of warriors each, but to make matters worse, when one fell the morale of the shamans somehow grew. Nevertheless, our forces eventually overwhelmed them.

The apprentices' bodies fell before us, leaving only the shaman leader. We surrounded her, offering her a peaceful death, but... she refused.

In an act of resistance, she took a mask of the fallen body of a dead follower, marking it with her blood and placing it on her face. She surged with an unknown power, her body twisting to conform with its new strength.

The winds roared around us. Our confidence failed, limbs giving out from the godlike abilities at display.

The mask sealed to her face as she grew to twenty feet. Two arms emerged from the robes on her back, forming orbs of green flame. Her front arms created blades with the same eldritch glow. Her movements were eerily silent as she eyed the surrounding forces.

We would have given in to our overpowering fear if it weren't for the courage of the great elven king, Eldemar the magnificent.

Eldemar held up his majestic, curved blade, blessed upon him from the gods, and with a tremendous battle-cry, he charged the witch alone. Seeing the charge of their leader, the elves followed, soon joined by the rest of us.

Our alliance once again fought together, morale regained and respect for the king reaffirmed. The shaman cut dozens of men with each swipe of her blazing blades and each explosion of her vile flames. But Eldemar stood strong, so we stood strong right along with him.

The causalities continued to grow and Eldemar knew the battle had to end soon or it would leave us in an unrecoverable position. He gave his people his last loving smile, before turning back to the witch.

The hero-king, in a moment of self-sacrificial valor, used his blade to climb the shaman, distracting her from the armies. He jumped and hopped, evading the torrent of attacks as he reached her neck.

With a single strike, he severed her jugular, spraying blood and green flame onto the surrounding field.

We cheered at the winning strike... but the joy was short-lived.

In a last desperate act, the shaman ran Eldemar through, his eyes losing color as his body dangled in the air. She fell to her knees, and the blade dissipated, dropping the deceased hero to the blood-soaked grass.

With her final words, she cursed the elves, saying, "You fowl race who destroys the very beings capable of bringing our puny mortal bodies to the level of the gods. A time will come when you suffer the same fate as I. Your long lives will be ended by those you once thought kin."

And with that, the tragic life of Eldemar and the villainous life of the shaman leader turned to dust. Our hearts filled with joy at the defeat of the danger but came also a sadness that plagued our souls.

The elves took the blade of their beloved king, returning to the forest of ancients. The rest returned to their own homes. For many days, cries of anguish echoed throughout the continent, no inch of land escaping the sound of mourning.

But after our tears dried, a feeling of solace came upon us. Though the occasion was one of grief, the threat of the shaman was no more and peace once again took its rightful place. So from that day on we put away our tears, replacing it with a smile of hope, the one we always saw on the face of Eldemar.

That time is now known as the golden age of hope.

You may wonder why I would go through the effort of telling that heart-wrenching tale, we all know so well, in a book about the mad god. Well, the reason is this. I believe, to know and remember the events that occurred ages ago makes Kyoki a figure much more terrifying.

Many years after the age of hope, a great disturbance shook the lands. We knew not why, but we knew whatever it was, it would demolish the sense of safety we once thought indestructible. That was more true than we ever could imagine.

A pillar of the green flames, the flames we knew and feared, appeared in the sky, casting its vile color across the lands.

We tried to once again create a world alliance, but it was in vain. The revival of the shamans had returned with strife beside it. The elf kingdom had long collapsed, while half the nations refused to believe the shamans had returned or cared more for their own battles.

Despite the drawbacks, we mustered together as many kingdoms as we could and went forth to meet the shaman.

The sight we saw in that burnt field was shocking. It wasn't the revival of one of the many infamous leaders from the past, as we thought, but an unknown child wrapped head to toe in strips of cloth.

Although he seemed harmless, we still stood prepared, for the possibility of treachery was always there. But all he did was look at us in confusion, muttering, "where am I?"

Then, the revelation came to us... this child had amnesia.

The development created doubt in our actions, and the kingdoms gathered to discuss what to do with the scared child.

The gorgon queen, Shiphrah, spoke thus, "the child's loss of memory may be a blessing upon us. We can raise him in a way that teaches him to use his tremendous innate magical ability to help our kingdoms, instead of using the curses of his ancestors."

The dark mistress of the shades agreed, saying, "I can teach the boy how to use the magic to increase growth in agriculture and keep both gods and nature appeased."

The holy commander of the light empire, Iskander, said in response, "Though I believe the child could be of use if trained well, training under you would expose him to dark magics and turn him to evil deeds."

The king of the flame-kins, Damon, joins in, saying, "His ancestors killed hundreds of our people. If we allow him to live, it would bring dishonor to both the fallen soldiers and the god Fudo, himself. We must kill the child to keep the world out of chaos."

The dark mistress responded, "Killing a child for the actions of his predecessors, that he has no memory of, is an unnecessary act that would bring us no good. Fudo can overlook one child."

Damon burns with rage, berating the mistress, "You dare say what a god can or can't do? How do we even know to trust you? We all know how every word you speak is coated in toxic venom."

"I only use venom for those who view me as an enemy," the mistress responds. "Don't speak on matters you don't understand."

A rising philosopher of the time and scholar of the gods, Mantieo, interrupted their arguing, "Bickering among ourselves will bring us no answer. May I have permission to speak my point of view?" The crowd agrees, though some reluctantly.

Mantieo spoke thus, "I know, from my many years of education, of the goals of the past shamans. They aimed too high, and their arrogance and lack of care for the rest of us mortals brought their demise. Though it may seem the child is harmless know, we don't know the longevity of his amnesia, nor the power of the will to defy the gods passed down by his people. Though it is a sad fact, a majority of decedents inherit the evils of their parents. I have seen it too many times for my fragile heart to bear. We must kill this child for our sake and his."

The well-crafted words won over the hoards no matter what arguments the refuters put out, and the vote ended in favor of death to the shaman child.

The writings suck Stabby further in, his mind filling with new questions being brought to light. How much of the past was his mother involved in? What happened to the elves? And most of all... What happened to Kyoki?